“Oh God,” I intoned again, tittering in delight. “Okay,” I called down to Harriet, lightly tapping on her head, my body still squirming, feeling tickled, elated, fulfilled, yet incredibly sensitive. “Okay, Harriet,” I said again, laughing harder now as I still felt her mouth caressing my hot love.
Slowly Harriet raised her head, her face gleaming in the low light of the bedroom with the subtle wetness on her mouth and chin. She smiled wantonly at me, like together we’d just taken the lid off of a rainbow that could never be stuffed back into the jar. It was a joint effort, a shared responsibility, and we both rejoiced in it.
After another beat, Harriet crawled upwards on the bed and collapsed next to me, dropping an arm lazily over my naked body and pulling herself close. I could hear Harriet humming, almost purring in adoration as we snuggled there together, me slowly coming down from my orgasm, she happy that she could usher me to completion. I really couldn’t think straight in that moment, my mind swimming with those preciously sexy post-coital thoughts, the kind of thoughts that convince you that anything is possible, that perfect is easily achievable, that love rules the day. I contentedly cuddled into Harriet, turned my head slightly, and kissed her on the forehead.
“Thank you,” I mused. “I can see how someone might get addicted to that.”
“Did I just inadvertently turn you into a sex addict?” she said with a smile.
“No, I think I already was one,” I said. “You would be surprised how many times I’ve had to replace the battery on my rechargeable vibrator.” Harriet laughed at me and rubbed her face ardently against mine.
“You’re funny, Penny,” she said. “When you open up, you’ve got a lot of good things to say.”
“I think you just want my legs to open up,” I retorted. She laughed again.
“Stop,” she said. “Or you’re going to seriously make me fall for you.”
“So then I probably shouldn’t stop,” I said.
“No,” said Harriet softly. “No, probably not.”
We looked into each other’s eyes sweetly for a moment before we let our lips meet, coalescing in a tender kiss, melting into each other, neither of us concerned about our age difference, our academic relationship, none of that. Rather, we were both just simply happy that we were here together in this moment, sweaty and naked, embracing, kissing, hearts beating together and beginning to syncopate, a shared joy that two people are only allowed to feel with there’s something intimately special between them. And I definitely felt there was something intimately special between Harriet and I.
*
I stayed over at Harriet’s condo that night, naturally, and did so happily, the two of us laughing and smiling and cuddling together warmly as we both glowed in the newness of our encounter. After that, something changed in how I felt for her and I could barely even see the age difference between us. I’m sure if other people saw us together they could certainly see it. Harriet was close to 20 years older than me. But I didn’t feel it. And it wasn’t like she was slightly immature or I was mature for my own age. It wasn’t that specifically. It was just that age was completely removed from the equation.
The somewhat joking thing to say about a relationship between an older person and a younger person is that “age ain’t nothing but a number.” But I must admit, whenever I saw a couple walking around with an obvious age disparity, I often mused to myself how they could possibly make it work. They grew up in different times, different generations, it was difficult to see what they could possibly have in common. Once I got involved in such a relationship, however, all of that criticism dissipated. Harriet and I had everything in common. Well, we had writing in common, which was basically everything to the two of us. And I was so completely smitten by her, so eager to learn from her and tag along in her ensuing success.
My interest in her success wasn’t forged from envy or anything like that. It was amazement, it was inspiration, it was the desire to figure out how she did it and to emulate it. Of course, there’s no one single path to success. Everybody has their own twists and turns, a personal crooked path to getting to where they want to go and it’s folly to compare yourself to others. But you can always learn from the success and failures of other people doing what you want to do and Harriet was definitely coming into a place I myself wanted to reside.
Primarily, however, my heart beat with a furious infatuation for her. I doted on her.
We spent that full weekend together and celebrated the good news she had heard from her publisher. It was one of those whirlwind weekends as I’m sure you’ve had before when you find yourself involved in new love. You simply don’t want to leave the person’s side. Harriet and I went out to brunch together, bonding over our shared love of cappuccino with cinnamon, we lazily sat around her condo together and read the stories for the coming week’s workshop, commiserating and giggling and even poking fun of some of the other students’ work, and we often broke for a torrid lovemaking session in her messy sheets, fingers and tongues wetly flicking and licking. I’d never been taught so much about sex in such a short time frame.
As our weekend came to a close on Sunday evening, we resigned to the fact that we’d have to miss each other on Monday but would reconnect on Tuesday evening at school. Harriet drove me across town, pulling up to my apartment building just off California near Humboldt Park. After she pulled to the curb and put her flashers on, she laughed softly.
“I’ve never been this far west in the city before,” she said. “I heard it was dangerous.”
“It’s not,” I said. “I mean, there are gangs and stuff but it’s not like it was a decade or two ago.”
“It’s pretty cool over here,” mused Harriet, looking out of her car windows as the deep orange sun moved its way down the horizon. “Maybe I’ll spend a weekend at your apartment next.”
“Oh God,” I said. “My apartment is nowhere near as comfortable as yours.”
