Dear Sir: Time Passes

Continued from Dear Sir: Part I & Flashes

Hot water poured down her body, and she tasted salt on her lips. Silent hot tears of frustration squeezed out from underneath her eyelids to mingle with the shower water. The shower was the safest place to cry these tears. These tears that led to anger and confusion. She just knew that Dr. London was who she wanted to be with. How could he continue to ignore her? It wasn't that she thought she was irresistible or something, and she knew she was asking for the forbidden. Still, she just believed there was something between them. He had returned her quiz with the words she'd written cut off of the page. She hoped he'd kept them. Finally the tears tapered off and she lowered her arms to her sides from where she'd been bracing herself. She angrily applied body wash to her loofah and aggressively began scrubbing herself. He was avoiding her at school, for weeks now he'd evaded her every attempt to get a moment alone with him. Still, she felt him looking at her in class. She saw his eyes travel down her body of their own volition when he thought she wasn't looking. She imagined his gaze was hungry.

She'd make one more try before she'd write this off as her own foolish desires... desires that he didn't want to fulfill. It was time to use that code she'd so carefully watched him enter. One last plea, one last try. What would she do if he turned her away again? She threw the loofah away childishly, letting the water slough the lather from her skin. She would NOT think about that. He was who she wanted, and while she didn't deserve him... trying for what she wanted wasn't wrong was it? She wouldn't allow this to hurt him, so she decided it wasn't wrong in the least. With that renewed resolution the tension finally began to leave her shoulders, and the warm water began to make her think entirely different thoughts, as her hands slid down her now softened and warmed skin. She leaned back against the shower wall, opening her legs, parting herself with her fingers, a soft moan escaping her lips as she imagined dark eyes hungrily watching her.

----

He didn't know if she'd always dressed in the traditional schoolgirl style, maybe she had, but he hadn't noticed before. Now he could have drawn out every outfit she'd worn for the last three weeks. Skirts, tall socks, scarves, headbands, tailored shirts, sweaters, every little maddening detail. And when she sat at her desk, the skirts always rode up her pale thighs. She'd often gently but absently stroke her thigh with her hand under the desk while she dreamily stared at him from under her lashes. It was maddening. His body often threatened to betray his response to this knowledge... and he had been forced to take refuge behind the podium once. It was wreaking havoc on him. He knew she had been trying to get him alone too, but he only had to evade her another week and then through finals before he'd be free of temptation for the winter break. Though how he could stop waking up achingly hard (or worse, spent and sticky and needing to change his sheets - again) with dreams of long blond hair trapped in his fist and soft white thighs trapped beneath him, he didn't know....

to be continued...