28 comments/ 94353 views/ 58 favorites Back to Grad School By: Dinsmore He clearly remembered the day he had signed up for the class in which he was now seated. It was an 800 level course intended for graduate students pursuing a Masters or Doctorate. The registrar had informed him that the class was restricted to twenty students and that there were strict prerequisites. Furthermore, since he was not a degree candidate, he would have to schedule an appointment with the professor, Doctor Marjorie Stevens or the department head and provide evidence that he was suitable for the course. There was room in the class, the registrar assured him, but he needed to quickly get approval and then she could register him. Dr. Stevens had not yet returned to campus from a summer sabbatical; the department head would have to be the source of his approval. Deciding that a personal appeal, rather than a phone call, might carry more weight, he trundled over to the building which housed the English Department and found the office of Dr. George Murphy. Jack Powell was forty-eight years old, stood a little over six feet tall and was exceedingly handsome with his powder blue eyes and the tinges of gray highlighting his dark blond hair. Since he certainly wasn't the typical undergrad wanting to bother Dr. Murphy with a grade dispute, the secretary dropped her normal gate-keeper visage and granted him entrance to the inner sanctum of the department head. Dr. Murphy, handsome in his own right, was obviously very close in age to Jack. Jack's two plus decades in the business world had honed his ability to check out another person's office and quickly find common ground. Before Dr. Murphy had returned to his desk from chatting with his secretary, Jack knew from the professor's ego wall what he was proud of; he knew where he had been educated, his civic and social interests and the fact that he had served in the U.S. Army. He had quickly calculated George Murphy's age, scanned his book shelf and peeked at his music collection. "Ah, Mr. Powell..." "Doctor, please call me Jack. It's a little weird to be called mister by someone of my own generation. From what I see on the wall behind you, it also appears that we were also both Captains in the Army at about the same time." As he had done so many times before Jack had opened a door that would allow a more intimate encounter with George Murphy---who quickly reintroduced himself as George. After a short but warm dialogue which establish core commonalities, Jack got to the point. "Dr. Murphy...George. I know you're very busy so I won't take much of your time. I'm very anxious to take Dr. Stevens' graduate course in narrative fiction. I'm not a degree candidate; here are my transcripts. I have a BS from the University of Virginia with a major in economics and a minor in English---over forty semester hours in the minor. I graduated Summa Cum Laude." Pausing for effect Jack continued. "I also have an MBA from Northwestern along with a smattering of other graduate course work I've done over the years---almost all of which is in literature. I'm actually writing full time---my second career, as it were." George Murphy examined the transcripts carefully. "Why this particular course, Jack?" "I've read Dr. Stevens' work---all of it. She examines some themes and specific character traits that, as a writer, I struggle with. I believe her course can help fill in some pieces of the puzzle in my own writing. I'm particularly intrigued by her female characters; they're strong and assertive but always eminently feminine and engagingly playful. As I'm sure you know as a writer, it can be a real challenge for a male to find the essential nuance and ennui of a female protagonist." "Jack paused again to let his words sink in. He was in full selling mode. "I have had some commercial success as a writer; I've published a number of short stories in reputable periodicals and have just entered into an agreement to publish an anthology." Jack handed George the list of published works; it was, Jack knew, a reasonably impressive list of publications. "Currently I am concentrating on a story---which may well evolve into a novel---in which the male-female relationships over shadow the yarn, so to speak. It's a new area for me in writing but I've become addicted to it. It may well become my primary story theme. I firmly believe Dr. Stevens' course would be invaluable in my evolving style as a writer." Everything Jack had said was truthful; he had attempted to craft it in a style that would appeal to the academic---and the writer---in Dr. George Murphy. He had succeeded. "Strong and assertive but always eminently feminine and engagingly playful." George mused out loud. "You're absolutely right; not only does that describe her heroines but it also fits Maggie—Dr. Stevens---to a tee. You're obviously more than qualified to take her course. I'm sorry the university had to put you through the rigmarole; her course is very popular. Too often some cheeky young grad student without a scintilla of writing ability or preparation tries to slip in. It's a waste of a precious seat in the class. On the other hand I'm very glad to have met you." George signed the course approval slip. "Don't be a stranger! Maybe we can grab a bite to eat or a beverage during the semester---and I really mean that. By the way---Powell---any relationship to the Powell family endowing the new business center?" Jack smiled, but did not answer. "I think I already know the answer, Jack. One of the largest private contributions this school has ever received. I'm both touched and impressed that you didn't choose to throw around your clout with the Board of Visitors. No quid pro quo ante expected but should you again feel desperately philanthropic, the English department..." "I'd love to chat with you about it over that lunch and beverage." The two man parted company with a warm handshake; Jack walked back over to the registrar with the precious signed approval slip clutched in his hand. Dr. Marjorie Stevens...not Marge or Margie but Maggie. It fit her so perfectly...like Maggie the Cat. Jack had calculated from her curriculum vitae that she was approaching forty but she could easily have passed for much younger. She moved like a cat, always poised and often on the balls of her feet. She did not dress to entice but nothing about the simple loose fitting cotton blouse and skirt did anything to hide what lay beneath. Her hair, somewhere between blond and auburn, was perfectly complemented by a smattering of freckles. She wore not a hint of makeup; her rich full lips were inviting even without the blush of lipstick. The eyes were a sparkling emerald green and they bored into one with the intensity of someone who takes the task at hand extremely seriously. A bit of the Irish colleen from her mothers side? Maybe Stevens was a married name; she wore no ring. Discreet inquiries had confirmed that she was certainly not currently married. It was the smile that had captivated him; when Maggie smiled there was an earthy richness there that lit up her entire face; it was neither forced nor fake but alluringly real. It hinted at the playfulness that her writing style exhibited. It had not a hint of coyness. Her smile said, "You've pleased me, but don't even think of fucking with me---I'm way out of your league." Maggie Stevens was just finishing up describing the writing assignment for the following week. "In summary you're all going to take what may be your first foray into writing