#age gap lesbians

[cottoncandycasketspray]

[aquicktripp]

Exposure Therapy - Part 1 of 2

Rating: M (no smut)

Themes: queer relationships, lesbian relationships, age-gap, student-teacher friendship, student-teacher relationship, unsupportive parents, homophobia, no contact, death

word count: ~6,000

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Today was supposed to be the first day of the rest of Amy Lawren— no, Miller’s, life. Instead, today has morphed into some kind of terrible situational comedy where everything goes wrong. She's had to endure the usual suspects: sleeping through her alarm but then discovering it hadn’t actually been set, spilling coffee on her freshly ironed shirt while rushing out the door, and of course, Joey missing the bus for his first day at a new school. So… maybe tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of Amy’s life. 

Morning Edition plays quietly in the background as the two of them silently wait at a stop light. While they’re only running a few minutes behind, Amy drums her hands on the steering wheel willing the light to change at any time, please. The reporter on the radio is interviewing some semblance of a politician about what sounds like the poor state of the economy but Amy is too preoccupied with the tension radiating from Joey to focus on what’s being said. 

The last year has been rough for both of them but Joey has put on a brave face. So brave, in fact, that he’s stopped opening up to her almost completely. Their interactions are stilted and brief, often leaving Amy at a loss for what she could possibly say or do to mend their relationship. 

But today was supposed to be a new beginning for both of them and Amy misses her nephew, despite him being right beside her. So she tries, “I’m sorry for not getting us going on time. I was up late preparing for a big meeting and must’ve forgotten to set the alarm.”

He doesn’t look away from his cell phone, “It’s whatever.” 

Two words are better than his usual grunt, Amy muses. The light finally changes and there are only a few moments before she has to make the right turn into the school. So she presses her luck just a little further, “Are you nervous for your first day?” 

Amy can see him shrug in her periphery as he says, “Not really.”

Again, two words are better than nothing, and a feeling of boldness blooms within her, “Do you need me to come in with you?” She knows the question is a mistake before the last word leaves her lips. 

Joey does put his phone down this time, turning to shoot daggers directly at her, “No, Amy. I read the email and will just go to the office like it says to do.”

If his tone didn’t give away that she’d gone too far, then the use of just her first name certainly does. So instead of responding, she nods, pulling the car up to the main entrance of the very same high school she graduated from almost 20 years prior. 

Joey is nearly out of the car before it’s fully parked but Amy can’t let him go in without saying something. She wants to tell him to have a wonderful day, that she is proud of the man he is becoming, that she is sorry for all of the heartache, and that she’ll make it up to him someday, somehow. She quickly grabs at him, capturing his ever-growing bicep in her grasp. Their eyes lock and he looks at her expectantly. Amy realizes then that it’s been weeks since she’s seen the full blue of her nephew’s eyes, just as blue as hers, and as her brother’s. What she sees staring back at her though, causes her heart to sink. The lack of vibrance in them takes both her breath and her resolve to speak up completely away.   

Instead of a heartfelt goodbye, she clears her throat, “If you need anything today, just find your Uncle.” He nods, shrugging off her touch. “I love you,” she calls out as Joey slams the door behind him, walking in the direction of the office and not once looking back.  

Feeling downright defeated, Amy drives away, heading in the direction of downtown, if it can even be called that, to start her own first day. Well, not really. Can it still be considered your first day if you spent your weekends, school vacations, and summers trapped there? Perhaps then, this is Amy’s first paid day. 

Walking into her father’s office, she’s greeted by Sheila, the long-time receptionist for Miller & Associates, who stands, walking around her desk with open arms. “Oh honey, welcome home!” She says, enveloping Amy in a welcomed, albeit suffocating hug. 

“Thank you, Sheila. It’s good to see you,” Amy replies with limited air in her lungs.

The much older woman loosens her grip and steps back, allowing them to look each other in the eyes. It has only been a few weeks since her last visit but Sheila still examines her thoroughly, as if she had just spent the last two decades away from home. 

What Sheila sees, Amy is unsure but whatever it is, it causes Sheila to smile lightly and say, “I just want you to know, I’m here if you or Joey need anything. At all.”

Her sincerity feels heavy in Amy’s chest and she can feel the tears starting to well but crying in her father’s entryway is certainly not an option. So Amy does what she has trained herself to do and pushes through, “Thank you, Sheila. We appreciate that, truly.”

Amy’s answer must be satisfactory because Sheila squeezes her arms one last time and returns to her desk, flipping open the spiral black planner that her father refuses to trade in for a computerized system. “He arrived about 10 minutes ago and is waiting for you in his office. He said that when you arrived, I was to remind you about the 9 a.m.”

Amy holds back a scoff. As if she could forget the appointment that she had organized and that she had been up all night preparing for. Leave it to her father to think she would just waltz into the office on her first day back without any care in the world before a meeting with a potential new, high-profile client. 

Since Sheila is one of her all-time favorite humans on this planet, she opts not to shoot the messenger. “Thanks, Sheila”, she says with as much positivity as she can, “I’ll let him know I’m here. Pray for me,” Amy winks as she walks back towards the offices. 

The space itself isn’t huge, as far as offices go, and much smaller than the multi-level office building her previous firm occupied in Midtown Manhattan. The converted Victorian home held enough room that they were able to have a cozy welcome area, one large conference room, a handful of offices, and of course, a kitchen area that functioned as the copy, mail, and break room. It takes less than 30 seconds for her to walk up the staircase and all the way back to her father’s office, the largest but somehow stuffiest, of the five to choose from. As she approaches, she finds the door slightly ajar and she knocks lightly before stepping into the room. 

