Inspiration

<<Closed to myself and The_PG - Hope you'll read along and enjoy...>>

It was wrong. She knew it was wrong before it had even started, and yet she did nothing to stop it. His hands, so large and so strong, were all over her body while her mind reeled with the confusing reality she found herself in. It was as exciting as it was nerve-racking, if they were caught it would spell trouble for the both of them.

She knew this was what he had wanted, she’d caught his gaze more than once focused on her cleavage rather than on her work whilst stood alongside her desk. Maybe she had encouraged him, she could have worn clothes less revealing, a little less fitted but…she had enjoyed the sensation. Catching his eye the moment before he tore it away and seeing the desire, the lust there…knowing her body had put it there…she felt almost special. It was why she had gone to his office so late knowing she didn’t have to deliver her paper in person, she could have left it with his secretary or in the office, but something had drawn her along the corridor to knock on the solid wood door of his office, straightening her clothes after knocking…

She felt something dig awkwardly into her back interrupting her thoughts, a filing cabinet perhaps, as his passion moved up a gear and he thrust her back, his hand reaching down to claim one of her breasts firmly through her shirt, almost painfully. All the while his mouth biting at the sensitive skin of her neck. Her hands were almost at a loss for what to do, his body was so close they were all but pinned to her sides.
He moved closer still, feeling his knee work its way between her legs, his groin suddenly pressing against her hip while his fingers began to feverishly undo the buttons on her shirt. All of a sudden the feeling changed. The atmosphere changed. This wasn’t fun anymore…

The hand forcing its way inside her bra no longer felt strong, it felt angry. Pinching her nipple hard and drawing a whimper from her lips. His other hand was almost immediately clamped over her mouth, silencing any further protestations as he all but crushed her against the cabinet. Her eyes met his and she knew it was a little too late to change her mind…
Mumbled words and phrases were flowing from his lips as his hand stripped her bra from her body, leaving the straps around her arms, restricting her movement further still…but he wasn’t talking to her…he wasn’t even looking at her…she wasn’t really there anymore…

“Wow,” Alexia sighed, leaning back from her laptop with a sigh and rubbing her eyes. “Where the hell did that come from…?” She murmured to herself as she re-read the words that had appeared on the screen from her own typing fingers. What had started out as a fantasy scene for her latest project had turned into…she wasn’t sure what. The words had flowed from somewhere within her mind that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It had happened before, entire scenes, conversations, chapters in some cases, had appeared on paper or on screen that she couldn’t quite remember writing herself. She explained it as becoming lost in her creative intuition, the words simply lent themselves to being written.

Sighing she ran a hand back through her shoulder length dark brown hair and hit print, rubbing her green eyes as she stifled a yawn. Her professor wanted to see their project drafts the following afternoon, Friday, and had only meant to check her spelling and word count so far when this scene had suddenly sprung into her imagination. She gathered the pages as they were produced, glancing over them, making sure her name was on every page, that they were numbered. She had intended to remove the final page, the page that had written itself but she forgot. She must have forgotten, that was what she told herself when she realised what she had done, after she had handed over her folder and left the classroom. Besides, her professor was an adult and a professional and would view anything she wrote from a purely creative perspective.

Her tutor had set them the task of writing a short story/novella that fell outside their usual comfort zone. Everyone had been given a subject word at random from an area that they never usually wrote about. The area was ‘Taboo’ and Alexia had been given ‘Forbidden’ as her word after their tutor had opened the thesaurus at ‘Taboo’ and assigned every student in the room one of the words listed. Most of her fellow students were wannabe ‘Grisham’s and had found the prospect of having to write anything other than a thriller more than a little challenging, although with words like ‘illegal’ and ‘outlawed’ being given out, some were happier than others.

Alexia fancied herself as diverse enough to tackle any subject and so, had decided to write about a forbidden relationship, student and teacher. She didn’t usually write romantic stories and was a little excited about trying to create one. She had written the first couple of chapters in outline format, with vague character descriptions and settings. The basic premise being that a girl goes off to college and meets a young man on campus, there is a kind of connection between them but nothing goes beyond a little playful flirting back and forth on the occasions that they meet. Until her first lecture when she discovers he is not a fellow student but her professor.

Alexia had hit something of a wall at that point and hoped her professor would have a suggestion or two at how things could progress, or whether she should simply drop the idea and try something else entirely. She admitted it was a little clichéd but, it was something new for her and besides, wasn’t that what her professor was there for, guidance and advice.

