Emma Lynn had first met Ryan in the public library. He had signed up for a tutoring session with her through the library. They were three years apart. Ryan had repeated a grade from when his family moved up. Emma Lynn had graduated high school and college early. Ryan was a part-time athlete and a part-time trouble-maker. The rest of the time he spent much to himself. Working on a bike he was putting together for after his birthday. Not that that stopped him from driving abandon cars around town or the bikes of some of his more rough and tough friends. Emma Lynn was working on her Doctorate. Her boyfriend was a college professor where she was attending classes. He was 20 years her senior, but intellectually they were on the same page. Timothy and Emma Lynn often spent evenings at his home in the living room, television off, papers being graded or worked on; dinners on the table Timothy’s ex-wife had picked out, glasses of red wine being poured over conversations about environmental issues, political debates, and planning for the future. Emma Lynn thought of Timothy in stark contrast to Ryan, who she wasn’t entirely if it was his ambivalence or brain that made him seemingly illiterate. Everything about Timothy was smart – the way he dressed, the way he spoke, the fun they had, the love they made that was passionate and a little methodical, like one writing a very interesting and tough literary criticism. Emma Lynn was sure that there was very little that Ryan did which was smart. But she had a feeling there might be one or two things that he did better than Timothy.

Ryan looked at his tutor. A faint blush ran across her face. He resisted the urge to wink. Ryan couldn’t figure out how old she was, and he wanted to make sure he wasn’t pushing his luck again. Two weeks ago, at an ancient dive bar, Ryan had been with some of his more rowdy friends seeing what they could get away with when he met this blonde biker bombshell. They had hit it off, until he slipped up on something or other, then she asked how old he was, how old he really was. She leaned in and looked closely at his face, a flash of shame ran up the back of his neck. The woman swiped Ryan’s hand out from where it had nestled on her thigh, under her dress – his wrist touching the hem, his fingers touching the lace of her panties. The woman’s face flared in anger and embarrassment. I am not a pedophile, her eyes screamed out. Before he knew what was happening he was being whipped around the bar, lifted by the neck of his collar and his jeans. He landed harshly at the bottom of the old wooden stairs onto the dirt parking lot. Ryan snapped his attention back to Emma Lynn whose hand now rested on his wrist. She was staring at him. He looked down at her hand on his wrist, his eyes traveling up her arm encased in a fitted long sleeve, up to her shoulder, over her neck, landing back once more on her face. She blushed again, this time softer than before.

Emma Lynn had spent her entire life living in fantasy worlds of fiction and facts, she was an avid reader who read any genre of fiction as well textbooks of all sorts for pleasure. She had even read several smut books but stopped when she realize all they were exaggerated fiction. No one looked at people that way, sparks didn’t exist, and fleeting moments of unbridled passion were daft. Yet somehow, Emma Lynn felt her body warm and cool, a shiver went up her back, her skin prickled with something, she could feel her chest pulling, she wanted Ryan to look deeper into her eyes. She wanted him to look over every part of her. She thought about these things and a word formed in her head: desire.

Ryan knew what the look on Emma Lynn’s face meant. He might not care enough to do well in school, but Ryan wasn’t braindead. He had had a successful run through of the freshman and sophmores in their high school, the ones who lived in Village Green, the Catholic school girls from the East and West sides, and the older girls who lived in the Avenues – the ones who graduated a year or two ago. While Ryan had originally planned on not, he found himself tilting his head down as if almost ashamed to have been caught looking and then drawing it up ever slightly, half smiling, looking first at Emma Lynn’s lips and then back into her eyes. He looked completely away once her hazel iris was lost almost entirely to her growing pupils. Knowing victory was his, if he wanted it, he decided the rest of his tutoring session would be better spent playing cat and dog, at least until the pussy was worn out.

Ryan had willingly agreed to do the assessment fairly, so Emma Lynn could gage where he was academically. He had been working on it for a few minutes now, and Emma Lynn could barely speak. This had never happened before. She was always the youngest in her classes, making it almost overwhelmingly painful when her friends would return from the weekends with stories of who did who, or what happened where. The guys in her classes were nice enough to her, like they would have been if their best friend’s little sister was there instead. Timothy had been the first man to ever hold her as his equal and friend. Her age didn’t matter in those ways. When they first met she still hadn’t gotten a car yet – having a license felt too weird. She had always taken the bus before or gotten rides from her classmates. She had gotten off the bus and began heading down the block. A few minutes later she turned around and headed back up the block. She tried one other block, before finally returning to the bus stop. Timothy had been sitting at the window bar at a diner working on his research casually watching this happen. Glancing at the time he packed up his things and walked outside. He nodded at the young girl. She smiled and asked him if he knew how to get to the college from here. She explained she was there for her master’s degree. The same program and class he was in – they chatted as he walked her to their building. It was a match made in the library heavens. It took Timothy a year before he kissed her. It was polite and careful. It had been her first kiss, and they both knew it. Emma Lynn felt warmth on her knee, her womanhood clench and her body pull forward before she realized Ryan had his hand on her knee to get her attention. Her attention he got. He picked at threads in her torn jeans. He saw the goosebumps rise on her knee.

