The Absolute Novels: Absolute Beginners & Absolute Lovers: The Absolutely Complete Love Story (An Absolute Novel)

by Sj Hooks

  “Fun” isn't exactly how I'd put it. Frustrating? Yes. Irritating? Definitely. Fun? No.

  I gave her a grunt of acknowledgment but didn't say anything else.

  "Well, I sure had fun," she said, and let out a small laugh. "I can't believe that some people would actually have something against the author."

  "It's not the first time that’s happened," I said. "Ellis received a number of death threats after writing American Psycho."

  "Yeah, I know. I was thinking I might do my thesis on New York writers," she said conversationally.

  I just nodded and sighed with relief when we turned onto her street.

  "Well, good night," I said, staring straight ahead.

  Get out of the car, get out of the car, get out of the car.

  "Listen, Stephen, it's still pretty early. Would you like to come up for some coffee or a drink?"

  My heart stuttered in my chest. Why would she want to have coffee with me?

  No. No, no, no. Definitely not.

  “Yes,” I gulped.

  What the hell am I doing?

  Chapter 3

  Ms. Wilde smiled as she exited the car, and I found myself following her up the stairs to her apartment, as though my legs suddenly worked independently from the rest of me.

  What am I doing? I should not be doing this.

  "Come on in," she said, opening the door.

  I was met by a sweet smell that seemed to permeate the place. Not unpleasant, but definitely exotic.

  What is that? Flowers?

  I looked around as I entered, instantly horrified. Her place was a complete mess. It was small with just three rooms, as far as I could see: a tiny kitchen, a bathroom, and a large room that doubled as a bedroom and a living room. I stared at her bed and wondered what on earth she’d been thinking when she decorated it. The thing looked like it came out of a pornographic version of One Thousand and One Nights, complete with a deep purple bedspread and huge pillows in gold, pink, and purple hues. It even had a canopy. At the foot of the bed there was a large wooden chest with exotic-looking candle lamps in the same color scheme and a holder for incense sticks.

  Ah, that explains the smell.

  I turned to look at her, and she was clearly waiting for me to say something about the monstrosity.

  "Your bed is very, uh, interesting," I offered, which was the nicest thing I could say about it.

  "Thank you." She smiled. "I know it's a little over the top, but I like to have a nice place to sleep." She lit the candles in the lamps and looked at me again. "And to do other things that don't involve sleep," she added.

  I blinked a few times, trying to figure out if she realized the innuendo of her statement. She looked perfectly at ease, still lighting those candles everywhere, as though this was a perfectly normal conversation.

  "Would you like a drink, Stephen?" she asked, blowing out the match.

  I felt perplexed, again. I had never been in a situation like this before. “T—that’s why I’m here,” I stuttered. “You offered me one.”

  "So I did. Wine? Beer? Coffee? Tea?" She threw the options at me.

  "What are you having?" I finally asked.

  "You," she said with a smile.

  What did she say? Women don't say things like that in real life. I must have misheard her.

  "And some wine, I think," she added, walking into the kitchen.

  I looked around for the hidden cameras, feeling like I was on an episode of To Catch a Predator—only I wasn’t the predatory one in this situation. I found no cameras, only clutter. Everywhere.

  How can she live like this?

  The neat freak in me was on the verge of a mild panic attack. The girl clearly lacked the ability to pick up after herself. Everywhere I looked I saw disorder: books haphazardly stacked on every surface, articles of clothing hanging over chairs, and a small desk covered in papers and still more books. The place wasn't dirty, exactly, just disorganized, and I really didn't like it. Everything seemed a little worn except her laptop and other electronic devices, which looked brand-new. She came out of the kitchen and handed me a glass of red wine, and I noticed that the glass she was holding didn't match mine.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, she placed her drink on the nightstand and started to remove her boots. I took a sip of wine and to my great surprise found it to be delicious.

  "I helped make that, you know," she said, pulling off a boot.

  "Make what?"

  "The wine."

