0 comments/ 13306 views/ 0 favorites Fortune Shines Ch. 02 By: zestyandshy (To the reader: This is the second in a string of many correspondences between a former professor and myself. It started out to be just a harmless little distraction for myself, to break up the day. It became so much more, so unrepentantly.) * She silently scolded herself. She let the day slip past with thoughts of lust, thoughts of wrapping her slightly damp panties around her fingers and forcing them into his mouth as she slid on top of him. "C'mon, get a grip. This is just for play." After the day wound down and night saturated the air with its damp chill, she went upstairs to settle for the evening. She began to draw herself a bath. This was going to be a bubble bath night for sure. Securing a drink from the fridge, she hauled herself back up to the bathroom were her bath waited for her so she could soak away the day's dramas. What a crazy idea it was to approach an English professor as an email partner in crime. She became a bit embarrassed at her sophomoric attempt at a descriptive paragraph. It was obvious that she didn't proof it with a second read before she sent it off. She glided herself into the almost scalding water. Once she relaxed in her well-rehearsed position, she began to think about Mr. Fortune. Her thoughts wandered, as she tried to pop bubbles with the water spitting from her lazily pumping fists. "I wonder if he's trying to methodically go through each of his classes to figure out who or is it whom I am. I really need to look that who/whom thing up. Will he send out clues tomorrow during class to try and tempt me to come out of hiding? Does he have an idea of who I am? Will he work little bits and pieces of descriptions of the person he thinks I am into the story? How is he going to describe me? Heck, I wonder if he's even given my character a name yet?" Her mind continued to wander idly, as did her hands. The bubble bath made her skin feel silken. She slightly stroked her nipple with her right hand and slid the other down to her stomach. She loved the hot sudsy water. She thought about Mr. Fortune some more. The anonymity made the techno trysts so exciting to her. She began to caress her thigh. Mmmm... she hoped he would continue to correspond. Her hand moved up to her submerged lips. She stroked herself softly down there as her other hand began to encircle her breasts, in one lazy circle after another. She sighed Mr. Fortune's name twice before she slipped deeper into herself. She woke early the next morning, anxious to see if she had new mail. "Not a name, necessarily, but convince me you are who(and what) you claim--I mean the thrill is all/only yours, dahling." "Hmm...good point," she thought. He's either going to play or not. She typed and retyped her reply. She had no idea how to combat his uneasiness. "I present you with a possible bit of insurance that your time with this story should continue. You have looked at me. You have wanted me. Granted, you have discretionary taste when it comes to women. It is, as always, up to you to continue. You can view this simply as a developing story line, perhaps an excerpt in your novel. I will also offer you some advice. The odds of meeting me are guaranteed nil if you discuss this further with anyone. Anonymity is the key factor. I selected you based on many qualifications, your prudence being of the utmost of importance. Remember, this is a very small town. Life is as boring or as exciting as we choose to make it. Right now, mine's extraordinarily exciting. I'm still swooning after reading your installment. I look forward to future collaborations. I'm sure you won't disappoint. If you don't name me soon I swear I'll call myself Ethel." Thinking that she had done the best she could, she sent it. She was able to stay away from her computer for almost 30 minutes. The torment became to much and she checked her account for new additions. "BINGO!" "Oh swell. I know an "Ethel" as it happens, which brings us, or at least me, back to my last comments--or qualms, concerns....Which are not at all about content, but all about (isn't the techno-term?) the "content provider." And yeah, yeah, yeah "anonymity," "prudence," "small town," and oaths of eternal silence ("...if [I] discuss this further..." suggests that I have already: Semantics, darling?) and all of that. And what, exactly, is it you fear? BUT. But every assurance, all the control you enjoy (and sure, I can dig the power, the frisson...) in your anonymity is at my expense; all/any risk is mine, none yours. Imagine the situation reversed--our positions (ahem) reversed. Just exactly as with those other positions--Turn over, my dear?