Impact 10 5 Of Rebekah

This was a stand alone story I originally published as "The Tutor" - but is also a crucial chapter in Sarah's story. So for those of you reading the "Impact" series I posted this reworked and expanded version as 10½ (where I feel it best belongs within the chronology).*

Special thanks to HaltWhoGoesThere for proof reading this chapter for me - repeatedly.

Impact of Rebekah

I had seen Sarah around, had heard guys talking about her. She was very pretty and had made a bit of a splash on campus with some of the upperclassmen guys at the beginning of the year - my ex among them. But I really hadn't given her much thought beyond her looks until I started tutoring her. The truth is I'd assumed Sarah was dumb. I know that sounds harsh, but in my defense I was hardly alone. She looked like an airhead.

Don't get me wrong. I don't spend a lot of time obsessing on the looks or native wits of freshman girls, but I was living with three guys in a rambling Victorian off campus and regularly sleeping with a fourth. With all that guy energy in the house it was hard not to hear the scuttlebutt - and like I said my ex in particular had been way too interested in her. In his defense she was everything I wasn't. She and I are about the same size, but she had a wonderfully thick head of pale wavy red hair with big bright blue eyes and big boobs. My hair is black, my eyes are dark brown under thick dark brows, and my boobs are tiny little cones. Sarah wasn't the reason I broke up with Kevin, but his fascination with her definitely contributed to my decision - 'if that's what he wants, he's not for me,' my thinking went.

Still, she really was striking, so even without Kevin and the boys, I'd have noticed her. But I still would have thought she was dumb.

It was her expression that made her look stupid. I remember some snark saying she had "resting ditz face" - harsh I know, but not entirely off the mark either. Those big empty pale eyes and slack pout... which Kevin had described as "perpetual blowjob mouth" to one of my housemates when he thought I couldn't hear. Picture a strawberry blonde Sydney Sweeney.

Part of what had made her a standout when she first arrived was the poor thing had seemed to spill out of whatever she wore. It was almost comic. But as the weather cooled she had disappeared into her clothes and some of the buzz around her had disappeared with the change in costume. It was a big enough change that when she'd first come to work with me in February I'd assumed she had gained the "freshman fifteen", but I quickly realized she was hiding; disguising herself with oversized sweatshirts and sweaters and such. It made me reassess her, like her more.

And after tutoring Sarah for a month or two my opinion of her had done a one-eighty. First, she turned out to be super smart - not just book smart, but wickedly fast and surprisingly thoughtful. She wasn't at all assertive however. I found I had to draw her out. It took me a couple weeks of gentle encouragement, joking and some well deserved flattery, slowly but surely, however, I was able to do it. At first I thought Sarah was just shy, but that wasn't it. She had the power to transform herself - almost like Clark Kent into Superman. She could go from quiet Sarah with bad posture and a vacuous look to the Homecoming queen with the piercing eyes and sharp insights in a flash. It was almost like a magic trick. And like Clark Kent, the airhead-Sarah seemed to be a brand of protective camouflage. I dedicated myself to being her Lois Lane... or Jimmy Olsen... or whatever; someone she could show her Superman self to.

"You are a worldshaker in waiting," I told her, making her blush crimson. "I mean it Sarah, you are so beautiful and so smart, you need to let people see that!

And it's funny to admit, but even as I worked to build up her own sense of self-esteem I found myself more than a little intimidated by her Homecoming Queen Superman.

On the day it all started we were having our first really warm day, the sun was out and everyone on campus celebrated by dressing as if it was 110 out.

I was thinking about Sarah's Superman trick as I watched her arrive from the deck outside my bedroom window. Spring has sprung and like everyone else she had shed her winter gear. She was walking up to the house in shorts, a t-shirt and sandals. Her hair was pulled back into a thick ponytail. I remember looking down on her and being struck by her figure. Not only was she not fat, she was a twig of a girl - except for her boobs, which stood off her chest like they were perpetually at attention. She had her backpack on over both shoulders, that made them all the more outrageous looking. And yes, I felt guilty for objectifying her that way, she didn't know she was being watched, but I couldn't help myself. Her thumbs were hooked in her shoulder straps and her head was down. She was talking to herself - not out loud, but her lips were moving.