erotic fiction---not romance novel stuff, but good solid steamy---even nasty---prose. Certainly romance is an important ingredient in writing about good sex but it's how you get there that makes the difference between good fiction and recreational smut. All of the other elements which we have discussed in terms of character development and painting a picture are essential. On the other hand, we have to know---clearly understand---how these characters ended up in the sack...or wherever. And, as always, we need closure--- not some kind of Albert Camus ending---real closure. Any questions? Great! I'll see you all on Monday." Maggie Stevens was not one to hang around after class chatting with students who were all too often simply trying to gain brownie points. The majority of the students in any graduate class would never succeed as writers; they lacked the passion, the discipline and the basic ability to tell an interesting story. The percentage in this class was always a bit higher thanks to the screening process but there were only a couple that showed real promise. Most just hadn't lived long enough----didn't have the repertoire of life experiences. As the rest of the students filed out, one lingered; it was Jack Powell. He had not done so in the past. He was also head and shoulders above his classmates. He didn't need to garner brownie points; his writing was almost flawless, absolutely stellar, even gifted. His contributions in class discussion were not frequent but always dead on. His insights often followed an hour of others rambling around the point and tended to concisely encapsulate the core issue. He always won the Maggie smile, often accompanied by an admonishment to the rest of the class to, 'write it down, word for word'. He was also not the typical grad student. She knew very little about him other than the one line summary of his qualifications and his age. He was forty-eight but hardly looked it. He was not a degree candidate but possessed undergraduate and graduate degrees or experience which her boss had deemed sufficient. He was also the kind of man she found attractive. Obviously comfortable in his own skin, he could be assertive without being aggressive. He had an easy smile---never a smirk. As the oldest and the most articulate member of the class, he never demeaned the comments of others but chose instead to carefully and meticulously make his point without a hint of put down. Maggie liked him and respected him although she hardly knew him. She wondered why he was here...wondered what he thought he could possibly gain from her course. She never, ever, mixed socially with her students and the thought of an affair or even a friendship was out of the question. She'd made that mistake in grad school; it had led to a marriage that was over before it started. She would not make that same mistake as a full professor. "Yes Mr. Powell?" "Jack, Dr. Stevens, please. Mr. Powell makes me feel older than I already am." Making an exception to her normally iron clad rule, Maggie responded. "What can I do for you, Jack?" She gave no indication that he should reciprocate. "I'd like to schedule five or ten minutes with you to discuss the assignment." Jack responded. "Are you uncomfortable with it?" Maggie responded, still smiling but bordering on challenging. "Not at all. I've been writing erotic fiction for over a year now. It's still a new genre for me but one that I find very enjoyable. I've published a handful of stories in this vain. You indicated that you wanted 10,000 words; I have a story that I'm just putting the finishing touches on that tops out at 20,000. Neither my proof reader nor my editor have seen it, so it's still 'virgin', so to speak, just me. It's a good story; my publisher has accepted my last eight stories; this one is much better than those. They'll publish it." "I have no problem with that." Maggie responded. "As long as a professional editor hasn't had any input it would be acceptable to submit it. I've thoroughly enjoyed reading your other work so I'll waive the word length maximum in anticipation of a good read from you. Where can I get a look at your previous work in this genre? I'd be very interested to see how you've evolved." Jack Powell opened his briefcase and handed her a bound volume. "Dr. Stevens, this is just a loaner and not one to be shared. While it takes the form of an anthology, it includes many stories that weren't good enough—in my judgment---but in chronological order. It also includes, between each story, my own personal critique of each story. Bluntly, some are just recreational smut...as I was finding my way." "Great! I promise to scan through it over the weekend. Anything else?" "Yes, one more thing. The story I'd like to submit deals with a relationship between a professor and a student. It may hit a little close to home, as they say. If you are uncomfortable with that, I'll be more than happy to write something else for this class." It occurred to Maggie that Jack had been neither flirtatious nor lascivious in his statement and generally was concerned about how she would take the subject matter. She could be brutal with stories of this type based on her own personal experience. Still, she was intrigued. He was a damned good writer. Could he take a theme that she seldom enjoyed and make it work? "Not my favorite theme, Jack but go with your instincts." Maggie paused, making an instant, uncharacteristic decision. "Jack, you've piqued my interest. Do you have time to let me buy you a cup of coffee or do you need to get back to work or home to your family?" She was probing. "I'd like that very much, Dr. Stevens." Jack replied smiling softly. "And I no longer have either a day job or a family to get home to." Oh great! A struggling, out of work, middle aged writer, Maggie thought to herself. He had said, 'no longer had' which seemed to indicate that he had once had a family. Did he have children from that broken marriage as she did? It was just a cup of coffee; he was both handsome and enigmatic. What the hell. Maggie and Jack walked across the campus to a small contractor operated coffee shop which offered a reasonable facsimile of the national brand. They procured their coffee; she insisted on buying. He didn't argue or get all macho about it. "So what in the hell are you doing in my class? You're unquestionably a gifted writer. As good as your character development was day one, it just gets better with each story you write---particularly with your female characters. What do you hope to gain here?" She paused and made another uncharacteristic decision. "Outside of class, of course, call me Maggie. I'm violating a rule I never violate in terms of first names with students but you're obviously not the typical student." "Thank you, Maggie." Jack replied, obviously pleased by her gesture. "Actually you are the only reason I'm in this class, or more accurately, your writing. It astonishes me that you haven't had more commercial success; maybe your publisher doesn't see it. I've read everything you've done that I could get my hands on." Always the academic, Maggie responded. "What, precisely, do you find of value in my work?" "You do all the things that great writers should do but it is your female characters that first caught my eye. I absolutely adore your female characters. As a male it is the one area that I most often struggle with. My editor, a woman, is helpful at times, but your women have a richness and strength that captivates me. They are always