--compliance and pleasure derive from the complete absence of, or the total opposite of anonymity: You would be titillated to have an anonymous phone caller suggest forcing damp undergarments into your mouth? You would perform a strip tease (actual or by email) for someone "selected...on many qualifications" if that someone was other, or turned out to be, than you assumed? Just asking, you know? I may have "discretionary taste [no comment for the present on your word choice] when it comes to women"--emphasis on the gender and the plural entirely mine, though certain ex's might argue the former merely modified the latter--but suggesting I've looked at you and wanted you provides little discretion and limits your possible identity to, what, half the females I see every day? That's pretty dang anonymous, all right. So again, not a name, necessarily, but convince me. You can figure out how; quite obviously you're intelligent (now that is sexy). Look, dropping the soap in a candle-lit (or dark?) shower for two merely presents additional lubricious possibilities; doing so in a crowded locker room shower is so way wrong." Fortune Shines Ch. 03 (To the reader: This is the third in a string of many correspondences between a former professor and myself. It started out to be just a harmless little distraction for myself, to break up the day. It became so much more, so unrepentantly.) * She still couldn't believe that he was still in the game. She wanted him so badly. It was becoming increasingly difficult to not go over to his office, just to see f she could detect any suspicion. The rush of excitement was almost unbearable. She decided to answer his questions but she was worried that she may slip something in her responses, either purposely or not, to lead him to her. "There is no risk. I just happen to dig your masculine passionate style, and am simply looking for a little lyrical adventure into something different. No harm – just play. C'mon, I know you want to. Ok, no more panties in the mouth. That was a bit forward – Bwaahhh ha ha. Yes, it would creep me out if the situation were reversed. I wouldn't have replied in the first place. You, however, did. I will remain one of the countless women you could see in a day. Intelligent you say, hmmm, in a junior college. That should narrow it down quite a bit, if that is where I come from. As for the anonymity, tell me what you need. I'll see what I can do to help – but don't hold your breath for clues. So, you won't strip for strangers. Pretend I'm who you want me to be. Help me get there and I'll play along. My report card lends testament that I play well with others. Let's see, I think we are up to a narrative paragraph aren't we? You first." Having sent her email, she forced herself away from the computer. The day brought a unmanageable amount of tasks to be completed in an unrealistic amount of time. This "to do" list may have been "doable" if she wasn't so distracted. She kept picturing his rugged face, his slender body and those oh so talented hands. She didn't know that by mid afternoon, she had an email waiting for her. She received her narrative paragraph. "Every February on or near Valentine's Day, candy and suggestive notes to instructors are sent; I got mine this afternoon. A while back, one such recipient attempted to respond, guessed wrong, alarmed a student, thoroughly embarrassed himself, and was censured by the administration. Hmmmm, no risk, eh? Another recipient (horribly afflicted with humor-impairment, I'll grant) guessed right but misread the intent alarmingly. Oops. From time to time, I, like many instructors, am given to understand that certain...possibilities...exist. These...communications...run the gamut from bizarre to disturbed to benign to very infrequently intriguing--and please don't misunderstand: I'm not speaking solely of flirtatious content; in fact, it's most often not. My difficulties lie in discerning differences, capisce? You make assertions and stand on them as fact. You have anonymity and reveal only what you wish. You know all, and I'm left to guess everything. I can accede to your anonymity, I can do without your name, I'm not looking for "clues." But one-sided ,disembodied, random erotic musings? These kids today, what do they call it? Keeping it real? Yeah , that sounds good, Miss Smart(ie) Panties, reality; you are real, right? Convince me, prove it--that intelligence thang what make you so attractive. And your panties anywhere--but especially on the floor by your bed--aren't scary. It's 'em old jockstraps scare the bejeezus outta me. Why has the typeface changed? Reportcard says you play well with others? Well then, play fair, give a little; show, don't tell. P.S. I don't have a car." "Wow" she thought to herself. "I hadn't thought that this would be scary." She didn't know how to reveal herself to him without literally revealing herself. She had to come up with a solution or risk him dropping out of the fun. "This was to be fun. Not scary. I didn't have any clue to the problems that would exist with this. Star-crossed I guess. Ha-Ha said the sky indeed. So many issues, so little bandwidth. I can't do anything about your phobias. I could send you a picture and claim it is I. Each one of those "episodes" could have been avoided by not taking action. So much drama... Keep this up and you may need to prove to me that you aren't female. I had no idea I had a thing for men with gay followings, first Henry Rollins, now you. It's a gamble, solely on your