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Once in a while, she had a mid-length skirt for variety.If she did wear jeans during the spring months, she invariably had a midriff-baring top. She seemed to need to have a certain amount of herself on display. When I was bored in class I would try to glance over at her; she never seemed to notice. If her navel was exposed I tried to look at that.On her more numerous skirt-wearing days, she had a habit of splaying her legs out carelessly. I tried to determine what kind of panties she had but I never could get the correct angle for a view. I amused myself by imagining she had no panties at all.After being in schools of one sort or another for fourteen years, my mind wandered at times in class. As the weeks passed, I assessed her more carefully, comparing her to other girls I had seen but didn’t really know on campus. She was probably about five-foot-seven, but her legginess made her seem taller. I noted her lanky dark-blonde hair, fair skin, and steel-rimmed glasses.I speculated. I am a woman. Women should look beautiful, so they attract men. That's nature, that's the world. I repeated the mantra all the way home.David was cinching up a tie, and throwing a jacket over his shoulder when I came in. "Dinner with a couple of city commissioners," he said, heading for the door. He kissed my cheek so fast he almost missed.I held out my arms and gave him my most coquettish smile. "What do you think?" C'mon big guy, I'm your girl next door. Have an affair with me.He stopped and squinted. "Izzat a new dress or somethin'?" Strike one." I'll figure it out. I gotta go." He swept past me, climbed into his leased Porsche, the one the firm gave him, and was gone.Well fuck him, I thought darkly. This butterfly was pissed off.I made popcorn, found a romantic movie-the kind where the guy gets the girl--and fixed myself a vodka and tonic.The cell phone didn't ring once all night.The next morning, the transformation I was hoping for felt like it could be seeping into my veins. I.
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