“All right,” I said. Harriet offered me a kind smile.
“I’ll see you soon, Penny,” she said, leaning in and hugging me. I gingerly returned her hug before she broke away and scurried across the room toward her publishers.
*
After being buzzed into Harriet’s building, a fancy new-construction condo in Chicago’s Lincoln Park neighborhood, I rode the elevator up to her floor silently pondering what it would be like to spend a secluded evening with her. Everybody seemed so enamored with her. My classmates, the literati at her readings, the publishing establishment. Everybody wanted a piece. And while I can admit that I, too, was rather infatuated with her, it felt a bit different for me. Harriet was slowly becoming a normal person to me, not some writing star, or a teaching mentor, no, she was instead appearing as her true self. A little self-conscious of how she was perceived, slightly anxious, mildly uncomfortable with her newfound fame.
Walking down the hall, I made note of the apartment numbers, searching for hers. I could feel my stomach twisting as I drew closer to her door, focusing on my breathing, trying to remain cool and calm in the face of such an impending personal encounter with Harriet. I didn’t know what to expect from her. The whole thing confused me but it also made me intensely interested. It was a strange amalgam of feelings. Picture yourself becoming friends with someone you really look up to, but when you’re with them it’s like they’re no longer that figure. They’re just… a person.
I gently knocked on Harriet’s door with my knuckles and after a moment I heard the bolt unlock. I took a deep breath and stepped back slightly from the door. As the door silently opened, I saw Harriet on the other side of it, smiling happily at me, beaming joyously, her bright blue eyes alight.
“Penny,” she said. “Get in here.”
“Yes ma’am,” I said teasingly, stepping through the doorway as Harriet closed the door behind me.
“I’m so glad you came over,” said Harriet. “Can I take your bag?”
“Sure,” I said, handing my leather satchel over to Harriet who in turn hung it up on a hook near her door. Harriet had already dressed down since coming home. She still wore her black pencil skirt but had removed her stockings, standing there next to me with bare legs and bare feet, wearing a lacy and frilly satin tank top instead of her blouse from earlier. Lowering myself down, I quickly unlaced my clunky leather boots and slipped out of them.
“Doc Martens,” she said, looking down at me as I removed my boots. “Those so remind me of the 80s and 90s.”
“Oh yeah?” I said with a grin, standing back up straight.
“Yeah,” she said. “Penny, I tell you, it’s so strange to see them making a come back. They’re everywhere now, just like they were when I was young.”
“Trends are cyclical, I guess,” I said. With my boots off, I wore little black bootie socks over my tights and I followed Harriet as she beckoned me with her hand.
“Can I get you something?” she asked as we walked together toward her kitchen. She had a very nice condo, appointed with a sleek modern design, though it almost looked like a hotel room in a way, having very few personal affects on the shelves and walls. “Tea? Sparkling water?”
“Sparkling water would be nice,” I said. In her kitchen, Harriet opened up the refrigerator and removed two green bottles of fancy water. She handed one to me and we simultaneously cracked them open.
“Follow me,” she said.
Harriet turned and made her way to a glass door at the back of the kitchen, unlocking it and opening it up, revealing the warm Chicago night sky beyond the doorway. As we stepped out to her porch together, I noticed a faded tattoo on her left shoulder blade, blurry and vague. I took a pull from my water and followed Harriet toward the railing of the porch.
“What’s that tattoo?” I said, leaning my hip against the railing and giving Harriet an inquisitive smirk.
“Oh jeez,” she bemoaned, shifting her body, trying to catch a glimpse of her own tattoo, acting somewhat embarrassed by my question. “Impetuous mistake of my youth,” she admitted. “I should really just have it removed.”
“Well, what is it?” I asked again.
“I got it when I was like 18,” she said. “It’s a punk band logo. Oh my God, it’s just so embarrassing. Don’t look at it.”
“Come on,” I said teasingly, scooting around her a bit, trying to see her tattoo. I didn’t really care all that much, I was more interested in joking around with her.
