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f"It's so cool to talk to you....as a grown up." Siddy beamed at Ms. Han as he had eighteen years ago. She had aged with grace, now at home in American suburbia. She'd been so exotic to him in sixth grade, an Asian who spoke in the kind of British accent people in his grandmother's books on tape sounded like. She'd been a recent transplant from the UK, he never knew why she had chosen to move to his town. A smile broke across her face, "Sid, you're still trying to get me to give you that gold star again, aren't you?" He blushed, his practiced macho-laid-back-cool floundered and he took a big, noisy sip of his water. Years ago, she'd given him a gold star, one was given per class of 3, for writing a poem about the sadness of watching migratory birds leave. It had not been an assignment, he'd done it to impress her. She'd worn a low cut dress that day, pink with red petals embroidered on it. She'd hugged him when she pinned the star on his pocket, then talked to the class about the romantic poets, about the importance of emotion and intuition and nurturing one's soul. He'd scarcely heard her, his blood pounded in his veins and his knees felt weak. Her mild perfume drove him to frenzy and only the glare of 3 of his most judgemental peers kept him from popping a full erection as she spoke about her passions and her breasts gently heaved... "Sid....? Siddy! Here, stop starting...." the last two words were hissed with a particular urgency. He blinked and instinctively checked his phone, sipping even more water. Finally he met her eyes. They were stern, "Siddy, what's gotten into you?" "The ...star. I....had a recollection." "You had the hots for teacher. You and every other ticking timebomb of hormones." "Who else?" She raised an eyebrow and smiled, "Are you with someone?" "Yes, she's .....we're new." "Lovely, she isn't with you on your homecoming trip?" "No, school...college is in session." "Hmm" a subtle hint of approval at the end. His heart skipped a beat. He ran his eyes over her. She wore her hair loosely, still the flowery dresses. Painted nails. Perfectly shaped eyebrows. A subtle hint of cleavage. "Jesus Sid. Is this how you are with all the girls? You're working now. Show some class." "Yes, Ms Han." He drew his breath. "Is this why you wanted to see me, Sid. Puppy love?" "I admit it is. Look, my poetry was probably my infatuation for you, expressed in verse. And you've grown only more stunning since I met you last." "Very nice. Poetry is indeed a conduit for strong emotions. I must say, I am flattered. Surely, in your grown-up years you've done more than gawk at women. Women closer to your age even?" "I'm not a virgin." His voice was tinged with defensiveness. She laughed out loud, reaching across the table to tousle his hair. His eyes darted around the Chili's. The waitress met his gaze with a smile. No one could know about this meltdown. "Have you dated any Asian girls? Or Brits?" "An Asian girl." "Tell you what, I'll give you a dress of mine. And some perfume. You can have her wear it for you. Pin a star on you. She'll love knowing it's me, trust me. You can even call her "Ms. Han" while you...." "No! I...." "Come on Mr Investment Banker. Let's be grown-ups. I'm just trying to lend a hand." "I'm sorry, I just fantasize about you to this day." He swiped his tongue over his lower lip and breathed in sharply. "Are you attached? married?" "Oh my! The cub has grown a mane!" she smiled at him, eyes full of warmth. "No. Not presently." "May I take you home, I need you Ms Han. You're a hundred different kinds of sexy to me. I've ached for you since ...." "Stop!" she cut him off and signaled her waitress. There was an awkward silence as they ordered their food. He clenched his jaw. His stomach contracted at the enormity of what he'd done. As the waitress left, Ms Han left to go to the bathroom. The wind had left his sails when she got back. Defeat sat heavy on him. He sulked into his glass, valiantly smiling. They spoke of the town and her life at school. He encouraged her to invest, she encouraged him to write again. "Perhaps you could start with a little sonnet about unrequited lust scratched onto a napkin." she beamed radiantly in her laughter. "Don't rub it in, Ms Han." "I'm sorry, Sid. But after your twenty something girlfriends, I'm just going to be a saggy, wrinkly deconstruction of the silliness of your fantasies. I refused because I'm nearly ....I'm old." She was pensive, avoiding his gaze. Her nails clinked against the wineglass. "Look, Ms Han. I'll....let me make you feel young, ok? Do you know you made me nervous about whether I'll cum too soon. And trust me, I haven't had that problem in the last two years." This time they both laughed. Dinner arrived. They both picked at their plates. He because he wanted to know if she was in it, or would he have to woo her more. She because, well who knows everything about Ms. Han? He paid for their meal. She thanked him. His phone buzzed. He stepped outside to answer. Mom, asking when he would be back. He snapped at her, then apologized. She wanted to know who he was with. He didn't tell her. She was annoyed. He headed back in. A paper bag sat on the table. Ms Han beamed at him again. He smiled back. She really had him. "For me?" She nodded. It was a old style notebook. Leather bound. Worn pages. But no smell. Probably a novelty. He wondered who made them, whether Office Depot carried them. They probably didn't. "A notebook! Thanks." "Unenthused. What were you hoping for?" "An invitation" She grinned as she got up from her seat, silent and enigmatic as always. They had arrived in separate cars. He walked her to her car, a sensible sedan. A few years old. "Thanks for dinner Sid." She pecked his cheek. Purely perfunctory. He stood by her door as she fired the ignition. NPR flared up but she silenced it. Her car did not move. A SUV slowly drove by her parking space. She reached out and pulled him close by his belt buckle. He leaned into her window expecting a kiss. His lips were met by her fingers, halting his advance. "Siddy, your pursuit of me has been honorable. A little too much so. I sense your affection and I appreciate your respect for me. But you're not getting an invitation." His lip trembled. Not the first time he'd been told off. Not the last. This one was going to sting. "You need to complete an assignment first" Her manner was surprisingly worklike. Memories flooded him, " I want you to compose a little ballad for me. Four stanzas. Write it IN NEAT HAND in this book and stop by the school at pm tomorrow. I don't like the sad and mopey stuff. Your world has not crashed, little one." No one had called him that in forever. She used to. "There is one other item in the bag. I've worn it all evening but it's yours to toy with. I'm afraid I've left it a little wet. It's not my fault entirely, you had a role it in it too." He frantically dug into the bag. Cotton panties. Moisture. His breath quickened. He smiled once again. "Oh Siddy, still playing me like a fiddle all these years later!" she laughed. "You are persistent, arent' you? Forceful even. Headstrong, but not wrong." With that, she pulled out and departed. He pressed her panties to his face and inhaled deeply as he watched her taillights grow smaller. This time his erection did not feel awkward. (to be continued, perhaps) Thanks for reading! Your feedback is welcomed! slippery_finger