When I was sixteen I was pretty much your average girl. Nice looking and attractive enough, average figure. I did OK in school, had friends, and OK parents, too. Maybe because I was just your typical, average girl that I longed for something to be different. For something to be special. I dated boys, and yes, I fooled around, but was careful never to go too far. Pretty typical too, really. I think that I just longed for excitement that was, at the same time, somehow also safe.
There was a teacher in our school, a Ms. Leslie Aimes, who taught English. It was rumored that she was a lesbian. Of course you always heard rumors like that, especially about teachers who ran a strict class. To me, she didn't look like a lesbian. Of course, then one has to ask, what does a lesbian really look like? She was good looking, strawberry-blonde hair, dressed nice, was feminine, not butch. To me, she had none of the qualities that everyone always associates with being a hard core lesbian. I figured that it was just that, rumors, and nothing more.
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Yet, I found myself wondering about her. Wondering about her being a lesbian. Was she really? If so, then she kept it private and personal. I was sort of fascinated by the thought of her having this completely separate life. To me, I had to admit, that sounded so incredibly romantic.
As I idly considered all of this, I began to find myself wondering . . . what would it be like, to be with a woman like that, and in that way. In school, and again it was all rumors, of course, there were some stories about a few of the girls who had been bisexual at a sleepover. Girlfriends having fun, that sort of thing. None of it was probably true, then on the other it may well have been. Who knew? Stuff like that undoubted went on, except that it never happened to me, and to be honest, when I thought about doing anything with one of my friends, I kind of thought that would be gross.
Yet, I was fascinated by Ms. Aimes.
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When I thought about being sexual with an older woman, somehow that was appealing to me. It was mature and sophisticated, and breathtakingly romantic.
I knew that Ms. Aimes lived in a nice house about five blocks from where I did. Sort of casually, I found myself walking by her house after school and on weekends. Why? I don't know. Hoping to see something, I guess. To see another woman there, thinking that would tell me something. I never saw another woman.
Winter came early that year. One fall day it started snowing. It was a Saturday, and having nothing else to do, I went out walking. The air was brisk and the sky was heavy gray, and it started snowing. I was just walking past Ms. Aimes house when I saw her drive in and get our of her car, carrying groceries.
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She spotted me, huddled in my coat, snow flakes on my dark hair. She smiled and said hi, recognizing me from school, even thought she wasn't my English teacher. I said hi back, and not thinking about it, other than being polite, I offered to help carry her groceries in. She accepted the help and we carried the bags into her kitchen, both of us saying what a surprise it was to find it snowing and how cold the temperature was. For my help, she said I should stay and have a cup of hot chocolate. It sounded good to me.
She made it, the instant kind, and we took our mugs to sit in the living room. She took her wet shoes off and invited me to be comfortable and to do the same. I remember, her toe nails were lacquered a deep red. Mine were plain nude, which seemed sort of inadequate compared to hers.
That summer had painted them pink, although that was hardly very sophisticated.
We sat there talking, again mostly about the weather and how suddenly cold it had gotten. I said something about how nice it would to go home and take a warm bath. She said that sounded good, and said that she mightdo the same, and soak in a warm bubble bath. Again, there was that appealing air of sophistication about her that I found appealing.
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I said how wonderful that sounded, and dreamily remarked how nice it would be if we were luxuriating in a warm bubble bath, having our hot chocolate. I really didn't mean anything seductive or even suggestive by it, it was simply a nice picture to imagine. That was all.
She gave me this sort of chiding grin, looking amused. She told me that would be nice, but probably not too appropriate . . . a teacher and student sharing a bath.
I saw what she meant. I naturally looked sort of embarrassed over the truly unintentional suggestiveness. Awkwardly I said how I hadn't seen it as being anything like that, and innocently pointed out how no one would known, anyway.
She looked cautious, but agreed that no one would know. That is to say, if I didn't tell anyone, since she certainly wouldn't. She said how that would be a little risque, but admitted that it might be nice to have a bath-partner, and that it would be a pleasant way to spend on hour on a cold day.
I found the idea enticing, as well as her actually admitting that she liked the idea, too.
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