Once inside, she finds her father, Jim Miller, sitting behind a large oak desk. A coffee cup in one hand and the local paper folded in the other, he doesn’t look up as he greets her, “You’re late.” 

“My apologies, sir. I was up late preparing for this morning and the alarm didn’t get set. We had a rough start,” Amy tells him as she moves to sit in one of the armchairs facing his desk. 

He hums, “Don’t let it happen again.”

“Of course not,” she says quickly. Then she is forced to wait for him to finish whatever article he has deemed intelligent enough to read completely through. 

Her eyes wander around the room, taking in the decor that hasn’t changed much in the 30 years her family has owned the building. While her father hasn’t done any significant updates, he’s allowed her mother to come in sporadically over the years. She’d add new little touches, like a photo of him and someone locally famous or a framed article about a successful win but never anything too personal. The only family photo in the room sits on Jim’s desk, facing him.

The picture is of the five of them; her parents, herself, and her two younger brothers, James The Fourth and Stephen. It was one of Amy’s favorites, taken the summer before her senior year of high school, on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. They had taken a trip for her to visit NYU, her now Alma Mater, much to her father’s chagrin. It was one of the last photos taken of their family before her father found out about Amy’s sexuality. From before he decided that because she was attracted to women, she was no longer worthy of becoming the next Miller of Miller & Associates. 

Her father clears his throat, “Are you ready?”

Amy nods, “Yes, sir.”

He checks his Rolex, “We have just under an hour. Head to your office, get situated, and be back here at 8:30.”

“Yes sir,” Amy stands, walking back towards the door but pauses, “Sir?”

He’s already shuffling papers from a file folder across his desk so again, he doesn’t try and meet her eyes, “Sheila cleared it out in preparation for your arrival. Do not forget to extend your gratitude.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” 

With that, Amy walks across the hall to the “it” her father was referring to: her office. The office that had been specifically picked out for her when she was six years old because it was across the hall from his. The same office that had been built out for her that same summer nearly 20 years ago, a surprise that her father had arranged, for when they returned from New York. 

Prior to their trip, Amy had spent nearly six months designing and planning her office with her father (but mostly Sheila). She had been expecting it to be completed much later on, likely after undergrad, but Jim had wanted her to have it before then. So she could get settled in, he had said, to get comfortable by his side. 

James IV, better known as Jimmy, had drunkenly told her once that he had never seen their father open the room and it was well known around the office that the door was to remain shut at all times. The Cedar Creek Rumor Mill had it on good authority that many years ago, a first-year associate had asked their father during the office Christmas party if they could move down and take the office over. Their father fired them on the spot. Allegedly, of course. 

It has been 18 years since Amy has walked through this door and unsurprisingly, it’s unbelievably difficult to reach out and twist the knob. She inhales deeply, calling on every last bit of nerve she can and pushes her way inside. 

She takes in the sight before her, recalling the small details of the brightly painted room, a stark contrast to the somber tones of her father’s dark wood theme. She had wanted her office to be inviting to everyone and not pretentious. Amy Miller, Esquire was going to help people, regardless of their economic standing and she wanted them to feel at ease. 

The walls had been painted a light gray, while white ornate trim surrounded the lone but large, bay window. Her view was decent, overlooking the recently renamed Miller Park and the adjacent First Baptist Church, where her family has been members since it was erected, literally. 

After it had been decided that Amy was returning to Cedar Creek, Sheila had reached out, asking her if she wanted to update any of the decor to something more akin to today’s trends. Amy had declined, opting to keep the similar, but less robust versions of her father’s furniture. Amy’s set was considered to be the daughter of the set featured in her father’s office by the local manufacturer. Admittedly, she hesitated to let it go. 

Sitting down in the smooth light leather chair, she was satisfied with her decision not to change anything. This was finally her office and she was going to enjoy it the way her teenage self would have wanted her to. 

Pulling her laptop out of her bag, Amy gets to work refreshing all of the preparations she had completed the night before. 

“Welcome home, Ames,” she says aloud, to no one.   

***

When Amy arrives home, promptly at 5:30 p.m., as she demanded when negotiating her return with her father, Joey is seated at the kitchen table. He has a school book open and is steadily jotting down notes. From the looks of the new additions to the open-faced cabinets, he’d unpacked several boxes, even going as far as breaking down and neatly stacking the empties by the back door.  While his initiative mostly catches her off guard, it gives Amy hope that, perhaps, things are feeling a bit more normal for him. 

She can’t help the smile that spreads across her face as she holds up two bags, “Dinner?”

He looks up from his notebook and for a brief moment, joy reflects in his eyes as he asks, “Chinese?”

“You know it,” Amy says, bringing the takeout to the table. Joey moves his study materials out of the way and honestly, Amy isn’t sure why she’s trying to get her feelings hurt again today but she takes a chance, “What are you working on?”

Joey gets up, returning with two paper plates, setting them down in front of the containers, and starts to dole out dumplings and Lo Mein for each of them. 

“Chemistry,” he says nonchalantly. 

“Yikes,” Amy replies, picking up the spare ribs and giving them each two. 

“Not really, I like it.” 

“Is that so?” Amy says, genuinely. Not that she should be shocked by this news, her brother had been an engineer after all and Amy herself had a knack for the sciences. 

But all Joey says in return is, “Yep,” before sliding his notebook back over towards him and beginning to eat. 

Amy had, what she would consider, a good day at the office with her father. He didn’t scold her once during any of their meetings together and they’d managed to pass by each other twice in the hall without verbally lashing out. 

She uses that momentum as courage to venture a little further with Joey, “Is that work that was given to you to get caught up?”

He murmurs something that resembles confirmation but doesn’t seem as though he plans to say anything further. Well, at least she had tried. A change that their therapist will be pleased to hear about later this week, Amy is sure. 

