tagLetters & TranscriptsFortune Shines Ch. 03

Fortune Shines Ch. 03


(To the reader: This is the third in a string of many correspondences between a former professor and myself. It started out to be just a harmless little distraction for myself, to break up the day. It became so much more, so unrepentantly.)


She still couldn't believe that he was still in the game. She wanted him so badly. It was becoming increasingly difficult to not go over to his office, just to see f she could detect any suspicion. The rush of excitement was almost unbearable. She decided to answer his questions but she was worried that she may slip something in her responses, either purposely or not, to lead him to her.

"There is no risk. I just happen to dig your masculine passionate style, and am simply looking for a little lyrical adventure into something different. No harm – just play. C'mon, I know you want to.

Ok, no more panties in the mouth. That was a bit forward – Bwaahhh ha ha.

Yes, it would creep me out if the situation were reversed. I wouldn't have replied in the first place. You, however, did.

I will remain one of the countless women you could see in a day. Intelligent you say, hmmm, in a junior college. That should narrow it down quite a bit, if that is where I come from. As for the anonymity, tell me what you need. I'll see what I can do to help – but don't hold your breath for clues.

So, you won't strip for strangers. Pretend I'm who you want me to be. Help me get there and I'll play along. My report card lends testament that I play well with others.

Let's see, I think we are up to a narrative paragraph aren't we? You first."

Having sent her email, she forced herself away from the computer. The day brought a unmanageable amount of tasks to be completed in an unrealistic amount of time. This "to do" list may have been "doable" if she wasn't so distracted. She kept picturing his rugged face, his slender body and those oh so talented hands. She didn't know that by mid afternoon, she had an email waiting for her. She received her narrative paragraph.

"Every February on or near Valentine's Day, candy and suggestive notes to instructors are sent; I got mine this afternoon. A while back, one such recipient attempted to respond, guessed wrong, alarmed a student, thoroughly embarrassed himself, and was censured by the administration. Hmmmm, no risk, eh? Another recipient (horribly afflicted with humor-impairment, I'll grant) guessed right but misread the intent alarmingly. Oops. From time to time, I, like many instructors, am given to understand that certain...possibilities...exist. These...communications...run the gamut from bizarre to disturbed to benign to very infrequently intriguing--and please don't misunderstand: I'm not speaking solely of flirtatious content; in fact, it's most often not. My difficulties lie in discerning differences, capisce?

You make assertions and stand on them as fact. You have anonymity and reveal only what you wish. You know all, and I'm left to guess everything. I can accede to your anonymity, I can do without your name, I'm not looking for "clues." But one-sided ,disembodied, random erotic musings? These kids today, what do they call it? Keeping it real? Yeah , that sounds good, Miss Smart(ie) Panties, reality; you are real, right? Convince me, prove it--that intelligence thang what make you so attractive. And your panties anywhere--but especially on the floor by your bed--aren't scary. It's 'em old jockstraps scare the bejeezus outta me. Why has the typeface changed? Reportcard says you play well with others? Well then, play fair, give a little; show, don't tell.

P.S. I don't have a car."

"Wow" she thought to herself. "I hadn't thought that this would be scary." She didn't know how to reveal herself to him without literally revealing herself. She had to come up with a solution or risk him dropping out of the fun.

"This was to be fun. Not scary. I didn't have any clue to the problems that would exist with this. Star-crossed I guess. Ha-Ha said the sky indeed.

So many issues, so little bandwidth. I can't do anything about your phobias. I could send you a picture and claim it is I. Each one of those "episodes" could have been avoided by not taking action. So much drama... Keep this up and you may need to prove to me that you aren't female. I had no idea I had a thing for men with gay followings, first Henry Rollins, now you.

It's a gamble, solely on your part. That's why I asked for help with a story, and maybe a little character development. This would give you a level of distance. If I wanted non-fiction, I would have tapped you on the shoulder, ergo, no show.

I enjoyed the descriptive paragraph much better :0)"

She paced and fretted and paced some more. She didn't know if he'd received her email yet or even if he'd respond. She wanted to find out when his offices hours were so she could at least find comfort in knowing the times when he couldn't reply. Then, there came the welcomed number 1 accompanied with "New Mail" in her inbox. Yahoo! She was now smitten.

"A Stately Canter

Getting ready for bed later, she was still annoyed with him, with his hesitancy, with his resistance to what she knew was the way to do things--men! Oh sure, she was aware she had the smallest tendency toward hissy fits, but this plainly wasn't that, nope, he was just, well, wrong. A woman knew, women always did, women always had. The realization led her to recall a long ago anthropology class, that cute prof who claimed our ancient female ancestors had taken control of the breeding act and, in the process, invented love-making. Figures, she thought. Something about females proferring themselves sexually while wading in shallows, inviting rear entry which allowed them to both suckle young and control the violence, the brutality of male-initiated sex. Duh-uh, she thought, easier, slippery, nicer--and that rear position, mmm. Her thoughts jumped to an article she'd recently read about the Brit writer D.H. Lawrence, his, at least in her opinion, kinky connection between horses and sexuality, their "haunches" he called them, the way a large horse's muscular haunches moved, flexed, rippled as the animal trotted "a stately canter."

Standing at the window and ocuppied with her thoughts, she sensed him enter the room behind her, but not ready to drop her little snit, she didn't turn to him. She felt his arm slide around her waist, his hand lightly press her tummy; his left hand rested on her hip. When he nuzzled the back of her neck, she relaxed her rigid posture a little; he pulled her against him and stroked the smooth skin around her belly button. A single finger slid beneath her panties and brushed the top of her hair; in response she pushed back against him slightly and felt him slide across the fabric covering her bottom. His hand slid lower and working gently found her.

Steering her with the hand on her hip, he turned them both to face the bed. She took a step apart from him to the bed's side. Still behind her, he stopped her there, slid both hands down her hips, and dropped her panties to the floor. She heard and then felt his jeans drop as well. She put one knee up on the bed to climb on, but again he halted her. She felt him slide up between her thighs and press against her sex. Slowly, delicately, steadily he pumped against her bottom. She thought he meant to enter her there, but he reached for two pillows, stacked them, and directed her up and over them. She sank down, her bottom arcing upward. She waited for him to part her legs, but sliding lingeringly over her, he straddled both of her legs and eased gently into her, making the moment last. Down, down, all the way in, slowly. At the very end, he began a langorous withdrawal that seemed to last moments, pausing at the last instant before beginning an achingly slow return that forced a quiet moan from her. She found the rhythym and surrendered to it, the pace never speeding or slowing, but steady, measured, easy, deep...stately. She rocked against the slow thrusts and tightened softly on the withdraws; her bottom moved, flexed, rippled beneath his hands. The stately canter went on.

At the window, she sighed, dropped the curtain back into place, and turned to the empty bed.

Coupla questions:

How do you know that I "wanted" you?

Why me now?

What do you mean it's a small town? Yeah, so what? What are you scared of? Why?

None of this is about your precious identity & name; it's about who you are other than that. Play well with others? Then play fair with me! Explain yourself. Come on, help me out here"

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