by S. L. Finlay
Then the words came, "I wish I could be like you, when I grow up I have to be a lawyer."
The chef looked me in the eye and told me as the smile spread across his face, "I'm sorry about that."
I laughed and shook my head, "You have no idea." I told him
Then my friends were through the door, all a bustle of energy. They had found the supermarket and had bought back a bunch of ingredients.
The chef turned back to his magazine in time to get away from my friends who probably needed help cooking. As they were here now, I chatted with my friends. I couldn't keep up with the conversation with their hectic way of talking and my being too drunk to keep up. They didn't mind, shrugging me off and getting on with their cooking.
I turned back to the chef once they were gone. I hadn't said anything when he pulled the magazine down from his face where he had been using it to hide himself from the room. He was smiling and told me, "Your friends are crazy!"
"I know!" I told him, "They're the reason I am drunk right now!"
"You're drunk right now?" He asked, seeming genuinely surprised and perhaps a little proud of me.
"Of course I am!" I told him, "Why else would I be talking to you?"
The chef chuckled and made a face, "That whole time I thought it was for my devilish good looks!"
I picked up a cushion and threw it at him. He laughed and threw it back, much lighter than I had thrown it at him in the first place. That was before I had a chance to return the throw and he asked me, "Why do you have to be a lawyer?"
Sighing I told him, "It's a family thing. I come from a long line of lawyers back in the states. My parents want me to continue the tradition."
"And what do you want?" He asked without missing a beat.
"I don't know." I told him, not meeting his eyes.
"What do you mean you don't know?" He asked, his voice dripping with disbelief.
I shook my head, "I mean I don't know."
Silence stretched between us. I let it happen and the chef didn't seem interested in stopping the extended silence either. His eyes were on me now, staring. This would have made up for the lack of eye contact earlier if it wasn't such a pointed time.
"Yes?" I asked.
"Nothing. I am waiting for you to be honest with yourself." He told me.
I felt my brow furrowing, "What do you know?" I asked, incredulous. "You don't know anything about me!"
The chef was smiling again. His smile was so easy that it annoyed me. He seemed to smile a lot, smile like there was some joke that I didn't know a damn thing about.
"I don't have to know anything about you." He told me, "You have told me all that I need to know."
"What?" I asked, frustrated.
"People are funny." The chef told me, "They tell you things because they want you to tell them something. Strangers think they are using one another as a sounding board when in reality they are using one another to hear exactly what they want to hear. To get the information they have inside of themselves, but from someone else."
His words were confusing for me to hear inside my drunken mind. I just stared at him for a long moment before he told me, "It will make sense to you later."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"When you are sober, you'll think about this conversation and what I said will make sense to you." He told me patiently.
"Huh." I said before turning away from him and getting up to join my friends in the kitchen. "I'll see you later then." I told him, feeling a little annoyed.
The chef nodded and I went into the kitchen to cook with my friends.
The following day we woke up early (me with my hangover, my friends all feeling fine and making a point of speaking loudly to me for a laugh as I cringed from the effect their voices had on my hangover headache) and we grabbed some coffee at the hostel before staggering across the road to one of the up-market hotels where we could board the tour bus.
We were all feeling excited for the tour and our buzzing excited energy must have been obvious to other people on the tour.
The tour bus was made up entirely of Americans. I fit right in and my friends all gave me cheeky looks before whispering so the other Americans couldn't hear about how I was with my people.
I dismissed my friends carrying on but that didn't stop them. They kept teasing, I kept shaking my head.
"What's wrong with you people?" I said in a harsh whisper, "Didn't you ever want to go to America?" I teased as if going on a tour with a bunch of Americans was the same as visiting the country.
Playing along with my friends jokes only lasted a little while until we left the township and it made them happy, so I did it.
When we drove out of town though, the tour guide/driver chatted with us from the front seat about all the things we passed and the ongoing jokes about American tourists stopped.
Ireland wasn't just a beautiful country, but also an interesting one. The driver spoke about people cutting peat (from peat bogs) for their fires in the winter and how they needed special permission from the government to do that. Apparently they had always done it but because of environmental sensitivity the government was trying to stop it.
The driver also spoke about festivals in Ireland. Everything from a festival for red heads to a festival involving a special goat (kind of like Groundhog Day). There was a few stops along the way at various tourist attractions, most of which my friends weren't interested in but that myself and the other Americans were interested in, much to the delight of my friends who teased me about my Americanness as I toured fake villages set up for tourists and ate Irish stew.
The day was a heap of fun though, with everyone thoroughly enjoying themselves. The Ring of Kerry was an even more beautiful drive than I had imagined when I was reading about it and looking at photographs.
There is nothing like actually being in a place and experiencing it after all.
