Introducing Georgie Stark
At the train station Paul and blushing Sandy parted ways.
“Paul? Mr. Paul Sanborn?”
The young woman in the men’s chauffer uniform had long honey-blonde hair that she tied in a ponytail when on duty. The sun was still out and her hair when silhouetted against it make it shine like fire. She was five foot three and had a ballerina’s grace. Her named was Georgina Stark but everyone called her Georgie. Apparently, she was Paul’s ride up to the Cumbrian School.
He was too unworldly to know how to greet her properly.
“Do you need some money?” he asked assuming she was a private cab driver.
“No, they pay me fine,” said Georgie Stark and held the door of the limo open for Paul. Nothing but the best for the best, after all. Paul Sanborn had never been in a limo before. He knew enough not to put his feet up on the opposite seat but that was all. He didn’t know if he was obliged to talk to Georgie in the short ride up. He didn’t know if he would breach etiquette in sitting in silence and simply staring at the sites.
As they cruised through the village, Georgie mercifully broke the ice.
“Tired?” she asked him.
“Oh, yeah. Absolutely,” he said. “I slept like two hours on the plane ride over. And then nothing on the train.”
So they say that when jetlagged the smart thing to do was to try to remain awake as long as possible. Georgie believed the school administrators had plans for Paul for the next few hours. If Paul liked coffee, he could get free coffee to keep him awake. Apparently, there was a rigor to this academy that stipulated that every minute of the day had to be taken up with something edifying. There was no lollygagging allowed at the Cumbrian School. Naptime was for the toddlers of some of the staff. They all lived at the school and like the students rarely left school grounds. Paul Sanborn had never heard anything like it and was determined to remain awake through the day. He was overexcited and didn’t think he would need coffee to remain attentive. He couldn’t believe his luck. The Cumbrian village itself was pretty enough to be conceived of by a designer of Christmas cards. Apart from tourism he assumed the school was the main source of village economic activity. He assumed such a large place had a need for extended support services. He assumed there were hundreds of staff just like Georgie dedicated to the school’s efficient functioning.
Georgina Stark was awkwardly beautiful underneath her chauffer’s cap and baggy men’s suit.
“Take a guess,” she said to him once he asked her how old she was. She with an adorable overbite, a coltish frame, and a hesitant manner didn’t seem all that much older than Paul. If he hadn’t known that this was a boy’s school, he would have guessed that she was a student earning extra cash as a chauffeur.
He guessed she was seventeen. She smiled at him through the rearview mirror.
“No, a little bit older than that, actually,” she said while beaming. “In fact, you could double that number and not arrive at my true age.”
Paul Sanborn leaned forward in the limo.
“Thirty-five?” he asked incredulously.
“Thirty-nine, dear,” she said. “I’m old enough to be your mum. “And I’ve been at this school longer than you’ve been alive.”
Paul couldn’t believe that she was only a year younger than his real mom. Georgie actually looked younger than him. And if at some point they were out together and be seen holding hands, gawkers might accuse him of an inappropriate age difference. It was really wonderous how she had imagined to stay so young. Paul guessed seventeen but the bulky suit and cap made her look slightly older. Unless she had gone to high school as a fetus, her aging had been mysteriously forestalled by something. With her it wasn’t merely a case of her taking care of herself. Paul’s mother was an attractive forty-year-old of whom her youthful looks were routinely commented upon, but she looked young for forty. If Georgie had been twenty, she would have been constantly told how young she appeared and questioned whether she ever encountered any problem getting served in a pub. This was something being beyond well-maintained. The obvious answer was that she was putting Paul on about how old she was. Maybe she felt the need to maintain a distance from him. So she was pointing out that she was too old for him. Being a new enrollee at a boarding school likely made him the lowest of the low but still she felt the need to lie to him. Shy as he was, he would never have come on to her. He wouldn’t have known the words to use in the first place. Secondly, he was so terrified about being kicked out, his intended only to speak only when spoken to. Also, there was something about Georgie’s full-throated laugh that told Paul she was out of his league. She was supremely confident about who she was and her purpose in this world. She certainly would have no interest in an eighteen-year-old boy. She likely would need to show him everything. And she had too many other suitors probably to have to waste time on him.