“Penny!” she cried, turning around, holding her water bottle out toward me as though it would block me. “Don’t look, it’s so stupid.”
“I’m just playing,” I said, stopping, smiling, returning to the railing. I leaned my butt back against the iron posts and sipped again from my bottle. “I don’t care if you have a shitty tattoo.”
“It’s all just from a time in my life that I’d rather forget,” she said, her voice hinting at some pain, wistful and reminiscent but slightly repulsed. “I made a lot of mistakes.”
“But they got you to where you are now,” I said. “So they’re worth something.”
“Right,” she said. “But it doesn’t make that time any less embarrassing for me.”
“What’s the most embarrassing thing?” I said. “Just tell me. Don’t think about it too hard. Just tell me.”
“Oh God,” said Harriet, shaking her head. “No, I can’t.”
“Say it!” I said with a wry smile. “C’mon, say it!”
“I was a gutter punk,” said Harriet quickly, averting her gaze. “Ugh, I can’t believe it.”
“A gutter punk?” I asked. “What’s that?”
“You know when you see those homeless looking punk kids, begging for change, dressed in all drab dusty green and grey?” she said. “I did that. We traveled around the country, hitchhiking, hopping trains, doing drugs. Ugh, what a shitty time in my life.”
I could see that admitting this changed Harriet’s visage. It was painful for her to admit. I offered her a soft smile.
“That’s not so bad,” I said. “It’s almost sort of romantic to be a hobo like that.”
“It’s not,” said Harriet, looking off into the stars above the skyline of Chicago, drinking from her bottle, sighing as she recalled her youth. “No, it was vary dangerous and it got me into a lot of trouble.”
“Let’s not make our first date this heavy,” I said. At the mention of this being a date, Harriet perked up. She grinned at me, her happiness returning, pleased that I was so accepting of this thing in her past that embarrassed her.
“Okay,” she agreed. “I’m sorry. But you prompted me on it!”
“My fault,” I said. “But how about this,” I asked, trailing off, Harriet giving me an inquisitive look as she waited for my next question. “Let’s go back to my earlier question… why me?”
“Why you?” she repeated.
“Is it just because you know I’m a lesbian?” I said.
“Well, that certainly helps,” said Harriet, prompting both of us to laugh.
“Come on,” I said. “You could probably be dating some other literary luminary or even some Hollywood star.”
“You’re vastly overestimate me, Penny,” said Harriet, raising her brow.
“I have to admit I feel a little out of place,” I said. “I don’t mind it, but you know, I’m trying to figure it out.”
“This is going to sound weird,” Harriet admitted, scrunching her face up. “Don’t run away after I tell you this.”
“I won’t,” I said.
“Promise?”
“I promise,” I said.
“You kind of just remind me of…” said Harriet, pausing, looking off, searching for the words. “You remind me of me when I was your age, but you know, what could have been me.”
“What could have been you?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said Harriet. “Like, if I hadn’t fucked up my young adulthood with all this stuff I’d rather not talk about.”
�
�I’m not blonde like you,” I said, half-teasing.
“Neither am I,” said Harriet with an impish grin, flipping a lock of her blonde hair out of her face.
“Harriet,” I said with a bit of a whine, twisting away, looking off from her. I was beginning to feel slightly anxious, flustered, now being able to internalize Harriet’s interest in me and causing my shyness to rear its head.
“I’m not trying to recreate my youth or anything,” said Harriet. “I swear. And I’m not just, you know, interested because you’re so much younger than me.”
“Right,” I said.
“Really!” she protested. “And I think you’re pretty.”
“You know you’re very close in age to my parents,” I said vexingly, leaning against the porch rail, batting my eyes at her. I could feel my heart rate begin to increase, a growing eroticism apparent in my core. I found Harriet stunningly beautiful, so elegant, so alluring. And all that was flooding into me as I felt like I had gotten to the bottom of her interest. While I admit I had sort of made it all a game in the beginning, I was ready to turn that game back over to her control.
