I was quite taken aback when I first met Jane. I had been tutoring high school students in Chemistry and Biology for about a year, and I’d come to expect the type of students I’d meet. There were typically only two varieties: the intellectually gifted geeks, who request studying just so that they can be that tiny bit better; and the academically disinclined cretins, who met with me only at the behest of their parents. I was 23 at the time—in the final year of my degree—and like I said, I was slightly startled when I met Jane.
She was hot; there is simply no other way to put it. Cheerleader-hot, too. Her skin was lightly tanned, her eyes a light hazel colour, almost gold, and her hair was that dirty blonde colour that always reminded me of the beach—and by the looks of her, she was no stranger to the beach.
She was hot and she knew it, which is a quality in girls that usually turns me right off. I guess the difference with Jane was that, although she was quite conscious of her beauty, she didn’t flaunt it outrageously or wear it like a condescending cloak. She was just a playful young thing that liked to flash the occasional wicked smile and the occasional stretch of leg.
She was one of the only girls I’d ever met who actually wore skirts more often than she wore pants. To me, it was always disappointing that women had slowly adopted the widespread wearing of jeans and trousers and chosen to give up on dresses and skirts. Dresses, I guess, are a bit formal, and still worn on those occasions, but skirts deserve attention, especially when you have killer legs. And Jane did.
So as I said, the first time I met her, she provided a pleasant surprise. Her parents had found my ad in the local paper, had called me, and organised for me to meet with their daughter on Wednesday and Friday afternoons. I showed up at 5:00 on a Wednesday in April for our first session.
Jane opened the door, though I didn’t know that immediately. She looked about the right age, but she could easily have been a sister. The first thing I noticed was the long stretch of bare legs; the tan was exquisite, and I’ve always been a fan of tans. I had a nice one myself, if I may say so. She wore a yellow skirt with flowers sewn along the hem. Above that, a plain white form-fitting shirt, maybe her school shirt, I guessed.
“Hi,” she said with a wide smile that made me smile back involuntarily.
“Hi,” I replied, and there was a definite hitch in my voice. “Jane?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” she said. “Come in.” She moved aside so that I could enter the house, though not quite far enough aside to prevent me from brushing against her.
I think that was the first time I knew she was one of those girls that knew they were stunningly attractive. The stigma that came with that thought was immediate: she was one of those girls that did little to no work, wanted to do nothing but party all day and night and shop until they drop. I could definitely see her loudly chewing gum during our sessions.
I met her mother next, who had been in the kitchen. She was an amiable woman with a smile akin to her daughters, though it replaced the teenage mischief with a comforting warmth.
“You must be Rick,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I mumbled some pleasantries in reply. “Well, I’ll let you two get started then, shall I.”
“If that’s alright with Jane,” I said. “You can go into the study if you wish; that’ll be free in the afternoons.”
“We’ll go to my room, mom,” Jane suggested. “All my books are there.”
“Well, alright,” her mother replied, looking dubious; I could tell exactly what was going through her mind.
Jane started walking up a set of stairs. She paused on the bottom step and turned around. “It’s this way,” she said, and continued up. I followed up until we emerged on a second story landing, which stretched off into hallway, lined on either side with doors. Jane stopped outside one of them and held it open for me.
Her room wasn’t what I’d expected: it lacked the posters, large wardrobe and extensive CD collection that I was sure should be there. She didn’t even have her own phone. Instead, the bed was covered with an appealing, pale blue coverlet, on top of which sat a plethora of pastel stuffed animals. The bed took up the majority of the room, the rest being dedicated to desk along one wall and a large bookshelf along the other. A huge window protruded above the desk, affording a view of the neighbourhood.
“Nice room,” I commented.
Jane didn’t seem to want to drop that playful grin. “Thanks,” she replied. She shut the door and locked it, which I distantly found to be an odd thing to do. “Just take a seat at the desk.”
The desk was amazingly neat. There were two chairs pulled up to it—I sat in one. Jane sat down beside me, smoothing her skirt before she did. Her stare was making me somewhat nervous. I felt intimidated not only by her pristine beauty, but that glint in her eyes that made it look as though she could read my mind.
“So,” I began awkwardly, “you need help with chemistry?”
The glint vanished and she seemed to assume an entirely different personality.
“Yeah,” she said. She pulled a stack of books towards her and stuck a pencil behind her ear. I was shocked even more than I had been by her attractiveness, when I laid eyes on the tidy and copious amount of work in her notebook.