strong, self assured and in charge---but always feminine and...playful. It is as if one can almost smell, taste and feel their womanhood---that remarkable three dimensional quality absent of stereotype." Without a hint of lewdness Jack Powell had just uttered the most patently erotic words Maggie had heard in a long time. He fucking gets it. My publisher doesn't get it. My few loyal fans get it. Smell, taste and feel...the words brought moistness to her special place. It occurred to Maggie that there was nothing sexier than a man who got it, appreciated it and even wanted it in his characters...and in his women? Jack Powell had at that moment graduated from an attractive male to the sexiest man on earth. Oh shit! You know nothing about him and you want to fuck him...maybe more. Slow down, girl. You've been here before. You're unlucky in love. You haven't had a real relationship in years. Your few casual dalliances have been unsatisfying and always far away from this campus. Your vibrator is your best friend. Don't even think about it. Finish your coffee and go home to your empty house and canine companion. What the hell. You don't have anything else to do. At least get to know him; he's your best student. He's very easy to be with and interesting to talk to. "Thank you, Jack. That's very kind. I seem to be having the desired effect; I've noted that the women in your class submissions have evolved remarkably over the past eight weeks. Tell me a little bit about Jack Powell and how he got here." "I'll attempt the short version. I always wanted to write---loved to write. I switched majors from English to business in hopes of getting a better job when I graduated from UVa. I had the same thoughts when I went for an MBA at Northwestern. I got married in the Army; when I left active duty, I had a family to support and took a job which I thought would pay well. We had two children, now in their twenties, a boy and a girl. The marriage lasted longer than it should have because we had children. We 'got married in a fever' as John and June Carter Cash so eloquently put it. Fortunately we parted as friends for the sake of the children." Jack paused to sip his coffee. "For twenty-two years, up until last year, I worked for the same company. You've heard of them; they're the second largest employer in town after the University, and currently a Fortune 50 corporation. Around fifteen years ago, they hit some hard times. At the time they were barely in the Fortune 500. Along with a handful of others, I took a chance and gambled my retirement and my life savings. I even took out a second mortgage; we depended on the fact that we could fix what was wrong. It was the right gamble although it became an almost 24/7 endeavor for many years. Two years ago we looked at the 25 billion dollar corporation which we had grown from less than a half a billion in under fourteen years and decided that it was time to cash in or out depending on your perspective. We took it public and agreed to stay on for a year or so to help with the transition to new management---which we hand picked. We were all tired. The original seven of us still hold seats on the board; we hold the majority. I'm very close to my kids who both live on the West Coast and I have an amiable relationship with my ex-wife. Now it's just me, my puppies and my writing." Jack paused then continued; he wanted Maggie to know him. He wanted to know her. "I like a good cigar occasionally and am very partial to full, rich, deep and complex California Zinfandels with a few remarkable Cabernets thrown in. I have no criminal record and am not involved with anyone...haven't been since I can't remember when. I live alone outside of town about thirty minutes from here on a few acres. I putter in the garden and enjoy working with my hands---when I'm not writing. I sleep in a custom made oversized bed with a big fluffy sled dog and an oversized Weimaraner. I had it made in hopes of getting enough room to sleep comfortably, but neither dog seems to have learned to sleep parallel to me. The Weimer is a big, lovable goof ball; the sled dog is my princess; she is the absolute love of my life. I would sacrifice my life for her...as she would do for me, I believe. I get together with old friends, mostly old workmates. My kids visit often and I go to the West Coast as often as I can to be with them." Maggie laughed at the image of this man struggling for sleeping space with his two canines. "I have a puppy. I have a young blue Great Dane---a neutered male a little over a year old. I love dogs...I despise cats." Maggie grew pensive for a few moments. Jack didn't interrupt her thoughts but never took his eyes off of her. Wow...a really interesting man. Just take him home and fuck him, Maggie; you know you want to. First, she owed him her saga. Back to Grad School "I guess it's my turn. I married my graduate advisor after a torrid affair throughout my masters program. It was a very dumb move. The sex was great for awhile but I could never escape the parent-child relationship inherent in that sort of scenario. We parted friends. He married a younger woman—also one of his interns. She's very comfortable in the subordinate, submissive role and they seem very happy together. We shared custody. I'm pushing forty, Jack, just had my thirty-ninth birthday; my daughter is eighteen and a college freshman. My son is seventeen and is a senior in high school. He spends more time with my ex because of the better school system, but they live close enough for me to spend a lot of time with him." Maggie sipped her coffee and finished the story. "I'm a pretty committed red wine girl and sneak a Sherman Natural every now and again but cigars don't bother me in the least. The Great Dane has the same problem your pups do---sleeping sideways. I had to upgrade to a king sized bed just to accommodate him. I live in town, close to campus but I'm getting tired of it as it has become more congested. I bought some land north of town with the intent of putting something on it---even a double-wide---and getting out of the city. I grew up a farm girl; my parents live a couple of hours north of here." She had just told Jack Powell more about herself than she had told any man...ever. This was going somewhere and she was okay with that. He certainly wasn't that much older than she was; he certainly didn't look his age. She didn't either. Does he want to have more children? Is he looking for a young trophy wife? Is he interested? What is he interested in? "Have you thought of marriage again...more kids?" She asked, shocked at her own boldness. "Marriage, yes...someone to cuddle in front of a fire with...grow old with. Kids? I don't think so. I don't want to be an old man when my kids reach the age when they become a lot of fun...when they become adults...friends. How about you?" "Same here." Maggie replied. She wanted to throw caution to the wind and ask him to take her home and screw her brains out. Hell, if the sex was good, this man was certainly a keeper. She didn't. She got back in charge. "Jack this has been fun but I need to get home---as I'm sure you do---to take care of our respective canines. I'm looking forward to reading your anthology over the weekend, not to mention the story you're going to hand me at the first of the week." She rose to leave. If Jack was disappointed he didn't show it. He's giving me my space, Maggie mused. He gets it. He fucking gets it. As sexy as he is I'm getting too damned old for a fling---particularly