Christopher Booker, in his "Why We Tell Stories," lists seven basic story plots, and declares that all others are variations of the seven:
* Overcoming the Monster
* Rags to Riches
* The Quest
* Voyage and Return
* Rebirth
* Comedy
* Tragedy.
Don't know if I believe that, but it sounds reasonable. Certainly, there are favorite plot devices, and one of those is written endlessly: "Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy finds girl again." There will be certain elements of those seven plot types in this story, especially the "boy meets girl..." one. If that seems like something you would enjoy, read on. If not, this would be a good time to click the back button. I am putting this in LW because the site moderator has ruled that fiancées count. If you have a problem with that, take it up with her, not me. If you complain in the comments after my warnings, I'll just delete that shit. Randi.
This is my entry in the "
When A Man Loves a Woman
" writing event. I must thank my team. Harddaysknight is my mentor and gives me critical review. My readers and editors are Cagivagurl, Hooked1957, SBrooks103x, Stev2244 and Hale1. I thank you all.
When she walked into the room, there was a momentary silence, a hiccup in the normally raucous din that was Professor Wade's class before he arrived. He was a huge hairy man, and although he was a great teacher, funny, kind, there was a certain "You don't want to fuck with this man" air about him. He wasn't there yet, and the basketball players at the back were talking to each other in their too loud tones, trying to impress their hommies and whatever girls thought they were hot.
When I looked around at the sudden hush, supposing Wade had come in, this was something different. She was tall, nearly six feet, I guessed, long dark hair with auburn tints that hung down past her butt in soft heavy waves. Her face could have easily launched the legendary thousand ships. Her jeans were strategically ripped, showing the smooth tanned skin of her legs inside. She had on a T-shirt that said "Thunderbolts and lightning, very, very frightening, me!" on the front. It was signed "Galileo," and had a picture of the astronomer on it.
I loved the shirt, and what was inside was spectacular. God, she was gorgeous. The jeans were filled out to perfection, too. She looked around the room, and one of the douchebags in the back shot off his mouth. "Hey, hotness, we got a chair back here."
The look she shot him froze him in mid-word, as it were, and she walked toward the front. Toward me! I always sat in the front so I wouldn't be distracted. The chair beside me was empty, and the goddess pulled off her backpack, set it carefully on the floor and sat down. As she moved past me, I caught a subtle wafting of her perfume.
It was Creed, Wind Flowers. I knew that scent because my sister wore it, and I knew how much it cost from buying gifts for Allie. She looked over at me and the dark tan of her complexion lit up in a brilliant, blinding smile.
"Hi, I'm Donovan," she said. "Don't call me Donna."
I tried to speak, but a really stupid sounding croak was all that emerged from my paralyzed vocal cords. She laughed.
I cleared my throat and tried again. "No, I won't," I said. "I'm Shaw. You can call me Shaw."
She laughed, stuck out her hand and long slender cool fingers clasped mine. I just couldn't believe how lucky my day had just become. Professor Wade came in just then, and she whispered, "Umm, Shaw, I'm gonna need that hand to take notes."
I suddenly realized I was still holding her hand, and it was hideously embarrassing, then suddenly hilarious as we laughed together. Wade shot us a look as he put down his bag. "You okay over there, Shaw?"
I calmed down. "Yeah, I'm good."
He looked at Donovan and did a double-take. "Yes, I can see that you are," he said.
He started his lecture and we had a little debate. It was a Western Civ class, and there was a dozen or so of us who had a blast in Wade's classes. To my surprise, Donovan joined right in, and she was quick! She knew what she thought and wasn't shy at all about saying it.
She used her iPad to take notes and I saw that she was recording the lecture. We were putting away our shit after class and she said, "Shaw, do you not take notes?"
"Umm... no, I listen."
"Never take notes?"
"No, I don't really need them, Donovan."
"What's your GPA?" she asked.
I laughed. "Gee, you sure ask a lot of questions, Donovan. Is there some reason you need to know my GPA?"
She blushed a little, and it did amazing things to her complexion. "Sorry, I just transferred here and I'm scouting for study buddies."
"It's 3.84," I said.
"What did you get the B in?" she asked.
It was my turn to be embarrassed. "Well, I hate to tell you, but it was Human Sexuality. How did you know it was just one?"
"I did the math," she said, then she burst into laughter. I joined her after a minute, then she tucked her hand into my arm and walked me out. "Stick with me, tiger," she said. "We'll work on that sexuality thing. I'm really good at it."
I could easily believe she was. She was the embodiment of sexuality, and sensuality, screaming out in foot-high neon letters, "I am a goddess."
