Chapter 10
Upshot
The rest of that night was a blur after that moment. I walked leisurely to my car, after separating from him when we arrived. I cannot recall what we conversed about, but it was nothing of importance. The texture of his soft lips lingered on my forehead. Immediate warmth rushed to my face upon recalling our actions. I felt foolish and wild. This is without a doubt one of the craziest things I have ever put into motion. I resorted to acting like a giddy school girl; bubbling emotions seemed to pour out of me like an overflowing pot of boiling water. I pondered my future measures on the drive home. Should I tell Charlotte? When should I, if I choose to? These questions -and many more- plagued my mind and were incessantly rattling my brain. I assessed his actions countless times. He was so inviting, so graciously accepting. He could have pushed me away or just stood there, limp while I held his body against mine. I tinkered with the thought as I opened the front door. The house was still and quiet. It was soothing since my thoughts were so strident. I proceeded up into my room, not really hungry…I might be later tonight. I closed my door, threw my books on the floor, opened my document, and recounted the events that took place earlier tonight. It took me a good hour and a half to get all the wording precise but I ended it with: More developments to come, you just wait. It is always precarious to create something intimate like this, especially on my computer. Who knows who might stumble upon it, I won't be embarrassed because I have written nothing but the truth.
Mae can sometimes be too obsessive at times, like sometimes she can go through a phase –whether it be music or food- and be out of it by the end of two or three weeks. She becomes infatuated and distracted easily, this behavior seems to increase with the amount of work she needs to accomplish. I guess you could call her the ultimate procrastinator.
Around 8:45 my stomach rumbled. I jumped out of bed and carefully tip toed down the stairs, trying to access the situation within the first floor. I heard the T.V. on in the living room and my mother's voice chatting in the kitchen. I paused on the second to last stair, listening intently. I try to avoid my family as much as I possibly can, it's nothing against them, but I really hate casual pleasantries. I couldn't make out the other voice in the kitchen, perhaps she was cooking something; she likes to read the steps to the recipes out loud. I sniffed the air trying to pinpoint the direction of the kitchen. Bingo. The faint aroma of cooking vegetables and meat floated in the air. I bounced off the stairs and rounded the corner to the kitchen. I stepped onto the tiled floor and my mother turned around, mouthing something about a table spoon of salt. She looked up and almost leaped two feet in the air upon noticing my presence in the room. "Don't do that to me! I almost spilled the whole mixture on the ground!" I observed the large mixing bowl in her arms. Inside were a variety of dry ingredients she needed to make dough of some kind.
My mother loves to cook. She always had. In our old shitty apartment it devastated her that none of the built in appliances worked. The oven, stove, or dishwasher never worked properly. Not even the refrigerator could keep conventional milk good for more than three days. The stove was electric and only one burner was in okay use, not to mention the fires that took place if we even attempted to utilize the other three. Now that we are in a new house with utilities that are efficient I can find her cooking at any given time throughout the day on weekends. Sometimes she is up late making or baking on weeknights. I have no idea how she works up the strength to commute every morning after cooking until two a.m. I guess it is her escape.
I shook my head at her and sat at the table, "What are you making now?"
She looked over at her shabby cook book for reference, "Just some mini pot pies. They are really good this time of year, right?" I shrugged and reached out my arms to the untouched fruit bowl in the middle of the table. I grabbed a Granny Smith and chomped into it. I doubted that she was cooking them for our house. She tends to bring them to work for lunch. I don't mind, I'll make a sandwich. I took another bite and marched over to the refrigerator. I took the strawberry jam out, opened the cupboard above the sink, evading my mom, took the bread and peanut butter, and fashioned a sandwich. I cut it in two triangles. Fancy. Apple in mouth I proceeded back to the table, taking the apple out, and shoving the sandwich in my maw. I envied my mother, how she could turn simple ingredients into a brilliant transformation of flavor and texture. She could create fifteen different textures out of a potato. Hardly any words were exchanged between me and her. She talked to her book and I my sandwich.
A handful of minutes passed and I bid her Goodnight and she kissed the top of my head, rustling my hair with her clean left hand. I disposed of the apple's core and jogged to my room. I changed into my pajamas and studied for a bit on my bed, my Philosophy papers peeking out from beneath the stack of assorted subjects. I leaned over and picked a sheet of notes filled with definitions. I pressed the paper to my lips and closed my eyes. Flashes of my Professor's touch vibrated through me, I recalled his scent with a shudder of my body. I gently pushed all my papers off my mattress and turned my lamp off. I turned the volume up on my T.V. and reached into my nightstand drawer. I pulled out a vacuum sealed freezer bag with a long object inside. I shuffled position on my bed, a pillow on top of my waist for sound absorption. I shut my eyes, his voice rumbling to me. I recalled all his features I engrossed today, his strapping neck melting into his vast shoulders, his slender wrists feeding into solid forearms painted lightly with soft hair, the way he would tinker with objects on the table while he talked. I slid my panties off, kicking them carelessly into my blanket. I began searching my body in the way I would think that he would, mimicking how his hands would caress my skin. His lips against my skin made me wonder how he would kiss my body. I fantasized about his soft lips, nipping at my smooth ivory skin. My fingers played at the skin between my legs, teasing the throbbing area. I opened my eyes on the plastic bag. I glided my hand and withdrew the object of my lust and turned the black knob at the bottom. The object shuddered within my grasp and I placed it between my legs. My breath came fast, anticipating the sensation upon my passionate skin. It worked diligently up until it rested upon my most sensitive area; as if my Professor's skilled fingers working the spot gently, but quickly. I clutched my body pillow next to me with my free hand, leaning into it for support as my body wildly buckled in extreme pleasure. I bit the fabric on the pillow lightly, as if it were his shirt I was nibbling. My eyes shot open, thrusting my hips into the blanket. My toes curled and I sighed sweetly into the cushion supporting me. Shock spread through my trembling being, deafness and blindness crippled my ecstasy ridden body. I let out a tiny screech into the material next to me and panted wildly. My hand slipped away from my body and I turned the device off. I reached routinely into the drawer once more, vision never leaving the mass next to me, pulled out a sanitizing wipe, and rubbed the object of pleasure. I placed it gingerly back into its house and back into the drawer. I threw the wipe in the trash, turned the volume from my T.V. down, held my body pillow with both arms, and faded swiftly into my dreams.