this close to home. Please let him want more. I so desperately need---have to have---more. She extended her hand. He took it in both of hers, gazing into her emerald eyes. "Thank you for this time together, Maggie. It was very special. I hope we can do it again as the semester unwinds." Jack said softly. The two walked together out of the coffee shop. She was surprised to find that he had parked his half ton in the reserved, faculty parking lot and had the appropriate sticker which allowed it, not to mention a very low registration number. "How the hell did you pull that off?" Maggie inquired, playfully. "That parking permit cost me seven figures." Jack responded nonchalantly. "On the advice of my accountant I endowed the majority of the new multi-media building at the business school. In all likelihood it will become the Powell Center when it's completed next year; the remaining funding came from my former employer." "The English department..." ""I know! I've already gotten the hint from Dr. Murphy." Maggie had never been a material girl. She made a good living as a tenured full professor and spent very little of her salary or the royalties from her writings. Still a guy who can afford to give away millions to the University she so dearly loved was a pretty special guy. And, she didn't believe he had revealed his philanthropy simply to impress her. In her heart she knew it didn't matter. If he was the one, that special someone she had dreamed of her entire life---her prince charming---the man who could give back the abundant love that she had inside her, then it wouldn't matter if he changed tires for a living. On impulse and against her nature she turned and kissed Jack softly on the cheek as she prepared to get in her car. He touched her shoulder and her neck with his strong hands. She felt the fire, the almost blinding jolt which surged through her. Oh Christ! She thought to herself. You want him; you want his body next to yours. You want his cock...anywhere...everywhere. It took every bit of self control she had not to search for his hard cock and expose it...and service it....right there in the faculty parking lot. As she drove the few blocks to her lonely home, she was both exhilarated and confused. What was Jack Powell thinking, right now? Who was Maggie Stevens to him? At that very moment Jack was smitten, almost in a daze. Oh my God, what an amazing woman. He had known that she was special both from her writing and from eight weeks in her classroom. Jack, you could love this woman like no other on earth. Does she see you that way? The kiss on the cheek...friendly...more? Please let it be more...dear God let there be more. Maggie arrived home first, greeting her large companion who survived her absences with a little help from a neighbor who stopped by during the day. Taking him in the back yard she encouraged him to play vigorously knowing that he would soon grow tired. As the big gray fell in a heap at her feet, Maggie stripped and examined her body in the mirror. You've still got it girl...it's a shame no one is using it. Reclining naked on the living room sofa, Maggie began to thumb through Jacks bound volume. She had intended to review it as a teacher would. Jack had an astounding ability to grow from story to story. His first story wasn't bad, at least a solid 'B' in her class. His analysis of his own work was absolutely phenomenal. She noted from notes he had included how long each story had taken, at least on the initial attempt. He seemed to easily crank out four or five thousand words---damned fine words---in three or four hours. By the fifth story he was in full form; everything after that was solid 'A+' work. It was all extremely erotic without being simply stroke material. The romantic theme was always there; the builds were teasing; the reader desperately cared about the characters. As she checked the dates, she began to read the stories that started after her class had begun eight weeks earlier. Oh yes, there it is, his female characters are getting richer and more interesting. The sex was wonderfully nasty and arousing throughout and amazingly plausible. If this man fucks the way he writes about it...her hand fell between her legs feeling the wetness that had increased as she had been reading Jack's stories. As her slim fingers parted the lips of her womanhood, her arousal increased. She found her special spot; within second she was furiously working her precious little slot with several fingers. She came in a matter of seconds; it was a howling, screaming orgasm; the Great Dane became seriously concerned. Coming down from her high she ran her slippery fingers over the page and then over the back cover. Would he notice when she gave the volume back to him? Would he smell her steamy little cunt on the pages? She hoped so, she thought to herself as she calmed her big gray friend. Jack was putting the final touches on his story---the story he would turn in on Monday. Sitting at his computer naked---he always wrote erotic stories in the nude---he discovered that he had unconsciously begun to stroke his cock. His fingers left the key board as he read the words and visualized the scene he had written---visualized himself fucking Maggie Stevens---for this story was clearly about Jack and Maggie, even if the names were different. He came hard; the dogs jumped up assuming that an unwanted visitor was at the door. He closed his eyes and imagined the first time he would ever inject his cream inside Maggie's delightful body. There would be a first time and many more to follow...wouldn't there? Would she be offended by his story? Was it too forward at this stage to let her see it? He would write a back up story...just in case he lost his nerve. This story was so personal; she could not miss it. It says I want to fuck you, I want to love you...I want to be in your arms for a very long time. Hell, short of a ring, it was almost a proposal---at least a, 'let's fuck' proposal. In the end it was far more; it was a love story with a happy ending. By midnight the story was done. He printed it off and made a copy on a CD. Maggie required both. She liked to read the story on the printed page then use the CD copy for comments, returning the original and the markup to her students. Maggie awoke early the next morning; it was a habit that she'd never been able to shake after growing up on a farm. She shaved her legs and trimmed her bush tight, the way she had when she had been younger. She had not paid enough attention to that part of her appearance in recent years; there just didn't seem to have been the need. After drying her hair, she slipped on a light cotton tee shirt and one of her few new pairs of panties and poured her first cup of coffee. She wanted to talk to him; she wanted to read the story that he was working on. She wanted to see him...touch him...be with him. She grabbed the phone book and was pleased to see that his number was listed. She wrote it down along with the address. Going to her computer she plugged the address into her map program. Maggie was surprised to see that he apparently lived not far from the property which she had purchased. Jack was also in the habit of rising early. After taking his pups out for their traditional morning play time and feeding them, he sat down to read the story one last time. It was good. It was very good. Would she like it? He hoped so. He thought of calling her and offering to drop the story off at her house. He knew where she lived and knew her phone