What Now 1

Dear reader:

This is a problem that has bugged me for some time. I want to see people write. Patricia51 allowed it with One Slip, the Troubador with How High a Price. Charly Ace with June Gets Even. I am sure that others have done it or have considered doing it.

I see the Site has between 400 and 700 new stories a week. I want more. I have asked people to write, I have received a comment that if too many people write the site will fill up with poor writing. That everyone with a PC will flood the Site with junk. That the flood of stories will crowd out the good writers. That the site will be flooded and will slow down the approval process to week not days.

I do not want to crowd out good stories with the shit I see every day. The same shit and the same story with different names for the characters and different writers. But I find the bookstores and libraries are exactly the same. I have to look longer to find books and writers to read.

Do I ask writers and wannabes to write hoping that some of them will become the writers of tomorrow? Or do I just let what we have be what we are going to get?

BUT isn't that what free speech is all about? We must allow the place for the worst to publish. It is the only way to gain the writers that will be the best tomorrow. That means I will have to suffer the poor writers, the idiots, and the screaming comments on my own attempts to write a meaningful tale. Lord knows that I will be blasted by some, liked by others, and maybe read by more.

I accept that. So here it is. WHAT NOW?

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A challenge!!!! Read and see. No editor for this one, errors are mine. This is fiction. Any and all of this are the delusions of a weird mind. Note: This is not copyrighted so have fun.

What now?

I am James Reed. When I was 26 years old, I came into a hell of a lot of MONEY. It was legal, by the way. But suddenly, due to no real action on my part, I had a mountain of money. I was a high school History teacher in Baldwin, a small town in the upper part of the lower peninsula of Michigan. I had a house. My brand new money manager told me to get a bigger house but it seemed silly. I like my house. It was on the river I loved and had everything I needed. No one knew of the MONEY. The investment company handling the money meets with me every month in Grand Rapids. The meeting lasted a weekend. Mark Braxton was a nice man but he wanted me to spend and party and enjoy and I want to continue my life, pretty much as I had been living.

The income alone from the MONEY was enough to equip a damn army. The taxes were heavy but I would not get a bigger house. Hell, the manager wanted anything to cut into the government's share of my money. I knew he was getting a 1% percent yearly of what his company managed but it made no difference to me. I was never going broke. Not in a billion years. The 1% was not any big deal, except that the investment company treated me like a god. I told them to call me James, they called me SIR until I told them that the next time any one in their company called me SIR I would find another company. Every one now calls me James. Even the cute receptionist. Even the janitor.

Keep in mind, good people, I was basically happy. I had everything I needed, well that is not entirely true. I did not have a good wife, I did not have any children. But I had a good job, good friends, and a great river to fish.

The first summer after I acquired the MONEY, I went to Alaska. I paid $6,000 for a week of fly-in fishing. It was great. I was flown by helicopter to five different rivers. The fishing was out of this world. Except there were no close friends to laugh when I fell down in the cold water, no one to have a drink after a good fish was landed or that night in the lodge, and no one to kid me about the one that got away. There was no one to talk with about life and the vast hereafter. I know fishing is an obsession and a solitary pursuit but friends do make it better.

So the MONEY was invested. And the gains were invested. And I was making more MONEY. It seemed a shame that it was just getting bigger and not doing something good. That changed in late June two years after I got the MONEY.

Beverly Capstan was her name. She called and asked to see me. School ended in the first part of June. It happened often, she just wants a letter of recommendation for college or for a job. I looked over my notes for all the kids who had graduated. She was third out of 81. Hey, it is a small town. I knew she had applied for Ferris State University in Big Rapids. I knew she had been accepted. So, what did she want with me? She was due Friday afternoon so that day I tied some flies for the river, changed the line and backing on an old fly reel that I used as a back up and I had a beer. She showed up at 1PM just as I was ready to prepare lunch.

"Hello, Beverly. I am having hot dogs for lunch. I also have fixings, a salad, diet Pepsi for you, and a beer for me. How many dogs would you like?"

"Thank you, Mr. Reed. If there are enough, may I have two? May I help with anything?"

"Hey, I am cooking out of doors. I never need help cooking out of doors." I had taught this girl for four years in high school. I had never really looked her. I mean LOOKED. She was a student. She was female. She was not to be touched. Well, she was no longer a student. But does that change anything? We would be eating at my picnic table in full view of the road and any one that might pass by. Beverly was 18 years old; she was not best looking girl in the class, but she was a long, long way from being the ugliest. Between bites, I looked at my former student.

Beverly was cute. She was not a beauty. She was attractive. Age and knowledge would add considerable to her appeal. Her dark brown hair surrounded her oval face. Nice cheek bones, eyes as blue and warm as a summer day, full lips. She was five five. Maybe 125 pounds? As I remembered the swimming parties in the river, she had a nice shape. Again more average than lush. She was going to be an average woman.

"I am going to Ferris in the fall. I have enough scholarship money to pay for school. I do not have the money to have a dorm room and I do not have the money to get a car that will let me drive back and forth."

Now this was a different problem. "Oh?"

"I need a job, either in Big Rapids so I can stay in a dorm, or here in Baldwin so I can drive back and forth."

"Beverly, what do you want me to do?"

"I don't know anyone in Big Rapids, and I was hoping that you might know someone who has a job that I could get." Now I knew the problem. I did know people in Big Rapids. Some nice and some not so nice. The ones that I knew had most of the open jobs were the not so nice ones . Baldwin has damn few jobs at all. It was a hard scrabble town; every one hustled for a living. Any job she could get here or there would be minimum wage. And the college town had all those students looking for jobs. I did not see what I could do for her. So there was the question. "What do you want me to do?"

