Chapter One: 'I love you'.

The words 'I love you' have never escaped my lips for anyone besides my family. Love was never something I felt contented with, so I tended to completely avoid ever bonding emotional attachments with girls. I knew from experience that I'd always break their hearts, because mine wasn't proficient to cope with this alien process of 'love'. So I formed a somewhat agreement with myself, that all I will do is sleep with these girls, then move on. I convinced myself I could cope this way, fulfilling my own needs, but lately in my life, this deal with me hasn't been going as adequate as I would desire. Falling in love was sickening. The emotions felt revolting- worse than any other pain (physical or emotional) I had ever experienced, and I have had first-hand experience of a vast amount of pain, but that is a story for another time. I'm struggling to focus, as I sit here typing away at my desk, alone in the classroom- besides her.

Literature was never really a subject I requested, undeterred of the fact I felt solely passionate about creative writing. Howbeit, I preferred to write as my ideas come to mind, not on the prompt of another. When I signed up, I already regretted my actions deeply- but if I had known of the perks it would have gotten me, maybe I wouldn't have felt to mournful of my surrendered creativity in the first place. As anyone would, on the first day of my literature class, my assumption was that the professor would be an old, bearded man with a century of experience in the art of literature. I expected to be fatigued by his intolerant voice, off put from literature for the rest of my time here, but no. Nothing could have prepared me for what I faced the moment I walked into that classroom.

My uncertain eyes fixated on the ground as I walked; hands buried awkwardly in my pockets with my shoulders slumped unenthusiastically. I didn't have any aspiration to look up and observe my classmates- presuming they'd all have been the same as high school; Immature, lacking intellect and terminal sufferers of mental laziness. So I remained staring at the floor, until a heeled foot caught my eye, lingering in front of my own shabby converse. With a swallow, my eyes wandered up the possessor of the slyly seductive heels, gazing with concupiscence up toned, exposed legs until my sight lingered upon curved, luscious hips- embraced by the tightest and most risqué pencil skirt my wildest fantasies could have imagined. If this was the male I'd expected, I would have been screwed. So without second thought, I snapped my head up to reveal whom I was luring, and my breath was taken away. The middle-aged, dark-haired woman introduced herself to me as my literature professor that day, and my world spiraled upside down.

I flicker my gaze from my computer screen and beyond, to admire the beauty as she worked away so incisively. After this time, I'd begun to register some of her quirks as she portrayed different emotions. Her lips pursed in concentration, and her one dainty eyebrow rose, as if she was in disbelief of the appalling excuse of novels my fellow classmates had handed in, and knowing the disgusting brain spans of the students, she probably was. I smile softly to myself at how beautiful this expression was as the sunlight radiated through the agape windows and illuminated her face, then turn my attention back to the memory my fingers had previously began to subconsciously recall on the keyboard. The wording caused a small chuckle to withdraw from my lips, which summoned her attention instantly. She looked over at me questioningly, seemingly tired from her long day's rigorous work, but urged a small smile onto her lips.

"What?" She begins to smirk as I bite my lip, glancing occasionally at my laptop screen to improve the memory I had elected from my mind. I postpone responding to her as I finish off supplemental sentence to the end of my writing before I languidly stand up and take hold of my laptop, wandering across the classroom to pull up one of the nearest chairs, situating it besides her own at her desk before sitting myself besides her with a cheeky grin. Her eyes follow me the entirety of the time, the smile on her irresistible lips only further growing as I place my laptop on the desk before us.

"Remember when we first met?" I whisper, exhibiting my written memory to her proudly and allowing her to carefully read through. My arm snakes around the back of her chair as I lounge back and slip my hands into my pockets comfortably, watching her facial expressions as she proceeds to slouch further into me and the embrace of my arm. If we were to be interrupted, we would have severe inconvenience to deal with, being as our stance already appeared too friendly for the average teacher/student relationship. My question isn't answered and only a content silence fills the air surrounding us as she comprehends what I have written. It gives me time to just admire her, treasure the intriguing color of her eyes; losing myself in the explosion of deep green as it collides with the predominant browns most furthest away from her pupils. I'm summoned back to reality when the smile upon her features noticeably turns into one of a loving nature, which I find myself unable to prevent being mimicked on my own lips.

"How could I forget that day?" She grins in a whispered voice, turning her full attention to me. Even after all this time, merely her attention still causes me to flush. I reply with an awkward shrug and a chuckle, biting upon my lip and flickering my gaze to meet hers, sharing an intense gaze, stirring that sickening feeling to arouse in the pit of my stomach and cause my heart to beat heavy and slow beneath my ribcage. This wouldn't be half as bad if she wasn't almost twice my age. I go to respond, but I'm prevented from doing so by her slowly leaning in to me, something I should be accustomed too by now, but still causes me to panic slightly, especially when we're on campus, but I don't refuse her. My hand caresses gently up her back and rests upon the nape of her neck, shuffling closer to meet her irresistible velvet lips with my own in a sweet kiss, of which whimpering into becomes uncontainable.

Our lips linger in the content kiss until they adapt to the sensation and begin to explore, pulling back and capturing her lips again at a new passionate level, mustering a suppressed moan from each of us. Her hand- still faded with notes scrawled by a pen- rests upon my jaw and I pull back from the intensely lascivious embrace to inhale a sharp intake of breath, surveying my her eyes with my own with our pupils clearly dilated with lust. Our heavy breaths mingle for the moment of undisturbed silence until I angle my head marginally and lean in for a languid, deep kiss, evoking us both to share a whimper of intimate desire.

The sound of a passing rowdy student outside of the classroom causes us to hastily break away, my heart stops for a moment until I release a breathy chuckle at the situation, my arm remaining around the woman's chair pleasantly. She throws a playful smile in my direction before biting her steamy lips and conveying her attention back to the piece of writing on my laptop screen, flashing me a devoted and knowing smile.

"I adore the last two lines" She whispers affectionately before rewarding me with a delicate peck upon my lips before rising to her feet and collecting her belongings from beneath her desk.

The middle-aged, dark-haired woman introduced herself to me as my literature professor that day, and my world spiraled upside down. For the first time in history, I- Frankie- have fell in love.