“Right,” I said with a soft laugh. I collected all the critiqued stories in front of me on the table, organizing them into a big bundle, and slid them into my oversized leather satchel purse. “Critique day is always hard,” I admitted. “I mean, you’re never sure what people are going to say and whether it’s good or bad it really gets the adrenaline pumping.”
“True,” said Minju, grinning at me. “Are you going to head over to the Barcelona Bar with everybody for an after class drink?”
“Sure,” I said. “I suppose I can have one drink.”
“Great,” said Minju with excitement on her face. “I think Harriet’s going out, too, so maybe we could buddy up with her and try to get more familiar.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Us and everyone else.”
“Why not?” said Minju. “I hear that Harriet is, um… into women.”
“So you propose taking advantage of her sexuality to get into her good graces?” I said teasingly. “Minju, aren’t you married?”
“Yeah,” she said. “But c’mon, a girl can still flirt.”
“What do you think your husband would say to that?”
“I think he’d just laugh and say, ‘whatever!’” she said, giggling and pleased with herself.
As we continued to talk, most of our classmates had begun to file out of the room though Harriet was still seated at the table, scribbling something down in her little black notebook.
“I’m going to ask Harriet if she’s going,” said Minju.
“What?” I said. “C’mon.”
Minju slinked her way across the room and slowly walked up to Harriet. After a moment, Harriet looked up from her notebook and offered Minju a smile.
“Minju,” said Harriet.
“Hey Harriet,” she said. “Are you coming to Barcelona with everybody after class? I just thought I’d invite you.” Harriet laughed softly.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll be there.”
“Great,” said Minju. “Penny and I are going as well, so we’ll see you there.”
“Terrific,” said Harriet with a bemused confidence.
“Okay,” said Minju. “See ya!”
As Minju bounced back over toward me, she had a brightness on her face. She picked her bag up from where it lay on the table next to me and she motioned me on with her head.
“Let’s get moving so we can get a good seat,” she said. As Minju spoke, the two of us getting comfortable with our bags and preparing to leave, Harriet watched us out of the corner of her eye. I looked over to her and caught her gaze for a split second, causing her to quickly look away. As my eyes returned to Minju, I saw that she was already on her way out of the classroom and I swiftly changed gears and followed her out.
*
Barcelona Bar was a quaint and rustic little Spanish tapas restaurant and bar that had been around for probably fifty years or more. It was just a few blocks away from our university, a renowned arts college in Chicago, and it was the usual haunt of most everybody in the writing program and had been for as long as anybody could remember. It was a tradition to go to Barcelona, something unquestioned. I remember after my very first class in the writing program someone asked me — it might have been Minju — if I was going to Barcelona. I had no idea what it was. But by the time I got there that first night and saw basically everyone from the program, I knew exactly what it was.
To get into the bar, you had to walk down a couple of concrete steps as it sat lower than the street. Not quite the basement but not quite the first floor either. After pulling open the big wooden door, you were greeted by a dark and cozy ambiance, very antique, like you were entering the hull of some old ship. The coloring was comprised of reds and browns and tinted orange. The walls were wooden, the decor could be described as Christian nautical. On one wall there was an oversized cross and on the other was a broken-looking ship’s helm. Low ceilings and low light.
“Oh man,” mused Minju as we walked into the bar. “We’re already late.”
Barcelona was hopping with many of the other writers in our program, the fiction writers, the poets, the nonfiction writers, and even some of the children’s book writers. There was quite the convivial presence as you entered the bar, the sounds of lively conversations and clinking glasses. Minju and I threaded through the packed crowd, saying hello to the people we knew, trying to make our way to one of the booths near the back.
“Look,” exclaimed Minju as we neared a small cluster of booths. “Pullman and Stout are sitting there with some of the other instructors,” she said. Robert Pullman was the program head and Jenny Stout was a director of the program and part of the fiction faculty. “I bet Harriet will join them. We should jump into this booth next to them.”
