Kyla’s Secret

If Kyla’s confession about being a lesbian bothered Hillary in any way, it didn’t show. She simply continued with her task of familiarizing Kyla with the women’s dorm. In the center of the square-like dorm was the recreation room. There was a pool table, a mini library, a large-screen TV, and an area where you could make tea and coffee, both regular and decaf. “Oh, this is nice. I can fix myself coffee in the morning without having to stumble all the way over to the cafeteria,” said Kyla. “Just be sure to keep any snacks or leftovers you bring back with you locked up safely in your room. You never know who may take what. In fact, it’s a good thing to keep your door locked at all times, no matter what side of it you’re on.” “I sure will,” Kyla said. “It’s not like the girls are a bunch of thieves, but you just never know who may wander on campus and weasel their way into the dorms. Laptops, clothing, jewelry… everything’s fair game that isn’t locked up.” “Well, I’ll be sure to play it safe then.” “There are twenty rooms along the back and fifteen on the side and front. You’re all the way in the back corner.” Hillary led her straight down a corridor, swung a right, and then headed down an even longer one. She inserted a key into room number 20 and pushed it open. Then she pulled the key out and handed it to Kyla. “Here’s your private little space.” Kyla studied the small, narrow room. A twin bed was to the back by the room’s single window, an armoire was to the left, and a small desk was to the right. She was relieved to find her luggage stacked on the bed. “This looks wonderful.” “It’s the best location within the dorm, being in the back corner like this. You’re lucky. You only have one neighbor. I’m all the way down there.” She pointed down the hall toward the front of the building. Kyla glanced down the corridor. “I’m in room 31. Look for me anytime you need me. Meanwhile, it can be a bit rowdy here at times, but never think you have to put up with it or lose sleep over it or anything like that. Just politely ask them to quiet down. If that doesn’t work, go to the desk in front and complain to whoever’s on at the time. They’ll shut ’em up.” “OK, I’ll keep that in mind,” Kyla said, eager to unpack her stuff and set up her laptop. “Clean sheets and towels are delivered every Sunday, and that’s pretty much it. Enjoy.” “I will. Thank you, Hillary.” Kyla closed and locked the door behind her. She exhaled deeply. Alone at last. The first thing she did was set up her laptop on the desk and contact friends and family back home to let them know she’d arrived safely at the university. Then she set about the task of setting up the small room. She hadn’t brought much, so it didn’t take her very long to get organized. She stepped up to the window and peered outside. All she saw was grass straight down below, which turned into a heavily wooded area about thirty feet from the wall of the dorm. She remembered seeing these woods on Google Maps. They ran deep, and Kyla knew a stroll in them could get her lost. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. ________________________________________ The woman drove down the dirt roads, a plume of dust kicked up by her truck’s tires due to the lack of rain they’d been having. She pulled into her driveway and stepped out into the brisk March afternoon. Spotty, her six-year-old Dalmatian, ran up to her. “Hey, boy,” she said, patting him affectionately and freeing him from his leash. The dog licked her hand. “Anything exciting happen out here today?” Spotty answered with a happy yip, and then the woman grabbed her mail from the box at the end of her gravel driveway. She then entered her house, the dog following close behind. Inside the warm house, she went through her usual routine. She removed her coat, utility belt, and shoes. Then she read her mail and jumped in the shower. With no immediate phone calls to return, she began to prepare her dinner. She loved to cook, and she was good at it too, based on what family and friends always told her. She looked at Spotty, who had just come to stand by her after eating and drinking from his bowls by the back door. “Roasted chicken, baked potatoes, and cheddar broccoli? Or baked fish, rice, and creamy corn?” The dog cocked his head. The woman finally settled on the chicken and went to fire up her desktop computer in the corner of the living room. She checked her email and made a face of disgust when she saw an ad promising miraculous weight loss, even though the woman pictured in the ad was grossly obese and obviously hadn’t experienced any miracles. She wasn’t sure what she hated most—false claims of weight loss, or those who cared so little about their bodies that they would let themselves get so heavy. She knew some people had medical conditions that prevented them from having much control over their weight, but even so, why did so many people refuse to eat right and exercise regularly? She took a bite of her healthy carrot, priding herself on taking good care of her body. She never smoked, drank very little, and went out jogging three or four times a week. She’d never done drugs and was a law-abiding citizen—with one minor exception. She liked to hack webcams. Being the middle-aged lesbian that she was, she preferred to look in on other women. She preferred women closer to her own age because they tended to be a bit smarter and more mature. The only problem was that the older ladies also tended to be heavier. She decided to start with the ladies’ dorm at the college campus because that was one of the easiest to get into. The younger ladies didn’t interest her much other than as eye candy. While they usually had nicer bodies, they weren’t always computer savvy enough to realize how easy it was for a stranger to look in on them when their laptops were on and their webcams weren’t covered. Some webcams had a tiny light that lit up and might alert a person that it was active. Most of those with such lights, however, usually assumed they were always supposed to be on or that it was some kind of glitch. Her first entertainer was a plain-looking Hispanic girl, and she certainly wasn’t much of a performer. All she did was sit there and appear to be reading something on the screen. She had a blank, almost hypnotic look on her face as her eyes followed whatever text they were following. Next was a freckle-faced redhead with frizzy hair. She was turned sideways in her chair and talking to someone out of the camera’s range. The talk was mostly about boys and body piercings, which bored the shit out of her—not to mention the fact that the girl was wearing much more than she cared to see. Then she settled on a slender woman with very long dark hair and eyes. She found her instantly attractive, even though she too was fully clothed and appeared to be reading something on her screen before rising from her seat. The woman realized something was familiar about this raven beauty who stepped in and out of the camera’s eye as she appeared to place things in various locations within the room, as if unpacking. Then she remembered passing by her earlier that day somewhere on the campus grounds. She’d found her attractive then too, but was quickly distracted by some bimbo asking for directions to the nearest Wal-Mart. She was there to help keep the grounds and the people on it safe, not to tell people things they could look up online. A knock sounded on the girl’s door, and she watched her pass by the camera’s field of vision to answer it. Immediately she heard arguing. The girl must’ve felt intimidated by her visitor because she began backing up—into the eye of the camera. “You’re the one who’s been messing with my man,” she heard someone accuse her. “I just flew in barely an hour ago from Hawaii. I’m a reporter sent here to do a study on life here, so how could I—” The visitor shut the door behind her and then approached the reporter. “Excuse me,” said the reporter. “You don’t have permission to be in here.” “And you don’t have permission to go fucking with my guy!” “Look, I did not invite you in here, I don’t know your boyfriend, I don’t care about your boyfriend, and I would appreciate it if you would take yourself and whatever drugs or drinks you’re flying on out of here before I start screaming.” The woman watched as the livid bitch sauntered even closer, and she could see that she was drunk. On drugs too? Possibly, but definitely drunk. The girl’s hand snaked out surprisingly fast and slapped the attractive reporter in the face. The reporter instantly struck back in self-defense. The voyeur of the drama unfolding was amazed and pleased at how well the reporter returned the punch. Then again, the reporter was sober. The drunk obviously wasn’t expecting a return fist, and while she froze in shock, the reporter came again. “Get… the... fuck… OUT… of… here!” she shouted as she shoved the drunk girl toward the door. The drunk didn’t quite make it, though. Instead, she tripped on something the woman watching was unable to see—unless she had simply tripped on her own damn feet, as blasted as she was. A blur of movement slashed by the camera’s lens, and then she heard her hit the floor with a thud. The woman continued to watch as the dark and lovely reporter stared at the floor in stunned silence.