  "Oh," I said, not quite sure how to respond. "Up in Napa?"

  "South of France, four years ago," she said, removing the other boot. "I worked in a winery the summer after I graduated from high school."

  Her response was completely unexpected, like most things about her. It was unsettling.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Why not?"

  This was, without a doubt, the strangest conversation of my life. I took another sip of wine, silently praying that Ms. Wilde hadn't had her feet in the grapes as was sometimes shown on film. I glanced at her naked feet and decided maybe that wouldn’t be so bad after all. They were small and delicate and looked well-groomed.

  She gets pedicures but puts on her makeup with a spatula? It makes no sense.

  "Do you like it?" she asked. "The wine, I mean."

  I nodded.

  "Good, I'll tell Etienne the next time I email him."

  She walked over to what looked like some sort of stereo, leaving her boots on the floor next to the bed.

  "What would you like to listen to?" she asked, looking at me over her shoulder.

  I didn't know what to suggest. I was fairly certain she didn't have any of the music that I listened to at home, considering I didn't know any of the bands on her T-shirts.

  "What are you listening to now?" I asked.

  "The Smiths, but they don’t really set the right mood, you know?"

  I had no idea who she was talking about, but nodded anyway.

  She saw through my act. "They can be a little depressing sometimes. Suicide, nuclear bombs, getting hit by ten-ton trucks, and so on," she said, handing me a small music player. "You choose something."

  I held the player, feeling a bit awkward as I pressed the tiny buttons, trying to get it to work.

  “Like this,” she said, running her finger down the screen.

  I mimicked her, watching the album titles. She had many to choose from and I was quite impressed with her eclectic tastes.

  So far, I’ve found two things that I don't dislike: her taste in wine and music.

  I finally settled on an Otis Redding greatest hit and she inserted the device into the stereo, starting the music.

  "Good choice," she said approvingly, and looked up at me.

  I hadn't realized how much taller I was than her until now. She moved with so much determination and confidence that it was easy to overlook the fact that she was such a small woman—girl.

  I wonder how old she is.

  "I would have chosen that album too," she said, taking a step closer to me. Then she smirked and her eyes twinkled mischievously. "Well, either that or Prince. He does have a way with words." She stood up on her toes and sang some words in my ear.

  For the first time in my adult life, I was actually tempted to throw out an expletive. I managed to resist and, instead, swallowed and took a step back. She was standing much too close for comfort and I was suddenly worried that she had spiked the wine because I felt more than a little lightheaded.

  "Will you help me unzip my dress?" she asked, turning her back to me. "My friend Meg put me in it and I have no idea how to get out."

  "Is she the one with the red hair or the black hair?" I heard myself ask, hoping to distract her so I wouldn't have to watch her remove her dress.

  "The redhead. Did you see us in the bar?" she asked, still standing with her back to me.

  I nodded, even though she couldn't see me.

  "Stephen, the dress," she said, with an air of impatience. "I don't wan
t to sleep in this. It isn't very comfortable."

  I saw no escape and finally reached out to unzip it, closing my eyes once my fumbling fingers cooperated.

  "Thank you," she said softly. I heard her moving around a little. "Why do you have your eyes shut?" she asked, sounding amused.

  "I don't know," I said, although I knew exactly why.

  "You can open your eyes now.”

  "A-are you decent?"

  "Well, I wouldn't go that far," she chuckled. “Look at me.”

  No, better keep my eyes closed. I should leave now, before I get into trouble.

  The second the thought entered my mind I realized that I was already in trouble, because I felt Ms. Wilde's hands on each side of my face as her body pressed against mine. And she felt naked.

  This is not happening. What am I going to do?

  I had no idea what this was. Why would Ms. Wilde do this? She had done nothing but annoy me all semester, and it couldn’t have been uintentional on her part. Could it? Was she doing this to tease me, like she did in class whenever she smiled or winked at me?

  "Stephen, look at me.”