“All right,” I said. The roundtable booth that we saddled up to was empty, though there were some empty glasses on the tabletop. Minju handed me her bag as I guided my own bag deeper into the booth.
“You settle in,” she said. “I’ll get you a drink.”
“Gin and tonic,” I said.
“Got it,” she said with a grin and then she quickly scurried off.
Once I got myself situated into the booth, a couple of my friends from the program came up and began to sit down as they said their greetings.
“Penny!” exclaimed Erica. She had a happy visage, beaming with excitement, her chin-length dirty blonde hair a bit of a mess. “Can we sit with you?”
“Totally,” I said. “Minju’s with me, though, so we need to keep a space for her.”
“Got it,” said Erica. In addition to her, a few other friends sat down, Andrew and Sarah. Everybody was already in their own conversation, gleefully bouncing ideas back and forth, the main discussion obviously writing, and the people sitting with me at the booth even held conversation with some of the others who were standing next to us outside the booth. It was a frenetic atmosphere, a cavalcade of extroverts, while I sat there feeling a bit like an out of place introvert.
“Drinky,” said Minju, handing me my glass. She climbed into the booth and sat next to me.
“Yo Minju!” exclaimed Erica. “What’s shaking?”
“Same,” said Minju, tipping her highball glass slightly toward Erica. “Are you ready for your critique next week?”
“Yep,” said Erica. “My story’s already finished. I just hope that Daniel doesn’t go on a tear with me like he did with Penny.”
“I’m all right,” I said. “I try to not let it affect me much.”
“Thick skin,” said Erica. “You don’t really show that much emotion in class,” she said. “I think that’s a good thing.”
“Remember when Melissa basically cried during her critique?” said Minju in a murmur, her eyes darting around to make sure that Melissa wasn’t waiting in the wings to hear her. “That was gnarly.”
“She has, um, emotional issues,” said Erica. “I don’t mean to say that in a bitchy way, it’s just true.”
“You can’t let the negative critiques get to you,” I said. “If you put yourself out there like we do, you’re bound to have both positive and negative reactions. You can’t make everybody happy.”
“Truth,” said Minju.
“Hey!” said Erica in a loud whisper. “Harriet just walked in.”
We all looked toward the front of the bar to catch Harriet entering. She moved with a confident fluidity, standing straight, eyes lighted with a knowing fire. Harriet wore black leggings, clinging to her legs, a black pencil skirt, a white blouse with some sort of floral print on it, and a thin black leather jacket unzipped over top. I mean, she just looked really cool and beautiful and she was hard to ignore. As she made her way through the bar, many people stopped their conversations to look at her, to admire her, or just because whatever aura she was pushing demanded your attention. It was like when a really wealthy person enters a room and you can’t help but look at them. They just look rich.
“Scoot in,” said Minju. “Maybe we can get her to sit with us.”
“You’re nuts,” I said. “She’s obviously going to sit with the other faculty.”
As Harriet got closer, I could see that she had applied bright red lipstick to her lips and reconfigured her softly curled hair into a loose bun. With a black leather bag over her shoulder, she sashayed across the floor of Barcelona and neared us. To all of our amazement, Harriet came to our table first, stood there at the edge, and smiled sweetly as she looked down at us.
“Hey there,” she said. “Good class tonight.”
“Yeah,” said Minju absently.
“Are you ready for next week, Erica?” asked Harriet.
“Definitely,” said Erica. “I’m pumped about my story.” Harriet laughed softly.
“Great,” she said, “Penny,” Harriet continued, looking down at me with a slight grin. “Don’t take anything too personally from tonight. That’s just the nature of the workshop.”
“I know,” I said, looking away from Harriet demurely. “Thank you.”
“I enjoyed your story,” she went on. “There were issues, of course, but just keep doing what you’re doing. You’ll find an audience.”
“Do you want to join us, Harriet?” asked Minju, speaking up excitedly.
“Hmm,” mused Harriet, her eyes darting to the booth next to us where the other faculty sat. “Maybe in a bit,” she said. “I’m going to sit with the other instructors for now.”
