Author's Note: This Story is not for those who dislike waiting for the sex scenes. It will be heavily character driven and less plot driven, but I still do intend to add some plot. I have no end in sight and I would be happy to read your comments and suggestions. I do not have anyone to edit my writing, currently. I will do my best to remain diligent and without err, but I am human; so please, bear with me. I hope that you guys enjoy!
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Turning Pages
Few students and faculty stood in the Campus Library at 10pm, but we had a Library that didn't close until 11:30 pm. I wasn't sure it was worth the light bill for the additional hour and half, seeing as there was barely a face to be seen. On that subject though, I know little. That's what it felt like, teaching Abnormal Psychology in this University. How could I really speak of it like an expert when I myself had no mental illness? How could they simply break it all down to a "science," what it means to be a murderer, a rapist?
Then again, it was good money. So I would not complain about me standing in front of a class of adults, babbling on about some memorized "expertise," I presumably had over them. The only difference between me, and the students who consistently stood in front of my face was that I had a PhD in Psychology, and my Eidetic as well as Mnemonist memory (which is so rare, I doubt I will come across another person with either in my life.)
Another difference between my students and I would probably have to be that I have written several books. I go under the pen name "Ms. Sophia," because the topic of which I write may have seemed controversial to my job employers: erotica. Not just any erotica, either. I wrote lesbian erotica; it was usually romantic and full of angst- nothing with too much "wow factor," I just wrote in my spare time and it happened to gain a successful following. I had no issues with the money I dished out for publishing and now I earn a decent enough profit off my works.
It was delightful to watch this pretty girl from across the Library- reading one of my works, every time I taught my night class which ended at 9pm, she'd be there. And she wouldn't leave until the Library was shutting down. I presumed she lived on campus.I'd watch her, and she wouldn't know that the author of the book she wrote was thinking about making her a muse. Every once in a while, someone would find themselves drawn to her- they'd go and try to start a conversation, and I'd smirk as she shut them down.