number. Her smile kept creeping into his consciousness. Was he moving too fast? Was she the special woman who would complete him? He was an attractive, good looking man with a very healthy bank account. As a friend had told him, he could have any woman he wanted. At that moment the only woman he wanted was Maggie Stevens. He'd wait until a respectable 8:00 AM and call her. Maggie couldn't wait until eight. She doubted that she would wake him as she dialed his number a few seconds after 7:00 AM; he was a country boy at heart. The phone rang twice. "This is Jack." "Jack? It's Dr., ah, Maggie. It's Maggie Stevens. Did I wake you? I was wondering if you had finished your story. I was hoping that you could maybe email it to me if or when it's done." "No, yes and no." "What?" "No, you didn't wake me. Yes, I finished the story---last night. And no, I don't think I want to email it to you." "I see." Jack went for it; it was time to up the tempo of this relationship. "Maggie one of my fondest memories from my youth was my dad getting up early Saturday morning and cooking a huge, cholesterol laden breakfast. I still observe the tradition; eating alone is far less enjoyable than doing so with good company. Slip into your jeans, throw your pup in the back of your SUV and come have breakfast with me. It's less than thirty minutes this time of the day on a Saturday. I'll go ask the chickens for a couple of extra eggs, the dogs can get to know each other and after breakfast you can sit down and read the story." "You have chickens?" "Of course I have chickens; I also have hogs and cows and goats. I live on a farm. I have a manager who actually runs the place, so I suppose I'm more of a gentleman farmer." Maggie thought for a moment. Yes, she was going to have breakfast with Jack Powell. "I sort of know where you live but give me the specifics." "Platton Road?" "Sure, I know it." "Take it North all the way to the Old Bridge Road intersection. There's a bait shop on the corner." "Okay." "Drive exactly one half mile farther North and turn left---the first left---on Differ. Drive exactly three tenths of a mile---look for a mailbox on the left side of the road stuck in an old red milk can. Turn left just past the milk can. There's an electric gate. Push the red button and it will open and then close behind you for the dogs' safety. Pull around to the right side of the house; I'll be in the kitchen. When should I expect you?" "As soon as I slip into my jeans and get my dog in the car I'll be out of here, so, probably pretty close to thirty minutes." "I'll see you then." Maggie decided on her best jeans, the over priced pair which she seldom wore that accented her long legs and still quite respectable behind. They fit exquisitely tight against her pussy, provocatively so. The hugged the firm globes and alluring crease of her still fine little ass. Getting the big blue Dane into the car was hardly a challenge; he loved to go for a ride in the car and bounded into the back with enthusiasm. There was no traffic through town and soon the houses became less obtrusive and she was out in the country. She found the gravel drive with no problem and pushed the red button with two minutes to spare. She was tingling with anticipation and excitement. Her thoughts were distinctly lurid as she contemplated what might be in store. She was absolutely committed to getting laid. It had been too damned long since she had a nice cock and she had no intention of screwing up this opportunity. As she came to the end of the half mile long road, a large rambling old farm house came into view. There was a small barn and some other assorted out buildings. The back yard had to be at least two acres, fenced in white painted split rail. Surrounding the homestead on all sides was corn---acres and acres of it. As she pulled around to the side of the house as Jack had instructed her, she saw him for the first time in jeans and a tee shirt accompanied by his two canines. God he looked good; the guy definitely stays in shape; nice shoulders...strong arms...that easy stride...that killer smile. Before they could really greet each other the pups needed to check her out. They knew there was another of their species in the SUV, but first things first. The Weimer was instantly friendly, sniffing without being intrusive and then sitting down politely at her feet and allowing her to scratch his ears. The double coated sled dog was another matter. Relatively speaking, she was small, although she easily weighed in at close to sixty pounds. The Weimer was probably over 100 pounds; he was large for the breed. Her Dane was around 130 and distinctly taller---and still growing. The sled dog was not prepared to accept her as easily as the Weimer; this was, she knew, also typical of this particular breed. "Sammy!" Jack said. "Good dog. This is my friend. Friend Sammy!" The lovely creature looked back at her master with adoration, then sat down politely in front of Maggie as if she had known her forever. She had the most incredible big, brown eyes. She accepted Maggie's hand and offered just a hint of pink tongue in approval. Sensing it was time to get the canine social event underway, Maggie opened the back of the SUV and the regal young Dane bounded out to meet the locals. There was a lot of butt sniffing, a growl here and a bark there. The young Weimer saw a new playmate; the bitch saw an intruder who needed to quickly learn the pecking order. The classic Alpha female, Samantha---not unlike Maggie---allowed no one to sniff her ass---nor even get near it. Soon all was right in the canine world. Maggie's pup had paid his homage to the queen mother and acknowledged her position as the top dog. Soon the two males were running around the expansive yard making new discoveries together as the fawn coated female sat on a small hill overlooking her charges. Occasionally one or the other of the younger dogs would come over to seek approval before dashing off in all directions totally consumed by the day's smells, sights and sounds. Maggie turned to Jack. He put his arms around her and softly kissed her lips. Resistance was the farthest thing from her mind. He took her hand and walked her to the kitchen door and then inside. The embrace and kiss had been so completely natural and unforced, as if to say, "welcome home dear." Could this one day be the place she would call home? It was a real kitchen, a cook's kitchen. The upscale, commercial grade appliances, so often added for status by people barely able to fry an egg, fit perfectly and showed every indication of regular use. Of course Jack Powell could cook---and probably quite well. He just didn't strike Maggie as a man who would do anything half-assed. He was a refreshingly self sufficient man who didn't seem to need a woman around to make up for his short comings or stroke his ego. Hopefully he was a man who wanted a woman around---this woman---to have, to hold and to love. Jack had already accomplished most of the prep work required. "How can I help?" Maggie asked. "I've got everything pretty well under control on this side of the room. Fried, scrambled or poached are your choices. If you're not opposed to alcohol this early in the day, there is fresh squeezed OJ in the fridge and a decent bottle of California champagne. There's also everything you might need for a Bloody Mary---your call." "Fried, over easy and I'll go with Mimosa's." She replied. "Good choice! The table is set, there is a fresh pot of coffee brewing or hot water for