“Cool,” said Minju. “We’ll save a spot for you!”
And with that, Harriet smiled at us and sauntered the few steps over to the table next to us, lowering herself down into the booth of her peers. I couldn’t help but feel elated that Harriet mentioned she liked my story, even if it might be just a consolation on her part from my harsh critique. Even though the writing program was quite the familiar place, professors going out to the bar with students, everybody on a first name basis, there was something distant about Harriet, like she was on a higher plain, like she was some sort of celebrity. I wondered if the other instructors felt that, too, or if it was just us starstruck students.
“Can you imagine being tight with her?” asked Erica. “Like, what if you were friends with her and put a book out and she wrote a blurb for you? Do you think that would be an instant best seller?”
“I think she has the same agent as Joyce Carol Oates,” said Minju. “What if she got you a meeting with her agent?”
“What if you hung out with her and Oates?” said Erica, wide-eyed.
“You girls are crazy,” I said, taking a small sip from my gin and tonic. “Just because you become friends with her doesn’t mean you’re going to sign with her agent or hang out with Joyce Carol Oates.”
“But you could,” said Minju. “Their literary world is very tightly knit.”
“Why would she want to hang out with any of us anyway?” I said. “We’re just her students. None of us have book deals or are getting literary award nominations. She runs with a more elite crowd.”
“Don’t crush my dreams,” said Minju with a teasing deadpan. “Don’t kill this for me, Penny.”
“I’m just trying to bring you back to reality,” I said, looking down, sipping my drink, grinning.
I glanced over my shoulder and watched as Harriet interacted with the other faculty members in the next booth over. She was quiet, occasionally interjecting her thoughts, but never becoming too loud or emotional. Harriet didn’t have an alcohol drink in front of her, rather, she sipped lightly from her glass of water through a straw. There was something very proper about Harriet, very contained, very reserved. I’d never considered it before, but she kind of reminded me of myself. She seemed like an introvert, content to live in her own world, but prepared to make her voice heard when need be. Although my friends next to me were interested in Harriet simply for her writing connections, I felt a weird affinity toward her as a person that made me want to know more.
“I think I need another drink,” said Minju, looking down at her empty glass, taking one more dramatic and noisy sip from the straw. “Your turn, Penny,” she said.
“I don’t know if I’m going to have any more,” I said.
“I got the first round, babe,” said Minju. “You’re up.”
“Fine, fine,” I said, straightening up my posture and waiting as Minju slid out of the booth to let me free.
“Get me a beer,” said Erica, handing me some bills. I scooted on my butt on the pleather seat underneath us until I was at the end of the booth. I stood up and Minju smiled happily at me.
“I’ll do a gin and tonic,” she said.
“Gin and tonic and a beer,” I said, recounting my friends’ orders.
“Let’s grease these wheels!” exclaimed Minju, slipping past me and collapsing down into the booth. She moved next to Erica and the two of them offered up a thankful smile.
Just as I was about to make my way up to the bar to get our next round of drinks, my eyes moved to the faculty booth to catch a quick glimpse of Harriet. But as I looked over, I was surprised to find Harriet already looking at me, her eyes fierce and intense, and it was then for the first time I noticed how icy blue they were. As Harriet and I gazed at each other, neither of us shyly averting our eyes, I felt an uneasy rumble in my stomach, a tiny cramp, an upset little rustle. Slowly, carefully, Harriet let a smile move over her lips. It was a warm and inviting smile, a knowing smile, a playful smile.
I offered a weak and uncertain smile in return and then I looked away, looking instead up toward the front of the bar, and began to make my way through the boisterous crowd of writers.
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DORMITORY DEAREST
“OKAY,” SHE said, like she was preparing for some task. “Get up here.” She motioned to my legs, indicating I should sit crosslegged like her on the couch. I followed her instructions and the two of us positioned ourselves to face each other.
“All right,” I said, breathing deeply, feeling my nerves buzz. I was preparing myself for anything, which was a difficult task for me.
