Grassroot Disc: Shy Azn, 9-20-04, SDC common queue

[ShyAzn]

Hi dr_mabeuse!

Even if she were already wild for him, that should have been made clearer. We should have seen her flirting with him and making suggestions of her own.

In other words, it needed more build-up/characterization to make the change more believable, right? Perhaps a playful suggetion of making out with him or something.

(a) the fact that your characters have no emotional anchor, and (b) certain elements in your style. You have a tendency to tell us more than we need to know and have your narrator step in the way of the story by telling us too much.

I'm not entirely sure what you mean about A. Are you referring to the fact that there's not enough depth to them to understand their motivations? I'm just not clear about the "anchor." B has been made clear to me by previous reviewers. Too much tell and not showing.

Thanks, dr_mabeuse, for taking the time to read and reply!

 

[ShyAzn]

Thanks everyone for the critiques

They were all helpful in some way or another. Thanks for helping a newbie out.

Anyway, I've had suggestions for helpful reading, although I was wondering if anyone was willing to toss out stories here on Lit. I tried looking at a few stories with the 'E' icon, but I was surprised to see quite a few of them fall into the 'telling not showing' problem. So I thought it'd be better to ask the more knowledgable for recommendations.

I suppose I'll read from any category, since I'll be reading mostly for things such as character development, plot development, narration (more show and less tell), dialogue, detail, etc.

And if there is anyone who might want to edit, I'd love to her from you.

 

[MLyons]

Well, we're all going to have our favorites, but if you want to see some amazing characterization and development, along with outstanding dialogue and telling details... look no further than CarsonShepherd's Stories

Both:
What Chocolate Mousse Can Do

and his outstanding multi-chaptered:

Between Want and Need to

Are partciularly fine examples.

If you're looking for some outstanding show, not tell sexual action in the context of economical plots, Green_Gem does phenomenal work.

My particular favorites are:

Amsterdamned: Weekend of Kink

and for an edgier, non-consent story that I love her for:

Wrath of a Writer

but any of her stories are good reads.

Then there's always our own Dr. M, who's not only prolific but fairly diverse. I haven't read a bad story by him.

Black Tulip has a particularly nice offering with Creativity in the Flesh and English isn't even her first language!

Truly though... just keep looking around a bit. The "H"'s and the "E"'s have their uses, but they don't necessarily indicate that what you're about to read is going to be helpful in your quest for either heat, or a good writing example. It's good that you're asking for suggestions. I hope others offer you some more of them, since again, we all have our particular biases, and the satisfaction of your needs might fall somewhere in the median.

 

[cloudy]

Anything by Oggbashan is a good bet, particularly his Nude Day contest entries: Danger! Naked Woman, Ch. 1, and Danger! Naked Woman, Ch. 2.

Also, his Brigit series: Brigit, Brigit Too, and Brigit's Babies.

 

[Lying Eyes]

Re: Thanks everyone for the critiques

but I was surprised to see quite a few of them fall into the 'telling not showing' problem. So I thought it'd be better to ask the more knowledgable for recommendations.

This has been bugging me for awhile I'm going to give a longwided and a little off track comment about this...

I know alot of writers are going to disagree with me strongly but I don't think the "show don't tell" works well all the time.

Especially in first person stories I think introspection or internal monologue can work really well to display a strong emotional impact a character is having in a story. I know people will say you can do the same with physical actions (such as the good idea you used of showing her wipe her sweaty hands) or dialogue to verbaly show how the character is feeling. But the problem is many times people wont "see" what your hinting at with the actions or at times it doesn't emphasize how strongly the character's reactions are. The problem with dialogue is characters can't say what they feel at times since it will put them out of character and they may still be struggling with emotions inside of them.

I look at it this way, your writing a story not a script for a play or a movie. In a script you have to always "show" unless in the rare case you can "tell" in a voice-over as his/her thoughts are voiced out. But in writing a novel no matter how specific and clear you are unlike a movie the image will vary from each person reading it. Some writers use this to their benefit when they make more vague physical discriptions so a reader can create what they want to see. And sometimes a reader can put themselves into the story if the image of a character isn't too defined.

I'm personaly interested in what is going through a character's head, I find this intriging. While in real life you can sometimes see some emotions in expressions on someone's face or hear by the tone of someone's voice how they feel it isn't always the case because many people will hide their emotions. Also sometimes a reader wont "see" what you intended to create with words. Even in real life many people can't see what I consider obvious from another person's actions and words. Sometimes you have to literly let the reader know what is going through a character's head or the reader wont see what your intending to show.

