The first time I saw her, I was walking through the halls, trying to get to my next class. She was leaning against one of the school vending machines, talking to another girl. I remember being totally awestruck. She was of medium height, with short dark hair stopping just above her shoulders, and stunning auburn eyes. She was wearing black, knee high, shiny leather boots, which I found a surprising choice for a college freshman.
After that day, I would see her every so often in the halls, or in class. She's a psychology major. Although I had never talked to her at that point, she became all I could think of. Eventually, I think she started to notice my fascination with her. When I would find the courage to glance at her, she would always meet and hold my gaze, with a smile, such that I would quickly look away, blushing uncontrollably.
Her eyes were of particular interest to me. They were, of course, beautiful, but what made them special was their dark, deep, intelligence, as though you could see through them the thousands of thoughts that would appear in her mind as she spoke to you. Her dad's a lawyer, he drives a Bentley. Her name is Hazel.
My name's Joshua, or Josh as most people call me. My parents are divorced, so right now I'm living with my Dad and his new wife. We're middle class: my Dad works in sales somewhere, my Mum is a high school teacher. I'm 19 years old.
I'm studying English literature at the moment. I tell people I want to go to law school after college and become a lawyer, but the truth is I don't have that much direction in my life. My priorities are short term: writing that next essay, prepping for that next exam, getting fit for the summer. My life is comfortable, albeit unexciting, but all that is about to change.
She took a class on Jane Austen in the fall, so did I. I remember arriving early to our first class and sitting at the front, unaware that she had signed up as well. When she walked through the door a minute before class started, I dropped the pencil I had been twirling in my finger, and it fell on the floor. She walked over to me as I was picking it up.
"Hi, I'm Hazel," she said.
"Uh hi, I'm Josh," I answered, looking up at her.
"Mind if I sit here?" she asked.
"Oh no, go for it," I replied.
She took the seat to my right and took off her coat. She was wearing a white tank top with the Metallica logo, a skirt, and those same boots I saw her wear the first time I laid eyes on her. I tried not to stare.
"I've already met this year's requirements for my major, so I thought I would take this class for fun. I'm a Psych major," she said, as she pushed her dark hair behind her ears.
"Oh cool!" I replied, trying my best to pretend I didn't already know her major. "Psychology sounds interesting".
"It is!" she answered. "It's fun learning about the human mind and how it works," she looked at me, "what makes people tick," she smiled.
I smiled and looked away so she wouldn't see me blush. We made small talk throughout the class, and I tried to act cooler than I was. When the lesson ended, she asked for my number. She said since I was a literature major, she might need to talk to me for help on her homework. I tried my best to conceal my excitement. Could it be we had hit it off? Or did she just want to use me for homework? I thought the second possibility was more likely, and cycled home.
I felt my suspicions were confirmed a few days later, when I received a text from her.
"Hi Josh, I'm struggling with the essay on Pride and Prejudice... Would you be OK to come to mine so we can maybe discuss ideas? Would be a huge help," she wrote.
My heart beat faster as I contemplated the idea of seeing her at her house, and although I was only helping with her essay, my mind raced with the possibility that she might have some other purpose in mind, inviting me over.
Her house was a 20-minute bike ride away from mine, uptown. It stood in a fancy-looking gated community, and the guardian at the gate of the square made me get off my bike. Her place was the number 6, Pineton Close, and it was 5 stories tall. I glanced up at it as I made my way through the front yard, and was struck by its size and its grandeur. I could tell the house was old, from the bricks and the overall architecture, but it was also clearly well maintained. The front yard implied the labour of a team of gardeners, and the front door was dark red.
After a few deep breaths, I rang the doorbell.
I waited by the door for a little under a minute, and was just about to ring a second time when Hazel opened.
"Hi Josh!" she said as she hugged me. "How are you doing?"
"I'm doing OK," I replied, "almost done with my essay".
"Oh good! So you can help me with mine," she said.
I followed her through the house up to the 5th floor, where her bedroom was, and we sat on her bed. The inside of her house was similar to the outside, and old paintings of people and landscapes were perched on almost every wall.
"I've been having some trouble answering the question I chose," she confessed. "They want me to examine the character flaws of Elizabeth Bennett, but I can't find any".
"Ah, I see," I answered. "Well, I guess you could say she's prideful," I offered.
"Oh really? Why do you think that?" she said.
"Well, for example, when Mr Darcy dismisses her looks at the start of the novel, she holds a grudge against him for months. Also, she refuses the advances of Mr Collins, even though this disappoints her mother. Near the end of the book, when Lady Catherine forbids her from marrying Mr Darcy, she rebukes her," I told her.
"So, you see women standing up for themselves as a character flaw?" she replied, turning to face me.
"Oh, uh, of course not, that's not what I meant," I stammered nervously. After all, it hadn't been what I had meant. How had I messed up so fast?
"Just joking," she laughed, "you should see the look on your face".
I laughed as well, and felt relief wash over me.
"I see what you mean, Josh, but I feel that pride isn't a flaw for a beautiful, intelligent, woman like Elizabeth," said Hazel. "Don't you think that a woman like that should get what she wants?". As she said this she stared deep into my eyes.
"Oh uh, yes I guess so," I offered, feeling uncomfortable again. Had I upset her? I felt myself melt under her intense gaze, feeling her analyze every facial expression, every tremor in my voice.
"To me it seems Lizzy's only character flaw was not being assertive enough. She allows herself to be intimidated by Darcy," she explained. "If I were her, I would have put him in his place and had him at my feet".
The assertiveness, confidence, and power with which she delivered those lines made me tremble, yet, at the same time, I felt strangely that I had somehow grown even fonder of her. She laughed, and I followed suit.
The rest of the evening was uneventful, and I helped her with her essay. After a few minutes of work I started to suspect that she didn't much need my help, and had already decided on the direction her essay would take. She was going to argue what she had told me, and demonstrate that Elizabeth's main weakness was her subservience to the men in her life, which she felt was too great, even though the heroine was already far more independent than most women at the time.
At half past midnight, we had finished her essay, and she thanked me for my help and walked me to the door.
"We should do this again sometime," she offered, smiling.
"Oh uh yes, totally," I replied.
I rode home through the night, somehow even more in awe of her.
The next day was a Saturday, and I woke up at 10 am. I had spent the night in a strange dream involving Hazel. In that dream I had been naked, with my hands cuffed together behind my back. I was kneeling on the floor, and Hazel was sat in front of me on what looked like a throne, wearing those same leather boots she always wore, except this time, she was making me kiss them. There I was, kneeling on the floor, totally naked, kissing a woman's boots.
While this was disturbing enough, what confused me most was how much I was enjoying it. My whole body was tingling with sensations of pure pleasure, and my mind exploded with ecstasy whenever she would call me degrading names like "slut" or "slave". I felt totally under her control, and yet this feeling of intense subservience and devotion filled me with joy.
I had encountered similar scenarios on some of the pornographic websites I would sometimes frequent, but had never taken an interest in them. I washed my face with cold water, and went downstairs to get some breakfast, hoping to clear my mind of such strange ideas.
I was having my cereal, lost in thought, when I felt my phone vibrate. It was Hazel.
"Hi Josh! Do you wanna come hang out at my place today, since its Sunday?" read the text.
I could hardly contain my smile. I replied "Of course!" and grabbed my bike. A few minutes later and I was on her doorstep, ringing the bell again. She opened the door, and to my surprise she was wearing a bathrobe.
"I've just finished by bath," she explained, "I hope you don't mind".