The weekend passed relatively quietly, Alexia worked at a local bar in the evenings, hung out with friends during the days watching movies and wandering around the stores, before she knew it, it was Monday morning again, time for her lecture and time to find out what her professor had thought of her work. She entered the lecture theatre and waited with her fellow students for the arrival of their professor, tapping her pen idly on the spine of her notebook with her eyes glancing outside the window, watching the clouds roll by. Crossing her legs, which were clad in buttery soft cord jeans in a rich warm brown and running a hand subconsciously down the v-neckline of the pale mustard colour sweater she had worn. The colours were warm and neutral, earthy her mother called them and Alexia rarely wore anything else. Her wardrobe was full of clothes that were either one of a range of autumnal colours or black. It wasn’t really a conscious choice she made when shopping but there was something almost comforting in their tone and simplicity.

It has been so long since I’ve taken the words that run through my mind and printed them with any sort of equipment; pen, pencil or keyboard. But I am forced to; I must introduce this delicate topic to the board so they are not so befuddled from my dear friend’s strange actions requests and genius. I am John F. Roberts, dean here at the university, most of you know me by sight and name, though I know two of you are new comers and we have not had the time to sit down and speak with each as well as I should like.

I write to you about my dear friend, Neal M. Broderick, the newest faculty member. His journey to our university, as other members of the faculty will tell you, is nearly as strange as his actions can be. Neal grew up in a poorer neighborhood, and right from an early age excelled in the art of story telling, English and most general studies of education. He was placed in all accelerated programs throughout elementary and middle school, it looked as if he would become one of the brighter students in his high school before he was taken by some strange disease. It is schizophrenia of sorts, a very mild case of it in fact, altering his personality often, and dramatically, but never presenting the classic signs of the creation of another disturbed personality.

His life became a roller coaster through the vital and important years of high school, mother and father divorced, brother killed, sister raped and his grades soaring as the brightest gem in his much destroyed life. The one thing that never changed during the attacks and progressions of this disease was my friends amazing focus and dedication to his work, stories, novellas, tales, poetry spewed from his fingers and mind with more passion then I have ever seen. He tackled every sensitive topic in those years with a zest his teachers founds strangely frightening, but amazing nonetheless.

It was about this time when we first met; I representing our university at his high school, his twelfth grade English teacher came to my side and pulled me away from the general crowds, whispering that there was something she had to show him. Hurriedly she opened the office door for the librarian, who was seated at her computer and reading something furtively. What I read ladies and gentlemen, was possibly the greatest piece of fiction that has ever been written, it touched nearly every single issue facing our world today, from global warming, to sex trade, to the simple parking tickets one receives. In one thousand pages the writer had created, destroyed and rebuilt a world so flawed I was honestly ashamed of it after finishing the book.

Needless to say, I did not finish it in that small office. But just reading the first chapter amazed me, I had to ask who wrote this. Then I was introduced to Neal. I realized quickly that this boy was most possibly the brightest man in the world of literature I’d ever met, after only talking to him for five minutes!

The rest they say is ancient history. I invited him to the university on a full scholarship in turn that when he was finished chewing our English masters and courses to pieces he would turn around and tear our students to the same amount of bits. I say ‘tear’ because it is the only gear my friend knows. He never stops pressing the button, pressing the issue and getting results. Even now we have not had a single student drop from the school if they began it in his classroom; true there have been many, many dropped from his roles. But they all moved on and passed other English classes with an ease that I’ve found amazing.

I can say this only with a smiling face as I remember the contract my friend presented me when I presented him with ours. He asked for very strange, but easily agreed to details. The first was for his friend Edward B. Brooks to teach a parallel course to each of his, one that any student dropped from his class could slide into and continue their education at no hindrance to the school or themselves. The second was for a house all his own to teach on campus, it is now filled with couches, laptops, and fridges and is nearly the most popular class on campus. The last was a statement he provided covering us from any settlements a student may, or may not take against the school due to his teaching.

It may frighten you, all these strange requests but as I said, the results speak for themselves. Neal is by far our best teacher in the area of creative writing and literature appreciation. This accusation by his former student about the disease hindering his learning and disallowing him from attaining the job he wished for is ridiculous. Firstly, the job this student speaks of is a professorship at the University of Oxford, hardly a mid-level job. Secondly, I myself have sat in on many, many of his classes and can state with absolute confidence that though his dress, demeanor and voice may change often, his teaching style and lesson plan have never confused a student when I was present.