Yes with sharp dialogue and some carefully selected inclusion of body language you can show alot, but it still might not be enough to really know the characters. Other more experienced writers might consider it a big mistake for a writer to tell the reader what a character is thinking but I dont see it as a mistake many times because it can really bring out allot of depth in a character that actions may not be able to deliver as well.

I think the problem is when your telling the reader instead of showing is it can get bogged down, the pacing of the story can slow too much for some readers so it may seem "boring" for a few readers who want alot of action and dialogue.

 

[ShyAzn]

Let's try this again!

Hello!

I know this isn't my week, but if anyone wants/has time to take a look, here's the revised version. Hopefully the characters are more fleshed out, and inconsistancies are minimized, along with other things. Any feedback is appretiated.

I intend to delete the version that's on Lit now with this one. It's been suggested to me to change the title as well, but I don't know what. Any suggestions as to a new title are appretiated as well.

It's about 6,000 words. Not too long, but not a short read either.

Ping! As the elevator arrived at the Political Science department, I took a deep breath and mentally prepared myself for the next few hours. It had been a long day and I was tired. Usually I looked forward to Thursdays, but my mood had not been helped by personal matters. As I stepped out of the elevator I mentally berated myself yet again for losing this extra time that could be done doing something else; but it didn’t stop a small shiver of excitement.

Nodding to a few professors, I quickly walked toward Professor Laurence McDowell’s office, where I received extra help for Topics in Ancient Political Theory. Turning my gaze, I felt the warm sun through the windows as I contemplated the Boston skyline. Once again I reminded myself why I was here. As I glanced up at the clock, I knew that I had arrived a little early and decided to mentally review what material I needed help with. However, I noticed my thoughts drifting the longer I pondered.

The material was interesting to me and the professor was an excellent teacher. However, my parents’ impending divorce, the advanced nature of the course, the load of my other classes, RAing, and my time spent working to support myself caused my grades to slip.

I was lucky Professor McDowell had noticed the less than spectacular papers and was more than willing to help. His enthusiasm for teaching and his students led me to choose Political Science as my major, as well as him for an advisor. He was well liked by students, and it wasn’t a surprise to see the same students take as many of his courses that they could, me included.

Once the professor understood my situation, he had been incredibly helpful. He had recommended alternate texts to read, people in the class who could help me, and offered weekly private office hours to go over the material along with any questions I had.

And it’s the private office hours that you really look forward to, said a small voice in the back of my mind. I shushed it, but had to agree. Grateful for the help, I was also secretly thrilled that I’d get to spend time with the professor without any interruptions.

Unlike some of his colleagues, McDowell was rather attractive. I had first become drawn to him when he had been a guest speaker in one of my lectures. He had been so confident and cheerful, speaking to the students, rather than at them. His blue eyes would sparkle and light up when he became particularly enthusiastic, and it was impossible not to be caught up with him. The professor’s hair often would fall into his eyes, and he’d push it back impatiently while speaking. When I began to recognize that habit of his, I thought it made him look like a dark and brooding romantic hero with no time to deal with trivialities like his hair.

When taking classes taught by him, I tried to dismiss my interest as a student crush on a teacher. It was to little avail. His attractiveness was not lost on other female students, nor the information that the professor was divorced. Sometimes it could be murderous trying to see him under normal circumstances, as many of them liked to see him just to “chat”.

You have him all to yourself now, said that same voice. I shook my head to clear it and knocked on the door to his office. After hearing “Come in!” I opened the door. Vivid blue eyes blinked at me over reading glasses; apparently I had interrupted something. He smiled when he saw I had entered.

“Emily!” he greeted me, rising. “Now I can procrastinate more in grading that never-ending pile of exams. I am eternally in your debt.” The skin around his eyes crinkled as he grinned, and I couldn’t help but smile at his boyish enthusiasm.

“I am glad I saved you from the tediousness,” I replied, playing along. “Now, if you were really in my debt, you’d give me an ‘A.’ How about it, Professor?”

“We-e-ll” he said, drawing out the word, “your arrival only delayed the inevitable. I’ll have to get to them eventually.” McDowell leaned forward conspiratorially and gave me a small smile. “How about…a ‘B’?”