Did I mention she was also a huge nerd? It's like she was lost in the woods as a baby and raised by awkward misfits and clumsy weirdos. I wondered what her home life was like.

My bedroom windows opened onto the roof of the front porch, my friends and I sometimes sunbathed on the little deck - at least twice, I may also be a nerd. Still the deck was a huge perk, but it also blocked my view of our front yard. The only way I could see who was coming and going in front of the house was if I was outside. I climbed back in through the window and closed it, took a last look around my room, wanting to be sure everything was ready.

I was nervous.

I'd lived in Hill House since my sophomore year, and this was my second and final year in the old master bedroom at the front of the house. It had three big windows onto the deck, a deep closet and its own bathroom. I had a queen size bed, a beautiful mid-century modern teak desk and dresser, but even so the room felt wonderfully empty. It was that big; the whole front end of the house. I'd inherited the lease and most of the furniture in the house when all three of my roommates graduated at once. In it, I'd weathered a change in majors (many tears), half a dozen break ups (not as many tears, but some), a terrible case of mono, and an abortion (so many tears).

Kevin, the most recent of my exes and one of the ones to get absolutely no tears, had been Sarah's TA for her creative writing class. When he'd sent her my way I'd been angry, had felt like it was some sort of passive aggressive jab, but I'd also needed the money and hadn't turned her away. I was glad I hadn't; like I said, Sarah wasn't who I assumed she was.

I really liked her, but something strange had happened that I'd been struggling with.

The last time she'd come to work with me we'd set up at my desk as usual and had been going through her work when I'd gotten a call from my dean that I needed to drop off paperwork asap. I'd felt bad and excused myself, and rushed out. When I'd left Sarah was in full blown Homecoming Queen Superman mode, but when I had gotten back, I'd found Clark Kent Sarah, nervous and flush, and my room had smelled like... sex.

We had finished studying but I'd been distracted and so had she. After she'd left I'd wondered if I'd imagined it all. But I had made my bed that morning and remembered smoothing out the covers and fluffing the pillows. But when I'd gotten back from my dean's, my bed looked like it had been laid in, the pillows were dented... and again the room had smelled like sex, like

pussy.

I wasn't sure, wondered if I was imagining things, but it bothered me. And as much as I'd tried, I couldn't let it go.

The next week I'd emailed Sarah and asked if we could meet a couple hours later. She'd agreed saying the new time was actually better for her. For me it meant all my housemates would be gone. When she showed up I'd let her in and brought her upstairs. I remember I complimented her on her outfit, saying how good she looked. It was so nice to see her with her hair pulled back so I could see her eyes, in something that wasn't baggy.

Sarah had been embarrassed by my compliments, but thanked me. We'd gotten settled at my desk and started working when I'd told her I'd gotten a text from my housemate Don and he needed me to bring something he'd forgotten to campus.

"But don't worry," I told her, "there's no one else here, you've got the house to yourself and won't be disturbed."

I'd made a show of rushing out and making a noisy exit. And then, kicking off my shoes, I quietly snuck back up the stairs, careful to avoid the squeaky steps.

Creepy I know, but I was

curious.

It was all so inexplicable and weird, I told myself I just wanted to know.

Besides the deck the other great perk of the master bedroom was it had its own bathroom. There was a door from the hall to my bathroom, but because I'm the only one who uses it, that door is usually closed and locked. But that day I'd left the door open. I'd also closed the bathroom window shade and hung a big robe on the back of the door to the bedroom, - which I'd left ajar - all so Sarah wouldn't see me even if she looked my way. I, meanwhile, could see the desk and the bed.

So there I was, sneaking into my own bathroom and creeping on tip toes up to the gap I'd left in the doorway into my room. At first I felt bad because Sarah was just sitting there at my desk, wringing her hands in her lap. I'd done all this pervy scheming just to see she was having trouble with her homework. Standing there in the dark in my stocking feet I felt ashamed of myself; like the sneak I was. But then Sarah spread her knees and pressed her writhing hands against her crotch. I almost gasped when she stood and started to wrestle with the fly of her shorts. Jerking at it, pulling them open. She stood quickly, pushing her chair back, barking it loudly against the floorboards and making me jump a little. She then seemed to walk straight for the bathroom door. My heart seized and I felt myself go flush. I was

sure

I was caught, but she stopped short and turned. She had been holding her shorts up, but dropped them, and laying back on my bed she pushed her panties down,

fully

exposing herself to me. The bed is much closer to my bathroom than the desk. She was an arms length away. From my vantage I could see Sarah's little rose gold bush glistening through her fingertips, the pink sheen of her labia...she was dripping wet.

