I knew she was trouble from the moment I first saw her in my creative writing class. She was a college boy's dream. Shoulder length blonde hair, perfectly beautiful young face, nicely tapered legs, tanned and healthy looking skin, a sweet little round ass. The only thing missing were a nice pair of tits. Deana, that was her name, had very small tits, but the rest of her was so perfect, it made no difference. How I knew she was trouble was her eye contact.
I had set a small in class assignment near the end of the first day so I could get a writing sample from each of the 15 students enrolled in the course, a sort of baseline. I allowed just the last 10 minutes of class for this. Every time I looked up from the lectern at the front of the room, Deana was staring directly at me, or more accurately, into me, like she knew what I was thinking.
I teach in a small liberal arts college in Florida. It's expensive and has some prestige in the area of arts and letters. It was a struggle for me to get here. I taught for years in a community college, followed by grunt work as an adjunct at a university, where I managed to build up a substantial history of publications that helped me finally land this position. No way was I ever going to jeopardize a gig like this with any sort of dalliance with an undergrad student. Oh, some of the young women gave off signals, but I am careful never to return the slightest hint of interest. I don't even allow my door to be closed during office hours. It's a small college in a small town. I don't give anybody anything to talk about.
The short assignment was for the students to write a third person biography, the sort of thing that would accompany a submission to a lit journal. I didn't care so much about the details of the student's lives, I just wanted to know if they could write a coherent sentence. At the end of the class I had them bring their papers up and hand them to me on their way out. I noticed that Deana made sure she was last in line.
She was dressed in tight fitting shorts that left little to the imagination and a plain white tank top. While there wasn't much of a bust-line under that shirt, it was obvious there was no bra beneath it either. I could see a hint of pronounced nipples under the thin material, perhaps due to the air conditioning in the building.
"I'm really looking forward to this class," Doctor Ellison. "I've read both of your poetry collections and your novella. I am a big fan."
"It's not doctor, at least not yet, and we won't be doing any poetry in this class," I told her. "This class will be exclusively fiction. You read the syllabus, I trust."
"Oh, of course Sir," Deana gave me a wry kind of smile as she turned in her paper, the sort of smile that should be reserved for someone she knows intimately. I hoped I wasn't blushing. She held the paper close to herself in such a way that I would have to reach very close to her lithe body to take it from her. When I reached out for it, she didn't release it right away, leaning forward, bringing herself even closer. "Let me know how you like it."
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"Deana Martins was born in Georgia and majored in communications at Coldfield College. She is working on two manuscripts, one, a book of poems, the other a novel about a young woman who falls in love with her college professor, doing anything she can to finally possess that which she cannot have. She is an avid student of literature and will pursue a writing career upon graduation, though she has already been published in several online journals."
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"I want each of you to bring in something you have been working on recently or if there is nothing suitable, I want you to write something of one or two thousand words. It doesn't have to be a finished piece, but it should be something you want to work on throughout the semester. It can be a short story, the first chapter of a novel, anything you think you want to keep at until it is finished."
It was the second week of class. The group of students was lively and engaging. I was looking forward having some fun with this group of seniors. They showed a lot of curiosity and motivation. Teaching this class was my reward from the English Department for teaching all of the shit freshman comp classes over the years and I wanted to make the most of it. The following week, Deana brought this:
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"Dani gulped the first time she met James. She'd always had a thing about older men but had never done anything about it. She was never short of male attention, but the high school and college boys she had gone out with, and a few she had even slept with, left her with an empty feeling and she regretted every time her own physical needs had let her down. Every sexual encounter in her past was void of humanity, a deep down satisfaction that she craved. She sensed in Dr. Erickson, a need that matched her own, a longing for something better, an intensity neither of them had ever known."
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That was Deana's opening paragraph. It was transparent as glass. Dani β Deana, James β Jack, Ellison β Erickson. She wasn't even trying to disguise her intent. The writing itself lacked maturity, though at least there was competence in handling the language. The chapter, at least what I thought of as a chapter, went on to describe Dani's history in some detail. It included some pretty steamy passages.
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"Michael was intent on taking my virginity. I recognized that almost at once. He was an attractive boy and a popular athlete, but not terribly intelligent. He felt entitled, coming from a prominent family, like my body should belong to him just because of who he was. I was blinded by his popularity and by the access he gave me to the circle of popular kids in his orbit. I held out for weeks, placating Mick with hand-jobs and eventually even agreeing to suck his cock. He insisted, when I did, on cumming in my mouth. I gagged the first time, not liking it at all. After a couple of more blowjobs, I decided that if I wanted to continue seeing him, I should give in to him, let him be the first boy to fuck me. It would feel, somehow, less demeaning that swallowing his sperm. Mick was not deserving of the kind of intimacy I should feel while giving a loving blowjob. I wanted to save that for a real man, a real lover."
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