“That makes me feel so old,” said Harriet. “Let’s just not talk about the age thing, okay?” she said with a simple smile.
“Okay,” I said sweetly. “Is there anything else I should know about you?”
“My publisher told me that I’m getting the National Book Award nomination tonight, though it’ll be announced publicly next week,” she said, looking a bit bashful by her admittance. “And they’re confident that I could win it. They’re going to really lean on the committee to see if they can make it happen.”
“That’s incredible,” I said with a smile. “Congratulations!” I held up my water bottle and we clinked the glass together.
“I feel like I’m living in a dream world, Penny,” said Harriet. “It wasn’t too long ago that I was just like you and, honestly, I still feel a lot like I imagine you feel just starting out. This all came very fast for me and sometimes it can be difficult to accept.”
“I can’t empathize,” I said. “But I understand.”
“Thank you,” she said, bashfully looking down. Slowly, Harriet raised her head up against and opened her eyes. “Can I kiss you?”
“Mm hmm.”
“Okay,” she said softly, joy apparent in her eyes. After a moment of indecision, Harriet gradually leaned in closer to me, our faces closing in on one another, until our lips met and the two of us locked together there on her porch in a gentle kiss. As we kissed, I felt my hands go weak and I almost dropped my water, quickly squeezing it and laughing against Harriet’s lips. This caused her to smile but we only broke from our kiss for a split second, before we returned to the passion on that warm evening, Harriet gently placing her hand on my hip.
After a few more fleeting moments, lips adoringly pressed together, we both sighed happily as our kissed ended, our eyes opened, and we tried to sum each other up. The blue of Harriet’s eyes, this close up, was ravishing.
“I’m glad that’s over with,” said Harriet with a fire in her eyes. I laughed.
“Why’s that?” I said.
“The tension!” she exclaimed. “The anticipation of it all. I’ve been thinking about kissing you ever since that first day you walked into my class.”
“So you are the predatory professor,” I said, smirking at her. Harriet dotingly pinched my side in response to my teasing.
“I can’t help who I’m attracted to,” she said.
“Stop,” I cooed. “You’re making me blush.”
Harriet leaned forward and kissed me once again, more eagerly this time, more sure of herself. Once the barrier had been breached, once that first kiss had transpired, it was far easier for her to request another and then another after that, all of which I excitedly returned. I was delighted to feel chased, caught, and charged at the pregnant possibilities of my and Harriet’s tryst. I was so ruffled by the prospect of intimacy and I could feel that familiar arousal building inside of me, a feeling that hadn’t been available to me in some time but once it popped up I knew exactly what it was all about. It was a recognizable charge.
After a few more soft kisses, Harriet pulled away and grinned at me.
“Let’s go take a seat on the couch and put on a record,” she said. “I want to get to know you better.”
*
There’s something powerful about an older, more experienced admirer, someone who’s in a position of authority over you in some way, a mentor and a guide, someone you find alluring and attractive. It’s so easy to let your guard down, loosen your lips, level with them in a way you might not speak among usual friends and acquaintances or even a potential lover your own age. It’s like, what could you say that might surprise them? They must have seen it all before. I was just a neophyte writer, a yearling, young and inexperienced but eager to learn and to achieve. Harriet had been there already, a success, a woman easy to put on a pedestal and appreciate. There was little sense in being cagey with her. It was much more natural to just open up and be honest.
So is it any wonder that I ended up in her bed? After another couple hours of talking and laughing on her couch, admitting my own personal fears about becoming a writer and having her delicately assuage those fears, some casual kissing and touching and petting, the two of us sauntered into her bedroom, shyly at first, but each of us eager to see what would happen at the next step.
“Oh God,” I moaned softly. After Harriet spent some time with her lips between my legs, she slid her body up mine, both of us naked, our flesh lightly sticking together, and we kissed once again. I could taste my own subtly sweet wetness on her lips, something I admittedly really enjoyed, and I ardently and firmly pressed my mouth hotly against hers. My mind was buzzing with passion, logic and reason drifting away, replaced by the eager lustiness that I hadn’t felt in a while. As we kissed, Harriet cupped her hand between my thighs, fervidly rubbing her fingers over my moist pinkness, tenderly caressing me back and forth with the pivot of her palm.
