Her First Bite

Twenty | Souse

Why did I have this sneaking suspicion that my mom knew what I was reading. . .Wait - Could she see what I was reading? Her eyes felt like lasers - her looks transferred between me and the tv, blazing through book's text.

I couldn't even read this damn book in peace.

Was it wrong of me that I was reading an erotic fiction while my mom was three feet away from me, seated on the couch?

I was cuddled up on an armchair, trying to read in peace, as my mom was seated not so far from me. And if I could've, I would've went somewhere else, somewhere private but this - for the time being - was the only available spot. Could I have sat on the porch outside? Sure but then I would have a whole neighborhood watch knowing what I was reading. The backyard? The chairs are dirty and I don't particularly like insects. My old childhood bedroom? My dad had been occupying that spot for the whole two weeks I had been staying here. The living room was the best option.

Since my dad had been on bedrest, we thought to transfer him into my old room. The bed was big. Close to a bathroom. And closer to the kitchen and front door. Vs. their room which was located far back in the house. My dad needed an easier way to get around the house and my old room was the best out of the options.

Hoped he liked looking at old Mindless Behavior posters.

And him in that room meant that I was staying on the couch. And I had no problem with it. I offered, shit. My parents needed extra help around the house and my mom needed extra help with helping with my dad. Yeah my dad would wine about it and demand that he was fine and that he didn't need help, but we knew better. During the first week of my staying, that was all that was heard. Declaring that we are extra and that he was a grown man. Second week, it got easier. He accidentally had a slip when showering and I think that's when he knew that he needed to accept the extra help. So after school and after work, I would just come to my parent's house and help out, sleepover. (My mom did the hands-on stuff.)

So no one can blame me when I said that I was reading an erotic book. Right in front of my mother too.

But could she even really see? I was covering the cover of the book and title with my cover and I had the thing nuzzled deep inside my embrace. But fuck, what did she except? Sometimes a girl needed a release. Needed a horny release. A grown women reading an erotic book was something normal.

But I just didn't quite want my mother to see. . .

During these two weeks, I saw Vance- mostly in class. We had two five minute conversations inside the classroom when class was over. It was cool. There was no touchy touchy feely though. The last time the man had touched me was when we were at the hospital, awaiting for my dad to wake up. Since then no other touching had occurred. No grazes of his hand when he passed me by, in class, when he was checking our finished foods. No bump of the shoulder when he was refilling his coffee in the morning, in the main kitchen. No nothing.

I didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing. Maybe a good thing? Now I didn't have to question whether those touches meant more. . .Now I didn't have to worry about where we stood. . .

Fuck, I was lying.

It was a bad thing. Just needed to see which part was more bad. The part where I actually missed his hands or the part where I - needed to remember this - wanted my teacher to touch me? Shit, double jeopardy.

Right? Double jeopardy meant two similar crimes could not be charged? Maybe both crimes will cross each other out and I won't be charged at all since they are so similar?

Fuck, that's not it. But I was too horny to think about what meant what. I was officially on the part in the book where shit was happening. And by 'shit' I meant a girl was about to go down on her professor. Was it sick that I was reading a book about teacher and student relationship? As I stated before - I was too horny to think.