It’s a few minutes before until I’m scheduled to tutor you. When I hear your car pull up to my house and I mentally caution myself to never let you see how much I want you. Today, I’ve planned a writing assignment to help you improve your college essay skills. But, it’s impossible to think about anything except what the spot on your neck, just below your ear, would taste like.
It’s like that with all of your subjects. You turn the pages of a math book and I see only your hands, large and strong, moving over my body. I’m staring at your hands and don’t realize that you’re watching me until it’s too late. Can you see the hunger in my eyes as I meet your gaze?
“Do you need some help with the next problem,” I ask. I can feel the heat gathering in my cheeks and I begin to shuffle the papers on the desk, arranging and then rearranging them.
“I think I’m okay for now,” you answer. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine, why?”
“Your face is turning red. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, it’s just warm in here,” I manage to say, walking over to open a window. As I sit back down at the desk, my hand accidentally knocks a handful of papers to the floor. We both reach down to gather them and as we stack them back onto a pile, just for a second, the tips of your fingers brush across my wrist. I shudder.