I folded my arms and shook my head. “Come on! It’s not my fault someone procrastinated in grading them. ‘B+’ at least.”

“Or, you could do this the right way.” He nodded toward the chair in front of his desk. “If we don’t start, we’ll be here all night.” McDowell cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “That would be scandalous!”

Yes it would, but it’d be fun… We chuckled, but I felt a little uneasy. I tried to hide my discomfort by sitting down and settling myself in. I wondered if he knew how many of his female students would just love to pull an all-nighter with him.

After a brief pause Professor McDowell sat down. He began to neaten his desk a bit, pushing the exams aside as he brought the books we needed into view. Realizing he had a considerable number of exams and other items to re-arrange, he looked up at me. “Just give me a moment to switch gears here.”

Take all the time you need, Professor. I watched him as he tried to organize himself as quickly as possible. My tired mind let my thoughts drift as I waited.

I often fantasized about what I could do when alone with the professor in his office. How we’d appear simply as a professor and his student to the rest of the world. How that pretense would be dropped as soon as it was just the two of us. I’d playfully remove his glasses, pull him to me by his tie and we’d share quiet, passionate kisses before leaving for a romantic dinner.

Other times I’d imagine being the naughty student being “punished” by him. Despite my protestations he would force me down, holding my wrists against my back. Using his weight and strength, he’d bent me over a desk, driving himself into me. I’d try to push him away, only to end up thrusting against him…

“There we go.” McDowell had finished organizing the desk and settled into his chair. He looked up at me and smiled. The professor relaxed as he stretched his arms up and cupped his hands behind his head, waiting for me to start. Unfortunately, it was his turn to wait as I was distracted by how nice the shirt looked on him. Not only did it bring out his eyes, it also showed off his muscular chest and shoulders. I briefly imagined what it’d be like to tear off that shirt and see what his bare chest looked like, running my hands down his warm skin…

His voice brought me back to reality. “Emily? Are you ready to start? Are there any burning questions that we should get out of the way?”

I inwardly sighed, knowing that I was here for a few hours of hard work and not a sexual dalliance. “Actually, I had a question about certain points in the discussion regarding Hobbes’ theory on the state of nature…”

Over the next few hours we went through the various political philosophers talked about during class. Eventually my brain had had enough and I was getting frustrated through sheer exhaustion.

McDowell sympathetically smiled at me over his reading glasses. “We’ve gone over a lot of stuff. I’m sure your brain is tired. Mine is. Let’s take a break.”

I stood and stretched, my eye catching the couch he had along the wall. Realizing it’d be much more comfortable than the chair; I took a few steps and threw myself on it, grateful for the cushioning. As I put my head back to relax my neck, I saw McDowell move to join me.

I felt the couch shift with his weight, and I moved closer to the edge to give him space. I didn’t think it was best to get too close to him, as the couch wasn’t very big. Sometimes I wondered if he knew how I, or how many of his female students felt about him. On occasion it seemed he wasn’t averse to playfully flirting back with me, but I knew it’d never go anywhere.

He imitated my position, resting the back of his head against the top of the couch. We sat there in silence for a few moments, until I heard the movement of the couch fabric. Turning my head, I was drawn into his blue eyes, only perhaps a foot away from my own.

“Emily, are you okay?” His question prompted a frown from me, as I wasn’t sure what had trigged it. The professor continued to gaze at my face, almost as if he was searching for something. “You seem to be tired, and I noticed your attention occasionally drifting both in class and here. Has something happened?”

I turned my head away from him, looking up. I did not really want to get into it. I spoke to his ceiling. “Yeah, I’m ok as can be.”

His head lifted from the couch, and out of the corner of my eye I could see him intently looking at me. Some of his hair had fallen onto his forehead, and I resisted the urge to tuck the strands back into place. “I don’t want to pry, or to make you uncomfortable. If…if you felt my comment about staying here all night was inappropriate, I’m sorry.”

Feeling embarrassed, I turned towards McDowell. It had been a joke. “No, it wasn’t you. I knew you were joking…it’s just all the other…stuff.” That was eloquent.

He edged a little closer, gently placing two fingers on my wrist. His skin felt warm against mine, and I felt an urge to snuggle up and rest my head against his shoulder. “I only want to help Emily. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Exhaling, I explained that I received a phone call from home from my mom. “She seems to think I’m going to go into politics or something. She still can’t or won’t understand why I didn’t go into engineering or computer science. That’s where the good money is, according to Mom. And with that money comes security, like she doesn’t remember the dot com bust.