  I realized that I would need my vision if I was going to make it out of this apartment in one piece. Otherwise, I would most likely trip over one of the books on the floor and break my neck. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes and, sure enough, Ms. Wilde's face was only inches from mine.

  "Thank you for driving me home," she said with a smile.

  "You're welcome," I answered automatically.

  Her hands felt scorching hot on my cheeks as her breath fanned across my face. Even with the cigarette she had smoked earlier her breath smelled sweet like the mint she had popped in the car, and I felt myself inhale deeply as she exhaled. I looked into her eyes and tried to figure out what on earth was going on, and how this had come to pass.

  I didn't have any more time to ponder as Ms. Wilde pressed her lips against mine and kissed me. I felt my jaw go slack from surprise and she took this as an invitation to plunge her tongue into my mouth. I was in a state of complete and utter shock. She was kissing me, and I liked it. I liked it a lot.

  "Mmm, you taste good," she hummed. She ran her hands down my neck and tugged on the ends of my bowtie until it loosened. Before she dropped it on the floor, I caught her hand, putting it in my pocket for safekeeping.

  She started unbuttoning my shirt. I stood, frozen, already panting for breath.

  "Wow," she exhaled as she opened my shirt and looked at me. "You work out."

  I nodded. My breath hitched in my throat when she leaned in and kissed my neck. Her hands hovered mere inches away from my long-untouched skin. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want this strange, irritating girl, but I did. God, I did. It had been so long.

  “Please,” I croaked.

  She raised her eyes to mine and placed the palms of her hands on my chest. I shuddered with relief and fear, in equal amounts. Slipping off my shirt off, she hummed in what I hoped was approval.

  "You have a great body," she said. "I never would have guessed with the way you dress."

  You have a problem with the way I dress? Priceless.

  I didn't say anything. I allowed myself to glance below her neck. She wasn't naked, but she was close. All she had on was a red strapless bra and a pair of minuscule underwear of the same color. Her skin looked soft and smooth and, thankfully, I couldn't see any more tattoos.

  Out of nowhere she dropped to her knees and started opening my belt.

  "Wait, what…what are you doing?"

  She looked up at me with confusion in her eyes.

  "I'm taking off your pants, Stephen. Or would you prefer to do this on the bed?"

  Do what? What are we doing? What am I doing? Why am I not leaving?

  "D-do what?" I stammered.

  She stood up and kissed my lips lightly.

  "Have sex," she said slowly, as if I were mentally challenged, which frankly wasn't that far off at that moment. "I’d love to have sex with you."

  I had no idea how to respond to her brazen statement. She tugged on my hand and I followed her to the bed as if I were in a trance, belt open, pants unbuttoned, and completely unraveled on the inside. Never in a million years would I have imagined myself in this situation, about to engage in a sexual act with a girl I had only ever thought of in a negative way, and a student no less. Before I could start to panic, she pushed me down on the bed and climbed on top of me, straddling my waist. Taking in my startled expression, she smirked and then pulled off her bra.

  Wow. Just…wow.

  I stared at her naked breasts and felt my mouth go dry. My hands lay limply by my side, my fingers twitching at the thought of touching her. If my passivity bothered her, she didn’t show it. She merely smiled and lifted my hands until the soft flesh of her breasts molded itself against my palms. Matt was absolutely right: a handful was perfect, and they were most definitely perky, as he put it. She lowered herself all the way down onto my lap, rocking back and forth.

  “Oh…” My accompanying moan was embarrassingly loud to my ears.

  "You really like that. Don't you, Professor?" she teased.

  Her words sobered me instantly.

  She is my student. I'll get fired for doing this!

  "Stop!" I yelled, bolting upright as she continued to straddle me.

  "What is it?"

  "We…I…I can't do this. It's wrong." I scrambled to find the right words. I realized that I was still holding her breasts and let go immediately as if they had burnt me.

  "I shouldn't have come up here," I said quickly. "You've been drinking and I'm just…"

  Desperate.

  "We can't do this," I said, averting my eyes from her naked upper body.