“You can come over any time,” she said sweetly. “Penny, I had a great time with you this weekend and I hope that we can, you know, keep this up.”
“Me too,” I said, grinning happily at Harriet. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so thrilled.
“Listen,” she said, looking a little sullen suddenly. I was a bit confused by the change in tone. “We should really keep this a secret while you’re in my class,” said Harriet. “So when we’re at school, let’s just be cool about it.”
“All right,” I said, nodding knowingly. “That makes sense.”
“And — don’t tell anybody this, okay? — after this year I probably won’t be sticking around Chicago,” she said. “It’s not certain yet, but there’s a chance I might get a teaching job back in New York City, which is really where I belong.”
“Really?” I said with sadness. “I mean, what about us?”
“Let’s not worry about any of that right now,” she said, trying to remain upbeat. “We’ll work it out. Once they announce the National Book Award nominees there will be a reading out in New York that I’ll have to attend. Maybe you could join me and check it out?”
“Yeah,” I said absently. “Yeah, that could be a lot of fun. I’ve always wanted to visit.”
“Let’s not stress about any of this,” she said, leaning over in her seat and kissing me tenderly. Our first kiss was quick and light, but after that neither of us could help it and we began a more passionate and lusty kiss, a kiss reminiscent of our weekend together, a kiss inspiring thoughts of what other kisses might come.
“All right,” I said affirmatively. “I’m excited.”
“I’ll see you Tuesday, Penny,” said Harriet, kissing me once more.
I smiled adoringly at her, opened the car door and slinked out, pulling my satchel along with me. Harriet blew me a kiss as I shut the door behind me, we gazed at one another admiringly for a minute, and then she put her car in gear and pulled off the curb, driving away from me and from our wonderful weekend. I felt like I was floating. I spun aroun
d and sashayed toward my apartment building door, gleeful and exultant, ready to spend my evening furiously writing, newly stimulated by Harriet’s inspiring aura.
*
“All right,” said Harriet, passing Erica’s story to the student sitting nearest to indicate that the critique was over. The rest of the class began passing their copies of the story back to Erica who looked a little beaten up from the workshop but all the wiser for it. The writing critiques were certainly difficult on the creative person, but they ultimately made you a better and more thoughtful writer. “That was a good critique, everyone,” continued Harriet. “I think we could all take something from it in regards to a compelling plot that moves the story along. Your readers want to see something happen, not just read the musings of an introspective main character.”
The class all seemed to agree with Harriet’s summation, simply nodding or muttering “yes” without anybody firmly speaking up to interject. After a moment, however, my friend Minju spoke up with a change in subject, something we were all thinking.
“Congratulations, Harriet,” said Minju. “I read the National Book Award nominations today online and your book was on the list!” A few people in class clapped, somebody made an excited “woo!” sound, we all smiled.
“Thank you, Minju,” demurred Harriet, looking away, obviously a bit bashful about the accolade but excited nonetheless. “It’s really a nice honor.”
“You deserve it!” said Minju. “Your novel is great.”
“Thanks,” said Harriet once more. “That does bring up a logistical issue actually for us here in class,” she said. “There’s a reading for the awards in New York in about a week and a half that I’ll be going to. So not next Tuesday but the following Tuesday there’s a good chance I’ll miss class.”
“Will class be canceled?” asked Bernie.
“It doesn’t have to be,” said Harriet. “You all could meet without me and run the workshop yourselves. Let’s just think about it and address it next week.”
Everybody began standing from their seats, packing their bags, and started shuffling toward the door. I felt my heart beating quicker as I imagined approaching Harriet and talking to her, perhaps accompanying her out after class. It had only been a day since I saw her but I was eager to spend more time with her. As Harriet packed her things, she flashed me a coy smile.
“Isn’t that so flippin’ cool?” Minju said to me in a whisper. “Harriet’s book is nominated for a National Book Award. That’s a dream.”
“It is really cool,” I admitted. “It’s pretty jealousy inducing.”
“I’m glad we get to learn from her,” said Minju. “And it’ll definitely look great to people to say you took a class with her.”
“Hey Penny,” said Harriet, creeping up on us and interjecting into my and Minju’s conversation. “Can I chat with you for a minute?” Minju’s eyes went wide and looked at me with surprise, as though she were saying ‘what’s this all about?’
“Sure,” I said. “Minju, I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”
“Are you going to go to the Barcelona afterwards?” asked Minju. I looked to Harriet and lifted my brow in questioning and she shrugged.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll text you.”
“All right,” said Minju, obviously intrigued by what Harriet had to talk to me about. She hefted her bag up on her shoulder. “I’ll see you both later.” And with that, she headed toward the door, exiting with the rest of our classmates.
Harriet and I waited there until we were alone in the classroom before she spoke again.
“Congratulations,” I said with a grin.
“Thank you, Penny,” said Harriet with that same fire in her eyes that I remembered from the weekend. She lightly placed her hand on my hip. “I have to admit that it’s pretty thrilling. I knew it was coming but once it was made official, it was just a crazy rush of emotions I’d never felt before.”