In the very bitter end I must plead with you to stick with your decision of keeping Neal as a teacher here at the University. He is only in the fourth year of his teaching, he’d told me before that the first four years were all experimental; it was to be the fifth and final year of his teaching that he would show the students how powerful and free they could really be.

John F Roberts​

It is only the second week, the first day of the second week at that. The beginning of the second week, the end of the first week, plus one, week two out of sixteen, so many different ways you could state it as. Neal’s face brightens, he’d forgotten that exercise, seeing how many different ways the kids could put together one simple statement without loosing the essence. It was high school truly, but he liked to take it to a whole other level.

Neal had spent the weekend pouring over forty students work, well technically twenty-one, nice only gave him a letter of transferal, and ten had given him nothing and so he’d already transferred their names onto Edward’s roster. So twenty-one different rough drafts (a few final drafts he was surprised to see) of fiction that would become quickly his students lives for the next sixteen, no, fifteen weeks.

Most of them were what he expected, vague story lines with certain scenes done more completely, or less completely then others, some names, some Doe’s. It was basically a pile of crap shoot that he would turn into that million dollar role, or that’s what he hoped. He had fifteen weeks to find the students that could excel, that could break free of the average, of the normal. Fifteen weeks to find that special one that would complete their story and realize with him just how important fiction was in the realism of life. Neal swiveled past several students talking by the door to his room, nodding to the, “Hello Mr. Broderick,” That followed him into the classroom, along with the students who gave him the greeting.

He’d remained sane all week last week, not once alternating from the black pants and white polo shirts he’d worn. This week he could not resist himself, he’d worn a tight fitting collared short that hugged his surprisingly trim upper torso. The long sleeves and high collar told any of the sportsmen or woman in the room that it was an under amour shirt, worn in cold weather. His pants were loose and black, Nike gym pants that allowed a breeze to encase his legs, he enjoyed the sensations, but not as much as the shocked looks and confused brows that greeted him in the classroom.

“Hello class.” He said, looking up at the crowd of twenty-one, just as he’d expected.

The various replies went mostly unheard as he placed his briefcase on the desk, and his flap pack next to it. The flap pack held all of their works from the past week, the briefcase his laptop, notes and other various necessary items, including his lunch. As soon as he was set, Neal stood back up and began pacing back and forth below all his students.

His thin, stylish glasses partially hid brilliant green eyes that were like emeralds as they traveled over the spread out group. “Quite a few less then last week, no?” He said to nobody in particular, walking up into the seats and looking down each row as he walked to the top, then back to the bottom. His hand swept through the jet black hair that looked ruffled and uncombed, “Does anyone wish to begin?” He asked, then after a few awkward moments laughed.

“I’m sorry.” He breathed, reaching for his flap back, then he began calling out names, having each student come and collect their stories. The last three students he brought up each received a special word as they took their fiction with them. “Excellent job Johnny, your portrayal of the tension was especially great to see, Tony, excellent descriptions throughout the book, i did not know grass could be so spectacular.” Both were compliments of high nature for the first day, the two men walked back to their seats confidently with bright smiles.

“Miss Alexia?” He called out, waiting with the paper held loosely in his last hand. Sure she was expecting a compliment of sorts, his words probably sounded quite harsh as he spoke. “Much too vague, even for a rough copy, I expect a little more effort for something you seemed to rather enjoy writing; especially when your last page was so exceptionally done. Please take your seat.”

"Wait," Neal held his hand up, "Why don't you read first, just the highlighted portions." He'd done this with everyone's story, high lighted in yellow what he'd enjoyed, and in green what needed fixing. "You will show us how exactly not to begin a rough draft, and exactly how to end one."

“Miss Alexia?”
“Yes…” Alexia smiled, straightening her sweater as she stood and headed to the front. The almost glowing words he had bestowed on the previous two students ringing in her ears. A slight sense of anticipation boosting her smile as she reached his desk and held out her hand to take the paper.
“Much too vague, even for a rough copy, I expect a little more effort for something you seemed to rather enjoy writing; especially when your last page was so exceptionally done. Please take your seat.”
“Thank you, sir…” Alexia said quietly, taking the paper and heading quickly back to her seat. Feeling more than a little deflated, although definitely relieved he had chosen not to comment on the final scene.

