I gave her a look as I stood up, and wilted. I hated looking at her too hard. She was so perfect, so graceful and beautiful and the little hints of crows feet around her eyes and the single thin strip of silver amid the gold of her hair only made her look regal and wise. I rubbed my arms and grabbed my carry-on.
“Taylor, loosen up a little,” she said. “I know this is a class, but let’s have fun, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“Enough of that,” she said. “Call me Sheila.”
“Okay,” I said.
“You’re sitting next to me.”
“Our seats are assigned.”
She let her hair down and flipped it over her shoulder with a flick of her head. “Like I care.”
Smirking, standing with her hips cocked to the side and her silken hair over one shoulder and draped over one eye, she was sex on legs. There were a lot of rumors about her. She was unmarried, but people said there was a divorce in the past. I’d never been to any of the parties. I wasn’t a party girl. If it even got back to my parents that I was dating, I could say goodbye to my tuition. Once the whole group was through security, we started drifting towards our gate. Sheila took my arm and led me over to an overpriced coffee shop with her, and we sat away from the others while she drank yet another gigantic cup off coffee and crossed her long legs. Even in sweats they were amazing. I felt skinny and awkward next to her.
“I’ll buy you a cup, if you want.”
I was clutching my backpack, terrified by all the signs warning me unattended luggage would be seized and destroyed. I imagined my backpack with my little computer and notebooks being carried out to the middle of a field by one of those robots, then exploded.
“No, thanks. I don’t drink coffee.”
“Wait here.”
She got up, leaving her little carry on by mine, and came back with a shorty of something fragrant.
“Drink it.”
“But-“
She sat down and looked over at me. When she sat down she… bounced. Every part of her was rock hard muscle, smooth and contoured and shapely, except her ample bosom. She took a sip of coffee, eyeing me the whole time. I finally tipped back my cup and winced at the heat. It was good, though, the bitter mixing with sweet, and sugary. It was almost like some kind of hot milkshake, with caramel and dark chocolate flavors all twisted together.
“Is this what you’re having?”
She nodded.
“Aren’t these like two million calories?”
“About a thousand, I think.”
I blinked. “How do you say so thin”
She threw her head back and laughed. A couple of businessmen, probably there to catch a red-eye, looked over and admired her. She didn’t notice.
“I work out a lot. I’m letting myself go a little during out trip, but I put in two hours a day in the gym.” She took another slug. “My mother would tell you it just all goes to my chest.”
I looked away quickly and felt my cheeks turn beet red. In spite of myself I looked back over the rims of my glasses, at her chest. It sounds silly but I was so jealous of her looks. I felt flat as a board, short, and boyish next to her. Sometimes I thought about other things, things that confused me. I was supposed to like boys. I made myself like boys. My parents were very strict and since they were covering the cost of my education (this trip excluded) they had final say over most everything in my life. My mother explicitly told me that I was not to date until my junior year and I had to bring any boys I intended to see socially to meet her first, and that I was not to have sex before marriage. I was somehow expected to lock myself up in my room and study study study and produce grandchildren for her after I latched onto some young doctor. I even had to pick an acceptable major for a young woman, as my father put it. He gave me a choice between education, history, and business. I wanted to be a nurse but that was too ‘low’ for him, so I picked history. I liked reading.
I liked Sheila.
The boys in my classes were just there, but Sheila, she glowed. She made the world flat and lifeless around her, like she pulled all its color into herself. I thought the most awful things about her. I thought about running my fingers through her silky hair, touching her soft silken skin, of unbuttoning her designer blouses and feeling the weight of her ample breasts in my hand. I thought of other things, too. I wanted to kiss her. Not just on the lips, other places too. I don’t know where the idea came from.
I twisted my coffee cup in my fingers and stared away from her. I was awful, perverse. She would be horrified if she knew what I was thinking about her.
In spite of the massive blast of caffeine, she yawned.