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Just A Tiny Spark

Date: 8/12/2015, Categories: Fiction, Author: LushStories, Rating: 83.3, Source: sexstories.com

I had overstepped the line. I took a step backwards, bumping against the wall, and caved. “I’m sorry, Erin! I didn’t mean to snap. I know I haven’t been easy to be around lately.” Her eyes softened. “No, you haven’t. I don’t have a clue what it is about, but you have to get a grip on yourself, girl.” I slid down until I was sitting on the floor, legs drawn to my chest, and she sat down next to me. “Hey, Mols.” Erin always shortened people’s names, and even though I wasn’t fond of it, I had long since given up protesting. “I don’t know who you’re pining for, but I recognize love-sick when I see it. You should tell him.” “I know,” I admitted, gritting my teeth. “It’s just that…” “Yes?” The silence stretched. “Forget it. I’m being silly.” Her hand on my shoulder stopped me from getting up. “I’m here if you need to talk, Mols, anytime.” “I… thank you.” No way I was ready to talk to her about it, even though I had nearly slipped up. “I guess I just need to act like a big girl and face the music, whichever tune it plays.” “Whoever he is, you’re going to rock his world.” Her world. Only that she was twice my age and had a PhD. To her, I was probably nothing more than a silly girl with a crush. “I’ll try.” The last few weeks had been hard. The morning after I had read Mrs. Henderson’s book had greeted me with a wave of panic, because the hard light of the day crumbled my self-image to dust. Romantic excitement gave way to self-doubt and shocking realization. Suddenly, my feeling - ... or non-feelings - for Jake made absolute sense, and it dawned on me that any plans of a happy upper class family with a loving husband and lovely, messy-haired kids that I had harbored in the back of my mind were moot. Family. My parents had argued endlessly about me changing my major to something ‘without future.’ I didn’t dare imagine their reaction when I told them that all their dreams of an heir to keep up family traditions were going down the drain. I remembered a discussion over Sunday lunch where mum, nose wrinkled and voice all exasperated, told my dad that Bobbie Jenkins from two streets down had turned out gay, and it had sounded like he had contracted an unmentionable disease. My dad’s reply had been, “Poor Anthony and Martha,” which were his parents. So much for any tolerance I could expect. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about Mrs. Henderson, beautiful, intelligent Mrs. Henderson. If I did manage to think of something else for part of the day - usually studying, but that became increasingly difficult too - she followed me into my dreams. Into raunchy, indecent dreams, that is, and more than once I woke up in the middle of the night with my heart beating like mad and my thighs so wet that I thought for a moment I had peed myself. I hadn’t been to the library once. I knew I should return her book, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. At first, I could have pretended that I hadn’t opened it, but not after all this time. * * * * Christmas ...