“I don’t know. I can’t make her understand that Political Science as a major will automatically make me an intern to some sleazy politician. She’s still hounding me to change my major. That it would mean I’d be graduating much later than planned doesn’t seem to register either.

“Then she goes on and on about my brother. She’s trying to guilt trip me into doing what she wants so he wont’ go off and become an architect or something. I mean really, it’s not like he’s planning to open a video game store or something. But no, he’s rebelling, and heaven forbid we children don’t do what our parents want us to do.

“She’s just mad about the divorce. Her marriage failed, so now she has to make sure we’re in “good” jobs so she can show the world that she didn’t fail in something. I don’t know. I just want her to leave me alone.” I stopped, saying what it was I really wanted her to do.

I sat there, breathing hard with my shoulders hunched. Sometimes I just wanted to hit something after talking to my mom. Hearing only silence, I turned to the professor, afraid I had offended or perhaps unnerved him. To my surprise, he had a grin on his face.

He spoke through his smile. “Actually, I've often felt jealous of politicians."

I felt my brow furrow, completely taken aback by this turn of the conversation. "Why?"

His smile broadened. "Professors don't get sleazy interns. Certainly we get the Teaching Assistants, but they’re not as fun. They’re busy working on their theses or dissertations or something."

Despite it all, I couldn’t help but smile at his flippancy. Yet, as I looked into his eyes, I faltered. At first I thought the professor was trying to lighten the mood. Yet, whether by the inflection of his voice or the look in his eye, it seemed as though there was something more to his words. I gazed at him, unsure of what to say.

I decided to keep it playful as I opted to raise the stakes. I raised an eyebrow and winked. "Interns don't have a monopoly on sleaze, you know."

McDowell’s eyes widened for a moment. His chest expanded and I noted once again how nicely he filled his shirt as he inhaled and maintained a single breath. His eyes lowered for a few seconds, then he exhaled. "No, I suppose they don't. But we were talking about your family situation, right?"

I stopped, preferring the teasing and even sexy direction the conversation had been taking. It was a lot more fun than thinking about how my parents were driving me crazy. I didn’t have to turn my head, as I did not want to see McDowell’s eyes watching me. He seemed to know that he had hit a touchy subject, and I thought I could detect sadness in his face.

“I know it’s hard…” His voice came calmly to my ear. “But it’s not easy for your Mom either. She’s going to have to provide for herself now. You said that she stopped working before you were born, I believe?” I nodded, feeling comforted by the soothing tones of his voice. “And of course, being Asian, there’s always the cultural and academic pressure.”

I smiled and inclined my head towards him. I tried to find something to say that would make him smile. “Are you saying non-Asians don’t have the same pressures? You’re stereotyping…”

But McDowell wasn’t going to be diverted. “I didn’t say that and you know it.”

Momentarily hurt, I stared at the ceiling again. “Emily…I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. Divorce is not easy for anyone. Your parents have legitimate worries. Not only will they not have the security of marriage, they still have two children to make sure get their degrees and have a stable and secure income.”

“And marry me off,” I mumbled, adding yet another item to my list of gripes. I heard a sigh from my left, and felt chastised. “I didn’t mean to drag all this in here, Professor. I know it’s not easy and I know they only want what’s best for me, but…”

“But they’re your parents and they drive you nuts. Yes, I know.” McDowell always made me smile, and he didn’t fail here. He however, remained serious as he sighed.

“It’s not easy, having to worry about your kids’ tuition when going through a divorce. You know I’m divorced, right? Perhaps it might help if you hear it from a parent’s perspective?”
I was surprised by his willingness to share but agreed. McDowell had mentioned his divorce when I told him of my own circumstances originally, but had never gone into the details until now.

He took a deep breath and spoke in a quiet voice. “I met Michelle in grad school. I took the academic route, became a professor. I thought she was crazy when she wanted to do a joint degree, but she said she could earn more money with both a MBA and JD.” He smiled, a faraway look in his eyes.

“We thought we had it made. I’d teach, she’d work part-time once the kids came. We could live the American dream and have it all, the white picket fence, the 2-3 kids, dog, you name it.” McDowell faltered, his smile fading.

“I don’t know what happened really. We just let our careers get in the way, like so many other couples. We just drifted apart after Luke was born. It just seemed we couldn’t recapture what we had. I guess I thought having another child would help solidify the family, but it didn’t help. Not that either one of us regret Veronica.

