by Dark Angel
I just feel exhausted by her energy. It's pulling away from my own excitement and I felt like I was pulled from deep thought. It's strange, the worlds colliding. I realize that the affair with Ethan makes me feel like I’m actually an adult now. That’s twisted and warped, but I can’t help that it's true. I feel more foolish by the second. “I’ll be there in a moment, love you Mom!” I say with all the cheer I can muster and hang up.
When I get to my door, I put my books aside, but I shove my notebook for my English course into the tote I’m using as my purse. Silly, but those notes make me feel like I’m bringing Ethan with me. I want to bring the memory of his voice and his words with me wherever I go. I want him to touch me more so that his skin can contain those words and those memories, too.
I turn to my mom, who is giving my room the is-this-a-safe-place-for-my-daughter-to-live look to everything and smile. I give her a big hug before we walk out the door. I mean, I’m being an asshole for not wanting to see her because I’m thinking about wanting to bang my teacher, shit! But, like, this is lunch. My stomach is already excited, and I’m glad to talk to my mom. My whole world has gotten very small, existing only in the moments I’m with Ethan. That’s not healthy and I missed my momma, okay? Let’s pretend I didn’t just act like a huge dick. Because even if that was only in my head, I do feel bad about it.
“Let’s go to that pad thai place you like, the fancy one, not the cheap one!” My mom is excited to take me to the weird place I like that has surprisingly fancy noodles. You can get all kinds of noodles there, but I always get the pad thai.
I want the alfredo, but I don’t want to eat all that cream. Tofu and eggs seems like better food for the hardworking college student, and the cilantro is to die for.
“Sounds good, let’s hit it and get it!” I respond. I follow my mom to her car.
“Now, cut the shit,” my mom says while she turns to back out. “I know something’s been bugging you. Tell me your classes again. Let’s see what’s up your butt,” my mom laughs.
I never keep anything from her. I never get nervous like this. So I start reeling off my schedule now and she stops me at Ethan.
“Oh, you have his class now? I figure you’ll have a lot with him, since you’re majoring in his wheelhouse. That man always had a book in his face. You kind of remind me of him, the way you’re so passionate about those things!” My mom has that slightly exasperated tone.
She knows what I care about, but she doesn’t get it.
It's sort of difficult to explain to your mother that you don’t want to read the Gossip Girl books because you want to read Frankenstein for the thousandth time…but I mean she’s got a point, too. The Gossip Girl books are pretty damn good, too. We used to watch the show together. I know that we enjoyed how rich they were. My parents don’t have that kind of money now. We always lived in a nice house, but now they're looking more the part. I sigh thinking about how she said I remind her of him. I think I’m going to have to try to casually probe her for information about him later. Right now, I just can’t stop smiling thinking about him. “Yeah, he’s done a lot of work in literary criticism. I’ve read all of his papers,” I offer. My mom probably doesn’t realize just how much Ethan has published. I’ve been a busy gal catching up on all his papers.
“That’s neat, sweetie. So what about that Calculus II? I know they didn’t want to let you in. Don’t they know that my baby’s so smart? You kicking that class’s ass?” My mom is practically beaming.
“Yes, yes I am. Oooh, we’re here. I’ll get the drinks, you get us a table,” I tell her as I step out of the car. It's a nice restaurant, but you still get your own drinks because they have those machines where you can get all the flavors. I always get a diet caffeine free coke with lemon added. I love the lemon flavor and I’m not sure but I’m pretty certain it's probably pure sugar. I have enough coffee in my life; I so don’t need to add more of it.
Mom nods and orders our usual, taking our number to the table.
We talk about all my classes. Mom asks about Delia. We talk about everything and I almost forget that I want to press her for information about Ethan when I see my notebook in my bag, the rose gold foil glinting at me from the corner of my eye. “So, hey, you were friends with Ethan, are y’all still close?” I ask her. I call him Ethan and not Dr. Ethan, Professor, any of that.