The hill on whose apex the school rested on was so steep that the road up was forced to wind in a circle.
“Ten more minutes shouldn’t be much more,” George said guiding the Aston-Martin around the perpetually winding road at five miles an hour. Paul didn’t mind the extended ride because of Georgie. Just emerged from a potential embarrassing situation on the train, now it was his turn to blush and pine. Except for the age difference, Georgie was exactly Paul’s type. As she drove, she was constantly turning around to talk to him. Her smile never waned. She seemed intent on going out of the way to make Paul comfortable and Paul was supremely grateful at such an act of kindness. Despite his physical maturity he was still a child. Come evening he would feel the first pangs of homesickness. He desired lovers but he needed friends. Georgie though perhaps too old to be his girlfriend could be counted on as a friend. He would need somebody to talk to occasionally when his studies became too intense. He would need a shoulder to cry on come the weekends and there was nothing for him to do, no mall to ride to with his friends and hang out there on a stifling summer day.
According to Georgie, the acclimation period usually wasn’t so long around here.
“The student usually gets his feet underneath him within a few days,” she told him. “The orientation is rigorous but after several days in his head tends to clear and he begins to appreciate his surroundings,” she said. “They keep you on your toes is the reason why I suppose it’s so easy to get used to,” she said. “Always running back and forth to various tutorials, demonstrations, and ummmmhh, exams,” she said wistfully. The last word she spoke languidly. Paul watched her eyes dilate in the rearview mirror as she spoke. He ignored the strange emphasis on exams. He wanted to know more about school activities. He wanted to know how many hours of the day a student was required to study at this school. He wanted to know what the percentage of students forced to leave the Cumbrian School because of poor grades.
Briefly Georgie was forced to pull the Rolls over onto the winding road’s shoulder due to her laughter getting the better of her.
“Oh love!” she said in between giggles, “there’s no need to worry about that I shouldn’t think! Poor grades! Oh, I don’t think you’re capable of it at least from what I’ve seen of you. No, definitely not! At least not in this light. As for leaving the school prior to graduation that number is surpassingly small. It’s only happened to a few lads at the most. And for reasons having nothing to do with their academic talent, I assure you.”
What then? What did they do?
Paul had his head poled almost through the window between them. If he had a pen and paper handy, he would have taken notes about what Georgie was about to say.
As she placed the limo in gear once more Georgie struggled to find the right words to use.
“Universally,” she said of those who were expelled, “they became somewhat overeager to prove themselves to the headmistress and were asked to leave. They were told as you will be told to respect the school’s venerable traditions. One tradition is to accept instruction gratefully. Another tradition is to remain humble as one might despite the world making ready to lay itself at your feet. You are but one matriculate in a protracted line of matriculates spanning centuries. You must be made aware that these stone walls you’re about to enter through were not built last year. Be aware of what you are learning, Paul. But be aware that just because you have learned a given lesson does not make you more elevated than the general populous. It certainly does not make you more elevated than your instructors. To do so would be presumptuous and wrong. Within the school’s walls you will be served, but also you will be made to serve. The lesson we try and impart to our students is that service is pleasurable. Sometimes deeply pleasurable,” Georgie told Paul as they approached the school gates.