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Well, this is my last class," I said. "I was going over to the student union to play ping-pong. They have a table tennis tournament every semester, and I'm playing."
"Are you any good?" she asked.
"I haven't lost a game in seven years," I said. "Do you play?"
"I do," she said. "I've lost in the last seven years, though. Let's go. I'll be your cheering section."
On the way over I learned that her last name was Mace, that her father was some sort of big shot with the university, that he had an endowed chair in humanities and that they'd moved from San Diego, where she grew up.
"Have you lived here all your life?" she asked.
"All of it I remember," I told her. "I was born in Portland, but we moved here when I was like two. My dad works for Raytheon Missile Systems."
"What's your major?" she asked.
"It's electronic engineering. I have a minor in philosophy. Since my first dream of majoring in human sexuality has been shattered, engineering seemed like the only choice."
She laughed. "You have a great sense of humor," she said. She leaned in and whispered confidingly, "You're kinda hot, too."
I was struck dumb by that, and searched desperately for some witty remark. She saved me. "I'm a biochemistry major. I want to do drug research."
"Well, that does sound interesting, and I'm sure you'll be amazing at it," I said.
"Tell me about not taking notes."
"Well, I have a very good memory," I said. "I tried taking notes, but it just seemed to distract me from the lecture and I do better just listening. If there's something like lists or terms, I get those, but I kinda have my system down."
"Will you study with me?" she asked.
"I'll do anything with you you'll let me," I assured her.
She smiled adoringly up at me and I decided if she needed anyone killed, I was her hookup.
I knew the other players in the tournament pretty well. We all played together and joked around together. I think they were a little shocked when I came in with Donovan on my arm. I introduced her around and we played to get me warmed up.
She was a very good player. I figured she could beat most of the guys in the tournament. She used a shallow shakehand grip, and I used a penhold grip I had learned from a Chinese roommate I'd once had.
She got me sweating, and it was time for my first game. I won easily, and we got drinks and watched some of the other games. Celia Langford asked Donovan if she wanted to play a game, and I watched as Donovan demolished her.
I got a friend of mine, Curtis, in the second round and he was the second-best player in the tournament. It was a shame, really, because he probably would have made the final if he had been luckier in the draw.
It was close, as it always was when I played him, but I also won, as always.
The third game was pretty easy, and I won the $100 prize. Donovan came up, molded all that hotness against me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "Hey, now you can afford to take me out to dinner," she said.
"I would be happy to take the lady out to dinner," I said. "What time, and where would you like me to pick you up?"
She gave me her details and we agreed to eat at 7, which meant I'd be picking her up at 6:30. She kissed my cheek again and she was gone, the faint scent of the Wind Flowers the only reminder that she left behind.
I went home in a daze. I could think of nothing but that glorious woman, girl, enchantress. I had no idea why she'd chosen me, but she obviously had. I wasn't a total loser. I knew I looked okay and had never had any trouble getting dates. I was tall, so even as tall as she was, that wasn't going to be an issue. I worked out, and had since I was in the eighth grade. I lifted heavy, had some muscles going on and maybe she liked that. Whatever it was, I was seriously smitten and felt like the king of the world.
She had been gorgeous in her school clothes, but dressed to go out, she was just stunning. She had on a creamy tan sweater dress with both shoulders bare. It crossed on a line across her amazing breasts, sculpting her stunning body, showing off her round luscious ass. What an ass it was, too. God, it drove me mad, made me want to walk behind her just so I could watch it.
She knew what she looked like; she wasn't as conceited about it as most beautiful women of my acquaintance, but she showed what she had. I didn't know anyone who looked like she did, though.
I helped her in. I had one of the new Ford Broncos, the Black Diamond with the Sasquatch package, it was a little high and I got a good look at about a mile of tan muscular incredible legs. She got settled in, and I went around and climbed in. "Nice," she said. "Do you have a job, Shaw? How did you afford this?"
"No job," I said. "I had one all lined up, but my father got involved. I told you he works at Raytheon, and he's a big deal over there. He told me he wanted me to concentrate on my education and 'being a kid.' He offered me any car I wanted, within reason, and this was what I wanted. I like prowling around out in the desert, and this baby is the ticket. He also pays my rent and gives me spending money, again, within reason. I like this baby." I patted the dash.
"What about you?"
"Well, I don't actually have a 'job,' but I get paid."
"For?"
"I attend social functions with Dad. I'm kinda like the hostess, and they pay me well."
"Ah, does your mom not like schmoozing?"
"I have no idea," she said. "I haven't seen her in like 10 years."
"Oh... sorry. I guess I put my foot in it."