“Look at me,” said Hosannah tenderly. Our gazes met and I tried to follow along as her blue eyes shifted ever so slightly back and forth.
“Okay,” I said in a subtle murmur.
Without saying another word, Hosannah slowly leaned her face in closer to me, causing my heart rate to speed and my arms to shake just slightly. As she moved toward me, I watched as her eyes closed and I followed her lead, closing my own eyes. Before I could even allow my brain to process much more information, I felt Hosannah’s lips touch mine, her plastic glasses bump lightly against my nose, instigating a delicate and gentle kiss. She placed her palm on my leg and leaned into me, releasing a low sigh, her lips wetly smacking against mine in an amorous collision. Although I had actually kissed someone else before, a boy, when I was younger, this kiss with Hosannah, sitting there on my dorm room couch, felt like my very first real kiss. It felt passionate and right.
I moaned just so as I quickly learned from Hosannah, tilting my head to one side just as she did, focusing on feeling her lips coalesce with my own. Her hand felt heavy and pressured on my leg, in a comforting way, and although my anxiety was running wild it all felt like some necessary release, some detonation of pent up doubt. As I kissed Hosannah, I could feel pleasure and happiness welling up in my heart.
Just as quickly as it had happened, the kiss came to an end. Hosannah slowly moved her head back and our eyes opened together. I longed for more. I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to taste her lips forever. I wanted to feel that closeness and intimacy again and again, a never-ending cascade of sensual pleasure and affinity.
“How did that feel?” asked Hosannah softly, her eyes dancing with spirit as she searched in me for a hint of what was going on in my head.
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MY WRITING PROFESSOR: A NOVELLA
BEFORE I knew it, I had set my phone down on the bed and I was laying back into my pillows, happily beaming, eyes closed, my
hand tenderly massaging myself through the thin tensile fabric of my pale blue panties. I could feel my own subtle dampness. It had been a little while since I’d gotten intimately involved with someone. In fact, I hadn’t had a girlfriend since before I moved to Chicago. There was that little one off with this girl Kristen, who I’d met through Erica, but that didn’t really work out and it wasn’t too inspiring anyway.
But stuff with Harriet, it thrilled me. And I was taking that thrill out on the sex-starved, achy little blossom between my thighs.
As I kneaded my fingers into myself, my impending wetness lightly soaking through the front of my panties, I thought about what life could be like with Harriet. I pictured her beautiful smile, those piercing blue eyes, her long blonde rivulets of hair twisting and turning down to her shoulders. And I thought of being in her writer scene. I don’t want to make it seem like I was simply interested in her for her connections, that was more something that Minju portrayed. But I can admit that it would be a definite plus. It’s just part of the total package.
“Mmm,” I happily moaned as I pushed two fingers together up and down my slit, petting myself through the stretchy material, feeling my midsection growing hotter. I squirmed a little bit there in my sheets, tossing my head from one side to the other, wriggling in my bed as I lazily pleasured myself. I had gotten good at it. Practice makes perfect.
It wasn’t much longer before I was eager to go further. Taking hold of the waistband of my panties, I slid them down my legs and kicked them off my feet, then returning my fingers to my pussy to do a bit more petting. My fingers easily slipped between my lips, rubbing myself back and forth, feeling a little erotic spark each time my wet fingertips hit my clit. After a few of those enticing sparks, I decided to focus my attention on my clit, fingering it around in smooth, soft circles, resting my palm on my trimmed up bush.
Harriet was foremost on my mind as I masturbated, and I dreamt up all the scenarios I could to make me feel closer to her. I imagined being in class, having her talk about my story, a story that — in my dream — she had already read and edited, remarking to the class how thoughtful and true it was, how refreshing and exciting. We would then wait for the rest of the students to leave once class ended, we’d poke at each other lovingly, we’d kiss and giggle, and then we’d slip out of the classroom hand-in-hand to run off to have fun, just the two of us.
The Sexy Librarian: A Lesbian Romance Page 9