"Wait…Why don't you read first, just the highlighted portions…You will show us how exactly not to begin a rough draft, and exactly how to end one."
Alexia felt her heart stop just as her foot stopped mid step, pausing in panic just for a moment. The papers in her hand beginning to shake almost imperceptibly as she turned back towards the front of the class. She hated reading aloud, she hated reading her own work even more so. Tentatively she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, flipping open her paper and letting her eye run over the mass of green marks on the first two pages, her heart leaping back into action and into her throat as she saw the yellow marks of approval all over the last page. That last page. The one she had never meant to include.

“All of the highlighted portions, Mr Broderick?” She asked hesitantly but his eyes were no longer on her and his hand was circling lazily in the air as if conducting some imaginary orchestra. Only it wasn’t imaginary. She was the orchestra and her draft was the music he was waiting to hear. Feeling the heat rush to her cheeks, Alexia focused her eyes firmly on the words before her and began to read.

Her voice was slightly halting at first as she described her female character’s introduction. Placing the character in context, giving a little of her back story and a hint at her physical description. Her words were boring herself, she didn’t doubt that her classmates had already tuned out before she began reading her very vague outline for the female character’s first interaction with the leading male character. She made a mental note to perhaps use this method in future. After all, if she couldn’t read it, why would anyone else.

Her voice tailed off as she reached the end of the green section and her eyes flicked towards Mr Broderick and his hand still gliding through the air. Swallowing, she flipped to the final page and, vowing not to look up until she had finished, she began to read the section his yellow highlighter had decorated.

She heard the silence change as she read. Her classmates were listening, she could feel it, she had definitely captured their attentions, as well as a few other things if the shifting in the creaking seats was anything to go by. A sense of intrigue permeating the air around her. Alexia was privately impressed how level her voice was as she read the scene, especially when she spoke of such intimate acts.

As she spoke the last few words she slid gratefully into her seat, closing her eyes for a moment as she shoved the paper unceremoniously into her bag by her seat. Wincing as the young man sat behind her leant forwards and whispered crudely in her ear,
“Hey…that was really cool, if you need help working out the ending, just let me know…”
She rolled her eyes and risked a glance towards the front of the class and Mr Broderick, feeling a surge of something akin to indignation that he had made her read out her work when no one else had been made to.

The rather strange and slightly backwards compliment he had given her on her work fading in her mind as she tried to ignore the rather pathetic, hissed innuendoes she was receiving from all sides. Picking up her pen she began doodling around the date she'd written at the top of her notebook in an attempt to focus her mind away from what had just happened.

"Mr Broderick?" A honeyed voice called out from somewhere behind Alexia's left shoulder. She didn't need to turn around to identify it's owner. It was Cheryl, blonde, beautiful, daughter of some local tycoon, Alexia had stopped listening around about the millionth time she had heard the story. The problem with her wasn't that she wasn't capable, she was or else she wouldn't have gotten in. It was that she used her father's position almost as an invisible weapon to deter anyone who might actually be better than her.

"So, are you saying that if we write pornographic scenes we'll get a good grade? I didn't think it was that easy to pass your class...but if that's the case I'm sure I can come up with something that you'll approve of..." She was clearly attempting to be flirtatious with their professor and at the same time demean Alexia's work.

Alexia sighed but allowed a small smile to curve her lips. It seemed Cheryl wasn't as astute as she thought she was. Mr Broderick was not the teacher to flirt idly with, as she was certain the blonde would quickly figure out for herself.

"Yes, all of them." Neal replied with his own mischievous private grin as he watched Alexia skim through his highlighted marks, when she got to the last page he picked his hand up and began waving it, like a conductor would. He'd heard her voice before, and no matter how hard she tried to create the low monotone that most students spoke in, he always could find a sweet sing-song melody that he could not help but allow to course through him. By no means was he a conductor of any sorts, but he enjoyed the embarrassment and laughter it created in the class room.

As Alexia came to a finish Neal's eyes darted around the classroom, his green sparkling orbs studied each student carefully, some of the men were shifting too much, obviously having severe erectile problems, as in they were cropping up quite persistently. But even more so the woman were squirming on their chairs, unable to control their wild imaginations. It was all very good, and very promising for Neal; for if they could not control their imaginations when they read, why could they not control them when they wrote? It was the underlying basis of his class, why are writers so controlled when they write, yet so free when they read or dreamed?

