Intentional Accidents

***This is the second story of this series. It is recommended to read Unexpected Anticipation prior to or along side this point of view***

Practicing self-control has never been my strongest suit - I mean, even my mother says I can't keep my hand out of the fucking cookie jar. But this time? Yeah, I've definitely done it this time, and I can't say I regret it at all.

Being a professor at one of the most sought-after universities this side of the coast, I see an unfair amount of the young and naïve come into my lecture hall. It would be inhuman for me to lie and say I don't notice those who are brighter, more interesting, or more attractive than others. As an educator, however, I must distance myself to avoid any scandals or rumors. Social media is such a wild fire that the risks start to outweigh the rewards.

That is not to say that I haven't had opportunities -- young boys too eager to talk to me, sitting at the front of the hall and watching me; not even bothering to look like they're taking notes. They don't entice me, they're easy to ignore - similarly to the way that a spider rests in the corner of a room, you're aware of it for just a moment but suddenly it becomes less than a worry. Even the women who walk through my doors with they're short skirts, big hair, they're makeup; they hardly leave anything to the imagination.

Then she had to walk into my advanced English class; a class whose occupancy is maxed at 30 but even at that it is never full. The first thing I noticed was the shape of her eyes, of all things. I was standing at my podium writing small notes to assist in my first day lesson plan when she spoke to me for the first time.

"I hope you don't mind that I'm early," I looked up to see that her hands were full of folders overflowing with papers. She looked so disorganized.

I made it a habit not to study my student's appearances, but her eyes caught me off guard, and I wasn't used to being caught off guard. On her face rested a pair of big, honey-colored sunsets with glimpses of campfire and gold shimmering behind them. I felt such an intense draw to them that I had to fight to look away. It took me more than a beat to respond as I fought to regain my composure.

"You're in 12:45 A.P. English Lang?" I tapped my pen against my lip.

"Yes ma'am."

I scoffed unconsciously, "Call me Dr. Redding, please," I hated being called ma'am.

"Sorry ma- I mean, Dr. Redding," She smiled a cute nervous smile but didn't move.

"You're more than welcome to stay, though class doesn't start for another 30 minutes."

I half expected her to say she'd come back later, but to my surprise she gave me a slight nod and sat at the desk closest to my podium. She pulled out a laptop but didn't open it, set some papers to her left and started writing.

Hmm, she's left-handed, I thought.

I watched her another moment before turning back to my lesson plan. My head down I asked, "And what may I call you? I can go ahead and mark you present for roll."

"Lesia, Lesia Adande," She sounded very James-Bond-Formal, and it pushed me to look back at her. The expression she wore was almost stoic.

"You're the first student on my roster. Your name is very different, do you know where it's from?"

"My father is Caribbean," She gave a shrug, letting that be enough of an explanation, and I took it as such.

She returned her attention to her note taking, giving me an opportunity to take consideration of her. I felt as though I was spying on her, but the longer I looked at her the more of her I wanted to see.

Her honey-colored eyes were set against warm dark skin with darker freckles dancing across her face. Her cheek bones were high and perfect, and her lips were plump -- even set in the hard line they were as she focused on her scribbling. Her hair looked like it had been recently cut to shoulder length, her curls perfect and smooth with a hard stop at the ends. She was notably a small thing, though one would hardly be able tell with the baggy sweater and jeans she chose to wear. She looked like she went out of her way to be the type of person you wouldn't think to look twice at. Smart. Go unnoticed, avoid attention, finish school.

Only, I noticed her.

It felt like hours had passed before I spoke again.

"It is definitely unique, Ms. Lesia," I commented before turning back to my podium.

And that was it. The first day I'd met her. I still find myself stunned by thought as I replay each moment over and over I my mind -- like a fever dream I've wished someone recorded for me to experience a second and a third time.

Over the course of our first semester, I felt myself paying extra attention to her; the way she'd walk into my classroom, the way she kept to herself but smiled kindly at anyone who'd passed by her -- even if they didn't deserve it and people seldom deserved her warmth. She was a refreshing fixture that I guiltily found myself looking forward to.

