"Gosh Gabi, is this such a good idea?" I think. But it's already too late, my mind is made up and there is nothing left inside of me that can change it or, for that matter, even remotely wants to. I have avoided this close contact for weeks. We're co-workers, so there is nothing good that can come out of it. ....Well, that's a lie, there's PLENTY of good that can come out of it, and knowing that makes it impossible to stop what I'm planning. As soon as that thought entered my mind, there was no getting it out.
Besides, who am I kidding? As many free periods as I can, I make my way down to the gym just to steal brief moments in Clarissa's Phys. Ed. classes. And, of course, every day at noon, I draw the blind over my classroom door and then close and lock it when Mrs. D'Entrement comes by. I told myself at first that it was just important we not be distracted, but I have gradually become wise to the fact that Clarissa means far more to me than just my directing partner in the school play.
Right now, Clarissa's back is to me and she is bent over the desk flipping through our script. "I don't know if I like our re-write from yesterday," she says. "Truth be told, I really blame your use of words like 'thus' and 'pertinent'. We'll have to hand out dictionaries at the door."
Looking back over her shoulder at me and smiling, she sets me alight yet again. "God I'm such a sucker for a killer smile," I think. Whether it be her face, or that tush that I'm getting such a clear picture of right now, there is only one word that comes to my mind when I see her.....sexy.
Simple concept, right? But I really think that's an overused word. A lot of people are beautiful or gorgeous, but sexy is a whole other category with me. When I look at someone and think "beautiful", I hope I get to know them and find out what makes them sexy. When I look at someone and think "sexy", chances are I'll be thinking of them next time Trixie, my toy rabbit, shows me a good time. Clarissa has been the star of my fantasies for nearly 2 months now. Her body isn't everyone's ideal, but that's part of the attraction. If she lost 15 or 20 pounds, she'd be well on her way to becoming one of those bone racks I hate with no butt and her ribs sticking out! She is just perfect the way she is. Her butt and breasts are supple and firm and supply her with curves that only seem possible in theoretical physics. Her tight, chestnut brown curls perfectly frame her slim face and high cheekbones. Her arms, legs and back are muscled but feminine from her years of soccer, and her skin is flawless to the eye.
But is it flawless to the touch? Tearing my eyes away from her ass for once in my life, I can't help but notice that her blouse has pulled up and revealed the golden brown of her lower back. As she reads, her hips are swaying back and forth to the music constantly playing in my room at this hour. Wow, I wish I was causing her to make that wiggle! "I hadn't pegged you for a Fiona Apple fan," I manage, as the chorus of "O, Sailor" wafts through the room.
"Yeah well, I'm waaaaay younger than you so I'm still hip," comes the reply. This time she doesn't turn, but I can tell she's smiling, the vixen!
"Since when did 25 become waaaaay younger than 29 you little bitch!", I laugh, biting my tongue a little. God, this always happens! Clarissa goes into her sex kitten mode, digging at me and I want to go all flirty but hold back instead.
As attractive as I find her, I gave up on sending obvious signals to her a week into our work together on the play. Clarissa is married with a 7-month old at home and I had been very up front with her about my sexuality right away. I don't make it a habit to blurt out "I'm a raving lesbian" to everyone I meet, but you spend time alone with anyone and eventually you get to relationships. The dear took that revelation in stride and has been making cracks about catching me looking at her "tits" ever since.
"You got quiet, you thinking about my tits again?" Wow, nice timing! God, why does she go and push my buttons like that? I'm always forced to hit back.
"No, just daydreaming about going down on Barbara Bush again," I smirk, knowing how much I gross her out when I joke about such things.
If I didn't know any better, I'd think that Clarissa and I have been flirting, setting the stage for a post-school afternoon delight. But I've been shaking my head at the thought for weeks. "Hey, this is you Gabriella, don't be so foolish." There's absolutely NO contest, Gabriella Cavalcanti has absolutely THE worst gaydar in the history of lesbians. I can't count the number of times that I've been absolutely certain I was getting signals from a woman at the bar, in class at university, etc. and been dead wrong. But for some reason, I'm thinking this is different. And it's none of the old cliche reasons.
She's never said, "gosh, my husband doesn't give me what I need anymore". And she hasn't been obvious about it: nothing like "geez, I wish there was a 29 year old, black haired, Italian lesbian around to lick my pussy!" (Sigh, if only it were that easy).
No, it's just simply a feeling I've had the last few meetings. The gaydar is unreliable like I said, but once I spend a lot of time with someone, I can usually sense when I'm being sized up. And somewhere beneath that confident facade is......something. And when I got up this morning, I decided that I'd find out what it is. I'm pretty sure I could fall in love with Clarissa if I let myself, so I owe myself at least the attempt. And it's SOOOO not like me to think something like that. I guess if it doesn't work out, I'll just finally bite the bullet and give in to that huge-boobed blonde at my gym that always manages to find herself in the shower right across from me, smiling and staring at my ass while forever "borrowing" my shampoo. She's completely stunned, but I'm already in lust with her, and sometimes that's good enough. Anyway, back to what's at hand....
"Smack."
"Hey!" Clarissa jumps as my hand contacts that beautiful round tushy. Gathering her composure like she always seems to do, and despite the obvious blushing going on, she plays right along. "Well I've been a REALLY bad girl," she giggles, sticking her ass toward me again, "and you're going to have to give me a better spanking than that!"
Ahhh, this is a perfect opportunity to test the waters. "Well not here in the school," I say, in full mocking-mode, "it's so public!"
"Oh please," Clarissa says, "I know you've thought this out. I see you lock that door and draw that blind every day. I know what you're thinking."
She's smiling, but I can tell she's wondering if there's any kind of truth in that statement. I'm standing, grinning, and making a point of it not to deny her entirely accurate accusation. She's not moving. She's frozen. I let the silence linger. It's exciting, but it frightens her. Now that what's obviously been on her mind is now being presented to her, she doesn't quite know what the next move is.
"Wow, Miss D'Entrement, have I made you speechless?" I ask. "Let me know how I did it and I'll make mental notes for next time." Playfully, I reach out with my right hand and lightly brush her cheek. A rush of air escapes her lips and I realize that she's been holding her breath. This seems to snap her out of her daze and she turns back to my desk.