part. That's why I asked for help with a story, and maybe a little character development. This would give you a level of distance. If I wanted non-fiction, I would have tapped you on the shoulder, ergo, no show. I enjoyed the descriptive paragraph much better :0)" She paced and fretted and paced some more. She didn't know if he'd received her email yet or even if he'd respond. She wanted to find out when his offices hours were so she could at least find comfort in knowing the times when he couldn't reply. Then, there came the welcomed number 1 accompanied with "New Mail" in her inbox. Yahoo! She was now smitten. "A Stately Canter Getting ready for bed later, she was still annoyed with him, with his hesitancy, with his resistance to what she knew was the way to do things--men! Oh sure, she was aware she had the smallest tendency toward hissy fits, but this plainly wasn't that, nope, he was just, well, wrong. A woman knew, women always did, women always had. The realization led her to recall a long ago anthropology class, that cute prof who claimed our ancient female ancestors had taken control of the breeding act and, in the process, invented love-making. Figures, she thought. Something about females proferring themselves sexually while wading in shallows, inviting rear entry which allowed them to both suckle young and control the violence, the brutality of male-initiated sex. Duh-uh, she thought, easier, slippery, nicer--and that rear position, mmm. Her thoughts jumped to an article she'd recently read about the Brit writer D.H. Lawrence, his, at least in her opinion, kinky connection between horses and sexuality, their "haunches" he called them, the way a large horse's muscular haunches moved, flexed, rippled as the animal trotted "a stately canter." Standing at the window and ocuppied with her thoughts, she sensed him enter the room behind her, but not ready to drop her little snit, she didn't turn to him. She felt his arm slide around her waist, his hand lightly press her tummy; his left hand rested on her hip. When he nuzzled the back of her neck, she relaxed her rigid posture a little; he pulled her against him and stroked the smooth skin around her belly button. A single finger slid beneath her panties and brushed the top of her hair; in response she pushed back against him slightly and felt him slide across the fabric covering her bottom. His hand slid lower and working gently found her. Steering her with the hand on her hip, he turned them both to face the bed. She took a step apart from him to the bed's side. Still behind her, he stopped her there, slid both hands down her hips, and dropped her panties to the floor. She heard and then felt his jeans drop as well. She put one knee up on the bed to climb on, but again he halted her. She felt him slide up between her thighs and press against her sex. Slowly, delicately, steadily he pumped against her bottom. She thought he meant to enter her there, but he reached for two pillows, stacked them, and directed her up and over them. She sank down, her bottom arcing upward. She waited for him to part her legs, but sliding lingeringly over her, he straddled both of her legs and eased gently into her, making the moment last. Down, down, all the way in, slowly. At the very end, he began a langorous withdrawal that seemed to last moments, pausing at the last instant before beginning an achingly slow return that forced a quiet moan from her. She found the rhythym and surrendered to it, the pace never speeding or slowing, but steady, measured, easy, deep...stately. She rocked against the slow thrusts and tightened softly on the withdraws; her bottom moved, flexed, rippled beneath his hands. The stately canter went on. At the window, she sighed, dropped the curtain back into place, and turned to the empty bed. Coupla questions: How do you know that I "wanted" you? Why me now? What do you mean it's a small town? Yeah, so what? What are you scared of? Why? None of this is about your precious identity & name; it's about who you are other than that. Play well with others? Then play fair with me! Explain yourself. Come on, help me out here" Fortune Shines Ch. 04 (To the reader: This is the fourth in a string of many correspondences between a former professor and me. It started out to be just a harmless little distraction for myself, to break up the day. It became so much more, so unrepentantly.) * Yee-haw! Now Mr. Fortune knew something his granddaddy didn't, the real reason the South lost the WAAH. Those darned Confederates worked against their better judgment. Victory was hers. Now to get to business, she thought. A precursory scan landed her eyes on a few words ..."little snit". Her grumbling was getting in the way of her reading. She reminded herself that it's just a story, only a story. She was just a character. With a deep breath, she began again, now with her third person reply. "As always, the first read through was for understanding, the second was for enjoyment. She wondered if even he knew the other D.H. Lawrence connection. Lawrence and ladies with prostrated posteriors had a