Her stressing of the word “deeply” made Paul’s cock briefly shift in his pants. What’s a guy gotta do to get with a girl like you, he wondered as the limo pulled into school grounds. Just having been introduced to Georgie Stark, he was crushing on her hard. He wondered if she was married. But as she lived on school grounds, he would surely be seeing her again regardless. He wouldn’t have minded it if she escorted him inside. Her presence to him was reassuring even though they were complete strangers twenty minutes before. When leaving her company, he wondered if it would be a breach of etiquette to shake her hand. He didn’t understand much about English boarding school life. Venerable places like this usually had a rigid code of conduct and Paul didn’t understand the first thing about it. The brochure he had been given explained little to nothing. Thus, the need to stay awake as long as he could on this first day was imperative. From this point forward, Paul would need to hyper focused. So little had been explained about what was required of him that his imagination was running wild. Perhaps he would be tested on his intellectual attainment immediately. At his father’s request he had caried two sharpened number two pencils in his lapel pocket. He wanted it to be known that he was ready to learn, and that he was prepared to learn. He desperately wanted to fit in at this school, but he didn’t know how to behave. So until he was alone—would he ever be alone here?—he would be vigilant. And constantly suppressing impromptu hardons wouldn’t work towards his preferred image of being somebody eager to learn. He didn’t think.
The gates that they drove through were wrought iron and forty feet high.
“This used to be something else than a school,” Paul said surmising the ostentatiousness of his surroundings. The gates themselves were gilded with gold. The stones that comprised the school’s driveway were polished stones imported from Italy. Nowadays schools, perhaps even Eton, were designed with a drab, utilitarian feel, but this school seemed the remnant of a former age. A former, wealthier age assuredly. The school was not a school so much as a mega-estate in which a school was placed. Every object, even the grass, seemed polished to a sheen. The gardens that lined the circular driveway were immaculate and populated with rare flowers. The cherry trees on the property were in full blossom. Staring at them the weird idea occurred to Paul that they would remain in full blossom all throughout the year. Within such a place there was no winter. Here it was perpetual spring. The heavy gates he surmised were for keeping people out rather than in. Recalling what Georgie said about not wanting to leave suddenly made sense to Paul Sanborn. If the inside of the School was as luxurious as the outside, he would probably echo the sentiment. His own house back in Ohio was a three-bedroom two bath Cape Cod. Likely the garden shed on this estate was larger than that.
Georgie told him that indeed this school used to be the property of the ever-mysterious Duchess of Carlisle, Radica La Strange. She, a Russian transplant from the same area and demimonde that later produced Rasputin, met, seduced, and married her much older husband the duke in 1750. She was seventeen at the hour of her nuptials though legend had it she was several years younger still. Though still a child it immediately became clear to the duke’s servants who ran the household. According to Georgie, the vast majority of the estate was built during Radica’s long life. She, it should be mentioned, outlived the duke by many decades. Her official date of death occurred in 1800, but local lore contained various accounts of the “Russian Duchess” riding naked on a bone white steed well into the nineteenth century. She apparently made quite an impression on all those she encountered. The duke himself was smitten beyond words up until the moment of his death. He died in bed a week after his marriage. The rictus smile on the old boy’s face was cause for some gossip amongst the circle of the attendant physician who signed the death certificate. His marriage to Radica was spectacular while it lasted apparently. Merely his heart wasn’t strong enough to endure the rigors of love. But at least happiness was his for a while.
The duchess’ school was started somewhere in 1780 according to Georgie the chauffer. Its brief charter announced the vague purpose of “divesting exceptional young men of boorish tendencies.” It was meant to be a finishing school of some sort for the gentlemanly class, but the list of enrollees was so selective and secretive that it gained little traction amongst the gentry that it was meant to serve. When various princes and the progeny of potentates were denied entry to the Cumbrian School, the School’s reputation for exclusivity increased dramatically. Those few who did attend were sworn to secrecy apparently. Many of them forged separate educational credentials so that they could deny they were associated with the place. The school had a well-earned reputation for secrecy. The brochure mentioned something like a nondisclosure agreement having to be signed upon entry. Paul and his family always thought of this as a marketing tool, but they told him they would sign any NDA presented to them. They felt that they had no choice but to do so. They wanted the best education possible for Paul. They understood that they couldn’t afford private school let alone the Cumbrian School without a scholarship.