The hot dogs were ready. I set up paper plates and served the food. We sat at the table where anyone and everyone could see us. We ate and talked. She sipped the diet Pepsi and I sipped my Rolling Rock Pale Ale.

"If you could get me a job, it would be great. I will always be thankful."

"You really need to be at the school. Driving back and forth even if it is only 50 miles will be a problem. Also, your grades will suffer if you work."

"I cannot go to college without working." I could see tears in her eyes. "And there is no one else I can ask."

I saw an idea off in the distance. As ideas go it was weak looking, but I needed to talk to my money manager.

"Beverly, I am or was your teacher. There is a place that will hire you even without me asking. The Swan hires dancers."

"I know, I was there already, the owner says I can work but ....." The tears crept down her face. "I have to dance nude and I have to let him...."

This was not news to me. I knew Sam Bly. He was an ass but he stayed legal, just barely. His dancers were all over 18, too young to drink but old enough to work in bars. I guess he had told her about the lap dances and the back rooms.

"You can borrow the money."

"I want to be a teacher. And you know what teachers make. I just don't want to have those big payments after I get out of school."

"About Bly, if nothing else comes along, will you work for him?"

"If I have to, I will. But I will not fuck him or the men in that place." I sensed an iron core inside this woman. There was a remaining question I had to ask before I could go any farther with this conversation.

"Beverly, if and I do mean IF I can arrange something for you, what do I get out of it?" I was truly curious about what she would say.

"Mr. Reed, you make it possible for me to go to college and I will do whatever you ask."

An interesting statement. I lived in a small town. I dated a woman in Grand Rapids, a good 90 minutes each way. I could only get there on weekends and not every weekend. She was OK. I definitely was not in love and marriage was out of the question. Hell, she was a nice fuck. I was ready to ask a question I never thought I would ask any female.

"What if I asked you to let me arrange for your college? Anything and everything you need until you complete your studies, what would you do for me?"

"Are you asking me to fuck you? How often, where, when? What about boys I would meet at school? Birth control? What happens if my Daddy finds out? He will kill you."

I could see all kinds of problems with this idea. I actually did not know what I was talking about. I decided to put her on hold.

"Where else were you accepted? What other colleges?"

"The only one I applied to other than Ferris was the University of Michigan-Dearborn. I was accepted there too."

"OK. Beverly, a home work assignment. As soon as you can, show me a year by year by year expense sheet for you to go to Ferris State University and the U of M-Dearborn. I know they have no dorms at Dearborn so start with living expenses. I need it with in a week. And do not get your hopes up. This is just a shot in the dark. I will be in Grand Rapids tonight and I will get some Dearborn papers for you. Also do Eastern Michigan University."

This was busy work for her. I knew the costs. With dorms at Eastern the cost for four years would be $35,000 when the car and fuel and other expenses were counted. You know like clothes. At U of M Dearborn I had it pegged at better than $45,000, there were no dorms and apartments were not cheap in Dearborn.

"I do not think that Eastern will accept me this late."

I knew that Eastern would accept Lucifer himself if I gave them enough MONEY. So would Harvard.

"Do not worry about that just get the homework done. You can use the computers at the school if you need." I remembered that she did not have a computer at home. She used the school machines to prepare the projects I assigned.

She looked at me with a strange look. "Are you going to make me fuck you so I can go to college?"

"I am trying to stop the men in Bly's bar from fucking you."

"So you want what? 3 or 5 times a week? Blow jobs? You wanna fuck my ass?"

"Stop. No one said I wanted to fuck you. As a college student, you will have the right to accept any level of activities you want. If you decide that sex is not in the picture, cool. I am sure that something can be worked out. You can join the army and get money for college."

"I will fuck you if you put me through school. So, how many times, Mr. Reed?"

I found myself thinking about this. It was a good question. If I wanted to have her, what would be a good yearly number? What about STD's? Pregnancy? I needed to think about this. Then it struck me, was she negotiating? The number of times? I looked at her. The tears had stopped. Her face was calm.

"Beverly, I will have a man see you. He owes me big time. He will set up a way for you to go to Ferris or any other school you want. You do not have to fuck anyone. If he even looks at you wrong, I will have him fired. I still want the expense sheet for Ferris, U of M-Dearborn and Eastern. And I am not sure that I want you that obligated to me. It is too close to rape."

'It is not rape, it is whoring." Was this barely legal girl thinking she could use me to fuck her way though college?

"If I married you until you finished college and paid for everything, and you divorced me, is that whoring?"

"Will you marry me?"

"Do you want to have three babies? Cook and Clean? Fuck me whenever I want? Why the hell did you come here today anyway? This is a small town; you have a good idea of what kind of man I am."

I was getting angry. Did this young woman want to marry me or just cut a deal so she could go to college? Was this marriage thing a school girl crush? Was she really ready to fuck me for a college education? Or did she actually want to marry me? How the bloody hell had this meeting gotten to this point? And what was I going to do?

"Will you marry me?"

Now what?

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Ok, you wannabe writers, I will throw down the gauntlet. Write. Make it as good as you can. Make it real. Make it unreal. This is open for less than 3 posting on this site. y. Stay away if you have more than 2 postings on the site. Post it as: Under LOVING WIVES: What now? My Ending ABC where ABC are your initials or numbers. I have always wanted an opening to finish. Well, here is your chance. Use the spell check, find an editor. Read the story out loud. GO FOR IT. Public comments open Commentators, judge them. Tell the truth. We are trying to build the writers of tomorrow. No brickbats or complaining just help them be better writers. Ah, the winner gets an autographed picture of my dog FRED. Last, I do not like questions. So if you ask, it better be a damn good question. Winner will be determined by ME by whatever method I wish to use. All stories must show up on the site on or before July 4, 2005. Winner will be announced in the public comments section of my starting tale 2 weeks after the closing date. Be prepared for lessons on how to write better.