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You pull up to my house almost an hour later than you had planned to arrive, stomach churning and cheeks burning--you can already feel the familiar feelings rising up in you; aggrevation, embarassment, reluctance, and incredible, searing, white-hot arousal. You’re prepared to knock on my door when you see a sign taped to the door instructing you to go around the back. Irritated, you pull the sign off the door and crumple it in your hand as you creep past the palms and flowers along the side of my house into my backyard, your backpack slung over your shoulder. Prepared to give me a tongue-lashing, you come up short at the sight of me sitting in a chair by my pool, one leg thrown over the arm of the chair and swinging slightly, my garter and stockings clearly visible beneath the plaid skirt, my tie askew and three buttons of my blouse undone. Apparently unaware of your approach, I am leaning back against the encrested blue blazer which we both wear daily. I have draped it over the back of the chair with no regard for wrinkles and am using it to cushion my comfortable lounging, calmly reading the Chemistry book which is the purpose of this study meeting.....and smoking. The image of me in and partially out of our Catholic school uniform, having a cigarette, freezes your blood.

“Why don’t you take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I say casually as I turn a page, finally looking up at you. I smile slowly and add, “Then you can use it at night.”

Heat rushes to your face. “You shouldn’t smoke,” you tell me. ...

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