Upon leaving the limo, Paul experienced the exquisite smell of cherry blossoms.
“You’re so lucky to live here, fulltime, Georgie,” Paul said as she retrieved his luggage. He insisted on helping her, but she told him not to.
“The vassals will be here soon enough,” she told him.
Vassal? Paul had never heard that word and would have asked Georgie for an explanation, but he was too embarrassed to do so. He assumed it was somebody who made his living toting luggage. Like a porter. He supposed he would meet them soon enough but for now Georgie took hold of Paul’s right forearm with the intention of guiding him up the steps of the School into the enormous marble foyer. From there he would be left to his own devices until the School’s headmistress, Lady Amelia Haversham arrived. As Georgie promised his orientation would begin today. For obvious reasons this school possessed a sense of self-importance. There was no trivial aspect to it. There was no reason for a student to enroll if only to believe later that he was just like everybody else.
Halfway up the stairs, Georgie hooked her arm around Paul’s. She lay her head against his broad shoulders and began to whisper to herself.
“Ooohhh, you’re just as pretty as they all said,” she said. She was staring off into space as she spoke as if she was unaware that she was even speaking.
She said that she would get her turn with him eventually. She said that she would be counting the days until then.
“You’re lush, luv,” she said of Paul but not to Paul. “I’d take you in my coffee and tea any day.”
As Georgie spoke, her eyes assumed the same glazed look that the eyes of the mother in the train had assumed when surmising Paul. But naïve as he was Paul assumed she was just being nice. She was trying to buck him up perhaps rather than seduce him. So, he wondered what ordeal lay ahead that required him to be bucked up for. She knew so much more about this place than he did. Apparently, everything ran like clockwork around here. There were no variations concerning freshman orientation. What would soon be happening to Paul had happened to countless other matriculates over the centuries. Perhaps the mystery was part of the process. The more a young man anticipated a given experience, the more memorable the experience became generally. His orientation had already begun perhaps. Georgie was part of the process. And if this was the case, he would just assume remain at the school fulltime without so much as venturing down to the village. He was half in love with her already. She was definitely his type. Her unattainability was part of her sex appeal.
Her physical closeness coupled with the scent of cherry blossoms had an intoxicating effect on Paul. Helplessly he found his cock stirring in his pants and at the most inopportune moment possible. He was minutes away from the most important meeting in his life and he was sporting wood! Had this been Georgie’s intention all along she couldn’t have done a better job. He could only hope that Lady Haversham was delayed in meeting with him which would give him a chance to calm down. At the very least he would be able to reach into his pocket and rearrange his turgid dick so that it didn’t obviously tent his pants. He would have done so immediately but Georgie had hooked his arm and she would be alerted to his maneuvers before they started. Even before they entered the foyer, his erection was already obvious. Nothing for him to do now but pretend it didn’t exist and pray that Georgie’s gaze did not stray that far down. The best thing that she could do for him was to let him go which would give him a chance to reorient his pulsating dick. But far from doing that after entering through the school’s magnificent double doors, Georgie wrapped her free arm around young Mr. Sanborn’s waist.
“Ooohh, there’s nothing to worry over down there, luv,” she said in the same distracted whisper she had been speaking in ever since they departed the Aston-Martin. “We wouldn’t have expected anything else from you, really,” she said. “We delight in your delight,” she said. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed over truly.”
Paul was about to ask if she was talking about him when Georgie turned to him in the marble hall and hugged him.