“At first it wasn’t great for the kids, but I think they handled it a lot better than we did. Sometimes Luke tells us we worry too much, that we’re always asking how he and his sister are feeling. Michelle and I only want to make sure they know we’re there for them, no matter what. Parents forget how strong children are sometimes.”

He took a deep breath and paused, gathering his thoughts. I had not asked about his divorce before and sensed it had been something he didn’t really want to discuss. It was strange to hear him talk about it, yet comforting at the same time. Still, I said nothing and let him continue.

“But they adjusted well. Both are getting good grades and complain we worry about them too much. Michelle and I know we didn’t handle the situation well at first, but they’ve been wonderful. Luke’s really enjoying his football and Veronica has advanced yet another belt in kung fu. At this rate I’m going to be living with an NFL player and Mulan.” His voice faded away and I smiled at both his pride for his children and the cultural reference.

McDowell became somber. “I don’t feel like I spend enough time with them. I mean, I go to the games and the belt promotion ceremony things. Michelle is certainly willing to compromise and reschedule. But work has been so hard. It’s all research and reading and PhD dissertations and committee meetings. I thought things would be easier once I had tenure.”

I remained silent as waited for more. It seemed completely inappropriate to say anything. He didn’t and we sat there, lost in thought. I wasn’t sure whether to say something, or whether it’d even be appropriate to say anything. McDowell turned back to me. “I’m sorry! This is your confession time, not mine. We’re here to discuss you, not me. I didn’t mean to get side-tracked.”

I shook my head and frowned, trying to figure out what to say to make him feel better. “It’s okay Professor, really.”

Despite my reply, he moved closer so that our faces were just inches from each other. His eyes shined like a pair of topazes. “Are you sure? Is there anything else I can do? I know you’ve had a very hard time, Emily. You’re going to be thrown out into the adult world, to scratch a living for yourself. Granted, your parents really are not making things easier for you…” he drifted for a moment and it seemed he was trying to find his voice, or the appropriate words. “If you need anything Emily, you know you can always ask me. I’ve been there. I understand.”

I nodded. His hand felt strong and warm against my skin. I took a deep breath and tried not to stare into his eyes while trying to voice an adequate reply. “Thank you, Professor. You’ve already been a big help.”

This appeared to be the end of the conversation and I thought he’d move away. Yet it seemed there was some magnetic force there, keeping me inches from him. I was becoming very aware of his proximity and I knew I ought to leave, as I didn’t want to possibly embarrass myself. As I mustered my willpower I thought all I wanted to do at that moment was to sit there for the rest of the night.

Reluctantly I forced my head away, ready to depart. Suddenly his hand left my wrist and I could feel his arm coil around my waist, pulling me towards him. Before I could say anything, his other arm snaked around me and he pressed his lips to mine.

In my shock, I thought I was dreaming; but the feel of his lips kissing my own and his tongue exploring my mouth were both real. They weren’t tentative, exploratory kisses, it seemed as though he was trying to absorb as much of me as he could through the kiss. I breathed in his scent as I could feel my arms wrap themselves around his shoulders and neck, my fingers entangled in his hair. The moment seemed so unreal, but I didn’t let go. If it was a dream, I was going to hang onto it for as long as possible.

What are you doing?! As if by mutual psychic thought we sprang away from each other. I practically leaped off the couch as I backed away from him. McDowell rose as well, tentatively bouncing on of his feet. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to step closer or back away. From the looks of it, I don’t know if he knew himself.

I looked at him, breathless from the kiss, still unable to really think lucidly. We stared at each other, breathing hard. “I…” I started, wonderfully articulate. His eyes were so blue, I thought I’d drown in them. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, or of anything else, for that matter.

“Emily…” came his voice, filled with desire, fear, and desperation. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it…it was inappropriate.” McDowell backed away from me, eyes wide, palm wiping his mouth, as if to take away the taste of my kiss. “It’s…I think—go! I’m sorry. You should go.” He was babbling now, the reality hitting him.

I cautiously stepped closer to him, unable to decide what to do. What should I say? Should I say anything? My professor had just kissed me. Or did I kiss him? It was what I had always wanted. I was here of my own free will. This was a dream. No, I was really in his office. And he had kissed me.