She’s reaching down into her workbag to pull out a notebook of her own to go over her hours for the day when Joey speaks again, his deepening voice startling her just a touch. 

“A team project was assigned today.” Amy looks up, giving him her undivided attention. She tries to smile encouragingly and it seems to work. He continues, “Each team has to pick a different experiment that demonstrates a concept that they’ve learned so far this year.”

“Oh man,” Amy says softly as her chest fills with guilt at the role she played in forcing him to change schools halfway through the first semester. 

Her parents had wanted to ensure that she and Joey were settled by the holidays. Not because they were looking forward to spending time as a family but because it would mean they would be able to attend the required gatherings together. This way, the Cedar Creek Elite, would have less to contribute to the Rumor Mill, if all of the remaining Millers were seen participating as expected. Her parents’ desire to have them home was purely for their benefit, not for Joey’s and certainly not for Amy’s. 

Joey either doesn’t understand the sullen expression on her face or he simply ignores it because he keeps speaking, “Well, so my teacher gave me a study guide so I could catch up.”

“That was nice of them,” Amy says. 

Joey hums in agreement, “Yeah, she seems pretty nice.”

“What’s her name?”

He thinks for several moments and then honest to God laughs, “I actually can’t remember.”

Amy can’t stop herself from lightly chuckling along with him, “Well that’s okay, I’m sure you heard a lot of names today.” 

He nods in agreement, “So many.”

Amy’s heart is exploding with excitement at their extended conversation but she is still hesitant to push him too far. She doesn’t want to spook him.

“Anything else fun happen?” Amy asks casually. 

Joey shrugs, “Not really. Uncle Jimmy gave me a tour during first period, which was supposed to be Spanish, then I had Chemistry and Calculus before lunch. My last class was Photography, which was also pretty fun. I’ll need to bring my camera next time though.”

She replies a little too quickly, “Sure, no problem." She tones it down, "We’ll get it unpacked tonight.”

He grins, “Awesome, thanks, Amy.”

Some of the wind is knocked out of Amy’s sails at the name but she won’t let it take away from the exchange as a whole.

Joey’s voice cuts through her internal celebration, “A couple of kids at school said our house is haunted.”

Amy huffs, “It isn’t.”

“How do you know?” Joey asks tentatively.

“Does it feel haunted?”

He pauses, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Well there you go,” Amy says. “Besides, when I was in school, the rumors were that it has some kind of weird anti-curse energy, not that it’s haunted.” Joey couldn’t look more confused if he tried. “Look, just know that it’s fine, and don’t believe everything you hear, okay?”

“They said a man died in here, a doctor or something?”

Amy laughs, “Probably several people have died in here Joe, The House has been around since the Civil War but I know who you’re talking about, Dr. Mitchell.”

Joey shakes his head up and down, “Yeah that was the name they said. They said something about the attic,” Joey’s eyes move towards the ceiling. 

Amy’s eyes follow, “You wanna go check?”

“What? No!” Joey exclaims. 

Her laughter grows, “I’m just kidding. There’s nothing up there, remember? We’ve both been in there together.”

“I know,” he groans, “but they said he like, you know,” and attempts to gesture a rope.

Amy cuts him off, “I’m not sure if that’s what happened but I do remember my grandpa telling me about the day he died. He was very young when it happened but it was kind of a big deal.”

“What happened?”

“He died. In the attic.”

He gapes, “What? You just said you didn’t know for sure.”

She smiles wryly, “I said that I didn’t know how he died. He did die in the attic though, they just never really knew for sure how. A lot of people said it was an accident.”

“Was he married?” Joey asks.

“Yes, to his nurse and she went on to do really wonderful things for the town. Dr. Mitchell, ” Amy added, “he was allegedly quite the jerk. Grandpa Miller said that he acquired the house under shady circumstances and the house ‘made it right’,” she finishes, holding her fingers up for air quotes. 

Quizzically, Joey asks, “Made it right? What does that mean?” 

Amy shrugs, “Your guess is as good as mine but legend has it…”, she pauses for dramatic effect, taking in Joey’s mesmerized look. “Legend has it that The Emmett House was built specifically for the Underground Railroad and as a thank you, one of the freed women blessed the Emmett House and those who would live here in the future.”

“What kind of blessing?”

“Happiness,” Amy says simply. 

Joey hums, his eyes are brimming with dissatisfaction at her answer but nonetheless, he nods and returns to his notebook. He stays silent while they finish their meal, scribbling notes in between bites of Chinese. He doesn’t say anything else until he asks her if she wants to watch a movie with him and the question is music to Amy’s ears. 

As she stands to follow Joey into the den, she pauses, turning back to gaze at the large eat-in kitchen. Amy had spent the most money in this room, as expected, and rightfully so. The warmth she felt from being inside The Emmett House was unmatched, despite the heavy history that came with it, and she hoped that she had done the home justice with her renovations. She wanted her and Joey to be happy here and with every day, it seemed as though a little bit more of that happiness was returning to them. 

***

“We’re presenting our experiments in class this morning,” Joey announces randomly on a Friday morning two weeks later. This is his third day in a row having breakfast with her but today is the first he’s spoken. She nods, hoping he’ll continue, and to her surprise, he does, “Families are invited to come tonight at 6:30 to see them too. You don’t have to stay but could you give me a ride?”

She starts to frown but thinks better of it. Smiling instead, she replies, “Of course I’ll come, Joe.” She pauses to give him a chance to reply but he continues chewing, “And hey, I’ll even give you that ride too.”

At her quip, he smiles, his mouth full of cereal, an event that’s been happening more and more frequently. He swallows before saying, “Great.”

“Great,” Amy parrots. “What’s your experiment about, by the way? You haven’t said.” She’s getting braver with her questions, less hesitant to scare him off. 