Now there was truly no plausible denial possible. His big hard cock dug into Georgie’s taut belly deliciously. Even this contact, initiated through multiple layers of clothes, proved electrifying to Paul. Soon his dick stood at full mast tenting his dress slacks lewdly and leaving the small residue of precum he had started leaking at the moment her body was fully pressed against his. He couldn’t help it and didn’t wish to apologize to her because he couldn’t help it. In a sense it was all her doing. Maybe she should have apologized to him. But once the hug ended she seemed anything but sorry. Her pretty blue eyes were narrowed with lust. She seemed to want him as much as he wanted her, but her smirk indicated that her infatuation was only superficial. She understood his feelings towards her but wasn’t quite wiling to reciprocate them. Not yet anyway. Paul assumed this was because of their age difference but it might have been something else. Afterall, she had been chauffeuring horny teenaged boys around for so long that their involuntary lust displays were old hat to her. She was likely complimented but at the same bemused by her young admirers’ predicament. He wondered if they would ever get together. He was still too naïve to be able to detect the real and perhaps involuntary signs of female lust. Hard against his leaking cock Georgie was staring at Paul like he was the most delectable morsel possible, but he was still wondering if they would even be able to maintain a platonic relationship. He didn’t understand what women fancied about men in general and about him in particular. He didn’t understand that embarrassing as it was for him, the sight of a giant hard cock pointed in her direction was hardly a turnoff for many women. At worst he would be seen as overeager by her. But he being only eighteen should have expected that this would be taken into consideration by Georgie Stark. She wasn’t going to fuck him because she believed him to be a fantastically skilled lover. She would fuck him because she was even more physically attracted to him than he was to her. Also, because perhaps she was willing to be patient with him and draw him along slowly. This all sounded unlikely to him, but he certainly wouldn’t stop hoping. One of his first questions to her when they pulled into the school was to ask about the location of her apartment on the grounds. His plan was to weave all the cherry blossoms into garlands and present them to Georgie as a gift. He would learn her schedule and “inadvertently” bump into her at all hours. He simply hoped that his presently aroused state wasn’t any sort of deal breaker. If she slapped his face or stormed off in some aggrieved way, he would be heartbroken. He would have apologized for his presently aroused state, but he lacked the words. He simply (and honestly) would claim that he couldn’t help it. He was as attracted to her as an iron filing was attracted to a magnet. There was nothing he could do or say to his dick to make it calm down.
Staring at his tented trousers Georgie asked him how long had it been between fucks.
“Well,” he said, “I’ve never, you know…” Then he fell silent.
Georgie asked Paul what he thought was her prettiest feature.
“Your eyes,” he said quickly too excited to lie.
When the headmistress arrived, he oughtn’t have been so excited, she said.
“But,” she said, “It’s against school rules for me to do anything about it now. So you need to close your eyes now and think of non-sexy things. Think of the most disgusting sight you’ve ever encountered. Or even better think of nothing. Do your multiplication tables in your head. Have a look around but don’t touch yourself. And before you know it, you’ll be as good as new. Our headmistress prizes discipline in her boys above all else. Like all women she prizes a man who can control himself. She prizes a man who might be interested but doesn’t show that he’s interested straight off.”
Rather than hug again they shook hands. Paul Sanborn was left alone in the school’s foyer. Absence of Georgie’s presence he felt himself calming. The foyer was magnificent. Its Italian marble floors were polished to a gleam and its walls were decorated with ancient tapestries and a Botticelli painting that certainly looked like the original. The painting depicted Venus reclined on a series of pillows. The God of War lies naked beside her face down after having been sexually exhausted and defeated by her. Paul who knew nothing of art was nevertheless appreciative of the image. It, as with all the other Venusian images and statues in this hall, looked supremely expensive. He wondered after the wisdom of placing expensive artworks in a place that seemed entirely devoid of security. Perhaps they weren’t as valuable as they looked. Perhaps they were and the confidence that such ostentation suggested was overwhelmingly impressive. No art thief would dare step foot on the Cumbrian School’s grounds simply because it was the Cumbrian School. Its graduates and therefore its devoted patrons were some of the most powerful men in the world. The luxuriousness of the front hall was as much a warning as an enticement. This place was the entryway into a world where sex and power were interchangeable. That world commanded the ordinary world beyond the school gates. It was a place central to the global order. It was a place that made ordinary men cower both in fear and desire.