By the time we got back to our hostel where they were minding our bags we had less than twenty minutes to get to the bus station and board our bus.
My friends were worried, but I wasn't. The reason it had taken us so long to find this place was because when we were first here I was drunk and we had never been here before. We had however been to the bus station. So, walking back wasn't a problem. We boarded the bus with eight minutes to spare and I sat down beside my French friend.
I felt a little silly bringing it up, so I waited for the others' to be busy with their own conversations so I could have the conversation with just one person, without everyone else joining in and teasing me as they had earlier that day when we were on a tour bus filled with Americans.
I told my friend then about the chef I had met in the hostel and the conversation we had had, "I think he's right, I think I do want out. I think I do want to change my major. I am not really cut out to be a lawyer." I told her earnestly.
"You're sure?" She asked, prompting me to go on.
"Well, yeah. I mean, the guy did say to me that basically I was setting it up for him to give me this advice that I wanted to receive. That I was just looking for someone else to tell me what I already knew. To tell me that I should get out of my college program." I told her.
"Right." She said, her jaw set.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing, I don't know what to tell you. It's your life." She told me.
Her lack of advice annoyed me at first, so I simply turned and looked out the window as she pulled out a book to read.
We were all tired after a whole day exploring and a night where we didn't sleep very much between all the movements in our room and getting to bed late after dinner before waking early to go on our tour.
I figured it was fair to leave my friends alone, and get a little rest myself.
Staring out the window I couldn't stop the cogs in my mind from turning. I could change my major, but what to?
Without too much thought, I realised what I really wanted to do, and it wasn't just because my professor was sexy and charming
.
I wanted to be a writer. That was what I had enjoyed doing the most as I grew up and through school. It was only because of my time in Ireland though where I could take writing as a class that I had realised what I really wanted to do. Or rather, that I had just allowed myself to realise. Perhaps I had done something to prompt that same sexy professor to suggest I change majors just as I had done to the chef in the hostel. Perhaps the messages I was receiving were all just messages I was sending myself.
Thinking about that, thinking about how I could possibly be sending myself messages just hurt my hair. I shook it as if trying to shake the crazy ideas from my head.
Ireland was a beautiful country, and the country was just as moody as my mind was as I let it zip by me in the window. There was plenty to see here and it made me smile from gratitude to think that this country, this beautiful country full of fairies and folklore was where I chose to spend some time learning and growing.
As lucky as I was to be here though, I had plenty to think about. There was so much on my mind and I knew I could do better for myself than all of this. I'm a bright girl, and as long as I have a focus, I can achieve many things.
It was time to really examine where I should keep that focus though.
CHAPTER SIX
The next time I had my creative writing class, I was ready. I came forearmed with questions for my professor, and they weren't even because he was a deadly sexy silver fox. This wasn't going to be idol flirting, I had things I wanted from this man. I wanted answers, and he was going to give them to me.
Approaching my professor moments after I entered the room, I cut over the girl who had been talking to him as if she wasn't even there, "Can I have a few moments after class?" I asked.
David smiled a genuine and warm smile and told me, "Of course. As long as you're happy to walk and talk."
I nodded, "Yes, I am happy to walk and talk." I told him.
David smiled and told me, "Perfect. We can do that then."
I smiled all the way to my seat, then when I was seated I looked up to see the same Dublin girl who had been so upset the first time she caught me talking to David. He wasn't looking so I gave her a little wave and a wink. She returned these by shooting me dagger stares and turning back to the professor to ask him a few more inane questions.
Not caring one bit, I opened my note book and arranged my things on a table to take notes. The girl eventually sat down and the class began.
Sitting through that class was an odd sensation for me. I wanted so much to have the conversation we were going to have after class already, but knew better. I would need to wait. I thought ahead, then pulled myself back into the present.
I was here, I had to take these notes. It was a much more important class for me than it had been the last time I was here.
By the time class drew to a close I had scribbled down more notes than I ever had before and was feeling energized from all of the new information. There was so much here, so many interesting things I was learning in these classes to take forward. Now I felt a little more of a sense of direction.
When class was over, I packed everything into my bag and approached David, who was closing down his computer and collecting his things. There was several female students around him with their questions. He seemed even less engaged and interested in them than usual, mostly shrugging them and their behaviour off as he packed everything up in preparation for our 'walk and talk'.
The girls dissipated and David and I went for our walk. It was a very short walk but I managed to tell him everything I had been thinking. I told him all about how I thought his idea of changing major was a good one, and in fact I had been thinking the same thing myself. I told him about how I hadn't wanted to change my major originally because I didn't want to upset anyone back home but that after talking to someone who loved their job, I knew I had to change it because I knew I wouldn't love being a lawyer, and I wanted to have that love for my career.
