An Affair!
An Affair
Margaret was nervous. Years had passed since she'd been this nervous about the visit of a student. Their visits were always so boring, so ordinary. Tea and cakes and unclever talk about some topic or other the student had chosen for an honors paper. Margaret would smile, make one or two suggestions, and the girl would leave at the end of the afternoon convinced that Margaret had infinite understanding. But Cynthia, the student due to arrive at any moment, was quite different from the others. An exquisite girl, exquisite and extremely intelligent. Margaret could never look at the girl in class without quivering. None of the other girls in her classes had that effect on her, and she was thankful for it because she did not like to mix things that belonged apart. Of course they all had guessed Margaret was a lesbian because she had more or less hinted she was. Lesbian teachers in this college were not extraordinary. Margaret, however, did her best to avoid entanglements with students. She did not like the trouble it brought. College girls were so flighty, so undependable. She loved them all, tried to help all of them succeed, but she pushed back every urge to think about them in a sexual way. Except for Cynthia. Margaret found herself helpless when it came to thinking about Cynthia. Thinking about Cynthia now made Margaret tremble. Oh, you're stupid, Margaret thought; you're a stupid old dyke. But she couldn't help it. Cynthia was too ravishing, too lovely. Blonde, slender, graceful, with a quiet penetrating look in her eyes. A look that said I know all about you, I know all about you and I can imagine things.
The front doorbell rang, shattering Margaret's reverie. She hurried to the short front hall and opened the front door. Cynthia said: "I think I'm early." "That's fine. I don't mind at all. We'll have some iced tea in the garden." It wasn't much of a garden, but it had a sycamore tree and a flower bed and a small white table and four white chairs. Margaret brought the tea out on a wickerwork tray she had brought back from Peru, and she sat opposite Cynthia and made a deliberate effort not to look at Cynthia's chest where two nipples deformed the thin white cotton of Cynthia's teeshirt. The girl had small breasts, but her nipples were disturbingly apparent, maddeningly apparent, and a puzzle also because when Margaret had walked behind Cynthia in the front hall she had noticed how Cynthia's teeshirt revealed the back of her bra. Margaret's pulse quickened as she imagined Cynthia's breasts, what they might look like, their shape, the coloring of the nipples. Like pink candy, Margaret thought; she was certain Cynthia's nipples would be like pink candy, sweet tasting, delicate, stiffening visibly after only brief and gentle sucking.
They talked about Cynthia's honors thesis, the bibliography, her interests. Margaret had read the paper, and she thought it was a fine effort. She thought Cynthia deserved an A in the course, and she said so. "I don't mind telling you now," Margaret said. "Since I already have everything needed to determine the grade." Cynthia shrugged. "I don't like grades. I think they're silly." "In general, yes. But sometimes they serve a purpose." "I'm staying on the campus this summer. I've taken a job in the library." "How nice." The girl gazed at Margaret, seemed to hesitate, and then after a long moment said: "Can I have an affair with you?" A white butterfly rose from one of the bushes and flitted toward the sycamore tree. Margaret was stunned. "An affair?" "I thought I'd be direct and ask. Is that wrong?" "Well, I don't---" "It's better to be direct, isn't it? I mean people are always playing games with each other." Margaret felt her heart pounding, but she did her best to calm her nerves. Be careful, she thought; oh, you poor old dyke, be careful. She looked directly at Cynthia. "Are you a lesbian?" Cynthia looked directly back at her. "If doing it with girls means I'm a lesbian, then I'm a lesbian. And you are too, aren't you? You're a lesbian too, aren't you?" Margaret sighed. "Yes, I am. But you know, Cynthia, it's not good for people to just jump into bed with each other casually." "I don't see why not. If you do safe sex, what difference does it make?" "It's a question of psychological rapport. There needs to be something more than just physical attraction." "Don't we have that? Don't we have psychological rapport?" Margaret felt herself becoming more and more helpless. "I don't know I don't even know what you think of me." Cynthia blushed slightly and turned her eyes away. "I think about you all the time. I even dream about you. I think you're the most marvelous, most brilliant person I've ever known. And if we can't have an affair, I'll be a wreck for a long time. I won't kill myself, but I'll be a total wreck."