I stared up at him, torn between what I wanted to do and what I should do. Somewhere, I had the fleeting thought that I should back away and get the hell out. The only sound was the pounding of my heart in my ears and our breathing.

Instead, our faces ended up only inches from other, and we were breathing each other’s scents. The cologne. The perfume. The sweat. The *desire*. I felt my eyes close as we embraced, our lips once again locked. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed with abandon. Any logic flew out the window; all my world consisted of at that moment was Laurence McDowell.

We continued kissing, each mouth exploring the other. His lips left mine and trailed along my jaw and neck. My fingers tangled in his thick hair, pressing his face to my neckline. I could feel his hot breath on my skin, along with his arms urgently embracing me. Our bodies pressed tightly together, and I could feel my heart (or was it his?) pounding beneath the shirt fabric. His hands ran up and down my back, as I cupped his face. I couldn’t get enough of the feel and taste his lips. It felt so good and so right.

We walked or stumbled a few steps backwards and I could feel his arms guide me. He pulled me towards him and onto his lap and as he sat on the couch, grinding his hips upwards. I responded, enjoying the ride, feeling my bikini growing wet with anticipation. His hands slipped under my t-shirt, caressing the skin on my torso. His hands and arms were so strong and his skin hot.

Suddenly I could feel his hands yank my shirt up and I let him pull it off, feeling the cold air against my body. I let out a slight gasp, the chill was such a contrast that I could feel my nipples harden immediately. He growled in his throat, his eyes raking my form.

As an instinctive reaction I folded my arms over my chest, feeling inadequate. McDowell looked up at me and smiled, his fingers sliding themselves under the straps of my bra. He pulled the strap off my shoulders, but this time I knew what was coming and lifted my arms catching the bra to toss it aside.

Before I could do or say anything I felt his hands encircle each breast, gently caressing and kneading. McDowell took his time examining me, slowly circling and flicking my nipples. I sighed, luxuriating in the feeling of his fingers, enjoying the heat of his skin against the coolness of my own. He seemed to know exactly how and where to touch me. I pressed my hands over his as I began moaning, but cut myself short, afraid of being heard. His eyes looked up into my face, as he raised his eyebrows and I could see desire. I could feel his fingers deliciously pinch as McDowell’s voice, playful with lust whispered, “No…don’t stop…”

As he was still looking into my eyes, I felt one hand lazily sliding down my belly to my crotch, but he couldn’t rub me well through the jeans. Yet I could still feel the warmth of his hand through the fabric, cupping my intimate areas. His fingers stroked the seams of the jeans, looking for an entrance. He lightly ran his fingers across there, almost as if to feel my wetness through the denim. I decided to have a little fun.

I grabbed his face and pressed my chest against it, startling him. His hands moved to my back, his mouth kissing, then sucking my breasts. I sighed in response and could feel his lips move into a smile against my skin. I reached down and began to tug his shirt. McDowell understood, and shrugged out of it.

This time it was my turn to examine him as I ran my hands up and down his body. He wasn’t extremely buff, but it was obvious he worked out to some extent. I kissed his chest, running my lips up and down his neck, palming his broad shoulders and bare back. So, this is what he looks like without his shirt. I ran my eyes appreciatively over him and brought my hands to follow my eyes.

I ran my fingers through the fuzz on his chest, eliciting a growl and suddenly I felt myself pushed from his lap. I felt the couch under me, bumping my head against the armrest. I looked up at him, a shiver of anticipation running through me.

His hands tugged my jeans; it was almost as if he wanted rip them off. I pushed his hands away and yanked them off myself, while McDowell stood and nearly did tear off his own trousers. As he tossed aside his pants I saw him reach down to stroke himself. Leaning back against the couch, I slid out of my socks and panties too, my eyes unable to look away from his erection. Like his chest, his groin had the same fuzz. Not too much, but enough for me.

His cock came toward me, its head glistening with pre-cum. My pussy gave an involuntary contraction in anticipation. Then, as if someone else had moved my body, I found my fingers on one hand encircling his shaft, stroking him; the other cupping his balls. McDowell let out a slight gasp and I smirked when I could feel his body responding to my touch, his hands coming to cover my own.

I spent a few moments stroking him, lightly circling his shaft with one hand while caressing his balls with the other. His hands covered my own, and his hips started bucking. I looked up to see McDowell’s eyes half closed, murmurs of pleasure coming from his throat.