Whatever I thought I was going to see, I was entirely unprepared for this. I had never seen another girl this way, and she was so close. I could see everything. My heart was beating so fast and loud in my chest I was sure she would hear. I was taking intentionally slow breaths, as deep as I could, but they felt like tiny sips of air. I couldn't catch my breath and was afraid I might faint. My mouth was so dry my tongue felt like parchment. But I couldn't turn away or retreat. I was rooted to the spot, paralyzed with fear and... fascination.

My eyes wide with shock, I watched as she began to finger herself, her neck twisting and her hand moving frantically, her fingers a blur. She called out, and then as suddenly as it began, she froze, her legs squeezing tight, and her back arched almost painfully. Her body jerked and spasmed but went slack. She took slow deep breaths, recovering herself, wiping her fingers on her belly and thighs.

She had cum so fast.

I forced myself to take a silent step backwards, and tiptoed back out of the bathroom and down the stairs. I stood for a moment in the front hall, breathing like I'd run a marathon.

She had called my name.

I stood there struggling to gather my wits, to clear my thoughts. I couldn't. Instead I just slipped back on my shoes, opened and slammed the front door, and noisily pounded up the stairs.

When I opened my bedroom door I didn't have to pretend to be winded. I was flush and my breath was ragged gasps.

"Sorry!" I announced, not looking at Sarah, a bit afraid of what I'd see. "Ugh, sorry about that..."

Sarah was sitting at the desk, a little flushed, but her shorts were back on.

"No it's fine," she told me, slouched and guilty - Superman nowhere to be seen. "I was just reading."

She took a nervous glance at my bed and I tried not to follow her gaze, but couldn't stop myself. There was the dent in my covers where she'd been moments ago, and a small dark spot of moisture on the duvet.

I pretended not to see and sat down next to her to work. My legs were shaking and my chest felt hollow. We went over her writing assignments for the week, both of us distracted; ill at ease. The smell of her sex hung over us like a cloud.

When I'd decided to spy on her I'd just wanted to know if I was right. I'd told myself I was mad and imagined confronting her. But when I'd actually seen her, it had been different. I was shocked, not only by what I saw but what I felt. I had soaked my panties. I had gotten incredibly turned on, not just watching her, but afterwards, sitting at my desk together. I kept hearing the way she had called out to me. Her high voice strangled and clipped, "RebeKAH!"

As we worked I found myself leaning in close, touching the top of her hand, putting my face near hers. I had told myself I was just trying to put her at ease, but if anything I was making her even more uncomfortable. I had been flirting with her. But more than that I'd been enjoying the way my flirting made her blush and squirm. And each time she got something right or saw what I was getting at, or was maybe just struggling with something, I pointedly touched her fingers with mine, the fingers she had masturbated with.

After she left all I could think about was her bare ass on my covers, the wet pinkness of her labia squeezed between her fingers, her eyes pinched shut, bottom lip held in her teeth, the wet sound of her fingers. I found myself staring at the damp spot where Sarah had been sitting. I walked over to the bed and touched the covers, thinking of how fast she had made herself cum.

I knew I should be mad, but I wasn't. I should have confronted her instead of spying on her. I should have been disgusted with her

and

myself. But instead I unbuttoned my jeans, and pushed them down my thighs and sat where she had sat. I'm not sure what exactly I thought about that made me cum so hard, I wasn't really picturing her. That image was in my mind I guess. But it's more that I held myself the way she had held herself, touched myself the way she had, and came like she did, fast and hard.

"SARAH!"