Joey huffs and rolls his eyes, “I’m not gonna explain it to you if you’re gonna see it tonight, Ames. That’s a waste of breath.”

She laughs and holds her hands up placatingly, “You’re right, you’re right. I’ll wait for the big reveal then.” 

He had started calling her “Ames” again one day last week while calling out for her upon his arrival home from school. He had stayed late for some extra tutoring, per his text earlier that day. His Chemistry teacher, who had identified herself as Ms. Greene, had texted shortly after Joey confirming their tutoring session as well. Amy had readily agreed for him to stay, promising to have pizza waiting for them. 

Amy had been elated that he was taking an interest in his school work but even more pleased to hear her nickname from him once again. It had been far too many months since she’d heard it from his mouth and she had been starting to forget what it sounded like. She understood though, that it was probably hard for Joey to use the term of endearment. After all, his father and mother referred to her that way Joey’s entire life. Or maybe he was just growing up, either way, she’s glad to hear it again. 

“Mrs. Greene asked me to tell you specifically to come tonight,“ he says offhandedly, on his way out the front door a bit later. 

“She did?” Amy asks, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “How come?”

He shrugs, “Dunno.” To Amy’s delight, he continues unprompted, “After class the other day she asked if my guardian was coming tonight and I told her I didn’t know. When I said that, she said that it would be a good idea for you to come. I think she just wants to tell you how good I am at chemistry.”

“How good you are?” He grins, “And how good is that, exactly?”

Joey’s smile is the largest she’s seen since last Christmas, since “before”. “See you tonight, Ames,” he says, closing the front door behind him. 

Some days, Amy wonders if Joey is her child, the way her own mischievousness manifests in his everyday actions. His wit is similar to hers and Jimmy’s, not as every day as his father, Stephen’s, although he too would have his dry moments. What Amy doesn’t have to wonder about though is her love for him. She knows that she loves Joey just as much as she would if he was her own.

*** 

Hours later, Amy is sure that she has forgotten to wake up from a rare, late afternoon power nap and is still dreaming. Otherwise, how else would she explain that it is somehow 2005 and she is standing in the doorway of the very same chemistry classroom that she occupied her own Junior year of high school? 

Luckily, the walls are a lot less… piss yellow, an unfortunate trait of the entire science wing during her time there. She takes the change in paint color as a sign that it’s likely this isn’t a dream and enters the room behind her nephew. 

Inside, the crowd is fairly large, filling in all of the empty spaces of the rectangular room, with science benches evenly spread throughout. Joey looks back at her, an excited look on his face. Amy can see Jimmy in her periphery standing in the far left corner of the room. She nods in Jimmy’s direction, indicating for Joey to head that way. 

He turns forward to navigate the throng of people but quickly turns back, “Oh perfect, I can introduce you to Mrs. Greene, she’s talking to Uncle Jimmy.” 

“Perfect!” Amy calls back, genuinely thrilled to finally put a face to the name of the only teacher she specifically knew of thus far. Joey has failed to mention the names of the others but to be fair, she’s also failed to ask. Amy makes a mental note to bring it up to him on their ride home.

As they approach, Amy can only see a portion of the back of the woman’s head, most of it blocked by the equipment setup within the chemistry bench. All that’s visible is a mane of curly brown hair, neatly pinned in a half-up-half-down style, accented with an honest-to-god bright orange Scrunchie. 

Jimmy finally meets her eyes and he lights up at the sight of the two of them. Amy always loved being greeted by her brothers, who were always so happy to see her growing up. And now, seeing Jimmy so frequently the last few weeks has made her question how she was able to stay away for so long. 

Amy can see that he calls her name, “Ames!”, but the sound doesn’t meet her ears over the din of the room. The woman in front of Jimmy visibly stiffens at his outburst, likely startled by the boom of his naturally loud voice, just like their father’s. Unlike their father’s though, Jimmy’s voice was also naturally kind and full of warmth, qualities that their father worked to eliminate from his own. 

Jimmy excuses himself and starts to walk towards them but Joey puts his hands up, signaling that they are heading in their direction. Amy can faintly hear Joey telling Jimmy that he wants to introduce Amy to Mrs. Greene. Jimmy nods his head in understanding, stopping to stay where he is to wait for them.

Didn’t she refer to herself as “Ms. Greene” in their text exchange though, Amy muses? She’s probably not married and just doesn’t have the heart to correct anyone. At least, that’s the way Amy has been handling the misuse of her salutation. She’s been on team “Fuck It” since her divorce was finalized six months ago, so she stopped correcting people. She chalked it up to a win-win situation. Less embarrassment for them and less small talk for her. 

Mrs./Ms. Greene still doesn’t immediately turn around to face them and if Amy wasn’t mistaken, she’d swear that just before she finally does, the woman inhales so deeply that her shoulders touch her ears before slowly returning down to their proper positions.

Amy’s heart begins to race then, in response to what, Amy cannot immediately pinpoint. It’s as if her mind is still searching but her heart has already remembered, hammering with anticipation, waiting for her mind to catch up.  

They reach the end of the table and finally, Joey calls out to the woman, “Mrs. Greene! I want you to meet my Aunt Amy.”

The woman finally turns to face them and Amy, for fuck’s sake, must really still be sleeping because what she sees in front of her is a ghost. Staring back at her is the face of someone that she never thought that she would see again in person. A face that she did sometimes see though, in her dreams, when she was particularly homesick or stressed. Someone who Amy saw for the last time, in this very classroom, the day before her senior year was set to start.  