commonality. This correlation left her a bit confused as to what actually happened in Fortune's story. Was it anal? In Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover and in The Rainbow, the lovers confirmed their devotion with the most forbidden act. She was thinking way too much. So, she started to read the story over. This time, it worked. She allowed his words to envelop her like an erotic layer of warmth. She pictured them, the teacher and herself; she took this picture with her. This was her luxury, a more accurate portrayal than he had. She relished in the thought of his touch. She wanted to hear the sound of his zipper. She wanted to push back against him and feel his nakedness against hers. She wanted to feel her body give way to him. The heat welled inside of her. She thought of what his kiss would be like, his mouth and hers. She tingled and shook from the inside out. Every second pushed her further into rapture, into ecstasy. She bucked harder against her lover. He worked her over, pushing himself deeper inside... Afterwards, she managed to get up and make her way to the shower. Her lover was left wondering who Mr. Fortune was. Now to answer your question. How did you know that I wanted you? I have a cowgirl hatJ. Avoiding the tell tale signs that would lead you right to me, you once publicly growled at me with your eyes in such a way that even the bone headed guy that sat beside me picked up on your undressing stare. He proceeded to tease me mercilessly the whole semester. He was pretty dim, and your signal...not so much. Why me now? Do you mean why you or why now? Small town? It's a small community. I fear that exposure of a prohibited affair, even of this type, would be detrimental." Emailing had now become her favorite past time. She now understood how a person could be sucked into geekdom. This new vice could turn into a vise without her noticing. She didn't really care at this point. She was too intoxicated by the thrill of the game. It's just a game. She kept reminding herself. Early the next morning, even before her hot chocolate, she was logged on and checking for emails. He didn't disappoint. "Lawrence, eh? How very nice, and precisely what I meant about intelligent is sexy & about the you behind (no pun intended--HAH!) the name. A cowgirl hat? What about boots? As in "...she crossed her boots at her ankles...." Avoiding tell tail (oops) signs is just fine, but your fleshing (low, whistling "oooh" here) out that other you is so deeply appreciated that I'd do anything--any thing--for (or to, or in, or best of all with you?). Fantasy, afterall, does have form and clarity--for me that need not extend to your name and your face, especially if the withholding is part of your buzz, but (preferrablyyours pressed tightly against...) my preference is defined eroticism as opposed to random, general, vague--I'll take a real fantasy woman over fantasies about women any, um, night. That you understand that difference and tell me about yourself, well, I'll yours if you'll mine.Yes, dahling? Oops, class." He's so cheesy, she thought. Unknowingly, she wore that smile he gave her all day long. Fortune Shines Ch. 05 (To the reader: This is the fifth in a string of many correspondences between a former professor and me. It started out to be just a harmless little distraction for myself, to break up the day. It became so much more, so unrepentantly.) She didn't know which one was more taxing – keeping this online affair a secret from her friends or keeping her identity from Mr. Fortune. She replied to his email, still not sure which was worse. "OK, tit for tat. I have to admit this is a lopsided deal. Specifically, what form of currency are you requesting? Yes, I have boots too. I also need to develop this a bit better. I really never thought it would get this far in the first place. I have no foundation to send the characters from. Random acts of lust are great, when in person, but don't make much of a story. I'm also a bit curious. What's going through that ponytail-capped head of yours? Do you accept my anonymity or do you try to figure out which one I am? I sometimes feel a bit of nervous tension as I approach my vehicle. I fear that there will be a note on the windshield, from you, requesting my presence." She found herself now spending more of her work time just waiting for his responses. She was hooked into her own game yet she wasn't the game master. She'd even looked up his schedule so she knew when not to expect an email. She laughed at herself. "I gotta get out more." Finally, his jocund email reply was received. "You are curious? A bit? Let's see, how do I respond to that (lightly drumming on my upper lip and moustache, squinting slightly into the near distance with an earnestly reflective gaze). You? Curious? Bless your fairly wonderful fanny (Oh, I so hope it is. Okay, is it? Prove it?), I can't for the life of me imagine how that must feel. Excuse me for just a moment here. Okay, I'm back now. What muffled laughter? What's that old marvelous Latin _expression? Paybacks are a mofo, I think it goes. Well, you do