I was starting to feel very comfortable in Julia’s company. It was easy being with her when we were alone in her small, untidy bedroom, and we didn’t even talk much about school. We had slept together each time I’d visited and it seemed to only get better. I was both stunned and thrilled that I made her climax when we were together, and my own orgasms were out of this world compared to my previous experiences. Afterward, we would watch a movie or simply lie in bed and talk before she went to bed and I headed home. It was simple, uncomplicated, and good. Really good.
I found it slightly disconcerting, though, how much time I spent thinking about her. I still looked at her status updates daily, trying to figure out whether or not I would be receiving a text from her on that particular night. I hadn’t mustered up the courage to initiate anything, because I didn’t want to seem presumptuous. I realized that it was absurd of me to think that way, but I was still a little worried that she might reject me if I were the one to suggest a rendezvous.
But it had been nearly a week since I had visited her the last time, and I was getting frustrated. On Friday after class, she’d simply told me to have a nice weekend and I hadn’t heard from her at all. Now it was Tuesday and I knew that I would see her soon. I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if she was getting bored with me and had decided to stop seeing me. I really hoped that wasn’t the case, because I’d never felt better than I had the week before, after I’d spent three wonderful nights in her company. I’d slept better and felt more energized than ever before, my tension evaporating completely.
Now it was back with a vengeance and I was completely wound up with uncertainty. My pent-up sexual frustration only added fuel to the fire. I knew I had to ask her if she was putting a stop to our arrangement, because not knowing was driving me up the wall. I waited nervously at the front of the class, hoping that she’d give me some sort of hint when she showed up—a look, a smile, anything to clue me in to what she was thinking, if this was the end for us. The thought made my insides churn.
A moment later, the door swung open and she breezed in, and my breath caught in my throat at the sight of her. Her usual bothersome attire had been replaced with something else—something far more appealing. She was wearing a plaid skirt that ended right above her knee and a white shirt buttoned all the way up, and her shapely calves were sheathed in white knee socks. Her outfit was entirely modest, showing off very little skin, and yet I’d never been so attracted to her. For once, she wasn’t wearing the smudgy makeup, which only made her more appealing, and she’d styled her hair in two braids. She looked like a schoolgirl, and while I didn’t understand why, I found it incredibly sexy. Somehow, I found the strength not to ogle her, and instead turned my attention to the rest of the class. All I saw were lusty expressions as the male students openly gawked at her.
Why would she wear that?! How am I supposed to teach an entire class when I don’t have a drop of blood left in my brain?
I stole another glance at her as she sauntered past me and took her usual seat in the front. Her outfit had effectively reduced the males in the room into drooling idiots, myself included. I met her eyes and she gave me a smile and one of her winks before I looked away again.
At least she doesn’t seem to be angry with me.
Class began and I did my very best to keep my gaze from drifting toward her while the rest of the men in the room—and even a few women—failed miserably at that feat. I barely remembered half of what we discussed about Barry Hannah’s novel Ray until we came to his portrayal of women.
“I find it a little unrealistic that the main character has sexual relations with that many women,” a girl in the back said.
“Can you elaborate?” I asked.
“Well, it seems like the women are just there for him to take and he doesn’t have to work for it at all.”
“That’s probably because they’re not really there at all,” Julia said without being called on. I sighed. Even though I shouldn’t condone this sort of behavior, she made an excellent point.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
She smiled and leaned forward, resting her chin on her folded hands. “Ray is clearly suffering from a mental disorder because of his experiences in the war. The novel contains all these paragraphs about him flying planes, and that’s obviously not the case since he’s a country doctor and not a pilot.”
“And?”
“And who’s to say that all those encounters that he describes aren’t just fantasies that he’s conjured up in his mind, like him flying a plane?”