Mrs. Greene steps around the large table and into Amy’s full view. Mrs. Greene, or Mrs. Smith, well, actually, Diana, as Amy knew her back then, had hardly changed at all. Sure, her dark hair was showing signs of graying but there wasn’t much else. She had always looked younger, Amy recalls, remembering the surprise she felt when learning her chemistry teacher was nearly 10 years older than she was. The entire class had been shocked, really, after Diana had made them all guess her age on their first day together as an icebreaker. At the time, Amy would have guessed that she was freshly out of college, not a grown woman with a Master's Degree and several years of teaching under her belt. 

Amy doesn’t know what the hell to do in this situation. A situation that she admittedly still allows herself to fantasize about, when she is feeling particularly low. For nearly 20 years she has imagined what it would be like to see Diana Smith again, for the first time since that late August evening in 2005. However, she’ll also admit that she never envisioned two members of her immediate family being present during their reunion, so any of her previously rehearsed scenarios are completely out of the window. Amy will have to improvise and to do that, she’ll need to do what she does best: take control. 

Squaring her shoulders and setting her jaw, Amy thrusts out her hand in offering towards Diana — Mrs. Smith — Greene, whatever. Diana takes it and as they’re shaking, Diana’s brown eyes fill with what looks like relief. Amy also thinks she sees tears forming in Diana’s eyes or perhaps the ones forming in hers are clouding her own vision. Either way, she needs to dampen the emotion pooling in her stomach and the tension she feels creeping in around them. She releases Diana’s hand, instantly relieving some of the pressure but it doesn’t completely dissipate. 

Amy clears her throat, looking towards Joey as she says, “We actually know each other, Joe. She was my chemistry teacher too, back in the day.”

His eyes light up, “Really? That’s so cool.” He directs his attention to Diana, "I didn’t know you were kind of old, Mrs. Greene.”

“Joey!” Amy scolds as Diana and Jimmy burst into laughter.

Diana’s laugh is a melody that causes her skin to prickle as the sound meets her ears. It was a sound that never failed to fill Amy’s body with warmth and this apparently still rings true. The three of them chuckle together as Amy’s mind spins completely out of control. 

Diana’s voice cuts through her catastrophizing thoughts, “It’s nice to see you again, Amy.” 

The sound brings Amy’s gaze to Diana’s and all Amy can do is tell herself that now is not the right time. She manages a stilted, “You too.”

Jimmy checks his watch, letting Diana know that it’s 6:30 on the dot, prompting Joey to rush his goodbyes, quickly leaving to join his partner. Amy tries to wish him luck as he walks away but she doesn’t think he hears her. 

Diana excuses herself from Amy and Jimmy but turns to Amy before walking away, “Can I speak with you after?” Amy opens her mouth to respond but Diana says quickly, “About Joey.” Amy nods silently and Diana smiles softly, “Thank you, I’ll find you.”

With her heartbeat racing, Amy watches Diana walk to the front of the classroom. She thinks that she listens to Diana’s welcome message and then watches two dozen teenagers present a wide array of chemistry experiments. However, as Diana approaches the front of the classroom again and thanks everyone for coming, Amy realizes that she hasn’t been paying attention to anything or anyone around her for the last 90 minutes. She paid so little attention in fact, that she has absolutely no idea what Joey’s experiment was. 

Her speech over, Diana leaves the front of the classroom and immediately heads in Amy’s direction. As she approaches, Diana waves off several people looking to speak with her, keeping her eyes fixed in Amy’s direction. Diana and Joey reach Amy and Jimmy simultaneously and Amy takes the opportunity to delay their potential private conversation by keeping the focus on her nephew. 

“Great job, Bud,” Amy says, and he beams at her. She will really need to make an effort to try and figure out what his presentation was about. To say she feels terrible is an understatement. 

“Thanks, Ames!” He says.

Jimmy and Diana follow suit in offering their praise before engaging each other in a school-related discussion. Joey takes this as a sign that he’s no longer needed, turning to Amy and letting her know he was going to hangout with his partner Sam, and to find him when she was ready to leave. 

After a few beats, Diana seems to notice that Joey has left and shifts her body to include Amy in their conversation. 

“Great turnout this year, Diana,” Jimmy says casually. 

Diana hums in agreement but suddenly, her expression changes into one of seriousness, “I’m glad you’re both here though, really. After,” She pauses, as if she’s trying to choose the right words, “… everything that has happened, I figured you’d like to know how well Joey seems to be settling in.” 

Again, all Amy can do is nod and Jimmy gives her an odd look before speaking for both of them, “Thanks so much, Diana. We’re really glad to hear that. He’s a great kid.”

Diana nods emphatically, “Yes, he is! Joey seems to be naturally gifted with science too, which has been delightful. It’s been quite a long time since I’ve had a student pick things up so quickly.”

Amy can feel Diana’s eyes on her as she finishes her statement, which is far from lost on Amy. Still, though, Amy struggles to think of something to say that doesn’t involve bringing up the past. When she comes up empty, she manages a very generic, “I’m really glad to hear that, thanks for letting us know.”

“Excuse me, Principle Miller?” Another parent interrupts their little triangle, requesting to speak with Jimmy and of course, he agrees, excusing himself and stepping several feet away from them with the other man. Now, for the first time in two decades, Amy and Diana are alone. Well, as alone as they can be in a room with 50 other people.

When Diana finally does speak, her voice is meek and unsure, the complete opposite of her speech just moments ago, “Look, Amy—“

Amy can’t seem to hold it in any longer though and cuts her off, “I can’t do this,” but Diana’s eyes are pleading and Amy has waited so long to finally hear something, anything, to justify Diana’s actions back then. So she walks it back and takes some of the bite out of her tone, “Right now. Here. This isn’t the place.”

Diana’s eyes are still disappointed but there is also a hint of understanding in them. 

“Okay,” She says. “Then where?”