The first obvious answer was their writing ability, for how could you be free if you didn't know how to express your freedom? That was the first obvious answer, one Neal worked hard with each student throughout the year to correct. The second, less obvious answer was societal taboo's. If society frowned upon anything a writer dreamed of, it would set limits immediately upon what they could, or could not write, and that most certainly, was not right. Neal grinned at his own private joke, homonyms were always fun to toy with.

Neal had a very good feeling that with the Miss Alexia, the problem would not be the less obvious answer, but the first. Which made his job much, much easier. "Thank you Miss Alexia." Neal said, nodding and walking to take her place in the middle of the room as she sat down, Neal crossed his arms and leaned back onto his desk, half sitting half standing in the regal pose. His ears and eyes studied the group, the innuendo's and various lewd comments reached his ears and eyes, but he did not say anything about them. They were a typical reaction to something they could not understand or yet achieve themselves, always to go on the offense, the people that would truly be able to comprehend. The other silent ones, Tony, Neal could see, was one of them, would be sitting in a sea of silence, their minds running across the delicate, tabooed words Alexia had just spoken.

Neal's wandering stare came to fall on the pretty, if not slutty, Miss Cheryl. The green eyes flickered with amusement as he listened to her question, posed, Neal assumed correctly, as a derogation against Miss Alexia, and perhaps the simple flirt with himself. Perhaps it was the scene that struck Cheryl's confidence, who knew, it did not matter.

After readjusting his glasses Neal cocked his head slowly to the side, and smiled. "Miss Cheryl, if you believed that to be true I would be watching you leave now, content to do your work and turn it into me at the end of the year. But since you are not moving, I trust you have shot your own theory full of holes, big ones that cannot be patched up by any stretching of the imagination, wild or not." That got a few chuckles from the brighter students, but nothing more as the spoiled slut pouted and sat back in her seat.

Neal turned his attention back to the entire class, "Cheryl, let's have you go next." He said, not looking at her but instead focusing his eyes on Alexia, she looked calm, though still slightly flushed from the amount of feedback she had already received from the draft, he followed her eyes and noticed they were on one of the other quiet students, the ones that were still stuck in their own land of imagination because of her mind consuming ending. She was carefully studying the student, Jill, he saw as he followed her gaze, then his eyes moved back to Cheryl as she used possibly the most slutty walk he'd ever seen to stand right in front of him, before turning around to face the class.

"Cheryl wrote her opening piece well, but too well, it was as if she was actually trying to start a finished novel, rather then a rough draft. It takes her awhile to finally become vague, and she does. Her word was 'restricted' please think and listen, at the end I will be asking questions on her work, especially if she did an adequate job using the word to define the story, or the story to define the word. You may begin."

"Miss Cheryl, if you believed that to be true I would be watching you leave now, content to do your work and turn it into me at the end of the year. But since you are not moving, I trust you have shot your own theory full of holes, big ones that cannot be patched up by any stretching of the imagination, wild or not."
Alexia couldn't help but smirk at Mr Broderick's words, not having to turn around to confirm her suspicion that Cheryl's sickly smile would have evaporated into a childish pout at having her infantile game spoiled. She stopped her doodling to scribble a note onto her draft. 'Cheryl'. One word, but it would be enough. She needed something, someone to help bring her main character to life. Not a villain as such but an antagonist of sorts.

Her eyes drifted to Jill, another student, quiet but undeniably talented. Of that Alexia was certain. She kept herself to herself, rarely exchanged pleasantries with anyone, something of a mystery. Perhaps her story needed a Jill, perhaps a friend for her heroine, a quiet friend but one who saw problems and situations from a detached different point of view. Jill appeared to be lost in her own thoughts, lips moving slightly, allowing whispered snippets of her imaginings to escape into the air, too quiet to be heard or understood but they were there nonetheless and Alexia felt herself smiling slightly to think she might have helped inspire her somehow.