have my sympathy, and if there's ANYthing I can do to, shall we say, relieve the tension, don't hesitate to ask. But send me some polaroids, oops, a slip. Through my mind? Oh let's see....Intrigued curiosity, a strong sense of anticipation, some arousal--but that's all about the 500 this weekend, go 8 car! And absolutely those same things about you.... The anonymity thing. Yes, I do accept it and bow (hey, while I' m down there....) to your wishes. Of course I wonder who you are, just as you would. Actively try to figure out your identity? Besides the fact that my options are limited, I'm essentially down with my man Keats, who said something to the effect of: To be in the presence of mystery without reaching irritably for answers is a fuckin' blast. Such a way with words, 'em ol' poet dudes. Anticipation, you know? Getting off is wonderful: getting to that point's pretty damn fine too. Hey, you're in charge, no? A note on your car? Absolutely not. I figure you'll let me know when--or if--you desire contact. What's that ticking noise there, sugar britches? Okay?" Maybe she could bully her way through her lack of literary prowess but she needed substance to work from. Unfortunately that was lacking too. She didn't know much about Mr. Fortune. So far, she understood that he had a thing for girls in boots. He let her know that he was either into NASCAR, or was really excited about the number eight. This man was a walking inconsistency. What was he? Geography was the only link she could come up with. She was grabbing at straws and they all seemed to have holes in them. Maybe at the beach, or downtown? The little exhibitionist in her kicked in. She loved having sex outside, during a warm rain. The state park had been the most recent of destinations in her sights. She thought of the balmy summer showers in the early afternoons. She pictured them together, walking through the barely usable trails. She tried to not fast-forward to the "good" parts in her imagination but she just didn't have Mr. Fortune's self control. Her mind flashed to his tanned, wet, and very naked body. The two of them, in the woods, sitting belly to belly, intertwined in each other. She was wrapped around him and he was rocking them both. His hips bucked slightly upward, back and forth, every so slowly, feeling every inch inside of her. She clung on, as he worked himself deeper into her. She fell into the rhythm of the sway. With her eyes closed, she felt everything. He picked up the pace, so she bit his shoulder to show him two could play at that game. She relished his salty taste. Then their cadence began to take on a life of its own; it became hungry. Their hips grinded, almost angrily, into each other. He could hear her stifled moans, stirring from deep within her. She wanted more of him. The rain became heavier, provoking them to an even faster pace. Their bodies where soaked with sweat and rain. She threw her head back and he lunged in, to sink his teeth. She let out a little whimper but then begged for more. Oh, how she wanted to scream in ecstasy. Yup, there she went again. She had to work on the building and savoring of potential energy. Maybe that comes with time or experience. She wondered if reading Keats would help. That's silly– she had her own quazi personal Keats to show her the ropes. "Ok, as for "getting this far" part that evoked such comic relief, I mean, c'mon. How many girlie plotted schemes have you ever seen that were well thought through? This was to be "Shock and Awe" and it didn't carry a well-crafted follow through plan. I never thought I'd have the bravado to post that envelope in the first place, much less to have it pay off in such a remarkable way. I simply didn't "brain storm" before hand. My judgment was somewhat clouded by erotic thoughts. It still is. There should be a Q & A session.? A drywaller or an intellect? I assume that country music isn't far behind. I need to find some common ground. Age- nope. Work? Nah-ah. Hmmm - I wonder if you're a boxer or brief kind of guy. I half assume you already know whom I am and are keeping it to yourself. Paranoia is now biting me in the ass. (I'll leave that one alone.) I have to say that I truly enjoy your titillating tales. They bring me to a much heightened state of arousal. Pity, you aren't allowed to reap what you sow. Tick tock – tick tock. ~Ethel" Then she had to wait until the next day. Drudgery kept the clocks hands from moving forward. She had never looked forward to the next day as she did at the moment she sent her email. She was addicted. Looking for her next fix like a crazed woman she logged on as quickly as she could early the next morning and tried to go about her day. She was in denial that she was hitting the "check mail" button like a teen hits redial on a phone in attempts to be the 94th caller to win that big prize from a radio show. Finally that familiar announcing sound went of. She hurdled a pile of laundry and an excited dog but lacked the beautiful landing. " The following should please you--and trust me on this one, babe, pleasuring you is a matter I've been