Amy doesn’t know how to answer her. She needs to process this entire evening, needs to go back through the last two hours to try and make sense of all of the emotions that have unexpectedly sprung up inside of her. Emotions that she had worked hard to deal with and thought that she had long since moved past. Apparently, though, those emotions were simply dormant, waiting for the right moment to be released. And that moment turned out to be a crisp Friday evening in November of 2023. 

“I’m not sure,” Amy says honestly and Diana nods, a look of defeat trailing across her features. Amy hates the way Diana’s face falls even further at her response but what Amy hates, even more, is that she can feel herself backsliding so easily, “I can text you though, I guess since I have your number?”

Diana brightens, “I’d appreciate that. That is my personal cell, yes. Please use it whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay,” is all Amy can muster and she cannot remember a time in recent memory when she has been at such a loss for words. 

Amy gives Diana a curt smile and turns to leave before she loses all of her resolve but a hand on her forearm stops her. Diana looks up into Amy’s blue eyes, their slight height difference exaggerated by Amy’s heels and Amy’s heart feels as though it’s going to beat out of her chest. 

“It is Ms. Greene, by the way,” is all Diana says before fixing a smile across her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes and walking away.

On the ride home, Amy doesn’t ask Joey the names of his other teachers. 

++++++

Read Part 2: www.aquicktripp.com

[wlwwerewolfie]

An older sub says, "I'm too old for you," to their younger dom, the dom replies back with, "And yet you're still here, cumming on my tongue. Just let me take care of you, mommy." then, with no warning, they thrust their tongue so deep inside their older subs cunt that they let out one of those adorable squeal like moans instead of protest or arguing!

[15-lizards]

Save me book version of Rhaenicent save me…

[forthelostones]

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ➺ 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 #2

anderson construction and landscaping had been parked outside your door since you returned home from university. as if the summer couldn't get any hotter, the business owner works overtime in your area. anderson is collecting new, loyal clients of your neighbors, cementing her permanence in your life for the next few months. what's to come of your girlish crush when she keeps showing up?

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 18+ (mdni); age-gap, young!reader, older!abby, butch!abby, slow-burn, suggestive language, thoughts of infidelity, ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parents, nickname: sweetheart, and modern au.

𝚊𝚗. everyone wow thank you so much for the love on for your eyes only! it means so much. here’s something a little different, hope you enjoy. any requests don’t hesitate to drop ‘em, xx jstar.

♫ 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. distraction by kehlani ♫

palestinians still need e-sims!!! click the link to figure out how you can donate.

The overly generous housewife commissioned me another large project, to which I simply could not decline. Summertime is when business is the best and she just became my second client in this particular neighborhood. It was a carbon copy of the nearby cities split by four-way stops and freeways. The demands were never unique or fresh, causing me a great deal of creative fatigue when I had to order identical materials from my supplier. I pressed the half-empty bottle of frosty Sam Adams against my neck, soothing the battering I received from the sun this afternoon. There was a cacophony of Casio watch alarms indicating that lunch was over. All my workers were so ecstatic to finish up today’s task and celebrated with loud audible sighs.

“Men can be such pigs,” I whispered, consolidating their empty glasses sticky with sugar. 

“Men and children,” She adds, catching me off guard. 

I smile over to her blankly, having very little experience with either. 

“Yes, my little one over there used to be a slobbering mess.” 

I glance over my shoulder to see her daughter sucking on a lemon wedge. Her dark pink lips are tacky with citrus and teeth white against the sunny flesh shedding onto her mouth’s crevasses. I trace the thin maroon-shaded line on the outside of her lips. I find my tongue gliding over my own, thinking of how the lemon would taste between us both. Her eyes jut open once she realizes I am looking at her, eyelashes feathery and light under the sun. Then she just stares at the ground, scraping the sole of her worn Converse against the driveway pavement, attempting to conceal her smile. 

“Have any?” She asks. 

“Any kids? Ah, no. I don’t.” 

She invites me into her home with my hands full of expensive glassware. She screams out to her daughter to bring in the remaining to which she obliges silently, the wedge now dry between her teeth. I wait before walking through the mysterious door and let her guide me — once again with no words. I watched her hips wobble, compressed in spandex, as she walked in front of me. Blinking myself out of the curve of her behind, I stepped up the concrete steps into the kitchen area. Once the daughter placed the glasses on the granite island, she discarded her lemon by spitting it directly into the bin, before lifting the cups out of my hands. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” I hummed naturally. 

“So we’re good for a consultation tomorrow Abigail?” 

I stalked the daughter's movements as she traveled to the dishwasher on the other side of the kitchen. She hunched over to load the dishwasher, ass drawing me back in as she bent down into a squat to adjust something on the rack. 

“Abigail?” Her mother probed. 

“Yes, ma’am, sorry I was just going through my schedule in my mind.” I laughed nervously. 

“Don’t you have an assistant for all that stuff?” 

“No ma’am, not yet. But we’re good for a consultation at 7:00 am?” 

“Yes, my husband will be here and it’ll be a nice affair. Darling, why don’t you give Abigail all of our numbers. It will be necessary once she starts coming by regularly to fix your bathroom and the deck.” 

Her daughter bounced on her heels and closed the washer, turning to me, worrying her lip in her mouth. She looked between her mother and me, confused at the declaration of plans.

“I didn’t know… uh… renovations to my bathroom, okay.” She said.

“You’ve been complaining about it, so we’re getting it fixed, see Abigail out.” 

She wipes her hands on her shorts and leaves wet smears on the material, the handprints incasing her plump thighs. The girl guides me back to the entrance we came in, her mother wishing me farewell as I step out of the kitchen and back into the garage. I turn to her, still perched on the top of the concrete step, her breasts now eye-level. They glimmer like diamonds just before I tilt my head back and meet her reticent eyes. She holds out her hand, palm upward, demanding something. 

