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“Tell them you’ll be out in a second,” I demand.
“I-I’ll be out in just a second!” she calls through the door.
“You’ve been in there forever!” her friend shouts back, and then another chimes in.
“Don’t tell me you’re sick on your birthday! You need torally. Some dude at the bar just bought us all a round of shots when we told him it’s our friend’s 21st!”
Emelia looks to me, wanting instruction.
“Tell them you’re fine.”
“I’m fine!” she insists. “Just…I’ll meet you at the bar!”
I’m growing impatient with the fact that she’s stopped touching herself, so I slide my hand back into her underwear and my middle finger covers hers, making her rub the way I want her to. I reach out and wrap my hand around her neck, a gentle pressure just below her chin so I can feel every pulse.
Then I lean down so my mouth is closer to her ear.
“Be a good girl, Emelia. Let me watch you come undone.Show me.”
It’s all the catalyst she needs.
She unravels before me, and I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until my chest starts to ache. I don’t blink. I memorize every second of her body shivering and quaking. I’m relentless; I make her keep swirling her finger, dragging out her pleasure as her body moves against her hand.
The sweetest moan escapes her lips, and I fantasize about kissing her. If only I could…
“Emelia!” a girl shouts. “We’re not leaving you! Are you crying? Because I swear if you’re down in the dumps again on your birthday, I’m going to kick your ass. No being sad on your birthday! We’ve talked about this.”
Emelia’s body stiffens, and she starts to slip away from me.
Her friend’s words snuff out what little magic lingered in this bathroom. Now, Emelia won’t look at me. Whether she’s embarrassed by what I just heard or what we’ve just done, I can’t tell.
Knowing she needs it, I step away first, giving her space.
She uses it, hurrying to fix her clothes before going back to the sink to wash her hands and wipe clean the last few minutes. I bend down and retrieve her purse, feeling lightheaded from the alcohol as I stand back up. I’m more drunk than I realized, and so is Emelia.Fuck.That guilt I was able to shirk off in the heat of the moment refuses to be ignored now. Adrenaline is burning off my buzz. I shouldn’t have taken things this far. I shouldn’t be alone in this bathroom with one of my students.
My student.
Jesus Christ.
Clarity is a sharp knife.
With her head bowed, she walks over to collect her purse, careful not to touch me. Her hand is shaking.
“It’s your birthday.”
Her gaze stays on the floor. “Does it matter?”
Before I can say anything else, she slips out the door and rejoins her friends.
“God, sorry, guys. There was the longest line, and then I thought I was going to be sick for a second,” she lies.
“Are you all right now?” a guy asks. “We can nix the drinks and head home.”
“No, I’m fine. Swear.”
Someone whoops. “Then let’sGO!”
I check my course roster later that night, back home in Boston.