David nodded along to everything I was telling him then after I had made my case for a change of major he asked me, "So, why are you telling me all of this?"
That stopped me in my tracks, "What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, why do you think it's so important to tell me about your change of major? We hardly know one another and you won't be my student if you choose to be a writer anyway." He told me.
The thought hadn't occurred to me. Even as I knew I would be going home sometime, it never quite felt real. You can know something is happening intellectually but never quite realise it when you were going about your day normally. This was one of those times.
I realised that I would have to leave Ireland soon enough, but I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want it to be real that I would be leaving so much that I had been imagining me studying writing in Ireland forever.
What was I thinking?
I sighed and told David, "I don't know, I guess I just wanted to tell you. To get your opinion. Do you think I am on the right track?" I asked, feeling very humble about my questions.
David scrunched up his face and made a noise before asking me, "What do you want?"
"But my family back in the states -"I began, about to circle around and tell him about what my family wanted and all the reasons that I would be better off not being a lawyer.
"No." David stopped me with his word as if it was a giant red stop sign, "I am asking what you want. Not what someone else wants, not what someone else thinks might be good for you, just what you want." He stopped before looking me in the eye. Those big, beautiful blue Irish eyes stopped me in my tracks. "What do you want?"
"You." I said before I could stop the word coming from my mouth. Then, after I had said it, I told him, "I want you. I want to stay here in Ireland. I want to be a writer."
We were standing outside David's office when I said it. Without another word, he opened his office door and motioned for me to get inside.
Once we were both inside, he closed the door and he was on me.
He was kissing me so hard and so frenzied that I could hardly think. I just kissed him right back, feeling the need to stop the distance that had always been between us. Not since we first met, but since I had first seen him in that bar. Since I had first seen him outside the role of my professor. Since I had seen him as a man for the very first time.
But he was my professor, and I shouldn't be kissing him now. The pull of doing things that I shouldn't be doing was enough to drive me further, to drive me harder.
I was taking off his sweater, then touching the skin of his chest. His chest was taunt. Actually, his whole upper body was. Underneath those professor clothes, his body was hard and ready for play.
He pinned me against the wall then and moved his hands up my thighs to where they met in the middle at my pussy.
He pushed my panties to the side and started rubbing me. My pussy was already wet. I wondered how long I had been wet, waiting for him to do that. Had I been wet in class? When I first saw him? When I thought about him on my way to class? Maybe I had just gotten wet while we walked when I was so close to him that I could smell his sweet manly scent.
Now he was so close to me he was all I could smell.
He pushed his fingers up inside me and thrusted them into my body. It felt like teasing, like he was showing me how good it would feel to be penetrated by him later, but I had waited so long for this that I didn't care one little bit.
I just kissed him. He kissed me back. I moaned, he touched my body.
Then he was down on his knees in front of me, pulling my panties down and throwing them somewhere across the floor before pulling my dress up so he could lick me.
In this position, one I had originally thought might be awkward, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He positioned himself and my body perfectly so he could lick me while fucking me with his fingers.
As I stood before him with the pleasure mounting, I was blown away by the skill of this man. This felt fantastic, better than anything I
had ever had before. I guess it's true what they say about age breeding experience because this guy had plenty of experience. Or at least he had enough to know how to get a girl off.
And there he was, getting me off more than I could have imagined he would. His fingers were thrusting into me, his tongue on my clit. He was bringing me closer and closer to orgasm. He was delivering me to pleasure and ecstasy. I could hardly keep myself from falling forward onto his face as I came in a gushing orgasm. I was gushing all over his floor, and as I came I couldn't stop that, no matter how much I wanted to. The look on his face told me that was exactly what he meant to happen.
The feeling of it was something that I had never felt before. Most of my orgasms are waves of pleasure, this one was something else, it was like those waves had crashed on the shore on top of one another and each was building on the other.
I moaned, I called out. He was standing in front of me, kissing me. His lips were on mine as if to stop me from calling out. He wanted to stop me from making more noise and calling attention to what we had been doing in his office. As he kissed me, too, he moved me out of the corner of the room where he had been giving me all that pleasure until I was in front of his desk.
"You ready for more?" He asked me as we shared another kiss and I moaned, "Oh god yes!"
Then right before he could bend me over his desk there was a knock at his door.
"Professor? Sir?" Called a high female voice. It was an Irish accent. My mood sank like a stone as I realised who it would probably be.
David sighed and looked down at me. I looked up at him. I was sure we were both thinking the same thing. We were both thinking that we could just pretend not to be here and she might go away, but as if reading our minds she spoke again.
"I know you're in their professor. I saw the two of you walking this way before." She said.
We both heaved a sigh of relief and David took a few steps to pick up my panties from the floor and give them to me. I slipped them on and he opened the door to ask the jealous girl what was up.