“Phone?” She says. 

“Oh right, uh I think I left it in the truck,” I say patting my pockets. “Why don’t you just take mine down?” 

She removes her phone from her waistband and opens the contact page allowing me to type in my information. I look up at her and she nods at my name on the screen. I huff and start strutting out of the wide garage door. Just as my boot touches the line between the shaded concrete of the garage and driveway, I hear her sweet voice shimmer. “See ya, Ms. Anderson.” 

“Bye.” I wave as the heat from outside embraces me and a collection of warmth bottles inside of me from hearing my name so velvety on her lips. 

꒰ঌ ໒꒱

My neck and forehead were drenched as I rolled over to throw my legs over the couch. The tightness in my lower back that could only be saved by major corrective massaging was throbbing violently. My body stiffened from using this old couch as my bed again, the third time this week. My actual bedroom was a few steps away from the front door but I never make it there. Under my left leg was another thriller book whose name is now obsolete and could explain why I was sweaty and anxious throughout the night. I thumbed the pages and set them on the massive pile of manila folders that accumulated on the coffee table. I put my finger under my glasses and rubbed my eyes clear. What a mess my house has become. The sun wasn’t even up yet and I question why I still do any of this. This a question I ask myself every day actually. I touch the screen of my phone that I forgot to put on charge last night, again, and see all the notifications accumulated after 7:00 pm. 

Payments due, meetings, consultations, etc., are all semi-organized in a calendar system I have yet to perfect.

11:00 PM: See you in the morning, Ms. Anderson :) 

I felt my mouth open slightly. I was pathetic, smiling at a simple text. How long had it been since a notification on my phone was from a woman? I opened the message to type but it’s far too late to reply… right? I liked the message, saved her number as the address, and placed my phone down on the counter. I picked up my tube of toothpaste and noticed how thin it became. I will need to run to the store after work today, another thing to add to the list of shit I didn’t want to do. I used all my might to pop out the last bulb of paste. 

Today was supposed to be an easy day, do the consultation, and oversee the the porch while I put up ads for an assistant I desperately needed. After slicking my hair I walked back into the living room where piles of paperwork overwhelmed the space. I needed an assistant and quickly if I was going to continue to expand my business. 

Two cups of black coffee today as I discovered my creamer was congealed and rotten beyond belief. Another thing I need to do is go grocery shopping. I searched for my keys under the folders stacked on my coffee table. It was already 6:30 a.m. and by my standards, I was running late. Once every piece of paper was misplaced and out of order, I recalled my keys' presence on the loop of my cargos. I pressed my head against my seat and let out a sigh before turning on my truck and an audiobook, A Certain Hunger. Another fucking day. 

My truck hummed as I parked on the street in front of the plain light blue house. I winced at my final sip of bitter caffeine while pulling the keys out of the ignition and attaching them to my belt loop. I dig in my back seat for my work bag and drag it with me to the front door. After I knocked, a man of my height opened the door to welcome me in. 

“Abigail,” He said unamused by my presence. 

“Good morning,” I replied. 

“So, this deck came with the house and it’s very outdated and my wife would like to…” 

His voice faded into a tornado of my own thoughts. It was usually the same customers, who had a ten-year-old porch or deck, wanted it to look modern and have the money to waste on it. I shouldn’t complain because I'm willing to take what they’re willing to cough up. 

“Let me show you the bathroom we want to redo.” 

I followed him up the hardwood steps that opened into a mezzanine that split into three directions. One I assumed was a bathroom, a master suite, and a baby pink painted door with a crown-shaped sign that said: ‘The Princess’ Room'. I found myself cracking a smile. He knocked on the door before entering, to which his restless daughter opened her eyes and pulled the duvet over her chest.

“Dad.” She groaned, catching a glimpse of me just before retreating completely under the blanket. 

The view I caught of her face was soft and her lips were perfectly swollen to take into my mouth. I clear my throat and push the thought down just before nearly tripping over one of the many boxes cascading around the room. The bathroom was bright with shades of pink I had never seen before. 

“We just want something black, gold, something mature for the college grad.” He tried to smile but shrugged as if his wife told him to say those exact words. 

“Great, I can draft something up and give you a quote.” 

“Nice, I do have to run, my rude daughter will see you out.” 

His hand briefly gripped my shoulder as he walked past me. I looked over to the bed and placed my thumbs into my belt loops as she peeked from the covers. Her bare shoulders indicated that she was in no position to walk me out. I followed the deep line of her collarbone and blinked heavily. I swallowed as my cheeks became flushed and marched out of the room before finding my way back into my truck in a blur. I placed my hand on my chest and imagined my skin was hers. How it would feel under my hands after a long day and possibly how she would feel on mine too. There was a deeper ache in me that needed to be satisfied. The safety of knowing my body belonged to someone else would soothe my mind. I would finally get some release if— 

A knock on my window jolted me back into reality. She was standing on the other side of the glass with her hand above her eyebrows trying to shield herself from the early morning sun. Her body is now covered in an all-white cotton sleepwear set that was hastily thrown on. I linger on the movement of her breasts and the outline of her hips as her hand gently catapults the most delicate parts of her body into a wave. The fabric held no regard for a woman’s eye like mine. The silhouette of her dark nipples and sloping v-line at the waistband of her flowing shorts pulled at a string that hadn’t been yanked in a long time. I felt a thrum deep below my belt. I turn the key to roll the window and she smiles slightly, lips slathered in a pinkish gloss that caught my attention immediately. 

“Hi,” She mutters. 

“Morning.” I reply. 