tea if you prefer; I should have this done in less than ten minutes." Maggie was pleased to discover that the things she needed were where she would expect to find them. We both arrange our kitchens in the same way; that sure seems promising. She found two Waterford flutes, opened the champagne and poured it along with the fresh orange juice. Without asking, she found a large mug and poured herself a steaming cup of coffee. Real cream in a glass bottle and raw sugar...oh yes! Jack expertly slid the fried eggs on to the heated plates and then added a healthy serving of hash browns, bacon and two kinds of sausage. Placing the plates on the small glass table in the breakfast nook, he gestured for her to join him. "I know it's far too much food. Our three pups will certainly get a special treat with the left overs." They ate quickly with few words. She was hungrier than she had realized. The sights and sound brought back warm memories from her childhood. This was the way life was supposed to be on an early fall morning, enjoying a wonderful breakfast with a very special man. Soon they were cleaning up the breakfast dishes and preparing three small servings for the friends. As they quickly finished up in the kitchen and each grabbed a second cup of coffee, Jack guided her to the living room. They sat together on a large leather coach. The room had obvious male overtones but not in an offensive or overbearing way. It was a very inviting and comfortable room. "Would you like a tour?" Jack asked. "I'd love one." Maggie replied. It was truly a massive, rambling old farm house which had obviously been renovated, or more accurately restored to the period. The décor was minimalist without being sparse. The bed in the master bedroom was absolutely gargantuan, easily half again as big as the typical California king. The master bathroom included a large walk in shower and a full size Jacuzzi. There were two huge walk in closets, one obviously his, one just as obviously empty. The basement housed a temperature controlled wine cellar with what had to be over 1,000 bottles. She loved wine and loved exploring the various bottles and cases. Back to Grad School "I thought you were exclusively a red wine man, Jack." Maggie commented, playfully. "I stray from the norm on occasion, particularly in the heat of summer when it gets too damned hot for reds." It was an impressive wine collection not because it included a big selection of prominently displayed trophy wines, often purchased as a status symbol but because of its eclectic choices. The two moved outside to explore the grounds. The dogs gleefully joined them in their exploration. "Maggie, this is a working farm of just over 1,000 acres. I have a full time manager who lives just on the other side of that corn field to your left. We grow entirely too much corn and he often grumbles about it. I grew up surrounded by the soft swish of corn blowing in the breeze. We also grow soy beans, oats and, of course, lots of hay. We have a small dairy herd which is hardly profitable. I bought out a bankrupt farmer to the South, invited him to stay on, modernized the operation and pay him a salary which amounts to more than he ever made farming it himself. He lives rent free; actually I've already deeded the house he lives in and a few acres around it back to him, although he doesn't know it yet. He has full responsibility for the dairy herd and works with the farm manager on other things." Jack continued to talk as they walked. "The chickens aren't really a cash crop but another one of my idiosyncrasies. Same goes for the hogs; they basically break even. The beef cattle actually make money. By the time I pay the expenses and salaries to include bonuses, the whole thing breaks even---which is all I ever needed it to do. We also run a small truck garden operation which started as a big vegetable garden for the three families and assorted farm workers and turned into a commercial endeavor. Actually what is turning into the real money maker started out as a hobby---fish. In fact this year, in spite of my generous profit sharing plan, we're going to make money, thanks to the fish." "Fish? Like cat fish?" "No, they do far better in the South. We raise rainbow trout, primarily for the high end restaurant trade. We also raise Koi on a wholesale basis---another hobby that got out of control. Do you want to see them?" "I'd love to." They entered the small barn which contained an old but obviously serviceable open seated, door-less jeep Wrangler. "You might want to fasten your seat belt. I'm going to go pretty slow so the dogs can keep up but there are a few bumps in the road. I had to hire another full time manager to handle the fish operation. He has years of experience in aquaculture but never had the capital to really make a go of it on a large scale. The fish business is separate from the rest and is set up as a limited liability company or LLC. My manager is really part owner and doesn't draw a salary." They bounced along the narrow gap between the corn rows; in a few minutes breaking out into an open area. On either side were hundreds of yards of man made ponds; at the far end of the ponds was a large concrete building. "It took a few years to make this work, what with government regulation and all. We run fifty million gallons of fresh water through these ponds every day. We've dammed a small, spring fed river or creek at the top, taking almost two thirds of the flow. The river was---and still is, upstream---phosphate polluted with a high level of bacteria from inadequate sewage disposal. We clean the water by running it through acres of vegetative filtration which soaks up the phosphates and the excess bacteria, then mechanically filter out the particulates that haven't settled out. We go through the whole process again at the down stream end of the operation. The water that reenters the stream bed is cleaner by far than it was when we acquired it." Jack brought the jeep to a halt next to one of the ponds and continued. "After fighting us tooth and nail, the environmental wackos have become very good friends. We pump out the sludge periodically from the settling fields and the fish ponds and use it as organic fertilizer. Fortunately, heavy metals aren't a major problem but we test regularly to ensure that it stays that way. There was a small chemical plant up stream that posed a heavy metal problem. I bought it and fixed it. We've also joined with the government in a lawsuit, which we're about to win, which will force the worst offender up stream to upgrade their town's sewage system." As they exited the jeep, Jack went over to a metal container attached to a post in the ground and scooped out a quart sized cup of fish food. "This is really cool." Jack said with a grin as he threw the food out into the middle of the pond. Instantly hundred---maybe thousands---of iridescent bodies rushed to the surface in a feeding frenzy clearly demonstrating why they were called rainbows. "They're huge!" Maggie exclaimed with glee. "They must be two feet long!" "Actually they're normal size. Absent pollution, over fishing and excessive alien predators, the North American fresh water rainbow trout, according to historical accounts, was often found in this state by early settlers. They're certainly healthier as a food source than most wild fish---mercury is not an issue. We've spent a lot of time and money researching their natural diet and, within reason, have attempted to duplicate it. We also do selective