I didn't mean to do it, but I had. I called her name loud enough that if someone else had been in the house they would have heard. I went to bed that night trying to understand what I had done, but I just ended up guiltily pushing my panties down and hating myself as I began masturbating again. This time I did picture her. I pictured her pulling her shorts down, the pale soft flesh of her belly and thighs, her strangled cry. But in my fantasy I was on my hands and knees over her, looking down on her. I was holding my face as close to hers as when we were studying, so close I could smell her breath, feel its warmth. I had never thought of a girl this way, but here I was touching myself, picturing the color of her cheeks, her shy downcast gaze, her lips, full and pink, and wet.

And I thought of touching her hand with mine when we were studying. It may have been my imagination, but her fingers had felt sticky. In my fantasy my fingers were touching her fingers the same way, but now her fingers were wet and moving fast as she masturbated beneath me. When my orgasm came, I was recalling her voice, the girlish piping cry, "RebeKAH!" - it was like thunder.

That week had seemed to drag by in slow motion. If I hadn't given Sarah much thought before that day, after I thought of little else. The one time we saw each other it was just in passing.

"Same time?" she asked. Superman was back.

"Yeah, let's do that again!" I agreed, returning her smile and sharing her enthusiasm. "It's better for me."

"Me too!", she agreed, and we parted.

I had promised myself I was going to cancel, that I was going to tell her to find a new tutor. Instead my heart had leapt at the sight of her. I'd greeted her like we were best friends. In my overexcitement I hugged her.

I tried not to obsess about Sarah, to put her out of my mind, but at night, when I was alone in my bed my mind would return to what happened. I did my best to distract myself. I went out with friends that weekend, drank too much, made out at a bar with this guy Ben I'd been flirting with, and had a good time... but when I got home, as I stripped for bed, it wasn't Ben I was thinking about, it was Sarah. Her big blue eyes, "blow job mouth" and the glimpses of wet pink flesh peeking out between her fingers.

I found myself standing naked over my bed looking down at the spot where Sarah had masturbated.

I knelt on the floor beside the spot and, pressing my face against my covers, took a deep breath, trying to smell her.

That act of smelling my covers was deeply wrong. I'd never done anything like that. I didn't think of myself as a prude. I'm not one of those girls who talks about sex all the time, but I'm not ashamed to talk about it. I don't have hang ups about sex - but my sex life before that moment was pretty vanilla. But there I was kneeling next to my bed as if in prayer, trying to make contact with Sarah's bare flesh - no matter how tenuous. I was excited in a way I'd never been before, never imagined I might be. But this wasn't something I could tell a girlfriend about, something I could ever admit to anyone. This was perverse and shameful and I knew I should stop, but I didn't. But even if I had wanted to, I'm not sure I could have stopped.

Never mind that I'd never been attracted to another girl before, as I masturbated there on the floor, with my duvet gripped in my teeth, sucking at the cover thinking about how wet Sarah had been, I realized I'd crossed into alien territory. I wasn't just a peeping tom, I was the kind of panty-sniffing freak I'd always looked down on as broken. I was a pervert.

Was I broken?

Later that week I listened to my housemate Don letting Sarah in. I couldn't make out what they said, just the low rumble of his strangely deep voice and the sing-song of her high girlish voice. My current crop of housemates are, like me, all graduating at the end of the semester. Looking around my room one last time I wondered idly if Sarah would like to take over my room from me. I heard Don's bike bang into something. He was leaving for class I knew, and so I went out into the hall and leaned over the banister to greet Sarah.

Standing at the top of the stairs, looking down on Sarah again my heart had raced and skipped. I took advantage of my unseen perch to look down her shirt. I felt like a perv, but Christ her boobs were amazing. Poor thing looked so awkward, mumbling nervously to Don, glancing around the crowded entrance hall looking for me, or maybe a means of escape. All there was were the coats and bikes and boots and junk.

"Up here Sarah," I called. She looked up and her face is transformed by a kilowatt Homecoming Queen smile.

'Superman,' I thought.

"Hey Rebekah!"

"Hey yourself, come on up Sarah, we'll study in my room again."

The old Victorian's stairs creaked as she climbed, her steps a quick double time. I gestured her in and closed my door.

"Those sandals are lovely, are they new?"

"I just got them, I know, it's stupid, I just felt-"

"It's not stupid! They're fabulous ...and look at your nails! What color is that?"

"Sea Foam."

"Did you do it?"

"Yeah..."

"You're really good - I might need you to do mine sometime, I'm a disaster."