Resisting Rosaleen (18+)

29

My grandmother once told me that a person is only anxious of being caught when they're is doing something that they shouldn't be doing. Grandmother and I weren't very close, but we did share a handful of moments.

Most of them were warm, hearty memories of spring and summer. God bless her resting soul.

Some memories, though? Well, I cringe when I look back at them.

One in particular always stood out.

It was spring break and Wyatt was out running young adult errands. I was barely a teen and I've just discovered the clitoris and all its wonders. It was a point in my life where I was starting to find out that playing with the body part in between my legs made me feel things things that I was not yet sure if I liked or not. But one thing's for sure: I could feel something weird.

Grams was in the kitchen. The woman wasn't born into a rich family like Gramps so instead of being like my classmates' grandparents who attended galas and dealt with papers all day, Grams spent her daily hours mastering whatever hobbies she could think of, given that we had more than enough money for them.

That summer, she was into pottery.

That summer, she was working on a large bonsai sculpture.

I was bored so I locked myself in my room which Gramps let me paint purple. I let my curiosity explore.

Then there was a knock on the door. Hurriedly, I pulled my underwear and my pink plaid shorts up and turned the knob.

"Why was the door locked?" the woman asked suspiciously.

"I don't like it when people barge in with no permission," I told her. I wasn't lying because it was the truth. Half of it, at least.

"Why? Are you doing something you're not supposed to be doing?"

I shook my head furiously. That's probably what gave me away. The woman sighed and crouched to my level, "People are only anxious of getting caught when they're doing something that they shouldn't be doing."

I think of those words more than I think of the person who said it and believe me, Grams, it guilts me to admit it.

In the act of committing a sin, the fear of being caught turned into thrill after years of getting used to.

I remember my early days of sexual activity. I was so paranoid that I asked my partner to change his condom after every five minutes, double-locked the door to my room, blocked it with a cabinet, and played Justin Bieber on the surround-sound speakers to make sure no one could hear.

And now?

I let a married thirty-year-old man go raw and have his wicked ways with me.

I stared at the very same man for five seconds before I locked the door behind me. Sorry, grandma.

Nikolas didn't mind as I dropped my bag on the floor and took my seat on his lap. His eyes were fixed on the screen in front of him, his fingers typing away.

"So," I buried my face in the curve of his neck, inhaling my favorite scent, "What happened with Wyatt?"

I waited for their conversation to end until the bell rang, indicating the end of lunchtime. Curiosity was eating me alive during my last two classes. With those being done and the day almost over, I was reunited with Nikolas, comfortably sharing a seat.

"He wanted to know if you were having problems or issues in Golden," he cleared his throat. He was still typing, "I told him you that you're doing just fine. It's not as if I'm going to let him know what we've been doing in his house."