breeding to ensure healthy stock. We provide fry to the state at no charge for repopulation of other streams. With their permission, we also release fry down stream in the river. We've shared our work with the University and they are doing some outstanding work attempting to reintroduce healthy strains in other waterways across the country." They returned to the jeep and drove toward the concrete building as Jack continued. "We've constructed the ponds to make them uninviting to raccoons and other four footed predators who are essentially walkers not swimmers. Blue Herons are a strictly protected species but they prefer to walk into the water and don't really like to get their butt wet. We have a dozen recognized Heron rookeries; we've built several ponds just for them, stocked with garbage fish, that is, fish they will eat but which have little commercial value, with sloped sides so that they can walk in. We also have three Bald Eagle nests---you may well see one today. The deer are a constant battle. It's just not economically feasible to build the double eight foot fences to deny them access to crop fields. We've seeded a number of small patches along their established routes with a special grain, grass and Clover mixture which they find appetizing. We recycle absolutely everything---even the water---and compost our waste. We sell the excess through local garden centers." As they exited the Jeep and prepared to enter the long low concrete building, Maggie realized that is was easily the length of a football field. As they entered, several workers looked up and greeted Jack by his first name as he greeted them and introduced them in the same manner. There were rows of concrete tanks, or more accurately concrete troughs, with dividers to separate the fish. There were thousands---tens of thousands---of fish graduated in size, becoming larger as they progressed. "This is truly the hobby that got out of control. They're all Koi, many bred right here and domestic. Others are from imported stock from all over the world. The imported stock fetch a higher price but are no where near as sturdy as the domestic bred fish. For the homeowner who just wants a nice Koi pond, I always recommend the domestics. They're essentially cold water fish who tolerate our winters very well and lack the inbreeding for show purposes that can weaken their immune systems. The water from the spring fed river stays close to fifty five degrees year round. We occasionally have to do a little cooling in the summer and warming in the winter." At the end of the building were four large twenty thousand gallon crystal clear concrete pools and one slightly larger pool. They were brimming with Koi---big Koi. All were over eighteen inches, many over two feet and a few thirty inches or better. Jack continued the narrative. "Those four tanks are all domestic but selectively bred for show quality. Ten years ago you couldn't win with a domestic fish; we're changing that, but the old prejudices still abound. This last pool is all certified Japanese imported stock. They're all at least a foot and a half. It's thirty thousand gallons and receives additional filtration and treatment in order to abide these animals particularly picky needs. There are around three hundred fish in this tank, which would be overstocked unless the water wasn't virtually reverse osmosis drinking water quality---which it is---with selected minerals and such added back to precisely duplicate their native environment. Three hundred fish with an average value of at least $10,000 each; it's your basic $3,000,000 aquarium." "People actually pay $10,000 for a single fish?" Maggie inquired. "People do---and even more. I certainly wouldn't. I've never been interested in the show aspect of Koi. I just like them. They're beautiful and amazingly intelligent---for fish---and quite friendly. Watch this." Jack knelt at the edge of the large tank and placed his fingers in the water. All of the occupants swam over expecting food; most left when the food was not provided. One lingered. Jack stroked its body and scratched it's snout as one might do with a canine; the fish raising its body almost out of the water to receive the attention. The two foot specimen allowed him to lift its body from the water briefly. Jack invited her to stroke the creature, then quickly returned it to its life giving element. "With a little time and attention they'll all do that in the right environment. She's my special buddy." Jack commented softly. Jack and Maggie exited the building and returned to the jeep as Jack continued the tour. They passed several of the specially prepared deer fields; to her surprise and delight, small herds were foraging. They looked up, unafraid and resumed their meal. Jack and Maggie drove by and briefly stopped at the hog farm and the associated smoke house. To her amazement, there was no smell. "It takes a lot of work and money to eliminate the smell; that was the deal we made with our neighbors...that and free bacon! We slaughter and smoke on the premises and sell most of the product as high end, overpriced specialty ham and bacon." They drove by the chicken farm. "All organic, free range and premium priced. It's a small operation and most of it stays local." They passed a herd of perhaps seventy-five or a hundred dairy cows grazing. "This is also a small operation which stays very local. We bottle here and sell it in returnable glass bottles...the old fashioned kind with the cream on the top. We're thinking of getting into ice cream." As they stopped at various times in their journey Jack would introduce her to the workers and managers. He always used first names and they reciprocated. The boss man obviously was well liked by his people. All were relaxed in his presence...just as Maggie had become. They felt very comfortable and joked with him easily. This farm had everything one could imagine...except a good woman. Am I that woman, she wondered? Is this where I belong with this very special man? After passing acres of assorted crops, they came upon a massive pasture with hundred of beef cattle serenely grazing. "This is the heart of the legitimate farm, that is, other than the fish operation. We produce a higher than normal level of organically certified USDA Prime. We age and package it here on the property. Most of it goes to the high end restaurant trade---fresh, never frozen. About a third goes to the better markets in the state and surrounding states that are willing to handle it according to our strict standards. It's not technically Kobe beef but the differences are virtually unrecognizable even to the most discerning pallet. We simply produce the very best piece of beef in the United States. Our choice grade---what we sell as choice---exceeds the USDA standard and is also private labeled. What's left goes into a high end private label line of dog food, canned, frozen and dry, with certified human quality ingredients." "Maggie instantly recognized the brand. "That's what I feed my dog!" She exclaimed like a joyful school girl. Before she realized it they were back at the farm house. The dogs were delightfully exhausted and plopped in a heap on the cool grass...even the fluffy one. It was now nearing mid day as the two humans entered Jack's spacious home and settled in the living room---or maybe it was a family room or great room; Maggie wasn't sure. "It's a bit early for wine; I'm going to have a beer. I've got a lager, a respectable pilsner and a nice creamy stout...what's your