I hate to recall, but one day in March when the weather was just a little too warm, she'd traded her sweater and jeans for a simple sundress. The dress was light blue with small white swirls on it, and she'd worn the most innocent white heels and white handbag to accompany it.

With confidence, she walked down the lecture hall stairs -- early as she always was -- and sat in her regular seat closest to me. I hadn't meant to, but I was watching her every move step as though I was hoping she'd stumble and so I could catch her. Luckily, she hadn't noticed me.

When she was settled, I quietly cleared my throat and finally spoke.

"Good afternoon, Lesia," I forced my voice to sound neutral.

She looked from her stream of noted paper to me with a welcoming smile on her face.

"Hello, Dr. Redding! How are you today?"

We'd do this every time we'd see each other, Mondays and Wednesdays.

"I'm doing well, and yourself?" My voice faltered just enough to sound excited, but I quickly regained myself.

"Spectacular!" She almost squealed.

That was one of the reasons I genuinely enjoyed having her in my class. Where one would use a word like 'great' or 'fine' she would use words like 'spectacular', 'tremendous', or 'engulfing.

"Spectacular? Do you have big plans?" I was slightly amused, a small smile threatening to cross my face.

"Well, someone asked me to coffee yesterday and I think it went very well! I'm going to lunch with him today, which is why I'm wearing this," she gave a half-hearted gesture to her dress.

An odd feeling bubbled up my throat knocking me almost breathless. I looked at Lesia -- excitement still claiming her face - and forced myself to respond.

"Well, your dress is very lovely," I heard the annoyance in my voice, but couldn't figure out why.

Lesia didn't seem to notice the sour shift to my mood, and if she did it didn't affect hers one bit.

"You really think so, Doctor?"

She stood and smoothed the dress into place, stepping from the desk to give me a full view.

The fabric stopped just above her knees and her warm, brown legs looked smooth and perfect; I could see the muscle threatening to make a presence as she moved. The skin on her shoulders was decorated with freckles that not only matched her face but outshined it. Her curls were pulled back into a lazy ponytail that made her look more exotic showing her strong jawline. She was a small thing, yes, but much fuller than I'd assumed. Her jean and sweater ensemble did her so little justice.

I recognized want pulsing from my clit and had to fight myself not to let it show on my face.

"Yes," I finally responded, "I know your date will love it." I gave her a smile that I couldn't force to touch my eyes.

"I really do hope so," She let out a nervous have chuckle just as a few other students filed into class, and returned to her seat.

I taught a distant lesson that session. I took very few questions and tried not to look Lesia's way. Of course, I couldn't help myself -- self-control and all. I stole a glance to see she held the drink she must have pulled from her handbag at some point. She was absentmindedly playing with the straw of her drink with her tongue as she took what seemed to be detailed notes, and mentally winced at the subconscious thought, I wish that were me.

I ended the lesson early and watched a still-perky Lesia almost skip out the door with a quick wave goodbye. An accidental snort left my throat just as one of my other female students accompanied by who I assumed to be her boyfriend stood before me.

"Hey, Dr. Redding! Do you have a second?"

I shook my mental strife and looked down at her. Being 5'9 without heels I usually looked down on my students, and rarely do I not wear heels.

Karen -- whose name I remember because it makes me chuckle silently to myself -- stood patiently with her 'alpha' male's arm thrown around her.

Animals, men are such animals, I thought.

"Of course, Karen. What can I do for you?" I leaned over my podium and lowered my eyes to meet hers.

Her protective entourage glanced down my low buttoned shirt and tried -- but failed -- to pretend he wasn't trying to look at my breasts.

I knew I was exceptionally pretty, though I try not to abuse the power my looks can have over other people. There's something to be said there about wanting to be known for my intelligence and not my looks, but this story isn't' about that right now.

No, this moment, however, was different. I paid little attention to the boy or his glances, looking mainly at Karen.

"I'm going to be out of town for a long weekend, so I'll miss class on Monday. Is there any way you could email me the lesson or anywhere online I may be able to access it?" Karen attempted to make stern eye contact with me, but I caught quickly that she would glance at my lips between words.

Pressed and annoyed by my anger from Lesia's news, I let myself play with her just a little. Stress relief, I convinced myself.