“A lot’s going to change for you,” I said, pretending like I knew what I was talking about. “I assume it will, I mean. I bet your book will get on the New York Times bestseller list.” Harriet laughed softly.
“Well, maybe,” she said. “It’s flirted with the list before. But you’d be surprised at how few books you need to sell to even make that list. And it’s not like many people actually read literary fiction anyway. If I was smart, I’d be writing romance. That’s what everybody reads.”
“I guess I’ve never thought about any of that too hard before,” I said. “Regardless, it’s just a super impressive achievement.”
“It is,” mused Harriet. “Look, Penny, I’ve got to tell you something.”
“All right,” I said, suddenly feeling a bit worried by Harriet’s tone.
“The good news is that because of this nomination, Darwin wants to lock me down for two more books,” said Harriet.
“Wow!” I said. “That’s terrific. And I’m sure there’s a nice advance in there for your troubles.”
“It’s not bad,” said Harriet with a grin. “But the bad news is — well, I mean, it’s still good news but you could interpret it as bad news — is that they want to get me back out to New York and put me in a teaching position at Columbia University.”
“That’s great!” I said. “Oh — yeah, I see why that’s bad news.”
“Yes,” affirmed Harriet.
“Hmm,” I pondered. “Yeah, that sucks.”
“I’m going to finish the semester here in Chicago,” said Harriet. “But I’m taking them up on their offer,” she said. “I really miss New York and I want to go back.”
“I understand,” I said, a sudden solemnity hitting me. “That’s really what’s best for you.”
“This doesn’t have to mean the end for us,” said Harriet, trying to correct course, adjusting the tone of our conversation. “I’m really excited about you, about what we have,” she said. “It just, you know, puts a speed bump in front of us.”
“I have to think about it,” I said. “The long distance thing has never worked for me.”
“I totally get that,” said Harriet with a wan smile. “I’m smitten with you, Penny.” She leaned forward and softly kissed me. I couldn’t help myself, eager to be near her, and I tenderly returned her advance. We stood there, alone in the classroom, lightly kissing for a few moments as we tried to forget about what Harriet was telling me.
“Okay,” I said, putting a stop to our kiss and gently placing my palm on Harriet’s upper chest. “Let me figure out what I want to do.”
“New York is a wonderful place,” said Harriet, almost as though she were lost in reverie. “It’s magical.”
“It’s expensive,” I said.
“It’s really not much worse than Chicago,” she said.
“All right,” I said, backing away from her, beginning to feel anxious by the conversation. I picked up my bag and threaded my arm through the strap. Harriet looked a bit sad by my reaction.
“I’m sorry, Penny,” she said sullenly. “Call me, okay?”
“I’ll talk to you later,” I said. I all of a sudden felt quite absent.
*
I knew I had to talk to someone about all this. While it was probably best to keep my and Harriet’s budding relationship a secret, especially while she was still my writing professor, I couldn’t figure out my conundrum on my own. I really didn’t have many friends in Chicago, as it was only recently that I’d moved to the city for school, and my friend circle was mostly made up of classmates. Added to that I spent most of my time writing and being a typical introvert and not being a very avid fan of boozing it up at the bars. Not a good recipe for successful socialization.
Sometimes, though, you just need to bounce your problems off of other people. It’s nice to have a different perspective, someone who can see your issues with a disparate attitude, maybe tell you if you’re just looking at the entire scenario with blinders on. The fact that what Harriet and I were building together was happening so fast was certain
ly something to give me pause. I mean, these kind of romances happen all the time, they ramp up quickly and burn out just as fast. And it could also be the case that I truly was just a young lay for Harriet. Maybe she’d done this before with other students of hers. I imagine it’s easy to sleep with young, naive, impressional people who look up to you.
My brain had a lot of items to process.
I was a bit reluctant to do it, but after some consideration I decided to text Minju. She was really the closest friend I had made in the program up to that point and she was honestly a lot of fun. High energy, excited Korean-American young woman. She worked doing copyediting at one of the local Chicago daily papers by day, aspiring novelist by night. My trepidation in revealing my situation to Minju, however, was that she was sort of a super fan of Harriet and I wasn’t sure if my admittance would inspire envy in her or anything negative that could come along with that.
After going back and forth about it for a couple of hours, I texted Minju and asked her out to coffee that evening.
“I need your advice,” I had texted her. “Can we meet for coffee tonight?”
“Of course!” was Minju’s response, complete with a long train of smiley face emoticons.
The two of us met at a coffee shop in Logan Square, Minju’s neighborhood, around the time that she was getting home from work. Her meeting me made me feel like she was a real friend. She had a husband at home, writing to do, a life to live, but she agreed to help me out. It warmed me.
“Hi Penny!” said Minju, waving to me as she entered the coffee shop. I had arrived early to spend a little time brainstorming for stories. After ordering a coffee, Minju plodded over toward my table, unloaded her work bag on the back of the chair, and sat down.
“I’m so glad you came out,” I admitted to her. “I was worried that you wouldn’t able to.”
My Writing Professor: A Lesbian Romance Page 5
