This story is a slow burn. Eventually things will get hot, but not yet. Not in this chapter. I think the long term reward will be worth the wait. This story is set in the late aughts (2000s). Remember things were slightly different then.
Please bear with me as I write this. My real life is a bit complex at the moment. Also, these characters have a mind of their own and I'm not sure where it's going.
Remember, this is fiction. The characters in this story are flawed, just like you and me. Sometimes they make bad decisions as they struggle to live their lives. Sometimes they make life changing decisions. Again, all characters and situations are complete fiction, a product of my fertile imagination. Any similarity to actual people and situations is purely a coincidence. All constructive criticism is welcome.
First Saturday in October
_ _ _ _ _
Dr. Wilson placed the paper face down on my desk, "Sean, let's talk at the break."
I flipped it over and looked down at my paper. It appeared she had slit her wrist while grading it. At first glance I couldn't see a single sentence that hadn't been subjected to her red pen.
Well that's an auspicious start to the doctoral program. She's probably going to tell me I should consider something else.
Our class met every Saturday. This was our fourth meeting. Dr. Wilson sat down on top of the desk at the front of the room and crossed her legs. "I know some of you will have questions about your paper. During the break or after class, I'll be happy to discuss your work with you for as long as you want. In the meantime, let's focus on our discussion."
The next hour went well and I thoroughly enjoyed our class discussion. I was by far the oldest in the class and time and again I used my life experiences to provide examples for my classmates. I was particularly smitten by a flaxen-haired beauty named Lori. I had made her acquaintance during the last class. Now she seemed to be engaged with every comment I made. Several times she made a point of asking a clarifying question after I said something. I was going to have to get to know her better, if only to have friend in the program, but perhaps more.
At the first break I refilled my coffee mug and waited for my classmates to meet with Dr. Wilson. She was a matronly woman who had retired the previous year. I would guess she was in her late sixties or early seventies. She had told us on day one that this course was her way of "keeping her mind active in retirement." She had asked us to call her 'Nancy,' a request that my military mind chose to ignore. Instead, I usually called her ma'am or Dr. Wilson. I stepped up when the last of my classmates had finished with her.
"Ah, Sean. I loved your paper."
"With all due respect ma'am, it looks like I drove you to a suicide attempt and you slit your wrists."
She chuckled, "Oh, nonsense. You have some excellent ideas in there, some really compelling examples. Some of your imagery is heart breaking. If you read through my comments, they aren't all bad. I try to provide as much feedback as possible. Since this is your first course in the program, I'd like you to continue working on the paper and resubmit it next Saturday."
"Is that allowed?"
"Sean, this isn't the Navy. My goal is to help you learn and develop your mind, not to keep strict deadlines."
"Well, thank you ma'am."
"I wish you'd call me Nancy."
"Sorry, that's hard. I even call my daughter ma'am."
"I guess I should appreciate your politeness. I recommend you take your paper over to Sampson Hall. That's where our Writing Studio is and the writing associates are amazing to work with. I take all my papers there."
"Sounds like good advice."
"I am a firm believer in having at least one other set of eyes look at my work. The more, the better. A long time ago one of my professors told me that good writing is 70% editing. Think about that."
"Well, thank you Dr. Wilson. I'll get it back to you at the start of our next class."
I turned around to see Lori waiting for me, "Hi Sean, I have to say I love these examples that you give us."
She was nearly as tall as I was. Now that she wasn't seated, I could see all of her lovely figure. Rather than ogle her, I chose to keep my eyes under control and I locked in on her baby blues, "Thanks. When I enrolled in this program I had doubts on whether I could make a contribution."
She touched my elbow, "I think you're already making a great contribution. I wanted to tell you about a group of doctoral students who get together on Tuesday evenings to discuss anything and everything."
"Sounds like fun."
"We have a regular table in the back of Pete's Pub. Seven o'clock. We have a beer or two and a lot of good ideas have come out of it. It's sort of like the Viennese coffeehouses, but with beer."
I laughed, "Well now I'm definitely showing up."
Dr. Wilson called out, "OK, let's get back to work."
_ _ _ _ _
When the class let out just before noon, I decided to find Sampson Hall. The trees were just starting to turn on this lovely early autumn afternoon. I didn't encounter very many people as I strolled across campus. Sampson Hall was an older, three-story building just off the central quad. The Writing Studio was the first room inside the main entrance and I poked my head in. I heard a chime.
A female voice called out, "Come in."
I walked in and found a spacious, high-ceilinged room with work tables scattered about. A young woman sat behind a reception desk.
"How can I help you?"
I pulled my paper out of my satchel and handed it to her, "My professor recommended that I come here for help with my writing."
"Do you have time right now? My twelve o'clock never showed and I have the next 50 minutes free."
"That would be great."
"Let me get some information from you for our records. Do you have your student ID?"
I handed the card to her and she began typing.
She read aloud, "Sean O'Brien. My name is Astrid. Oh, you're a graduate student."
"Yes, I just started the Ph.D. program in Sociology."
"That's wonderful. I just started as well. I'm hoping to get a doctorate in English, Rhetoric, and Writing."
I must have had a surprised look on my face, "I know. Everyone thinks I'm an undergrad, but I'm going to be twenty-eight here in a couple of weeks."
"Actually, I didn't think that. I was just think how difficult it must be to study writing."
"That's kind of you. I find it fascinating." She handed my ID card back. "If you don't mind, let's move over to a table."
I followed Astrid's lead and moved toward the nearest table. As she came from around the desk, I immediately noticed her tight jeans highlighting a slim waist and attractive hips. I sat down across from her.
"It might be easier if you were to sit here next to me." She patted the chair. "That way we can both see the paper. Before we start what can you tell me about the assignment?"
I pulled out my notebook and showed her the prompt. "We were asked to write a nine to eleven page paper on a microeconomic problem that we have witnessed first-hand. I chose to write about that I saw outside the Subic Bay Naval Station in the Philippines, abject poverty."
Astrid looked up at me and I was immediately struck by her brown eyes. She locked in on me and held my gaze. "Were you in the Navy?"
"Yes, ma'am. Twenty-five years. I just got out in February."
"Twenty-five years? I was thinking you were only in your early thirties."
"No. I'm actually quite ancient. I've got nearly twenty years on you. I'll be forty-eight in November."
"That's not ancient. It must be that red hair. Really. I thought you were only a few years older than me."
"Now you're being kind." I couldn't look away from those eyes and she continued to hold my gaze. It was as if she was sizing me up while boring into my soul. I felt a stirring in my crotch.
