Women in Lust by Rachel Kramer Bussel Page A

with red ribbons. It was not an outfit she’d ever come close to wearing, and that’s why it appealed to her. She’d never had a chance to play at being a bad girl, to try on that persona or any other besides young mom, really, followed by older and now middle-aged mom.
    She was the oldest student in the class, and as such, was supposed to be some kind of role model. She could tell by the way the others gave her a wide berth, smiling politely at her but otherwise treating her as if age itself were contagious, or like she was going to tattle on them for misbehaving when the last thing she cared about was their grades or potential offenses. The others could spend all of class texting and flirting and passing notes, but Meredith, even if she didn’t understand every concept, wanted points for paying attention, for disrupting her previously boring but safe life to perk up her mind. She hadn’t known her pussy was going to follow along as easily.
    Professor Arthur was writing on the board with his back turned to the class, so she could properly peruse him. He, too,
was young enough to be her son, if she’d had kids even earlier than she had. From the back, he looked like an average white guy, sandy blond hair, blue and white button-down, jeans, brown loafers. He hadn’t said much more than hello and that he was about to teach them Economics 101. Meredith had her own kind of economic knowledge, gleaned from not only balancing the family budget and grocery shopping and watching her meager bank account and 401(k) grow at a snail’s pace, but also from seeing her preteen daughter grasp on to fashion trends the moment she read about them in one of her magazines. Meredith barely remembered what it had been like to be that young, though sitting in this seat brought memories rushing back, like passing notes with her best friend Jenny as they discussed whether Billy Tilson liked either of them and if Mrs. Singer’s glamorous hair was natural or dyed and if they’d be allowed to go to the Jewish youth group sleepover.
    Later, they’d talked about how they hated their moms and wanted to run away and who’d buy them drinks. Now, she’d been through the cycle of being the mom her teens pretended to hate, then the one who missed them fiercely. She could feel everyone staring at her and didn’t know where to look, so she examined her French manicure, the same style she’d been getting every week for the last ten years. Maybe it was time for a change, she mused, as she looked at the girls with blue and magenta and multicolored nails.
    There was only so much changing she could do, though, and right now she just wanted to make sure she passed all her classes. Getting A’s would be nice, but the degree was what she was after. She had worked too hard for too long, plus all those years where her mind had felt like it was going bad, like fruit left out for too long, softening into mush as she struggled to keep one foot in that world, picking up a weighty classic now
and then, its tiny print and heady ideas making her struggle in the best kind of way. Finally, the bell rang and she stood up in a daze.
    She found herself wandering up to the front of the classroom, her feet moving before her mind could fully process what she was doing. “Hi, Professor,” she started.
    “Call me Ralph,” he said.
    “Ralph,” she began again. “I just wanted to say that I like your teaching style. I still don’t totally understand everything we’re doing in here; I don’t have much of a business sense, but I am excited to be learning. In the back of my mind I have an idea for running my own bakery and…” She trailed off, not really sure what she wanted other than to bask in his nearness.
    He turned and beamed his full attention, not to mention two rows of extremely even white teeth, right at her. “If you ever have any questions, Meredith, you are more than welcome to visit me in my office during office hours. It’s totally confidential,” he