Vanquished, Margaret struggled to find her voice. "I can't imagine you as a wreck." She did not touch Cynthia at all until they were out of the garden and inside the house. The air conditioning kept the rooms cool and pleasant. Cynthia insisted on carrying the wickerwork tray with the glasses and pitcher into the kitchen, and after they were put down, she turned to Margaret and smiled. "I like your house. It makes me feel peaceful." Margaret did not feel peaceful at all. She trembled as she stepped forward to touch Cynthia's arm. "Are you sure about this?" The girl stepped into Margaret's arms and leaned her head against Margaret's shoulder. "I told you it's not my first time." Margaret could think of nothing more to say. Instead, she tilted Cynthia's face upward and pressed a soft kiss against her lovely mouth. The girl's lips were warm, pliant, yielding. Margaret wondered what to do now. She was afraid if she made the wrong moves the afternoon would shatter into a thousand ugly fragments. What to do? Cynthia answered the question. "Why don't you let me give you a back rub?" "Yes." Margaret felt her legs trembling.
She took Cynthia to her bedroom, and there they separated and stood at opposite ends of the room while they undressed. When Cynthia removed her teeshirt and dropped it on a chair, Margaret's breath caught. Now she understood about the nipples. Cynthia's white bra had no tips: her nipples were free, bursting through the white cups like pink gumdrops. Her voice strained, Margaret tried to hide her emotional condition. "That's an interesting look. Daring, I'd say." Cynthia gave her a coy glance. "What should I rub you with?" "There's some lotion on the nightstand." "You turn me on, you know." "I'm more than twice your age." "Maybe that's why." There was no answer to that. Still wearing her bra and panties, Margaret lay down on the bed on her belly. Twice her age and yet too uncertain to lead.
Well, well... Whatever she wants, Margaret thought. Her excitement was too great to deny Cynthia anything. Cynthia climbed on the bed, straddled Margaret's hips and tugged at the back of Margaret's bra. "You ought to take this off." "All right." "Let me do it." Cynthia's fingers worked at the snaps, unhooked the bra, slipped the shoulder straps down and pulled it free of Margaret's body. "You're very aggressive," Margaret said. "I'm a good back-rubber." "Yes, I bet you are." "Can I get some ice? I'll do you with an ice cube." "I thought you were going to rub my back." "I'll do that too." Margaret was intrigued by the thought of an ice cube. No one had put an ice cube on her back in years. "In the kitchen." She lay there with her body pressed against the mattress. Waiting. Cynthia returned with some ice cubes in a glass and straddled Margaret's body again.
"You know, the first time I walked into your class I knew I wanted to be with you." "I don't approve of affairs between teachers and students." "I know four students who are having affairs with women on the faculty." "I don't want to hear about it." Margaret gasped at the first touch of an ice cube between her shoulder blades. "Oh God, I may be too old for this." Cynthia giggled. "No, you're not." The ice cube trailed slowly down Margaret's spine, inch by inch down to the small of her back, then up again. "That's divine," Margaret said. Cynthia dropped the ice cube back into the glass. "I'm taking your panties off." Margaret said nothing. She lay motionless as Cynthia tugged at her panties, pulled them down her hips, down her thighs and off her legs. Then Cynthia straddled Margaret's thighs again, once more trailing the ice cube down Margaret's spine to the small of her back, this time continuing into the hollow place at the very top of the split between Margaret's buttocks. "I love your ass," Cynthia said. "Stop this now and rub my back." "Are you sure?" "I can't take any more of this."
"Another minute." The ice cube on her spine again. The cube was almost melted, she could feel it. Then she gasped as she felt Cynthia pushing the ice cube into the crack of her ass. Cold ice water trickling down the groove and over her anus. "Cynthia, you're killing me." "All right, I'll rub your back now." An affair, Margaret thought. Yes, she would have an affair this summer.
