To the soundtrack of the nineties, I stripped off long yards of tape, stomped on empty cardboard shells, pulled staples, pushed, heaved and sweated until every last thing was in place. The sofas, my painstakingly-chosen accent chairs, ottomans, cocktail tables and trays, framed pop art, bright white entertainment cabinet and display shelving, thick, plush throw rugs in soothing blue tones, bookshelves and dressers. For the first time in months, I had something I just hadn’t been ready for until now: my very own luxury bed.
Once the living room, kitchen and bathrooms were put together, I locked myself in the large bedroom with a heap of brand-new Egyptian cotton bedclothes. Everything was in shades of blue and white – crisp, clean and comfortable. Arranging my home was a deeply satisfying process, but there was something about putting the finishing touches on my own bedroom suite that felt almost sacred.
As I unfolded the pretty flowered sheet, I realized that I hadn’t actually made a bed since living with Allen. It was an astonishing thought that took me right back to all the memories I’d made in those silky sheets – including the most recent ones. I smiled sardonically at the image of Cole and I wrestling on Allen’s pristine bed set. Knowing the last time I’d been in my marriage bed was with my ex-brother-in-law gave me the confidence lift I needed to push any lingering sadness aside. After all, he couldn’t control my life anymore. I was more than capable of running the show.
A few minutes later, I had a soft, feminine haven all my own. Lit with soft lamps behind rose-colored shades, the room was both romantic and individualistic. My yearbooks were stacked neatly on a modern iron bookshelf, and I’d framed my most treasured photos and scattered them in an asymmetrical pattern along one wall. A funky analogue clock hung on the wall opposite my bed, ticking the seconds with a long, turquoise tail attached to a google-eyed cat.
With Alanis Morissette leaking softly under the door from the living room, I flopped onto the cool, smooth bed and spread my arms and legs. Finally, everything was coming together! I was cultivating a new identity as a young divorcee, one that I hoped was seen as fun and personable, but also intelligent and relevant to modern society. More than ever, it was time to push through the pain and confusion of the recent past and become a stronger, more complete woman.
Just as I was contemplating how exactly I should work towards that ultimate goal, my phone jingled to signal an incoming message. I smiled to myself, expecting to find a text from Frank outlining our upcoming dinner date. Who knew, after all this time had passed, I could still feel a spark with my English teacher? Especially after becoming used to a life of luxury, in which Frank Lehmen most certainly did not reside…
Reaching for the phone, I breathed a deep sigh of contentment. The lonely nights without hearing a peep from anyone were over! Give me another year and I’d be a fully-functional woman again, complete with good friends, romantic interests and probably even a career. Mom would be proud, if I ever bothered to fill her in. One of these days.
“Hey Mel. I miss you. Just had a really long, depressing day with my brother and would give anything to be able to crawl into bed with you right now. You know all those million tiny things I told you I needed to take care of before I could come home? Well, turns out the company’s in an even bigger mess than I realized going in. This is going to take some real time. Don’t get me wrong, I love being in Australia…and you’d love it too, I know you would! But I’ve got at least six months more of hard work in front of me before I can sit back and start reaping the rewards. Sometimes I wish I’d just stayed put. Do you miss me babe?
It was Adam.
Chapter 11
Relaxing and Texting
I let the message scroll by several times on the lock screen of my phone, but didn’t click through. I didn’t want Adam to see I’d read it, because then I’d have to respond – and I had absolutely no idea what to say to him.
Seriously, ‘I miss you?’ After all that bullshit about giving each other space so no one would get their heart broken in a long-distance relationship? Unbelievable. What the hell!
The new-found peace of mind I’d achieved by finally organizing and arranging my home was all but wiped away. The effects of the earlier drinks long gone, I was tired but could no longer think of going to sleep. It was still early in the evening, after all, and now my mind was too full of ‘what-ifs’ to rest. I stood up from the soft bed and shed my clothes, changing into a comfortable pair of sweat shorts and a tank top. Making my way to the living room, I admired the new fixtures in the hallway and kitchen. Truly, I’d made a beautiful home for myself. It helped soothe my overwhelmed brain.