pleasure?" "I'll take the stout." Maggie replied. "Damned good choice." Jack replied with a grin. He quickly returned to her with too creamy mugs of one of her favorite confections. "It's not Guinness, but it's damned close. We make this too." "Is there anything you don't make here?" She asked playfully. "Not much. We're experimenting with wind, solar and hydraulic power generation. We already use some geothermal for heating and cooling. We have an old natural gas well that is no longer of commercial value but still provides over 80% of our needs. If the electricity goes out---as it so often does in this part of the country---we have gas fired generators. If the power failed right now, the lights would blink and then the generator would kick in. This house has been extensively reworked and designed to be passively solar. We don't have a source of salt, a few essential spices and herbs don't grow well here and the climate is all wrong for coffee beans, but that's about all we're lacking. I didn't show it to you, but we're trying some vineyards, although it will take a few years for the vines to mature. Good wine was once made in this part of the country---could be again. If we can get the local government to agree, we might just start making bourbon---hell we've got plenty of corn." "You've taken self sufficiency to a new level!" Maggie remarked, almost bordering on coyness. "Well, I have to hitch up the wagon and ride into town every now and again for some essentials but I have almost everything I need here...except perhaps a good woman." "And is that what you ride into town looking for---a good woman?" Maggie asked, openly flirtatiously. "I used to. But now I believe---I hope---I've found her, Maggie." Jack replied softly. She was in his arms before she knew what was happening...those wonderful, strong arms... surrounding her, holding her, protecting her. Their lips met, probed, explored; their hands roamed over each other. Maggie broke the kiss gently. "I'm sensing—hoping, actually—that sex is in the air." She paused. "Do I read the story now...or after?" "Well, let's see. If you read it now, you'll know the ending---the very special ending--- but maybe that is how it is meant to be. I'll tell you what. I'll take my growing sexual frustration outside and entertain the pups---find them some bones to keep them occupied. I'll leave you alone to read it. Come get me when you're done. Is that fair enough?" Maggie nodded wordlessly. Jack left to attend to the dogs and Maggie picked up the story and began to read. She didn't stop reading for almost half an hour, rereading certain parts over and over again. It was a magnificent read; it was the best work Jack had done to date, quite possibly the best anyone had ever done. The woman was her...Maggie. How could he have read so much into her...how could he have discovered the essential core of Maggie Stevens? It was if he had been inside her head, reading her mind and feeling her emotions for a very long time. Not only did he know her in an uncanny and prescient way but the more his wonderful prose demonstrated how well he knew her, those same words clearly showed that he loved her. He should hardly know her but somehow he did and he loved her---for exactly who she was. Her eyes filled with tears; she had to stop reading for a few minutes to refocus. Perhaps more startling was how incredibly he had bared his own soul, exposed his own vulnerabilities and given the reader a remarkable glimpse inside his head and heart. He had held nothing back; his hopes, dreams and fears were all here on these pages. There were no startling revelations or any dark secrets; he was, she was certain, the man she thought---had prayed---he was. She got to the good parts---the sex. Oh, my God! Oh that sounds like fun...I've certainly never tried that before. It was wonderfully nasty but somehow always loving and romantic rather than just dirty. Even when he took her forcefully from behind in the shower, jamming his long, hard cock deep into the recesses of her womanhood. Jack had an uncanny ability to make erotic narrative incredibly arousing---she was unquestionably aroused and very wet---without losing the intimacy. And then came the ending---the perfect closure. Two people who were meant to be together---who could not be more perfect for each other. A proposal...rings...a white dress...a honeymoon. Completeness each had searched for for so long and finally discovered. The fairy tale ending...her fairy tale... hers and Jack's. Fantasy or reality? She voted for the latter. They were adults---unattached adults. They wanted---needed—each other to become whole. She knew in that instant that she would do what was needed to make this story real; she had every confidence that Jack Powell was every bit as committed to that end. Removing her clothes and laying then across a chair she walked to the open door and called to her lover, the man she had so desperate sought her entire life...the man with whom she was absolutely prepared to spend the rest of her life. The man she knew in every fiber of her being that she loved...and she now knew that he was ready to accept that love and return it in full measure. "Jack." He looked up, wordlessly, startled by her nakedness. "Come to bed, Jack. It's time." Removing his own clothes as he came to her he was soon as naked as she was and in her arms. They were as teen aged lovers in first discovery, passionately and urgently caressing one another with their hands and mouths. He lifted her effortlessly and carried her to the massive bed, kicking the door shut behind him to clearly indicate that this was not a puppy party. There was no plan...no road map for their coupling...well other than Jack's story. There was not a hint of awkwardness as the two lovers found each other as if they had done so a million times before. This is a romantic love story with a happy ending. You know what they did for the rest of the day and into the night with occasional breaks for food and drink. They made love, over and over until both were deliriously exhausted. To describe their carnal pursuits in grizzly detail would detract from the essence of Jack and Maggie's special love story. Suffice to say that it was wondrous, often lusty, adventurous and physical but always loving and intimate. Prince Charming and Snow White had found each other and would be together for the rest of their lives. They completed one another as no others could have. Jack and Maggie would make love together, snuggle together, play with their puppies together and live together. They would marry and they would go on a honeymoon. At some point they would even write together, becoming infinitely more successful as a team then either had been alone. As the years went by and their respective children started their own families, the loving couple traveled often but always returned to that Midwestern farm where their deep love for each other was first consummated. Back to Grad School As they snuggled together almost as one, completed sated and ready for sleep, Jack left Maggie's touch for the first time in many hours. He opened the door to admit the concerned canines. All three jumped on the bed in unison; to his amazement, they lined up together, finally seeming to have figured out human parallel sleeping arrangements. There was more than enough room for all. Jack thought of waking Maggie to show her the canine miracle but thought better of it. There would be lots of time for that...the rest of their lives...together.