Deana/Dani

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There was no final exam. On the last day of class, there were only bittersweet goodbyes to people I would never see again, including Deana Martins.

Two years have passed. I think about Deana every day. Once a week or so, I re-read parts of the manuscript or listen to the tape, which by the way, concluded with the sounds of Deana moaning while she masturbated and finally, as she reached her orgasm, screaming my name, begging me to cum inside her. Not the name of the James character – no my real name. I suppose that was her parting gift.

This past Friday, as I left to meet my friends for happy hour, I was surprised by a plain brown envelope in my mailbox. I chuckled to myself, "It couldn't be."

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"Dear Professor:

I hope you remember me. I'm Deana Martins. I was in your senior creative writing class two years ago. Today I was on campus to apply for grad school. I had hoped to catch you in your office but you weren't there. I wanted to ask if you would provide me with a faculty recommendation for the MFA program. I have included the final chapter of the manuscript I worked on in your class in case you needed me to refresh your memory. I think you'll like it.

I hope it wasn't presumptuous of me to put your name on my application and I hope, if I'm admitted, I'll get to work with you again. See you soon?

Deana M."

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Like I said before. Trouble.