Guinea Pig

I lived for these moments: alone, working together on a project after school in Deb’s class (knowing she would not be coming back). The florescents were off, but there was enough light from the gray sky to complete our work still. She sat across from me. She wore her hair down: long, black and lightly curled. It flowed elegantly and seamlessly down to her loose fitting linen blouse, which met with her jeans at the waist. The blouse was flirty with a wide, scooping neck line and the jeans had seemed tailored exclusively for her.  I watched her over my right shoulder as she approached the distant window; her silhouette always made me pause. She looked over her own shoulder and smiled with a twinkle in her eye.

After she closed the blinds and started back to our workspace, I became excited, hopeful. As she nearly passed by, she reached out and placed her right hand on my right thigh. She did not speak, she did not have to. As she moved behind me, her hand moved from the top of my knee to my inner thigh. Slowly, confidently, she slid her hand farther up my thigh to the point that my excitement was palpable. My heart raced as I stood and turned to face her.

Looking up at me, she spoke softly, ” Do you like this?”. I nodded and leaned forward for our first kiss, but she retreated.

“Good, I’ll try it with Greg tonight.”

She was a tease.

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