My mom raises an eyebrow but answers the question. “Oh, yeah we didn’t really stop being friends, we just kind of grew apart. I mean, we’re Facebook friends. Not that he really uses Facebook. But neither do I. So, it is what it is.” Mom picks at her food.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, trying to remain casual.
But my mom always picks up on stuff. “Something wrong in Ethan’s class?” Her tone is suspicious.
“No, I was just curious,” I offer, and I try to sound not too urgent. I mean if my heckles are raised, then hers will be. Internally, I’m panicking like she can read everything on my mind. But I cannot let that panic read through in my voice or on my face.
“Is Ethan singling you out? Is he bothering you in some way?” My mom interrogates.
“No,” I say with a nervous laugh that I hope sounds nonchalant. “I was just curious about him.”
“Ah,” my mom says.
Okay, she didn’t buy what I just said.
She doesn’t say anything for the rest of the lunch, and neither do I.
“Bye, sweetie, study hard!” My mom says with a final hug when she drops me off.
Crap. My mom can’t possibly think that I’m sleeping with him or that he’s being weird toward me, or something? I don’t know. But … I want to sleep with him. I’m going to propose that very thing tonight.
Ethan
This is what is going to lead me right to hell. I’m going to take advantage of this sweet young thing that I want more than I’ve ever fucking wanted. Despite the fact that I always, always get my cock wet the first chance I get, young girls like my students were always off limits. I fuck women my age. Women who understand my problems; women who share my kinks; women who can attempt to match my desires.
But none of them match my desires. None of them twist me up inside the way that Emmaline does.
None of them have ever looked at me the way Emmaline does. Breathed near me and made me feel like if I didn’t touch her, grip her shoulder, or touch her hair, that I’d fucking explode. I’m a sick bastard. I know touching her on the shoulder is a way to make her feel more comfortable, and I do it to manipulate her.
I told myself that I’d let her lead the way, be the aggressor. I thought that was my chicken shit, easy way out. Because Emmaline, she’s such a good girl. She’s bound to be the responsible one, even if I can’t be right now, right?
There’s hot twenty something ass trying to throw itself at me all the time. I could have any of it, and I always turn it down without a second thought.
But I know damn fucking well that’s not what’s happening with Emmaline. I invited her to my place tonight. I seriously doubt she’ll make it all the way to my home and then tell me, hey, I just realized I shouldn’t fuck my professor. Just that thought makes me want to squeeze the student paper I’m grading right now, but I resist the urge to brutalize this substandard paper I’m making bleed. I’m not cruel, not harsh, but I don’t go easy on anyone. That’s not my job.
As in my grading, when I fuck, I’m not looking to punish, but I'm looking to instruct. I’d like to show Emmaline’s body the answers to the question that her eyes always ask.
How can I please you? That’s what they look at me and say.
And that keeps me rock fucking hard every moment that I’m thinking of her.
A small part of me is desperate to bring me to heel. Make me see that I shouldn’t have ate her pussy and fingered her in my office until she was mewling and moaning out my name.
But I’m working hard to quash that part of me, because fuck that.
My cock and I don’t want to think about my moral quandaries.
The truth is my hands are obsessed with Emmaline, too. I long to feel her skin against mine, to flatten my palms out over the planes of her ass and give her a damn good squeeze. I want to hear her yelp for me.
I like eliciting any sound I can from Emmaline. I have so many more in mind.
Fuck, I’m supposed to be grading and that whole thing I said about not being harsh? I underlined my last remark about eight times. That’s going to look pretty fucking dick-ish, but hopefully I don’t break any hearts. This particular student is afraid of me, but they’re holding themselves back from their real writing potential. Like so many lackluster writers I’ve had before, I know that with enough pushing I can get them to the place they need to be. I make or break the writing abilities of college students in this class. In my others, I make or break their ability to understand and connect with the written word from someone else’s pen. I love my work. Nothing distracts me.
And then the pair of eyes that distracted me vanish from my mind with a sharp knock at my office door.
It couldn’t be Emmaline, but for a second, I really hope it is. I consider for a moment how I shouldn’t want it to be her. I shouldn’t want Emmaline at all.
