Amy knew Steve's face pretty well, in a "small town" kind of way. This wasn't unusual; having lived there all of her life she recognized most of the town's residents by sight and knew Steve from before High School, where he was a year ahead of her. It wasn't like they stopped and talked across shopping carts for hours at the grocery store, more that Steve was "just a guy" who seemed to be around—someone she always enjoyed exchanging a friendly smile with him at the gas station or the post office, but nothing more than that.
That summer she signed up for a creative writing class, one evening a week at the high school, and when she walked into the classroom on the first evening Steve was the last person she expected to see sitting in the front row, but there her was, smiling "hello" to her. Despite the mild anxiety she felt at starting the class, it was comforting to see a familiar face. She settled into a desk at the other side of the room from him and lost herself in the teacher's words.
When the class took its first coffee break Steve walked over to her. "Hi there. It's Amy, right? Tommy's sister."
She nodded and sipped at her soda. "And you're Steve, unless he has a twin. Isn't it funny what you learn about people you've known for so long? All this time I've seen you around... I never imagined you for a writer."
"I'd hardly say I was 'a writer'." He smiled, a little bashfully this time. "Can't say I had you down for a writer either." He indicated she might like to sit and they sat opposite each other at a free table. "So, what do you write?"
Amy gave a slight self-deprecating laugh. "Nothing... yet. I just thought I'd like to try something new. It was either this class, or macramé."
Steve's mischievous blue eyes softened further. "I guess getting tied up in words was more appealing than tying knots then?"
Amy laughed and explained that she was thinking about writing some travel memoirs or maybe just amuse herself by spending a few afternoons in the countryside, writing about her surroundings.
It wasn't the first time she'd noticed his quiet good looks, but this was the closest she'd been to his clean features and content manner. Steve's movements were assured and comfortable as he explained how this was the first formal writing course he'd taken, despite the constant output of words from his keyboard and printer. She was unexpectedly mesmerized by his conversation as Steve talked enthusiastically about how she would enjoy learning about the colors of words, and the pictures she would find herself creating.
Amy found herself smiling and leaning across the table as Steve's hands constantly moved with a grace not normally expected form someone who spoke with such quiet passion. However long she'd seen him around, this evening was the first time that she truly "met" Steve, and she found herself enjoying his company.
Steve was enjoying Amy's company also. It was easy to be captivated by her quiet confidence and stealthy good looks—they snuck up on you. As the break ended it was with a reluctant sigh that he stood and said, "Come on," he motioned that they should leave the break room, "better get back to class."
*****
The following week, Amy made a point of sitting next to him.
Steve smiled as she took her seat, elated and excited at her choice. He was more active than her in the class, his experience meant he had opinions on a lot of the curriculum and he was having fun with the subjects they discussed.
She was glad to have him close, and their glances to each other were comforting to Amy as she tried hard to combat her natural shyness and get the best out of the class.
He liked her. She was average build and height, but had a vibrant face that shone when she smiled, usually with an impish overtone. He found her increasingly attractive.
Steve was doodling on his notepad at one point, writing down a short description of Amy that he wanted to use for one of his characters sometime. "Blonde," he wrote, "strong, silky hair that sweeps away from the pale, pure, skin of her face. Glistening eyes, happy smile, not forced. Understated features, you only catch the beauty at second glance. She's the new friend you want to have and the girl you want to talk to at a party."
As they left the school building that evening she followed him out to the car park. "Hey Steve." He turned to see a quizzical look on her face. "You never did tell me... what kind of stuff do you write?"
He paused a few seconds before answering. "Oh, lots of things really. I like essays, short pieces on local buildings and things like that. Usually there's some social commentary in there as well. I'm six years into a novel that will probably take me twenty years to write," he laughed. "But I guess I have more fun writing erotic stories than anything else. Mostly that's what I've done lately."
Amy let the words sink in and tried not to look surprised. "You mean..."
He shifted a little uneasily. "Yep."
"Oh." Amy smiled wryly and started walking slowly towards her car again. "That's interesting."
Steve drove away disappointed that Amy might not be as likely to sit next to him the following week. Maybe he shouldn't have told her?
*****
Steve's stories, even though she'd never read any, were never far from her mind the whole of that next week. Amy couldn't get away from the thought of Steve, sitting at his desk, writing the kinds of things she imagined he would write about. She just knew those stories would be good though. Something about the way he talked about his writing, the passion he obviously had for it... she just knew she would like them, and that they would be hot.
The night before their next class Amy couldn't sleep. She started up at her ceiling, thinking about Steve's stories, imagining what it would be like to be one of the women in them, what it would feel like to be his girl and live out that fantasy.
She thought of the smile on his face as she kissed him, undressed him and massaged him. She could almost feel the power of him as he entered her and filled her. Thinking about the climax she would have with him made her dizzy. It was so real. When she found she had been stroking her wet pussy while she thought of him she realized the dizziness was real and moments later she exploded.
"Oh... my... God. Fuck me gently," she breathed as her orgasm finally began to subside. Steve had a lot to answer for, and he hadn't even touched her, let alone heard her ask him to fuck her.
*****
She was sitting in what had now become her usual seat when Steve came into the classroom and sat next to her, happy to find that his erotic writing admission had not alienated her.
They spent that evening's class talking about and practicing descriptions of one-street towns, but Amy was thinking about another subject entirely. She watched Steve's hands as he made notes on his pad and tapped at the keys of his laptop. It was easy to imagine those fingers undoing her zipper and pulling away her clothing. It was becoming all too easy to imagine her hands reciprocating on his jeans and shirt.
When the class was dismissed Steve hung around while she packed away her things and started to walk out of the building with her.
"You know," Amy was unsure how to ask, "I've been thinking about what you said, about your... other writing..."
"Yeah." Steve swallowed. "I, well... maybe I shouldn't've said anything."
"No, no, it's okay," she gained confidence. "It's just, well, I was thinking that I might like to try it."
"Oh," he considered. "You mean the writing part, don't you, not reading?"
"Yes." Amy nodded eagerly. "But I guess I wouldn't mind reading some also, if you think that would help me make a better job of the writing."
Steve conceded that it would, but stopped short of offering his own work for her review. He offered to help in any way he could though, and assured her it was not as difficult as she might think. "How would you like to get together sometime and throw an idea or two around?"
"I'd like that." Amy smiled at him and felt an immediate temperature increase in her panties. "Maybe not here though. I'm not sure the other students would approve."
He suggested they go for a coffee but Amy reluctantly declined. She was still thinking about discussing the intimate topics of the story she was beginning to visualize in public. It was a story Steve was starting to feature prominently in but being overheard in a coffee shop wasn't high on her agenda. She looked at her watch. It was just after nine.
"Are you rushing anywhere? I could make you some coffee at my place, if you have an hour?" She giggled self-consciously. "At least I won't worry about being overheard."