I bit my lower lip, letting it slide out between my teeth slowly being sure to glance away so it seemed like a second thought. As I released my lower lip, I gently stroked it with my left thumb as though in deep thought. I knew exactly what it looked like.

I slowly returned my eyes to Karen's to see her face was flushed and her breathing obviously stressed. Her protective male finally stopped looking at me and was eyeing her confused.

"I'll be more than happy to send you the lesson plan, dear, and that should cover anything you could miss next week" I used my very convincing, very sweet tone and was happy to see Karen's voice catch in her throat. "Anything else you needed?"

"No, Dr. Redding," Karen stammered and said nothing more. His arm tightening around her shoulder, her boyfriend-thing finally spoke.

"Alright babe, let's go." He tugged her and she reluctantly followed him back up the stairs, looking back to give me a shy smile before they disappeared through the door.

If it weren't for sperm, men would have no place here. I shook my head in disgust. The small amount of pleasure I'd felt quickly left as I realized why I'd just basically eye-fucked my student.

I let out a heavy breath, trying to remind myself that I am a literal professional, and that jealousy is childish.

Jealousy? I thought.

Is that what I feel? Jealous? I laughed to myself unable to remember the last time I felt an emotion as immature as jealousy.

I'd decided to cut my day short then, not wanting to be on campus any longer for what I recorded as 'personal reasons'.

When I got into my car, I decided to dial a number I no longer had saved but knew by memory as though I was reading it from paper.

"Hello, Kim," The line picked up after two rings, and voice on the other side was as calm and sweet as I remembered. I felt myself shudder.

"Hi Michelle, it's been a while." I was curt and respectful. I knew that the level of desperation I'd felt meant I had little room for error and needed all the help I could get, no room for enemies. "I was hoping you'd be available for lunch? Say about 3:30 today?"

There was just a moment of pause before Michelle answered.

"Of course, I'll meet you at the little café off of 22nd?" The words she said were little concern, her tone however was a different story.

"I'll be there," I said quicky, then hung up. I had just enough time to get a quick manicure and pedicure. Michelle has never been a fan of my nails being poorly managed, and to be honest that hasn't been a concern of mine in a while.

........

The waiter brought two glasses of champaign with sides of orange juice and left with our orders. I've never cared for mimosas, but Michelle insisted. No doubt attempting to convince me to drop my guard.

"So, Kim, what's with the sudden invitation for lunch?" Michelle said as she picked at the garlic fries we'd ordered to share.

"I was just thinking of you today, I thought I'd call. I didn't think you'd be free but I'm glad that you were," I took the fry she had in her hand and popped it in my mouth, playfully. It's as if I hadn't seen an old friend in years, I felt myself melting back into my old self.

"You know," she warned, "Just because you're not mine anymore, doesn't mean you'll get away with playing games like that." Michelle raised an eyebrow and stole the fry I'd just reached for.

My cheeks rushed with color, and out of habit I said, "Sorry, ma'am," and shrunk into my seat.

"Oh, come now. I'm only teasing," She brought one hand to my cheek and brushed one of my auburn strands out of my face and I instinctively still shuddered under her touch.

You see, Michelle had been my mistress when I was a different person. Not long ago, just different. Young and yearning, she was there to educate me in more ways than one. Though I may not be the same person I was when she first took me, I will always be grateful for the way she nurtured me when I needed it regardless of the terms we may have left on.

"Let me ask you a different question," Michelle said, pulling my attention back and reaching for the depleting pile of fries. "Why were you thinking about me?" She rested her chin on her perfectly manicured hands and waited.

"Well, there's this student..." I attempted.

"Oh, Kimmy," Michelle closed her piercing blue eyes and shook her head making her blonde curls bounce.

"Kim," I corrected quickly, "and no, no, it's not like that. I haven't done anything. But today, she has a date with some boy," I said the word with more discuss than I intended making the man behind Michelle give me a worried look before walking away.

"And?" Michelle encouraged.

"And I didn't like hearing about it," I declared, sounding like a child. "I don't like knowing about it. I actually felt jealous of this boy, can you believe that?" I put my head in my hands, officially allowing the frustration to encapsulate me.

There was a stretch of silence before Michelle spoke again.