I mean, the stuff with Joelle? This isn’t about me recapturing my youth, though. I cared deeply for Joelle, but I’m past that. I feel an enormous sense of relief. Guess I’m supposed to feel like some kind of predator, but I want Emmaline too goddamn much to judge myself.
“Come in,” I say.
When the door opens, the last person in the world that I expect to see right now storms in.
“Ethan,” Joelle says, her voice tense.
I look at the woman I was downright obsessed with for so many years, and I feel…a friendly feeling. Fond memories. But no arousal. No pain. No angst, regretful, sorrow-filled thoughts.
I’m totally over her.
“Joelle!” I say, standing. “So good to see you. You look well,” I say.
She swallows. “You tell me why my daughter is asking about you,” Joelle says, skipping right to the point.
Well, shit.
“She knows we were friends,” I offer.
“Yes, and knowing that she and I are close, is that somehow relevant to your interests?” Joelle won’t come right out and say it, but I realize she’s on to me in a way that I know isn’t right. Joelle thinks I’m interested in getting to her through her daughter, Emmaline.
“No, it isn’t, Joelle,” I tell her. That’s the truth.
“Did you tell her about us?” Joelle asks. She is a worried mother right now, and I feel for her.
But that’s all I feel for her. I’m shocked at how devoid of spark I am right now. “As far as I’m concerned, there’s no us to discuss, beyond that friendship which has already been mentioned.”
Joelle scoffs. But she doesn’t say anything else.
“It means nothing to me now. If you’ll excuse me,” I clear my throat and indicate the enormous stack of papers on my desk. “I have grading to continue.” I walk toward the door and open it for her.
Joelle walks out and I feel such finality. I had already thought that my feelings for Emmaline didn’t concern Joelle. Now, I know.
But what the fuck am I supposed to do now…I realize that I care far too much about Emmaline. My passion will certainly overwhelm her, but we’re in too deep. I know how she reacts to me. I crave her the way she aches for me.
Emmaline
This hard maple entrance leads me to the fortress of a mansion that my professor lives in. The teacher crush that I can’t get out of my head lives in this mansion! I can’t handle this for a second, my hand is shaking and I wish it would spontaneously start raining so I’d have an excuse to fling myself at my door.
But I decided that even if this is bad for me or not, this is what I'm going to do. I need to be able to knock on this door, and throw myself at him. Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I want to give my professor my virginity.
Ethan is my teacher.
Ethan is my fantasy.
And right now?
Ethan is about to take my virginity. That’s why I came here. My best friend Delia’s right, I need to just get him out of my system. Get this insane attraction out of my mind and move past all of this.
Taking my virginity…
I thought about it as me giving it to him, but that’s just not true. Sure as my heart is thundering in my chest like it is on an endlessly climbing loop to its own doom, so is my innocence. It isn’t just some outmoded idea in the things that I study in college. No, everything about his experience is about to undo my innocence, up on the altar. Because I’m offering this experience up to my soul in hopes that I can forget him.
I knock on the door. A few seconds feel like an absolute eternity, and then he opens the door. Watching it open and reveal his gorgeous face makes the world speed up around me with no time for me to catch up. Extending his hand for me to follow him, I walk inside and breath heavy. Oh God, this is really happening. Please, God, let this be happening. I need this.
“Let’s sit, in the library,” Ethan says. His voice makes me jump out of my skin almost; I’m humming so much at being here. At being near him. We’ve already crossed over the barrier. Having me in his home is just another check mark in the list of things that mean if you throw yourself at him, he’ll have you.
I follow him down the hall. No family photos on his walls like a lot of people have in their house. The off-white walls lead up to rich cream crown molding. The walls are blank mostly save for some framed typography, which is not too surprising that he’s an English and literature professor. I want to read every lithograph and manuscript page as I pass them all ... but Ethan's hand reaches out for mine for all of three seconds before we are in the library and I can’t breathe, much less crane my neck while I walk to read what words adorn his walls.