She glanced back down to the papers before her. The one word Alexia had written became a sentence, then two, scribbled on the back of the first sheet of her draft. That hazy sensation descending as her imagination shot into overdrive. Creating a scene, a scene in a corridor, the antagonist and the protagonist, a battle of wits and words, witty, scathing. All the things Alexia wished she could say to Cheryl but knew she never, ever, would...or could. The friend on the sidelines, noticing, observing, providing a commentary of sorts for the reader. Perhaps she should have a narrator, maybe she should write her story in the third...

Suddenly she was aware that there had been movement in the room, her eyes glancing up almost guiltily to see Cheryl reading her draft, Mr Broderick behind her, listening. Alexia forced herself to listen to what was being read although she was certain she had missed too much to even hope to be able to comment upon Cheryl's work afterwards. It appeared to be a semi-autobiographical piece, a poor rich girl, trapped, restricted by her family's money rather than allowed the freedom most people think that wealth brings. It was a good idea, Alexia had to admit, if slightly cliched.

Alexia blushed slightly as she glanced beyond Cheryl and saw Mr Broderick's eyes not upon Cheryl or moving across the assembled faces before him but fixed upon her, upon the pen still held in her hand, poised over her paper in case inspiration struck again. She looked down, letting the pen fall from her fingers to rest upon her work, wetting her lips almost nervously before looking back up and forcing herself to listen more attentively to the droning voice of Cheryl.

As Cheryl took her place to read, Neal crossed his arms and cocked his head to the left slightly, then the right. His eyes had quickly darted over the entire assemblage of students twice before falling on Alexia. The reason for his eyes magnetic attraction to her shapely form was difficult to describe, but it was an intense combination of what he’d read from her, thought about her work, and what she was doing at that particular moment.

He could see her mind wandering off into the land of freedom and imagination Neal was teaching how to combine with reality and apply to not only various day dreams and stories, but how to make it a complete story and way of life for these select writers.

Neal barely listened to Cheryl’s story, in fact he’d read it three times already. Like everyone else’s story in the room, the highlighted portions were varied and divided throughout the whole entire story. Her remarkable detail and excellent opening pages were a mixture of green surrounding the entire paragraphs that were much too detailed for a first draft. Yet the words and sentences were all high lighted in yellow, because they were all fairly remarkable.

Cheryl had done her story in the first person, using I, me, etc, in her story. Coincidentally the moment Alexia glanced up from her passionate writing Cheryl had reached the most important part of her rough draft. She had her character sitting in a sob, sad because of some unfortunate her overbearing parents had placed in her path towards that mythical freedom she longed so badly for. When at this instant her character thought these exact words, “I cannot believe how much restraint another human being can place upon another, it seemed so illogical in my young mind, I cried as I thought about it, screamed…” Neal placed a hand on Cheryl’s shoulder just then, telling her to return to her seat as he stood in front of the class.

“Now,” He began, his green eyes finally breaking from Alexia to the rest of the class, “Keeping that last phrase specifically in mind. Do you, Jill,” Neal glanced at the small, shy girl that sat with not a person in any seat around her, she jumped a bit and her eyes blinked into focus on her teacher, “Think that Cheryl used her word to define the story, or the story to define the word?” He asked it kindly, and warmly, opening his arms and raising his shoulders in a gesture of pure wondering.

Her reply still not forthcoming he dug a little deeper, “Come now Jill, this is not high school, or grade school, there is no right answer. Just tell me what you think, not what you know.” That would come later, by the time he was done with them, every single one of his students would also be independent, so much to do, so little time to do it…

Jill shifted uncomfortably from all the stare’s, she had been so absorbed by the girl Alexia’s story that her mind had shot off with the fantasy, placing her body in that of the character and watching in fright as the teacher forced her onto the floor, his hot breath and lips against her skin as she struggled, no she didn’t struggle at all as he began to undress her, to love her. “Well I…” She began softly, like a mouse almost. She’d come to this class because of the recommendation of her older sister, who had actually attended a few of Mr. Broderick’s classes at the end of her senior year. So far she didn’t know what to think of it, he was very odd, very strange in his teaching style. He seemed to like to blur all lines of reality and fantasy from Jill’s eyes. Already, only in the second week fantasy and reality had taken on two very different meanings. “I think she…”

“Come now Jill, this is not high school, or grade school, there is no right answer. Just tell me what you think, not what you know.”
“Well I...I think she…”
Alexia felt her stomach turning over with the uneasiness pouring off of Jill in waves. There was a flush on Jill's cheeks and her eyes were almost too bright. Her hesitation growing almost painfully lengthy before she finally spoke, as if she'd had to pin down her thoughts to stop them simply flying out of her head.