I needed to talk to someone. Someone I wasn’t interested in romantically. Friends from the old days were few and far between, but there was someone that just might fit the bill. I found her number in my phone and typed off a quick message.
Hey Amber! It was great running into you the other day. I’m really impressed with what you’re accomplishing with your life! I’d love to hang out soon. For fun, and also advice. Sound cool?
I felt oddly nervous reaching out that way, especially since it had been so long since Amber and I had really been close. Even in our youth, we’d been pretty different people. I hoped she wouldn’t find my message pathetic. I also worried she’d agree to hang out but only view me as an emotional charity case. Though, I suppose, that was sort of her calling in life…
The phone jingled in my hand as I stretched out on the new white velvet sofa, turning the music down and switching on the brand-new television. I took a moment to browse through the satellite guide and switch to a marathon of The Simpsons. Yeah, yeah. Self-growth and everything, but there’s something to be said for the comfortable and familiar things in life.
Hey you! Funny, I was just thinking about sending you a text at the same time. Nice, hey? Why don’t we do something this Saturday? The library’s having a book exchange tea party, plus a reading by a local author. I was hoping to stop by but don’t really want to go by myself.
I didn’t answer right away. A tea party at the library? Really? I thought back to school and tried to picture a younger version of this woman. Ah, right. She was a bit bookish, wasn’t she. Before I could figure out a reply, another message came through.
OMG that’s totally lame isn’t it. You probably were thinking more like cocktails and heels? LOL sorry. We’ll do whatever you want!
I laughed out loud at her anxiety. I guess no one is perfect.
LOL well it’s not something I would have thought of myself, that’s for sure! But hey don’t be embarrassed! I’m so into trying new things right now. God knows I’ve had enough of the cocktail scene anyway. Do we get to wear hats?
I smiled, looking up at the TV as Homer danced around in his bathrobe and bear-claw slippers to celebrate a day spent skipping church. I always knew this city was full of possibilities…I just hadn’t stopped to consider what kinds of opportunities there were lurking in the most unlikely places! A tea and book party indeed. I wondered briefly what Shelley Newton would say to such an invitation. Hell, she’d probably turn out to be the organizer.
Oh too funny. I have no idea! I’m not much of a fashionista, though it would be kind of fun to dress up for the occasion. Tell you what – take me shopping first for something cute to wear? If hats happen, they happen.
Shopping? Yes, I could do that.
Perfect! It’s a date. I know just where to take you. Same day?
Yep! Let’s do it :) PS I’m happy to offer up whatever advice I can give. I hear Frank took you to see Shelley Newton? You’ll have to tell me all about it.
Will do. Catch you Saturday! I’ll get a hold of you in the morning :)
Great, see you then!
I turned the phone screen off and tossed it at my feet, stretching my arms behind my head. Though it was true I had a lot to be anxious about just then, making plans with a solid, smart, trustworthy human being without a dick made me feel a lot better. I shut my eyes momentarily, chuckling to myself about al
l the outfits I could put together for my first grown-up tea party. Hadn’t she said there was a reading? I probably should have asked more about that, but never mind – I could find the info online.
Another The Simpsons couch gag started on the TV, relaxing me even further into the soft embrace of the new piece of furniture. Before my eyes clamped shut for good, I kicked the phone up to where my hand could reach it and opened up the chat application.
Of course I miss you, dummy. That’s what happens when people you care about leave :(
I sent the message and fell asleep.
Chapter 12
Hard Teaching
The next morning revealed itself in a blaze of sunshine that cut right through the gauzy new curtains of the living room. Once again, I had slept on the sofa – albeit a new one. My phone was full of notifications, so upon waking I just flipped open the laptop on my way to brew some coffee. In the refrigerator I found a deli tray full of cherry-filled pastries, which I set proudly on the new coffee table next to my delicate mug of brew.
