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Logan
Istill can’t stop thinking about Evelyn. She’s a little spitfire. That much is certain. She’s got the confidence of someone so much older than herself. At first, I was amused. Shocked even, but now I’ve almost come to expect it. Still, I didn’t expect her to slip me her phone number.
Should I text her? Am I crossing the boundary? Am I over thinking or thinking this through just enough?
It’s been three days. What should I say? I look down at my phone. It suddenly feels heavier in my hand than usual. Maybe that’s just the guilt I’m feeling. Maybe it’s the lack of intimacy.
A couple of months has rolled by in the blink of an eye, and I haven’t gotten laid since. I’ve been so busy that I’ve hardly noticed, but now that things are slowing down and this class has begun- I’m being crushed under all the sexual tension that’s been building up.
I just want someone to touch me. I want to feel the warmth of another person’s skin against mine.
Someone like Evelyn.
Her slender frame is decorated with delicious curves. I can only imagine what she looks like under those skirts that she wears. Those skirts that are just a little too short.
I can see her bending over, exposing the little panties she’s worn just for me. Her teacher.
There it is again.
I shake my head, simultaneously shaking the guilt away.
She’s old enough and she can do as she pleases. She can do who she pleases and if that person happens to be me, then so be it. Who am I to deny her of her needs?
I can only imagine her unbuttoning those tight button-up shirts she wears, revealing her breasts that are shoved, relentlessly into the sexy bra she wears underneath.
That’s thenot-getting-laid-in-a-few-month’stalking.
That’s it. I’m going to do it.
“Come over. Tonight, eight o’clock.”
I click send with my address before my brain can tell me not to and I instantly regret it. Just as instantly, I’m glad I did it. I need to get back into it otherwise I never will.
This is exactly the type of thing I try to discourage on DateRite. Dating ruts are some of the hardest to get out of but all it takes is one time to get you back in the game.
My phone dings.
“You’re straight to the point. I like it.”
Was that too obvious? Maybe I should have asked her out to dinner, but it’s too late for that now.Shit.
Now she probably thinks I’m some dirty pervert. Which I am- to a degree- but I don’t want her to think that, or anyone else at Stanford for that matter. Still, she agreed to come over, so I need to figure something out quickly.
As I scan the pristine, open layout of my mansions kitchen, the pan I used to make my breakfast shines at me. That’s it, I’ll make her dinner. Who doesn’t love homemade pasta and salad? At least that way, I won’t be rude. Plus, that’s romantic.
I shower as quickly as I can, fix my dirty-blonde hair, and put on my best cologne before putting the pasta on to boil.
I silently thank god that my house is large enough that there needs to be a gate. Security alerting me of her arrival gives me just enough time to put wine on the table with our plates. I hear her knock at the door and take my time walking under my high ceilings to get to her.
“Evelyn.”
“Mr. Klein.”
I can’t help letting my eyes drift down her body. Her little black dress is skin tight. I have to look away from her breasts quickly before I get another hard-on at the thought of her.
Her long, white-blonde hair brushed neatly over her ears and reaches down to her rear. I can see her eyes, wide, scanning the exterior of the estate.
“Come in.”
