Constructive Criticism Ch. 02

VIDYA:

The bathroom water doesn't properly heat until 7:00, so my shower is lukewarm and brief. The bustle of the morning won't start until 7:30, so, in the privacy of the early morning, I find myself absent-mindedly tracing patterns on the grooves of my hips. I'm caught up in my writing of last night-which was a risky thing to be doing in public. As an excuse, I told myself I was too eager to revise my work rather than saving it for my own private space. Admittedly, it turned me on to be writing in public. To risk having something so intimate glimpsed by the outside world, to feel shame in knowing others knew my secret. It wasn't vanilla sex either-I wanted to write something "naughty." The more embarrassment I feel from the craft, the more turned on I feel. I've spent months working on perfecting my BDSM writing, but mine always sounds like a poor mimic.

I won't lie to myself about being even more urged to write around Alex. Would it turn him on to read erotica? To read mine? To know I was writing it? Lost in the stream of the water and thinking of last night, I find my fingers edging closer and closer to my sex. I'm about to slip my fingers between my legs when I hear the bathroom door open. Embarrassed despite not being seen, I shut the water off immediately.

Less than an hour later, after hastily donning a blue 50s styled swing dress and scarfing down breakfast in the Dining Hall, I'm early to class. I perch myself in my usual spot: the dead center of the middle rows. When the class commences, Alex has not walked through the door yet. Although he often comes to class looking like a downright disaster, he's never more than five minutes late. The clock ticks from 8:05 to 8:10 when the door finally creaks open, and Alex slips through. Keeping his head down to avoid any attention, he takes the stairs two at a time before turning into my row. He makes eye contact with me, his dark eyes underlined as usual with purple crescent moons, and he sits beside me. In all the time we've known one another and, admittedly, hardly spoken, this certainly hasn't ever happened.

"Hi," he whispers, leaning toward me.

My stubbornness has me tempted to scoot away from him, but I notice that I like the smell of his cologne when he's this close. When inhaling through my mouth, it coats my tongue lightly.

"You're late," I say, trying not to smirk. "What happened? Did you get lost between the dining hall and here?"

"If I did, would you keep the secret? In all honesty, we've been here over a year, and I still never know which way I'm going," he murmurs back, beginning to unpack his stuff.

I hold back a soft laugh, refraining from giving him the satisfaction of making me giggle. I find it enjoyable to watch him get annoyed about not making me laugh as easily as he does everyone else. For a boy with an ego as big as his, he can afford to have a few bites of humble pie. That being said, Alex isn't mean.

"Truthfully, I stayed up too late thinking about you."

The sentence is jarring, and I'm not sure what to say. It reminds me of something I'd scribble down in one of the stupid romance stories I wrote in Middle School or a lazy piece of erotica. Coming out of Alex's mouth, it sounds foreign, almost funny. I feel a blush creeping up my neck but, holding my breath, I recompose myself.

"Sure it wasn't just thinking?" I reply, feeling bold. Playing into the part of fiction.

I'm surprised when he blushes, a light pink staining his ears. It's so alien, and I have to suppress a nervous giggle and focus my attention on the board in front of me. Alex is opening his mouth to reply when Professor Hirst cuts him off, "Mr. Amaya, you're already late to class. You should be copying what's written on the board rather than distracting Ms. Mehta." Alex's face reddens as he mumbles an apology across the classroom.

This time, I cover my mouth to suppress a small snort that Alex hears. I do my best to stay engaged with the lesson, but each note I copy from the board is written without processing the information. All I can think of is the exchange Alex, and I just had as I replay it over and over in my head. I imagine his reply-maybe he says don't be getting your hopes up or afraid it might've played out that way, or perhaps I first have to acknowledge I'm fantasizing about him in a way that's not even contextually appropriate. We talked about sex last night. But not about us having sex-about our roommates. This is probably the closest I've ever gone to talking to a boy about sex. When I glance back at him, his eyes are glazed over as he looks at the board. He's lost in his thoughts.

Like last night, I let myself admire him. This time, out of the corner of my eye, making sure I'm not fucking staring right at him. His hair is combed today. I've always liked the peachy-brown color of his lips and the full shape they have. His cupid's bow is subtle and used to be overshadowed by the failure to grow a mustache, but now, he keeps it shaved. I like the oval shape of his face and the slight flirtation of a jawline when he smiles. I always thought dimples were cute, and he always showed even with the smallest of smiles. I like the soft slant of his eyes, the way they're were so dark I couldn't even see my reflection in them, his sharp eyebrows that grew thicker at the angle.

When Professor Hirst announces class has ended, I'm shocked at the snap back to reality. I'm even more surprised to watch Alex shove all of his belongings into his bag and leave the classroom without even acknowledging me, pushing his way through other students to make it to the door before anyone else. As far as I know, his next class isn't until 10:30. I give my head a soft shake, returning to my books. As I reach for my bag, I notice a stack of stapled papers with a name printed on the cover page. Raising an eyebrow, I pick it up in my hands and stare at the daunting script: TIFFANY REISZ. The name sounds familiar, but I don't know why. I never knew Alex to be much of a reader, and George may have commented once about how Alex only took an English class in his freshman year simply because he was required to. Now, he was drudging his way through Mandarin simply because a foreign language was required. I slip the stack of paper-printed freshly by the smell of the ink-and shoulder my bag. Is this the reason he was late? I'm the last to leave and wave an awkward goodbye to Professor Hirst.

Googling Tiffany Reisz's name in my following period led to a different form of torture altogether. She's won two RITA awards for erotica. . . It takes no genius to put together that leaving my book out-although bound-was a stupid idea. Although I may have fantasized about it, it seems shocking to picture Alex as the kind of guy to read through my notebook. A part of me is ashamed, but seeing as he's responded, I'm intrigued against my better judgment. Alexander Amaya, huh. Was he seriously playing along? I spend the entire day fidgeting, waiting to be able to return to my dorm for a moment in private to read. What did he give me? When my final period ends, I practically run through campus, making a bee-line for my dorm. When I shove my door open, Maya looks up from her desk, startled.

"Hi?" She asks.

"Busy," I offer, kicking my shoes off, grabbing the stack of papers, dumping my bag, and crawling into bed and under the covers.

"I don't think I've ever seen you do homework in bed before," she laughs, swiveling in her chair.

"Massive headache," I snap before apologizing. It's enough to shut Maya up. My heart is thrumming with excitement and, simultaneously, horror. I open the first page and am greeted by a story called Rectified. At the very top of the page, Alex's handwriting reads For such a prolific writer, you sure do write like someone who doesn't understand how sex works. My cheeks flush red with humiliation before I shove the feeling down and swallow.

"Get over yourself," I murmur to myself under my breath. And I begin to read, flipping through the compiled short stories eagerly, tightening my thighs as I feel my sex begging for friction. I feel sweat beading at my temples. The wetness between my legs soaks through the fabric of my cotton underwear.

"The hunger and the need

He started to lick her

She gasped with the sudden pain

'Good girl'

'I'm going to flog you'

shivers of pleasure through her hips

Her whole body shook with the climax."

"Maya?" I ask, my voice almost a whisper when I've finished reading.

"Mm?" She responds.

"Do you mind asking George for Alex's number? I just remembered he accidentally left one of his science books with me, and I'd like to tell him I can return it. N-now. I can return it now. Any time of the evening?"

She looks up and gives me a quizzical look before nodding her head. We wait five minutes before my phone buzzes with Alex's number.

I think you accidentally left something behind with me.

It wasn't an accident. What can I do to make you come?

Return it to me, that is. Curious to hear what you think. I'm in the library stacks.