My multimedia inbox revealed an advertisement for ´Tea at the Biederman’, a formal job offer from Shelley Newton, a wan frowny-face from Adam, a message from Frank about dinner on Friday, and a collection of product recommendations from the department store. I responded appropriately and even scrolled through a couple of catalog pages before deciding on some books to fill up the new shelves: The New Me, Lunching with Your Future, and a handful of contemporary fiction.
As for Adam, I just rolled my eyes and left it at that. It was indescribably annoying to have my feelings constantly ruffled by someone who couldn’t even be there for me in a physical sense, let alone a deeper way. Best to concentrate on those closer to home.
Upon closer inspection, ‘Tea at the Biederman’ really did look like a unique experience, at least for me. The featured author, Ava Ernst, was a novelist with a new best-seller on the shelves that I’d heard mentioned a few times. The event included full English tea service with tiny sandwiches, cakes, scones and cream, plus a copy of Ernst’s book. I decided hats might be a bit over the top for a library, but fascinators could let us feel fancy without drawing too much attention. Anyway, who cares what library people think?
I put off the big piece of correspondence for last: the offer of employment with Destination Youth. I scrolled through the document for half an hour, up and down, before attempting a reply, and then got only as far as “Dear Shelley,” before breaking for another cup of coffee.
“Shit shit shit,” I muttered to myself. “What’s wrong with me?” Seriously. Was I afraid of losing my spare time, or afraid that I wouldn’t be able to hack it in the working world? This was the only real option I had available, save starting at the bottom of some other company, stocking shelves. So what was the holdup? After another half an hour, I closed my email draft and decided to let it sit until I talked to both Amber and Frank. And, speaking of Frank…
I picked up my phone and settled into the sofa, morning news coming softly from the TV. Let’s see…this was Thursday, so he had a full teaching schedule. Let’s see if I could bring some excitement to his morning at the podium. I smiled naughtily.
Hey Frank. Any hot seniors in class this morning?
It took ten minutes for him to reply.
Not as hot as you, Mel ;)
A jolt of electricity shot through my body. Finally, I was really getting somewhere!
I didn’t think so. Anyway they probably all pander to your outdated view of Homer, and that’s just no fun, right?
You’ll live to regret those words, young lady.
Ooh what are you going to do to me professor? You know the paddle isn’t kosher ;)
My heart pounded nearly out of my chest. Was that too far? Would he be embarrassed? A grin spread across my face at his next message.
That’s it. Detention. I’ll see you after class, miss. I hope you’re prepared for the consequences. I’ll bet it’s been a good long time since someone gave you some proper discipline.
The blood rushed to my stomach and thighs as I read that last comment. Oh god, could I wait until Friday to live out this fantasy?
You’re right. I definitely need a good harsh talking to.
Talking to? I was thinking you need to be tied up and spanked.
I could hardly contain my excitement. Frank Lehmen, the oldest crush in my history, flirting with me! Life really had worked out for me, no matter the bumps and bruises along the way.
Hmm. And then what?
I imagined him piling self-study work on his students so he could lounge at his desk and mentally stimulate the bulge in his pants. It made me feel incredibly powerful.
Actually I find that a little tenderness following discipline is usually the best course of action. A bit of massage might be just the thing to calm us both down and get us seeing eye to eye after I spank those tight little cheeks red. I’d like to rub your bare body to help you recover…
I don’t know if I’ll be able to forgive you. And taking advantage of a student like that? So impressionable and caught up in your brown eyes? It’s almost as if you’d like to seduce me.
Almost? Fuck, Mel, I want to see what your tits look like underneath your clothes…and feel how firm they are in my hands. You’re such a dirty girl and I can’t wait to take advantage.
Are you getting hard, Professor Lehmen?
I’m beyond hard. It’s like there’s a steel shaft in my pants that wants to sink itself into your nice warm pussy. Is that what you want, Mel?