I continued my movements, increasing the pressure and speed. His hands moved from my own to my head, gently stroking my hair and face. Adjusting my position on the couch, I looked up at him, ready to take him into my mouth.

Still grasping his manhood, I readied to pull him down to me, but I soon found myself under the professor as he pressed me back onto the couch. McDowell surrounded me, his arms on either side of my body, his own just inches away. I reached up and stroked his face, feeling very safe. He drew himself up on his elbows and I grabbed the back of his neck to kiss him, pulling him down to me.

This time, the kiss was different as we were completely naked. Instead of clothing I could feel his skin and muscles. The scent of our sweat and arousal filled my nostrils as he wrapped his arms around me to pull me to him. His chest hair rubbed my tits, stimulating the nipples. His erection bumped into my thighs and I could feel one of his hands slide over my body to my clit. He began to delicately rub, testing my sensitivity.

McDowell smiled as he worked my clit, listening to me moaning for more. Soon I was bucking my hips trying to pull him down to me, but he seemed oblivious, staring at my tits as they bounced in response to my thrusting. It felt so good, but I needed more. “Please…” I begged, looking pleadingly into his eyes.

Still, he refused me relief. I wanted his cock; he gave one of his fingers. He eased it in, slowly moving the finger, thumbing my clit lightly. McDowell must have enjoyed this, listening to me as I whimpered. I wanted to scream at the look on his face. Sometimes men can be so dense! It wasn’t the same as feeling a hot, hard male erection. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore and pulled him into another passionate kiss, wrapping my legs around his hips.

I moaned through our kiss as he prepared to enter me. His cock hit my thigh, but I could feel his hand guiding his member to my entrance. The head was soaked with pre-cum, and mixed with my juices it easily slid in. Firmly he grasped my hips and we worked ourselves together. Thrusting in and out, I enjoyed the sensation of him penetrating me. He would insert himself a bit and withdraw, teasing, or perhaps unsure if he would hurt me. I was becoming impatient with his slow approach. He was nearly completely inside of me and I was not showing any signs of discomfort. I decided to spell it out for him.

I looked up at him. “I’m not a virgin, Professor. Fuck me now.”

His eyes widened briefly, but he smiled. He still maintained his slow and methodical penetration and withdrawal. The man was driving me mad! Suddenly he withdrew most of the way, leaving the head of his cock tantalizingly resting at my entrance. His head lowered, and I could feel the heat of his breathe against my ear.

“If you want.” The head of his cock slipped in completely. “But there’s no need to be so formal.” He gradually slid in most of the way, watching my reaction very carefully. “It’s Larry, not Professor.” Any response on my part flew out of the window when suddenly he thrust all the way. I exulted in the wonderful sensation of being filled, the feeling of completion.

Sighing, Larry closed his eyes and thrust, grinding his hips against mine. We kissed more, and I enjoyed the sensation of being ridden. Our bodies seemed to find their own rhythm now, our movements becoming faster. His hands slid down to grab my ass and I could feel his fingers splayed as they pressed my hips upward. I couldn’t stand it anymore and let go. I thrust upward and felt myself explode, my climax roaring through me.

The professor grunted and pounded even harder, his balls smacking against my body. Suddenly he stiffened against me, and I felt him relax as a sigh escaped his lips. I smiled, feeling the last of his spasms leak inside of me. I reveled in the pleasures we shared, knowing only how I felt at the moment.

I lost my breath when he collapsed on top of me, his hair matted with sweat. Larry nuzzled and kissed my neck as his head nestled against my shoulder I reached up and caressed his head and upper back, feeling him trying to catch his breath. We lay there silently for some time, happy in our new discovery of one another.

Without warning, someone knocked hard against the door. We separated from one another, staring at each other like deer in the headlights. Larry slithered off the couch and knelt on the floor, gathering his clothes as he kept an eye on the door. I sat up, looking at Larry and the door in turn, unable to do or say anything for a moment. Then a voice came through the door. “Larry?”

Reality hit me as we scrambled for clothes. What have you done? I looked at the professor, who looked just as frightened as I felt. As he turned his head toward me and stared, I realized that I had just fucked my professor.

The knocking came again. “Just a minute!” Larry called, trying to press down the fear in his voice. There was no place for me to go, not even a jacket closet. As he pulled on his undershirt, he pointed to his desk. I scrambled under it, crouching as low as possible. I peeked through a gap between the desktop and desk front. He spun around, looking for any clothing left on the floor or the couch. He looked toward the desk, checking to see I was out of sight, and then opened the door.

