I was standing in the airport lobby, checking my phone periodically to make sure Tricia's flight was on schedule. I couldn't wait to see her. It had been so long. The last time we spoke in person was a year ago, when I went to see her in her office at school before I left to go to Cornell to get my master's. I knew from the first moment I saw her that I was in love. I was a bright-eyed freshman and she was my history professor. I came in late on the first day of class and the only seat available was in the front row, right in front of her desk. I mumbled "sorry," as I passed her on that first day. She was already up front speaking to the class. I sat down and looked at her for the first time. She had medium length, light brown hair that was crinkled and wavy. Her skin was fair and clear; her eyes a pure powder blue. They sparkled when she talked about history.
She was wearing a blue patterned dress and a white sweater that modestly covered her slim figure. I couldn't help but think about how our bodies would look entwined... her fair skin and my tanned complexion combining; our breasts pressed against each other as we kissed passionately. It was all I could do to take notes. After class, I apologized for being late, and her melodic voice assured me that it was okay. The rest of the class always rushed out the door, but I purposefully lagged behind, slowly packing my backpack while she logged off of the computer and gathered her own things. We spoke every day after class and developed a relationship that first semester that extended throughout my school career and beyond.
My head was swirling with all of these thoughts as I glanced at the time on my phone, still waiting for her to walk through that gate. I tried to calm myself. Every time I thought about her, I got butterflies in my stomach and my mouth went dry. I tried not to smile to myself like an idiot. I couldn't let her know how I felt—not yet. In her eyes, I was nothing more than a friend. A former student that kept in touch, was all. After all, she was married to a great man. She had two kids. What would she want with me?
Or maybe there was more. As the semesters progressed, we shared thoughts and feelings; she held me when I cried over my brother's death and I did the same for her when her father died my senior year. We shared our dreams and ambitions. She was always very careful not to cross that line—the one that separated us as professor and student. I only got a small handful of hugs from her during my school career, but I relished every one. She was tall (probably 5'10 to my 5'7) and her breasts would press against my upper chest when we embraced.
I jerked back to reality when my phone buzzed in my hand. It was her! I unlocked the screen and read the message.
"Just landed. Are you here?"
I replied that I was waiting in the lobby. My palms were sweating, and wetness had started to pool in my panties. Not now!
After waiting a few more minutes and pacing back and forth, I saw a crowd of people start to exit from her gate. I scanned the faces and saw her toward the back of the group. At thirty nine years old, she was just as beautiful as I remembered. I could see her scanning the crowd—she hadn't seen me yet. She locked eyes with me and I waved sheepishly. She had the brightest, most beautiful smile and I know I was grinning like a nerd when she came over to me. She threw down her bags and gave me a big bear hug.
"Amanda! I'm so glad to see you! Thank you so much for inviting me to your conference."
Yes, the conference. That's how I got her here. One of her favorite historians taught at Cornell and was speaking at a conference on campus. It just so happened that it coincided with Tricia's spring break. I hugged her back, hard.
"I missed you so much! Thanks for coming! I'm parked outside. Let me get your bags."
I helped her carry her bags out to my car and as I drove to my apartment we talked about school, work, and family. I carried her bags once more up the stairs to my apartment and let her in. It was a small apartment with one bedroom, a small kitchenette, and a surprisingly large bathroom. I told Tricia to make herself at home while I got dinner started. I made pasta with white wine sauce and salad. I got two wine glasses and brought the bottle and two plates of food into the living room. We sat on the couch for a couple of hours, talking, laughing, and drinking. After a few glasses of wine, we were both getting a little tipsy. Tricia asked if I had a boyfriend.
"No... I just broke up with someone, actually. It wasn't working out."
"Oh, I'm sorry. He's missing out."
"Um... it was a 'she,' actually."
I looked down, embarrassed. I had never told anyone I was bisexual, at least not anyone I knew from back home. My family was extremely religious and they would disown me if they knew. Tricia had a more relaxed view and I knew she wouldn't think less of me. I don't know why, but I started to tear up.
"Oh, sweet girl, come here."
She pulled me close and stroked my hair while I silently cried. I wasn't crying about my ex. I wasn't even crying about admitting my sexuality. I was crying because I wanted her so badly, so desperately, and I knew I would never have her. It wasn't just physical. I loved her as a person with all my heart.
She softly murmured sweet, supportive things to me as I calmed down and I felt like a child. I sat up on the couch and apologized.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She was looking into my soul with those beautiful blue eyes and I almost said 'no.' But then I thought, This could be my opportunity. This is it. I told her about how I realized I was bisexual when I was in my early twenties and didn't dare act on it at home. When I moved to Ithaca, I experimented with women. She looked a little uncomfortable and I jokingly asked for any questions or comments.