I want you to sink every inch into my hot pussy and pound me senseless! I want your mouth on my tits and your tongue on my clit, and your steel shaft at the back of my throat making me moan!
We stopped typing for several minutes while I rubbed myself to climax and Frank…probably thought long and hard about baseball. I laughed as I came, thinking of the poor professor trapped in his classroom with the hard-on from hell.
Friday just couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter 13
Getting Ready For Friday
Thursday was long and drawn-out, and boring despite the sunshine through my windows and the use of my satellite TV package. I would never make a good shut-in; the lure of social life called to me at almost every waking hour. I spent the day watching hospital dramas, flittering around on the internet and ordering delivery.
I also spent a lot of time thinking about the job offer I had yet to answer. The details of the role were pretty in-depth: I’d be traveling to exotic destinations to both discover and test-out potential volunteer and work programs from locals. I’d be responsible for putting together the initial itineraries, solving on-the-spot travel issues, and keeping in touch with contacts throughout the world.
Now, make no mistake, I loved traveling. I’d had the best times of my life in some of the most exclusive hotels and spas around the globe. But backpacking? Getting my hands dirty in a foreign land? Getting my hands dirty in this land? That’s not something I’d ever considered. And I wasn’t sure it was something I wanted to get involved with now. Did that make me a bad person? I had a feeling it might.
But seriously, there must be something I could feel passionate about doing every day! A quick look around my home didn’t reveal any hidden hobbies that might have helped. The kitchen was virtually unused, and likely to stay that way. My bookshelves were filled with personal effects and a couple of romance novels. Probably the only enjoyable project I’d undertaken in recent memory was decorating the house, and I couldn’t imagine trying to do that for someone who didn’t share my taste. So, what then?
Frustrated, I Googled “what to do with life.”
A random career survey told me I was a “visionary,” which was less than helpful. Forbes reminded me that it was rather late in the day for me to be asking such a question. While it looked like young people were being advised to become computer and app coders, a few other sources showed me what I already feared: Entrepreneurship was the common goal of divorcees in search of a n
ew life’s purpose.
Fantastic! So, assuming I wasn’t on the verge of invention some kind of technological breakthrough (I wasn’t) and I was neither brimming over with a business idea nor keen to become a fry cook, there was one option available to me.
Fuck it. I went back to my hospital dramas while flipping through the online delivery pages in search of a lunch that would fill the growing void in my being. As wide a selection as there was, I couldn’t decide on any one cuisine. Given my state of mind, I chose indulgence; forty-five minutes later, I collected both Chinese food and a big box of chicken wings at the door.
It was difficult, whilst stuffing my face in the light of ongoing television dramas and sitcoms, to avoid texting Frank. It was even more difficult to avoid texting Adam.
When I’d had my fill of food-shaped anti-anxiety treatments, I removed myself from the pile of delivery remnants, washed my hands and face and went into my bedroom. Throwing open the generous walk-in closet doors, I put my hands on my hips and assessed the possibilities for tomorrow night’s date wear.
My wardrobe has never been lacking, but this was yet another Frank-centric occasion when I felt unsure about my normal attire. Then again, he’d promised to take me somewhere classy this time. No paper napkins or anything.
In which case, this would be my first opportunity to really doll myself up for Frank. Forget dressing down for the pub, or sensible shoes for mysterious career expeditions to the far outskirts of the city. A full-on fancy dinner date called for high heels, a well-fitting little cocktail dress and sexy, wavy tresses. Concentrating, I flipped my way through several racks of carefully-hung dresses, skirts and tops.
“No, no, no…maybe…”
I wanted just the right combination of attraction and approachability, which meant that the classic black mini-dress with the deep V-neck was out. Frank wasn’t exactly a stranger to the human body, but I could only imagine him blushing his way through dinner while trying not to stare. Though I did want him to stare, at least a little, I didn’t want to overwhelm anyone.
My Sinful Seductions Page 5