I saw a thin ray of light come into the room, almost like a searchlight, revealing my position. So, this is how it would end. I closed my eyes and willed myself to disappear.

“Larry?” It was department head Jim Thompson. “You missed the meeting! You how hard it is for us to all get together to dis--… Larry? Are you ok? You look disheveled. ”

“Um…I was…napping before the meeting and had a nightmare. I’ve been grading exams for like the past week.” I prayed for his excuse to work. Otherwise Professor Thompson was going to notice and there would be Hell to pay.

“Ah, I know how that feels. Go home. I’ll email you about the meeting tonight or tomorrow. Good night Larry!”

“Good night.” Larry’s reply was lost in the retreating footsteps. I could hear him easing the door closed. I waited until all was silent before coming out from under the desk. What have I done? I couldn’t think of anything else as he and I looked at each other. Get out, you fool! I hurriedly dressed. Explanations, accusations, questions all flitted through my brain, half-formed.

“Emily…” the professor’s voice was strained; as if he was at a loss as what to say.

For once, I did not want to see those big blue eyes. “This should never have happened.”

His voice came roughly, sounding as if he was close to tears. “Emily, I’m sorry! Don’t go...”

My head snapped up, and I wondered if he was out of his mind. His boss had nearly caught me naked in his office and he was asking me to stay? I headed straight for the door. He tried to take a hold of my shoulders, but I wrenched out of his grip. I needed to get out of there quickly. I rushed past him and out into the hallway.

“Emily!”

I didn’t look back.

-----------------------------
Thanks for reading!

 

[Pure]

seems to read better and has a nice long build up. (beats the old "I'll do anything" cliche)

some spelling/grammar probs.

fine revision!

 

[Penelope Street]

ShyAzn,

I read the later version first, then the original. The newer one is, I agree, a vast improvement. I don't know if your original concerns are still valid, but here are my answers to those considering the only newer version:

> 1) Is it too plot-oriented/long? I wanted it to be realistic and give the characters some depth, but not be too plot heavy. This is potentially the first in a series if all goes well.
No, it is not too plot-oriented. As an opening chapter, I think this generates an interesting situation. It's hardly untried material, but Emily's pressures from her academic problems, family issues, and the potential relationship (as opposed to just a fling) with her professor all provide adequate sources of future conflict to be explored.

> 2) Is it "hot" enough? Is the reader aroused? Private feedback and comments have said I should make it more X-rated.
Well, it did not arouse me, per se, but adding a token blowjob would not have made it any more so. I found the sex scene believable and appropriate for advancing the plot. I'd certainly never recommend catering to the wanker crowd unless that was your original intent. If, however, you intended to tell the tale of one young woman's experiences and her handling of familiar issues with which most of us can relate, then I would suggest it is fine just the way it is.

> 3) Are there any outstanding problems in my writing? Dialogue, characters, story, etc?
I found Emily's dialogue, and even her narrative to be a bit awkward, even choppy. At first, I thought this was a minor flaw but, in retrospect, I believe it might be an appropriate style for the reflections of someone her age.

Perhaps a more important question would be "Is the reader likely to continue reading chapter two?"
You gave Emily enough depth and enough problems that I am curious how she will go about resolving them and which of the three (family, career, romance) will she decide is most important to her. I can't say that I was spellbound, but I would have kept reading had there been more.

Take Care,
Penny

 

[ShyAzn]

Hi Penny!

> 3) Are there any outstanding problems in my writing? Dialogue, characters, story, etc?
I found Emily's dialogue, and even her narrative to be a bit awkward, even choppy. At first, I thought this was a minor flaw but, in retrospect, I believe it might be an appropriate style for the reflections of someone her age.

Hmmm. I assume you mean the revised version as the choppy/awkward dialogue. I tried to fiddle with it, but I guess it didn't work for everyone. Was there anything specific?

<snip>

Perhaps a more important question would be "Is the reader likely to continue reading chapter two?"
You gave Emily enough depth and enough problems that I am curious how she will go about resolving them and which of the three (family, career, romance) will she decide is most important to her. I can't say that I was spellbound, but I would have kept reading had there been more.

Yay! Grounds for a continuation! I am glad that Emily and her trials seemed interesting enough to read more for someone.

Thank you for taking the time and effort to reply. I appretiate it.

Shy