It happened in an instant. The way it does in the movies when the scene cuts from the two main characters sharing a moment across a table – a gesture, a smile, a grazing touch – to the man lifting up the woman against the wall, on top of a sink, on a different not-publicly visible table kissing passionately as his jeans are lowered, her skirt is raised. Emma Lynn had finished reviewing Ryan’s assessment and had made a plan for their next session. They had packed up their things, rather she packed up her own as Ryan zipped up his jacket, and walked out of the library. She had just put her things down on the front seat when Ryan came up behind her. He had been close enough that Emma Lynn felt the temperature blocking out the cold. She had forgotten her pen he explained, it was a nice pen and he didn’t want her to leave without it. In an instant, her feet were off the ground and she way laying in the back seat of her car. Her student laying on top of her. Emma Lynn came to her senses, about the same time Ryan was about to come. It was a fleeting moment in the grand scheme of life, a moment that couldn’t be stopped once it started, but could have easily been prevented. Emma Lynn cried out in pleasure and shame. Before her cry settled in the back of her throat, Ryan was gone. She returned inside the library, her face red and hot. The librarian asked if she had another tutoring student coming in. Emma Lynn explained that no, there was no other students that day. Just wanted to go to the ladies room before her drive home. The librarian reminded her it was too cold to not have worn her coat. Couldn’t she feel her face all red? Emma Lynn fake shivered and continued on to the bathroom. Had it not been for the gooeyness left behind as she removed her underwear to pee, Emma Lynn would have been certain it had all been a daydream.

Ryan looked down at the crumpled note in his hand before throwing it out of the window and grabbing one of Dom’s cigarettes. Dom wanted to know why he was in such a crummy mood. Ryan couldn’t quite explain it. He had fucked his tutor. She was attractive, smart, old than he was, but something didn’t feel right about it. She was taken in so easily by him. Like borrowing a car from the old men down at the junkyard when they’re napping. Ryan couldn’t figure it out. He burned through his bummed cigarette too quickly. Dom warned him that was his last pack and that he better smoke a little more carefully. Unless he had a reason to be smoking so. Ryan thought about his tutoring session one more time. He had definitely come quick, but even outside of that it had been so fucking quick. Like a suped up hot rod. Ryan laughed it off as he told Dom he just got regrettably laid. Dom shook his head and naturally picked up on the insinuation, in Dom’s words of wisdom: girls who can’t fuck better at least be able to cook.

Emma Lynn looked down at her watch. Seven minutes had passed. The library was closing in a few minutes. Perhaps it was a daydream. Wednesdays were her crazy days, it was late. She had been running around since 5:00 AM that morning.Emma Lynn wiped herself, tucked her shirt back into her jeans, washed her hands and her face in the sink. Looking at herself in the mirror she decided that regardless of anything else, whatever moment had swept her body had just been a dream. A fantasy. In another half an hour she would be home. Timothy would have made dinner for them. Afterward, they would take their second glass of wine to the living room. They would watch an old show Emma Lynn loved. In the course of time, they would snuggle closer. His hand would reach over to her shoulder. After the wine was gone they would kiss, almost politely at first. Eventually they would be reconnected with each other. They would walk to the bedroom and have sex. Afterward they would lay there looking at the ceiling, Emma Lynn being held in Timothy’s arms. It would be smart, and nice, and wonderful. Any dreams Emma Lynn had would be completed lullabied from her head. Ryan had been no more than a distant thought. He never returned to her for tutoring. She was living in a perfect world. Almost perfect… while Timothy had realized she was pregnant before Emma Lynn had, he had bought her a ring and proposed to her. Two months later they had a lovely, and appropriate wedding. Afterall, it was Timothy’s second marriage. One month after that Emma Lynn saw her lady doctor. She was in fact five months pregnant. She carried it well, and didn’t show. It wasn’t until her third trimester where she truly began to show. The weather was warmer and she could wear flowy dresses. There were those who knew, but no one cruel enough to point out there might be an error in the common math. It was spring when Emma Lynn Cooper gave birth two babies: The Cooper Twins, a boy and a girl.

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