devoting some thought to--I haven't the slightest notion of who you are, never mind what car you drive, which course you took (I am assuming you did--you certainly have a familiarity with my class-related stuff) or when, if you're actually attending classes now, or basically anything that might identify you. Feel better now? I'm in no real position (oh the possibilities there...) to request anything of you, but I'd ask simply that you tell the truth as you reveal--that play fair thang. Otherwise, I'm enjoying the little intellectual strip tease, a little tough to give up control I admit, but yours is a most stimulating performance. I'd say your scheme is working just fine. Oh, and about your paranoia. If your bottom is indeed in need of some attention, say some gentle massage of the affected area, the careful application of some soothing lotion, I do have some experience in such treatments and stand ready (oh absolutely!) to provide deep, satisfying relief. At your pleasure, ma'am. And the reaping and the sowing? Personally, I think it's plowing time in your lush fields of opportunity, no, I know it is. The plow's tip moistened by those warm showers you love sinks into the rich, fecund earth, and gently but steadily turns back luxuriant furrows that they may receive the sun's (did I mention I'm Leo?) warm offering. At furrow end, the plow turns, pauses trembling, and with a shuddering throb its length plunges eagerly and deeply back into the damp, hot richness. So, um, you garden? Quick Q & A: Boxers/briefs: Neither. And your own style, sweet pants? C&W music: Absolutely, but second to Allman Brothers and Steve Earle. I stand and remove my hat when "Dixie" is played; I fight when Skynyrd's dissed. Timely quote from "Free Bird": How 'bout you! Really darlin' ...how about you? Tell me more. NASCAR: I cried when Dale Earnhart passed, I pull now for Junior's 8 car. Drywaller/intellect: Smart ass carpenter, you know, kinda that renaissance-man thang--love to show you some nailing techniques. Common ground of age: "Nope," you said. That way threw me. I talk in class'bout contents-technique-persona? I read your persona as not necessarily in my age ballpark, but definitely NOT at great remove--which you aren't saying. But you "read", well, mature? Absolutely wise and clever--your intelligence is very sexy. No foolin', I can't recall much, maybe any student writing that remotely approaches yours--and not just because of our, um, contents. All of which is a long way around to saying, again, I'm clueless about who you are, but you sho' nuff got my...interest...up. Your best disguise is your writing; be truthful, pull-ease! Beer/wine/brown likker/none? Again: Why me and why now? You saw me wanting you in my eyes? That's alarming, somewhat. I'd like to think I'm not completely obvious--oh well. Not exactly any response from you, was there? Yep, I' m curious. Uh-oh, weekend comin' & no home computer. How vexatious. I really need those polaroids." Damn. No contact during the weekend. She quickly typed and hoped to get another email reply before his weekend started. She couldn't understand what she had become so manic. She didn't want to discover that she really wanted him to catch her. "Leo? Are you trying to turn into one with all that hair? :) I glean from the content you have provided that you are an ass man. I chuckle your homophobia and your concern of which gender is doing the "Catching". Must be a product of your age. As for truth in advertising, it's a women's prerogative to accentuate the positive to askew the less so. Hedges are trimmed. Undies with skirts. I enjoy all forms of rock, from Buddy Holly to System of a Down. Van Halen was a biggie in my household, music varied wildly from current to past rock. Hmm – classic rock like Steve Miller band and the Eagles are as close as I can get to C&W. My mom wept when Jerry Garcia died. renaissance-man... yeah, I bet all the girls fall for that one. As for my style of writing, I'm stoked to hear such words from you. It's from the circles that I orbit and well read parents. I have a "thang" for older men. They have a "thang" for me. My current "man" is 10 years my senior. Fortunately, I dig the moustache. I have other secret fetishes. I think my parents glorified the 70's for me. My choice of man is a bit abnormal in the common sense. Some of my choices in men skive my friends but they relent on teasing me b/c they think that a man's money may play a hand. They aren't my true friends, just the _mocha frappe mini moo decaf girls that are forced upon me. Really, I'm simple. For my sake, I'm glad there isn't a bunch of veterans in wheelchairs, sporting said moustaches, around today. Kinda feels weird to declare that one in the open. I would have been the girl Adam Ant wrote that song. "Don't drink, don't smoke..." I do enjoy sparkling apple cider and was much bummed when I found out that champagne tasted nothing like the sort. As for ocular undressing, I wore boots for you on that particular day. " As she sent the email she noted how now she hated Fridays and how fucked up that thought really is.