“Um, sorry I wasn’t—”  

“You’re good. So, Princess?” 

I regretted saying it until her smile grew into a chuckling laughter that echoed down the silent street. I grinned with her as her skin glistened from the pure sunlight, uninterrupted of any lingering elements. 

“To be fair, we’ve lived in this house forever.” She adds. 

“Uh-huh, well, no worries all that pink will be gone.” I glance down to her mouth and she retracts her lips to make them vibrate with a pop. 

“In a way, I’ll miss it but it's time for something new.” 

Those words hung in my mind and the cadence in which said it, implying something more than just new tiles and a coat of white paint. 

“Right, have a nice day,” I say. 

“Oh and Abby,” She adds, leaning into the window with her perfect fingers on the windowsill. “Can you tell me when you’re coming so I can at least be dressed?” 

Before I could get a word in she was already heading back through the front door of her house. 

꒰ঌ ໒꒱

I sat on the sidewalk with my laptop and lawn chair, writing out a description for an assistant. I had been so used to doing everything on my own when I started but now I need to switch my methods before I can’t do it anymore. The team was getting along well with the porch and we were almost done, one week in advance, but I can’t count too much on their loud mouths to stay on task. It felt nice to sit in the sun and give my body a rest, I needed more of this. But now I was just staring at the cursor on the screen wondering what I needed an assistant to do.

As a woman who owns her own company…

(DELETE) 

I am looking for someone who is …

(DELETE) 

In need of an Administrative Assistant who can help with my everyday business needs. This includes filing records, sending invoices to clients, being the main contact for clients, and other tasks as assigned. If you are applying, provide a resume listing previous experience relevant to this job. Set hours of 30 per week may include, working in an office, on the job site, and traveling with me. Pay starts at $19.00 per hour. Please send your interest to andersonco@gmail.com. Thank you. 

I triple-checked my grammar to ensure there were no errors and posted it to all the job-hiring websites I could think of. I exhaled knowing the mess of my life would soon become organized with the assistance of someone more qualified than me to sort it out. I close my warm laptop walk around to the driver's seat and place it into my bag. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice someone watching me from the sidewalk. 

As I lift my gaze I notice my stalker. She walks over to me, fully dressed in bright yellow athleisure and a smile. “I realized something.” She says, hands on the fat of her hips. I pause as I notice the contrast of the sunflower yellow against her skin. If I didn't know, I would mistaken her for the sun.

“And that is?” 

“You told my dad you were going to mock-up something but never got what I wanted it to be. Doesn’t there have to be a meeting of some sort so you know what style I like?” 

“I thought your style was black and gold?” 

She stood just a foot away from me and I cast her body in my shadow, relieving her from the sun. I hovered over her but if she only knew how yielding I felt around her this persona would vanish.

“It is but I want to have some say in the creative process.” She tilts her head, milking me for every ounce of consideration.

“Of course. So, a design meeting?” 

I cross my arms and not in a subtle way. It wasn’t an intentional distraction, just a habit. 

“Yes.” She said, holding her eye contact with me. 

“Fine. Cool,” I say and she chuckles. 

A woman my age shouldn’t be saying cool. 

“How does this work then?” 

I open the door and bend over the seat to grab my notebook with pages crumbled and falling out. 

“We schedule a meeting, I doodle a bit, and we come to an agreement. Will cost you extra though, most clients just trust my first design.” I shrug. 

“Oh,” 

“Is that okay with you?” 

“Of course. How does tomorrow sound?” 

“Oh coo— great. Tomorrow at … 3 pm?” I said, avoiding her gaze that has yet to leave my body. 

“I can do that.” 

“You can stop by my office tomorrow then, I will send you the address.” 

[sprout-battlecats]

dappletail and one-eye

individuals below the cut

[misstressviole]

The age gap Rhaenicent edits will send me to an early grave

[artinvain]

Is it just me? or is dbf weird bc like. my dad is old, and you’re telling me this woman saw me grow up n now wants to fuck me? I’m hello? I’m uncomfortable?

[raquartz]

I wish older women knew how attractive they really are. My crush is about twice my age and I hear her complain about her looks/weight often. I’d literally crawl on my hands and knees for her HOW DOES SHE NOT KNOW SHES HOT‼️😩

[evyripley]

The way these two would make the cutest couple

Like they look like a couple right here!

And the way I look kinda like Nastassja…I need Sigourney.

[papirouge]

Okay but the next time a gay male call every Christian "pedophile" just show him those screenshots of gay men talking about their fist gay sexual experience, please

The casualness of those exchange of men sharing their experience of being groomed by predator/straight up pedophile, if not being predators themselves, is straggering and those anti Christian gays should really stop throwing stones when they're literally living in a house made of glass

[onceuponaweirdo]

i'm gonna rant to y'all for some bit, bare with me.

something that pisses me off in age gap fiction is the "you're still young" speech. Like i get it, there is an indecisiveness that comes associated with being 20 something young and having your whole adulthood waiting for you to be lived, but what really nics at me is the "you might want something else in the future" as if they can't know what they want now. My dearest, we all might want something else in the future and that is perfectly fine, "oh but what would be of the relationship then?" first of all, there's two of you and that's more than enough to hold a serious and adult conversation about the future and prospectives and what both expect to achieve from it. Why do we gotta put this "you're still young" as the breaking point? (I say that fully aware that I have done it as well in my writings)

but why can't it ever be "You like dolls and I find them creepy" like find some other silly reason, other than "you're adulting".

[letterbox-lemonade]

She is Professor Alcina Dimitrescu, your Professor…

Adult Content

Read on ao3

[thejudgemelikeapicturebook]

i wish she would just fuck me already.

i want to be as close to her as possible.

i want to be breathing down her neck.