"What do you want this girl?" Her tone was sweet and understanding.

"I don't know," my voice in turn was small.

"Bullshit, Kimmy. I think you do. Actually, I know you do," the confidence Michelle spoke with was almost annoying. "This is how I felt when I'd met you. Don't you remember? You were with that -- Oh, what's her name -- Penelope woman." I laughed feeling some of my frustration lift; she'd always pretend she didn't know the name of my girlfriend at the time.

"Pricilla, her name was Pricilla." A line I was very familiar repeating.

"Ah yes," Michelle teased, "well you'd been so infatuated with her at the time, but I knew I wanted you so I took you." She shrugged before continuing, "Well, you came to me like the little pet you were." Michelle's eyes turned dark and dangerous, and I knew if I didn't change the subject quickly there would be trouble.

"Well, I was different then. Now, the different me does not know what to do," I admitted with confidence in my voice, though my fists were clenched under the table.

"Different then?" She questioned, but when I didn't answer she waved the thought away. "Honey, it's okay to want her. Hell, with the way you were, I'm surprised this didn't happen any sooner."

I felt myself losing patience with Michelle the more she spoke, but I let her continue because as reluctant as I was this is what I needed to hear.

"The only issue is that she's a student, but I have a feeling you won't be letting something like that get in your way," Michelle sucked her thumb into her mouth and slowly pulled it out, no doubt trying to exert her power over me.

Unaffected, I said, "I'm not like you, I can't just-"

"What do you think about? When you see her?" She cut me off with her no-nonsense tone, making my eyes go wide. I had to physically shake my head to avoid the instincts I thought I'd long forgotten.

"I-I don't know," I stammered.

"Don't give me that shit Kimmy." I met her gaze and ignored her use of my unwanted nickname. Determined to put into words what I'd been feeling for months, I let my instincts say the things my mind couldn't.

"I want to make her feel good," was the best I could come up with. The words felt right as I said them, like the certainty you feel when you know the correct answer during an argument.

"And how would you do that?" Michelle prompted.

"I want to spoil her; get her out of those damned sweaters and jeans and into dresses and skirts. I want to take her out and show her off, make people who can't have her want her" I listed. The vomit of words was almost too sure. Michelle gave me an amused smile.

"Okay," she added, "but what do you want to do to her?" I knew what she meant and what she expected to hear, and I knew I couldn't deny it.

"I want to make her mine. Only mine. I want to show her exactly what good feels like. I want to make her regret knowing anyone before me and let her know there is no one else she needs besides me," I let out a defeated and exhausted sigh. The flood gates of insecurity and indecisiveness start to open as I realize what this truly means. I'm sure the subconscious thoughts have threatened their way into my fantasies, but the reality of my true desires have now been shared with not only myself, but Michelle of all people. I cannot lie to myself now, not that I was doing a very good job at that anyway.

"See? You're more like me than you give yourself credit for," Michelle's smile was triumphant. I was disgusted. "I should have expected as much from you. You were always my favorite pet, so it only makes sense that you'd want followers of your own." Her smile still beaming.

"No," I said shaking my head, "I'm not like you. I don't want followers. I just want her," And I knew I'd meant it.

"Let's see if you can settle for just one, dear," This simple phrase opened my eyes to the reminder of the type of woman Michelle was. Never satisfied, always wanting.

"But," she continued, returning to her politically correct self, "either way, your first one is never easy. You can't be so unsure of yourself, and the Kimmy I know is never unsure. Don't you remember how difficult it was for me to get you?" Michelle took a subconscious sip of her champagne, caught in the remanence of times past.

I'd never admit to her, but I would never forget. How would I? The time I spent with Michelle was some of the most exciting and expanding points of my life, but I knew I was at no point to admit that to her. Not just yet.

"Yes, I know I was there," I said with more endearment than I'd intended.

"Trust me, I know. The point is you've gotten to play to your strengths, and if she needs you as much as you want her then you'll feel the natural pull, trust me." There was wisdom in her words, as much as I'd hate to admit it.

I considered this for a moment before I declared, "I shouldn't jeopardize my career or my student like this," and once the words were out, I felt a strange longing that I ignored.