Inside his library, we sit across from each other in some of the wingback chairs he has atop the intricate rug and ensconced along the wall-to-wall leather bounds that would normally catch my attention. Right now the only thing I can look at is Ethan. Sitting, I smooth out the end of my dress. I hope that I look sexy and sophisticated, but in this gorgeous library, in Ethan's house looking at him in his sleek trousers and crisp shirt, I look like a little tart trying to pounce the hot professor. I look young and dumb. I gulp. “I’m here because I know we’re both attracted to each other. So, one night together…I want to give myself to you once so I won’t be so obsessed, and then we can both move on,” I say, the words spilling out of me so fast I feel foolish. I dare myself to maintain eye contact with him the entire time. It makes the heat on my face from my embarrassment feel punishingly sensual.
Ethan's lips curl into a smirk that could end me if I looked at it for another second. “One night with me…that’s not going to be enough,” Ethan says with a smug grin that incinerates me. He’s so sensual, so beyond sexy that I think I might burst into flames right here.
“If that’s the case, why are you single?” I say with a laugh. He’s so sexy when he’s bragging and smug.
“Why are you single?” Ethan asks now, and it isn’t just some laughing banter like I offer. He’s serious.
I tell him the truth. “I think most guys are boring,” I say, realizing how depressing that sounds. That’s the truth though. And how could they compete when Ethan has lived this full life and they’re still worried about scoring weed and going to keggers? They can’t compete with that, and I have zero interest in any of that sort of shit guys my age do.
“What interests you about me, Emmaline?” Ethan asks, in that voice that seems to envelop me.
When he says my name I think I might faint, I get so lightheaded. Oh, God, how do I answer that question?
Ethan crosses a leg over to rest his ankle on his other leg.
A casual move that somehow manages to make me even more nervous.
“Are you more intimidated by the question itself, or by answering me?” Ethan asks.
&nbs
p; I gulp in a breath and look him in the eyes. “Are you more excited by me answering that question or by the answer to the question?” I lick my lips. “It is more than you being attractive or caring about something other than getting high or wasted. When I read, I get to be somewhere other than my boring life…and I’ve never had that feeling of belonging like that with anything or anyone else, until that night you saved me. You made me feel so safe,” I say. I push some of my hair behind my ear. “Answering you is still the more intimidating part of that, because I’m not afraid of the truth. I’m afraid of how it makes me feel.” I meet his eyes again, and watch the way Ethan scrapes his bottom lip on his teeth. He likes that answer.
“I’m more excited by the answer,” Ethan answers. “I can be surrounded by peers, by students, by anyone, and I’m never met by anyone like you. An equal, and at once…so innocent.”
An equal? I think I stop breathing for a second. My whole body feels taut, hearing Ethan say that. And I’m titillated by the way he called me innocent.
“You are, you know? I’ve had plenty of bright students, but you do more than interact with the work, or challenge it. You defy it. You’re never bold in your life the way you are in your papers, are you, Emmaline?” Ethan is in full-on professor mode, questioning me like we’re in the lecture hall.
But we’re in his leather-bound library and I can sense my arousal in the air…
Oh God, if I can smell my pussy, is Ethan breathing in the scent of how badly I want him? The musk of my arousal seems to be so thick in the air; I can’t imagine he doesn’t smell it. Does it turn him on? Dumb guys my age, I’ve heard them talking about pussies having smells, like that’s a bad thing. But everything about Ethan is so much more mature and grown up. I remember how he liked the taste of my pussy. He told me so. I doubt he’s turned off by the scent. The fact that it probably turns him on, turns me on.
“N-no,” I stammer. I chew on my lower lip nervously, shifting in my seat because I’m aching to feel him and that’s all I can think about. The more he’s in my mind and permeating my every thought, the more I want him on my body, touching me and invading my purity. I want Ethan to demolish my innocence. “I don’t think I’ve ever had much of an opportunity. I mean, I went off on that douche, Aiden, but…well that ended up not being too smart, I suppose.” I feel stupid and I have no idea what to say to Ethan now. I feel so small, and he seems so overwhelmingly massive. The sight of his broad shoulders filling out that shirt, his firm muscles hiding behind cotton make my breathing shallow. Would I feel this small in his arms?
