Lady Lucia
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The Tutor, Part Ten
🕑 Added 2022-07-09 15:56:18 +0000 UTCAnnabelle finished up her underwear-clad yoga just as I was marking a few things down on the last problem she had attempted.
It was almost perfect in how we synced up the ends of our separate activities, like she first suggested when idly continuing her stretches instead of joining me to look over her work. From her position on the floor, there was no way she could have known I was wrapping up as well, which meant she’d have even more grounds to feel validated in her earlier assumption that the timing would work out.
I had hoped that the girl would have a little more modesty afterwards, but she was clearly too confident in her body and her private suite to be bothered by such things. Instead of retrieving her clothes and getting dressed, Annabelle just walked over and plopped down next to me on the sofa. “Well? How’d I do?”
When she was doing yoga, I wasn’t staring; she was just right in my line of vision. Now I was dealing with a similar problem. Her D cups bounced the slightest bit when she landed on the sofa, immediately drawing attention to her obvious cleavage between the bra cups. And, just below that, the matching thong left her thighs fully on display. It was a LOT of bare skin, and I had no idea how to carry on a normal conversation next to someone so scantily clad.
If this were a guy, I would have fled back to my car the moment I stepped back into the private living room. Maybe even called the cops on him for the uncalled for visual, especially when paired with such confidence. But this was different. Annabelle was a girl. Not only is the fairer sex a little more comfortable around each other in terms of locker rooms and such, but we also all have the same parts at the end of the day. This was very much not a locker room, of course, yet the blonde next to me was acting totally normal.
Maybe it was fine for her, but it was all still pretty awkward to me. “Umm, maybe you should get dressed first?” I suggested, albeit not in the most assertive way, “It will take a little while to go through all of these.”
“That’s fine; I don’t mind,” Annabelle said, “It’s a little warm up here anyway.”
Well, yeah. It was already pretty apparent that /she/ didn’t mind. “It’s just,” I began, wanting to choose my words carefully. Sure, the girl was crazy confident, but I still didn’t want to risk somehow making her feel self conscious. But I already started talking, so I had to say something, “I mean, I’d be more comfortable. You know, tutoring you like normal?” As in, fully clothed.
“Oh.” She glanced down at her mostly bare form, then back to me, “Are you, like, a lesbian or something?”
What?! “NO.” I quickly blurted out. I could feel the heat rushing to my face, both from the unexpected question and from my knee-jerk reaction to it. There’s nothing wrong with liking girls, but the word ‘lesbian’ is just so sexualized compared to ‘gay.’ Especially when suggested out of the blue like that. “No, I’m not,” I added, more calmly than before.
Annabelle didn’t seem particularly bothered or taken aback by my reaction. “Really? Then what’s the problem?” she asked, “I’ve been like this ever since you got back, and it’s been fine. Hasn’t it?”
Shit.
What was I supposed to do with that? Telling her that it wasn’t really fine would mean that I had basically been sitting there the whole time without speaking up while I was grading and she was stretching. But agreeing that everything was fine would mean that I’d lose more ground. It was a lose/lose, especially against a girl who didn’t seem to see a single reason wrong with any of this.
Before I could find the words, if there were even any words to find, Annabelle went on. “Clothes are a construct, anyway. It’s fine for me to be outside in a bikini, but I can’t learn a little math in my bra?”
I mean, she wasn’t wrong. God knows my girlfriends and I have similar conversations about the parallels between those two things. The difference was, you expected to see people in swimwear at the pool. For this? Not so much. Although I guess that was Annabelle’s point about clothes being a construct. Damn.
Except, we weren’t just two girls. If a classmate took off her shirt in her dorm room . . . well, I’d probably still be uncomfortable, but potentially more amenable to the idea. But Annabelle was in high school. And wearing a bra as a top was one thing, but just a thong below the waist was a lot more to handle.
And, just like that, I found myself blurting out one of those thoughts. “But, you’re a high schooler.”
“I’m eighteen, Mere. And why does that even matter? If you’re not into girls, then it shouldn’t make a difference. Or, are you bi?”
“No. I’m not- anything! Look, I’m straight. But that doesn’t mean I’m okay tutoring some half naked girl. And it’s Meredith.”
She just sighed. “Whatever. So, problem one?”
After all that? Nothing.
Annabelle remained seated on the sofa, making no move to get dressed. Her posture was perfect, just like before, except there was nothing proper about her revealing appearance. And yet, all that bare skin was almost more intimidating than the expensive outfit she was wearing when we first met. But what could I do about it? I was getting paid a lot to be here, and too much of my time had already been wasted in the kitchen.
At this point, there was a good chance I wasn’t going to be back here a second time. It was just too much to put up with. For now, however, I’d suck it up and run out the clock.
“Problem one,” I relented.