  She was still sitting on top of me, smelling just right and feeling even better.

  "I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about," she said, sounding very calm.

  I looked up at her. "You won't?"

  "No, of course not. Why would I?"

  I couldn't give her a good answer. "If this gets out, I could lose my job," I said, mostly to myself.

  "It won't. Whatever happens here tonight stays between the two of us." I looked at her, but couldn't see anything insincere in her eyes. "Do you want me?" she asked, reaching for my hands again. This time she put them on her naked thighs.

  I nodded. I did want her. I hadn't been with a woman in a long time and I had started to worry I might never again get the chance. Dating and even the act of meeting a new woman in general terrified me. Ms. Wilde didn’t scare me, though. She made me nervous, yes, but not in an entirely unpleasant way.

  "Good," she said, as if the subject was resolved. "Because I really want you, too."

  "Why?" I heard myself asking.

  "Why?" she laughed. "Because you're hot and I’m horny."

  I gaped at her. I had never met a woman who was so open about her sexuality. It was equally exciting and unsettling.

  "Do you want to?" she asked me, running her fingers through my hair.

  My head fell back, following her hands. I nodded.

  "Good, then lie back and enjoy this. Stop thinking so much," she said, smiling.

  I leaned back on my elbows and looked at her again. I suddenly felt brave.

  "Take your hair down.”

  She loosened her ponytail and shook her head, making her hair fall down around her naked shoulders. I had never seen her hair loose before. It was beautiful. I ran my fingers through it and marveled at its silky softness.

  "You should wear it like that every day," I said.

  "You should wear yours like this every day," she countered with a smirk and tugged on a handful of my uncombed hair. She reached for my glasses. "Can you see without them?"

  I nodded and she took them off and placed them on the nightstand. Her eyes roamed over me and she grinned wickedly.

  "I want to see the rest of you," she said, moving down a little to deal with my pants. She pulled them down in one fluid moti
on, taking my underwear with them. My shoes and socks came off next. I was naked in front of her, fully exposed, and my heart rate went into overdrive.

  "Holy shit, Stephen. I didn't expect that."

  "Um, w-what?" I stammered, daring to look up.

  Her eyes were fixed between my legs.

  "Well, you’re fucking perfect," she said matter-of-factly.

  Oh…what does that mean?

  She leaned forward, pressing soft kisses on my chest, and then moved lower. Lifting her head, she smiled at me, licking her lips suggestively.

  Wait. Is she going to…?

  "Whoa, you, err, you don't have to do that," I said quickly.

  She laughed a little, shaking her head. "I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to. Don't you want me to?"

  I couldn't believe that she would really want to do something like that, no matter how much I wanted it, and didn’t know what to say.

  "I don't know," I said helplessly.

  "Wait. Has no one ever done this to you before?" she asked, sitting up.

  I shook my head and took a deep breath to calm my nerves.

  "Never?" she asked incredulously.

  I shook my head again. I was starting to feel utterly embarrassed about my lack of experience. What would happen next? Would she start laughing at me? The thought made my insides churn.

  "Stephen, are you a virgin?"

  "No, of course not!"

  It was the truth. I had been with a few women, but never like this. It had always happened underneath the covers in a darkened room. It had always felt awkward, and I had never been with the same woman twice. They’d never wanted a repeat performance, so I must have been lousy in bed. I’d never had a woman straddle me as Ms. Wilde did, taking control of the situation.

  "I just, um, I don't have a lot of experience," I muttered.

  I contemplated leaving immediately and pretending that this never took place.

  "Oh," she said, granting me yet another smile. "You're in for a treat, then."

  I am?

  "Just lie back and relax," she said softly. "I'll be gentle with you, I swear."

  I couldn't figure out if she was teasing me or not. I didn't have time to decide as Ms. Wilde wrapped her hand around me and leaned down again. Her hand alone felt wonderful, but when her lips ghosted along my length, I groaned. And then her mouth engulfed me.