finally ready to start dating again.
+++++
On the last day of the semester, I was in my faculty office waiting for students to pick up their final graded analysis. Because I taught writing, my students rarely had final exams. Instead, they wrote research papers and reflection essays on how their skills had improved (or not) over the duration of the semester. I often joked with colleagues that teaching writing would have been the perfect job if not for having to actually grade student writing.
As one student after the next stopped by my office to pick up their paper, t ime passed quickly between the goodbyes, and soon it was almost time to go. 11:57am. I had told students I'd only be around until noon; after that I had plans to meet up with Nikole for lunch. Normally Troian joined us to help me celebrate the end of another semester, but she was currently busy working on revising her screenplay and had a hard deadline to meet. I rarely saw her during these stretches; she'd bury herself in work and emerge a few weeks later, bleary eyed and blinking at the sun.
I stared at the clock display in the corner of my computer monitor and frowned. 11:59am. I hadn’t wanted to hold out hope that Hunter would be one of the few students who showed up to pick up their final paper, but every time I heard footsteps in the hallway outside of my office, my heart had leapt into my throat. Few students ever came to pick up their final paper. As soon as exams were over most bolted off campus as fast as they could to start enjoying their summers. I had a few more obligations to attend to, but soon enough I would be enjoying summer as well. I knew it had been foolish to hope that I would see her one last time.
I started to pack up, putting some library books I needed to return into my book bag. I paused, however, when I heard shoes pounding up stairs and running down the corridor outside my office door.
Hunter ’s face appeared inside my doorway. “Am I too late?” Her normally alabaster skin looked flushed and she was breathing heavier than usual as if she’d just run a great distance.
Her sudden appearance startled me. Normally I needed time to mentally prepare for her; I’d all but given up hope that I’d see her one last time. To add insult to injury, the last time I'd seen her was in my dreams, seated on top of my desk, with me between her thighs.
“You made it just in time ,” I greeted without stumbling over my words too obviously. I handed her the folder that contained her final paper and her reflection letter. Unlike most of my other students, she didn't immediately tear into the folder in front of me like a savage animal to look at her grade.
"I'm so sorry if I made you wait," she apologized, still looking slightly disheveled. "I wanted to get here earlier, but time got away from me this morning." If possible, her flushed features made her look even more attractive than u sual. She always looked so put-together. It reminded me of the day she forgot her umbrella and I had given her a ride home. When she was fallible, she became more real. She wasn't just the quirky student who sat in the left corner of the classroom. She wasn't just some taboo teacher-student fantasy.
I watch ed a delicate line of sweat trickle down the hollow of her throat and disappear beneath the neckline of her t-shirt. She must have literally ran all the way here. I'd never seen her sweat, not even in the classroom when she’d kept her jacket on. My heart hammered loudly in my head, and her next words muffled in my ears.
"Hmmm?"
The world came rushing back into sharp focus. Her grey-blue eyes inspected me. "I asked if you're all done for the day now?"
"Oh, right. Yeah, I am," I managed to get out. "I'm getting lunch after this. If I don’t eat something soon, my stomach will sound like a disgruntled dinosaur." I found myself avoiding her eye contact more than usual. Also, it had become inexplicitly
+++++
On the last day of the semester, I was in my faculty office waiting for students to pick up their final graded analysis. Because I taught writing, my students rarely had final exams. Instead, they wrote research papers and reflection essays on how their skills had improved (or not) over the duration of the semester. I often joked with colleagues that teaching writing would have been the perfect job if not for having to actually grade student writing.
As one student after the next stopped by my office to pick up their paper, t ime passed quickly between the goodbyes, and soon it was almost time to go. 11:57am. I had told students I'd only be around until noon; after that I had plans to meet up with Nikole for lunch. Normally Troian joined us to help me celebrate the end of another semester, but she was currently busy working on revising her screenplay and had a hard deadline to meet. I rarely saw her during these stretches; she'd bury herself in work and emerge a few weeks later, bleary eyed and blinking at the sun.
I stared at the clock display in the corner of my computer monitor and frowned. 11:59am. I hadn’t wanted to hold out hope that Hunter would be one of the few students who showed up to pick up their final paper, but every time I heard footsteps in the hallway outside of my office, my heart had leapt into my throat. Few students ever came to pick up their final paper. As soon as exams were over most bolted off campus as fast as they could to start enjoying their summers. I had a few more obligations to attend to, but soon enough I would be enjoying summer as well. I knew it had been foolish to hope that I would see her one last time.
I started to pack up, putting some library books I needed to return into my book bag. I paused, however, when I heard shoes pounding up stairs and running down the corridor outside my office door.
Hunter ’s face appeared inside my doorway. “Am I too late?” Her normally alabaster skin looked flushed and she was breathing heavier than usual as if she’d just run a great distance.
Her sudden appearance startled me. Normally I needed time to mentally prepare for her; I’d all but given up hope that I’d see her one last time. To add insult to injury, the last time I'd seen her was in my dreams, seated on top of my desk, with me between her thighs.
“You made it just in time ,” I greeted without stumbling over my words too obviously. I handed her the folder that contained her final paper and her reflection letter. Unlike most of my other students, she didn't immediately tear into the folder in front of me like a savage animal to look at her grade.
"I'm so sorry if I made you wait," she apologized, still looking slightly disheveled. "I wanted to get here earlier, but time got away from me this morning." If possible, her flushed features made her look even more attractive than u sual. She always looked so put-together. It reminded me of the day she forgot her umbrella and I had given her a ride home. When she was fallible, she became more real. She wasn't just the quirky student who sat in the left corner of the classroom. She wasn't just some taboo teacher-student fantasy.
I watch ed a delicate line of sweat trickle down the hollow of her throat and disappear beneath the neckline of her t-shirt. She must have literally ran all the way here. I'd never seen her sweat, not even in the classroom when she’d kept her jacket on. My heart hammered loudly in my head, and her next words muffled in my ears.
"Hmmm?"
The world came rushing back into sharp focus. Her grey-blue eyes inspected me. "I asked if you're all done for the day now?"
"Oh, right. Yeah, I am," I managed to get out. "I'm getting lunch after this. If I don’t eat something soon, my stomach will sound like a disgruntled dinosaur." I found myself avoiding her eye contact more than usual. Also, it had become inexplicitly
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