I had never been with an older woman before Harriet. But her experience translated into an immensely pleasurable occurrence, causing me to feel like I my mind was leaving my body and watching our amorous sex from above the bed, as though I were the audience of some horny home movie, a voyeur looking through a keyhole and unable to avert my eyes from the private scene. I gave myself to Harriet, all self-consciousness leaving me, wild with an impatient appetite.
I felt Harriet slip two fingers inside of me and begin to methodically thrust, her palm rubbing against my humid and matted fur, the length of her fingers, as she slid them out of me, rubbing firmly against my clit and causing me to feel a quiver each time she touched it. She hovered over me and I could feel the pressure of her body on top of me. I could sense that Harriet was hypnotized by my pleasure, she herself receiving immense pleasure from the positivity I felt coursing through me. With her fingers wetly penetrating me, Harriet lowered her face down and kissed my neck, causing me a tickle but it all felt so good that all I could do was moan out in sultry intonations.
“Mmm,” I sighed happily, a love-drunk smile dripping over my face. “That’s nice.”
“You’re nice,” murmured Harriet, planting a kiss on my lips as she fingered me. Occasionally she would remove her fingers from me and focus on rubbing my clit in pressured little circles, causing me to squirm into the sheets underneath me. I opened my eyes for a moment and looked into Harriet’s, she lovingly staring back at me, her face awash in lust. Looking down slightly, I peered at her chest, her breasts hanging from her torso, bobbing softly back and forth as her body moved with her fingering thrusts.
“Gimme,” I said with an intoxicated slur, raising a hand to one of her breasts, grappling at it, giving it a tender squeeze. This caused Harriet to shiver and giggle. I reveled in touching her chest, feeling her nipple against my fingertip, massaging her tit with aroused excitement as I accepted her love between my thighs.
“I want to
taste you again,” whispered Harriet, kissing me once more, and then offering up a grin. With that, Harriet moved back down the length of my body as I trembled in anticipation, the sheet slipping down with her and exposing my fully nude body. I propped myself up against the pillows and watched Harriet as she positioned herself between my legs, staring at my furry pussy for a moment in what seemed like reverence before then lowering his lips to mine and returning to pleasuring me with her mouth.
“Oh!” I whined, feeling the intense arousal build up inside of me, a ball of potential energy humming in my core. Harriet’s blonde hair was a bit of a mess as I looked down at her, what was once put up in a bun before we had started our little sexual adventure was now beginning to fall down to either side of her face as she kissed and licked and slurped. She was amazing with her lips as well as with her tongue, deftly able to navigate the fleshy and saturated folds of my womanhood and hit all the right notes.
I felt little twinges of electricity in my limbs, cold numbness in my toes and fingers, and my thighs began to quake as Harriet remained steadfast against my wet middle. I was panting now, mouth agape, each breath bringing with it a little groaning whine. There was no going back, I was so close to that arousing inevitability, and I clenched and released along with my labored breathing. Harriet locked her lips around my clit and offered me a pressure suckle, flipping some kind of switch inside of me and inspiring my butt to lift up of the bed. My body was reflexively squirming and shivering.
“I’m coming,” I called out, squinting my eyes and contorting my face. “Oh God!”
But Harriet didn’t let up, knowing full well that this was the time to stay the course. I was almost crying in passion, tears welling up in my eyes, my ass clenching and squeezing in firm contractions. Behind my eyes I could see little starry twinkles, like I was a cartoon character who’d been knocked hard over the head. I was sopping between my legs, a sweaty and hot humidity steaming up and exacerbated by Harriet’s loving presence. One of my feet kicked out a couple of times and my hips twisted, my body reaching that nebulous “other side” and giving me an intense case of the giggles. I was so happy. The achievement I felt was unsurpassed.
My Writing Professor: A Lesbian Romance Page 4