Page 47 of The Love Interest
As for the degree of my handsomeness, I have no intention of minimizing it, so you’ll just have to deal with it. That said, I would very much appreciate it if you could be significantly less beautiful, funny, intelligent, sweet, sassy, and fragrant. Also, if you could have a less gorgeous ass and wear a metal bra under several layers of thick sweaters until next May, that would be great, thanks.
As for what kind of man I am… I’m the kind of man who likes poetry, the Beatles, long walks on the beach at sunset, and torturing himself with filthy fantasies of fucking a hot, younger, off-limits student and eating her out until she begs forgiveness for calling him “Assface.”
I wasn’t planning on outlining what I would have done to you in a hypothetical past-tense situation—I was planning on telling you what I want to do to you after my contract is up as a teacher. But since you asked: If you had grabbed the big bulge in the front of my pants while we were kissing, I would have groaned again. You would have covered my mouth with your hand, to remind me that we had to be quiet. Because we were in my office. I wouldn’t have wanted to pause long enough to find some way of covering up that window on the door, so you would have had to keep your back against it. I would have held your gaze, lifted up your shirt, and then lowered myself down to suck on your perfect perky tits, because they were asking for it. You would have had to cover your own mouth, with both hands, to keep from crying out because I would have kissed your tits so thoroughly you would have come just from that. Then, when you were limp and dazed from that surprise orgasm, I would have dropped to my knees, pulled down your jeans, pushed your panties to the side, and applied the kind of pressure and friction you needed on your clit with my tongue. I then would have massaged your clit with my thumb while fucking you with my tongue. I would have told you how fucking good you taste and marveled at how wet you were, all for me. Because your pussy is mine. You would have screamed my name over and over while shuddering and writhing in ecstasy, and then I would have been fired and it would have brought shame upon my father and, by extension, the entire Ford family and Creative Writing Department.
So, it’s a good thing I can control myself, and it’s a good thing that didn’t happen.
I need to stop writing now.
Yours in moderately erotic epistolary adventures,
Me
P.S. Hands off my heart chakra, but tell me more about your lady parts and this “yoni” business. I’m intrigued.
* * *
Dear E,
Welp.
I guess I’m also glad it didn’t happen, but if that’s really how it would have gone down, I personally think it would have been worth it.
Just kidding.
And yeah. It was totally unnecessary for you to remind me not to publicly discuss how I would have hypothetically grabbed your crotch. But thanks for the scholarly advice!
I can’t wait to get the class’s feedback on the chapter I’ve been working on. Or maybe I should just share the unrated version with you and turn in a PG-13 version for class consumption.
I also need to stop writing now,
Me
P.S. I thought I told you not to ask about my yoni.
P.P.S. I thought you were going to send me your work in progress.
* * *
Dear F,
Please find an excerpt from my work in progress attached and burn it along with this note when you’re done reading it.
And send your unrated version over immediately, if not sooner.
Thanks,
Me
22
JACK IRONS
The Departure by Emmett Ford (Jack Irons Series, Book Six) – Chapter Ten
Jack Irons didn’t consider many people his friend, but there were a few people he could trust and there were a few who owed him a favor. He had one trustworthy friend who owed him a favor, who also happened to own a cabin. It was up by Lake Tahoe, off the beaten track. This was the best kind of friend, and it was the best kind of cabin. It was clean and private. It had the best home security system money could buy, and Jack had already acquainted himself with the premises and every possible escape route. The water pressure in the shower was excellent. More importantly, Jack was taking a shower in the master bathroom while Catalina was in the kitchen making dinner.
After zigzagging across California and western Nevada for three days straight, this was a welcome interlude in what had felt like an epic, potentially fatal, improvised jazz performance. Of the two of them, Jack was never quite sure who was the solo artist and who was the accompanying musician. He didn’t know who was seducing whom, and he no longer cared. All he knew was he liked the world a little more again now that Catalina was in it. Even though his entire life had been disrupted and keeping her alive and safe just might kill him.