"I think she used her story to define the word. She sees the character's lifestyle as being a constant restriction on her life, on her existence. Or at least she believes that to be the case..."
There was a slightly biting edge to her voice, helping to hide her obvious nerves at having to speak in front of everyone, showing the reservations she had over how truly hard a life like Cheryl's or her character's could be.

"Although if the character truly wished to be free, why not simply leave home...?" Jill added, almost as an afterthought, making Alexia smirk slightly and, she was certain, making Cheryl scowl. A few laughs rippled across the students, some enjoying seeing the oh-so-popular Cheryl's work being questioned, and especially by one of the quieter members of the class.

It seemed the amusement was over for the time being, Mr Broderick moved behind his desk announcing they would have the rest of the period to work on their drafts, either in the classroom or in the library, and approach him for help should they wish to before the class would come back together after the mid-session break to review everyone's work in light of any changes they might have made.

Soon his eyes were focused upon a stack of paper before him and nearly every student had left the room, supposedly in search of peace and quiet in the library, but more likely for a hit of nicotine in the quad or a shot of caffeine in the campus cafeteria. Alexia glanced around and saw that only Jill, Tony, Johnny and herself had stayed.

She licked her lips a little nervously. Alexia wanted to ask Mr Broderick about her work, about how she should continue it, if indeed she should continue it at all. How she could get from a first meeting to the kind of fantasy, almost rape like scenario she had written. Picking up her papers along with her pen and straightening her fitted sweater, she headed down towards his desk, lingering for a moment before speaking in a hushed voice so as not to disturb the other students.

"Mr...Mr Broderick? I...I don't want to interrupt you but I was wondering if we could discuss my story so far...I've hit something of a wall and really need your advice..." She smiled shyly as the brilliant gleam of his eyes looked up into her own. "I just don't know how to get from the beginning to the section that...well, the section I read out..." Her cheeks flushed warmly as her eyes dropped to her booted feet, tucking some of her hair behind her ear in the process. "I really am writing out of my usual comfort zone with this one..."

"Mr...Mr Broderick? I...I don't want to interrupt you but I was wondering if we could discuss my story so far...I've hit something of a wall and really need your advice..."

Neal glanced up to Alexia, the gleam in his eyes was a testament to some sort of inner knowledge at who it was speaking to him, and his enjoyment of her discomfort. He had wanted to discuss her story in more lengthy terms, but he knew with the current social make up of the class room calling on any one particular student would destroy any success in his design for creating the atmosphere that was needed in such a class. So quite honestly he knew Alexia would have to come to him, and he also knew she would do so the first chance she could get.

"I just don't know how to get from the beginning to the section that...well, the section I read out..."

Of course she didn't know how to do get from the beginning to that, she didn't even know how she could write something like that, how in the world could she perfect something she knew nothing about doing? Neal watched her ear tuck and shift in body position, knowing how strangely this was probably affecting her, writing of something this far 'out there' was a strange thing for anyone on their first try. He honestly could not wait to further show her how to get from the first point to the second, and back again.

"I really am writing out of my usual comfort zone with this one..."

Neal smiled at her understatement. That was the whole point, that no one would be in their comfort zone, no one would be able to pass this class without thinking through each writing assignment, without placing them self in their characters shoes and experiencing everything their character experienced, even if only in their minds. The knowledgeable teacher waited a few moments, perhaps a minute as if he was debating her request, when of course he had really already decided to help her. You could have cut the tension and silence in the room with a dull pair of kindergarten scissors, it was so taunt.

"Of course." Neal finally said, sliding and standing from his chair before walking around the desk to Alexia's side, then folding his arms and resting back against the finished desk he spoke again, looking sideways at his student while she turned slightly to look at him. As the odd teacher had admitted to himself several times before, Alexia was a pretty girl, and now with one quick gaze he reaffirmed the same thought before speaking again.

"The reason your last page is so well written, is actually linked to the fact that you are so vague in the beginning of your work. Consider, we know absolutely nothing about any of the characters, yet suddenly we find both of them in a passionate struggle," Neal paused, enjoying his phrasing of the situation, "Now what needs to occur before you reach this point, this sudden turn and leap to the climax of such an explosive subject. Is a build up of all these emotions that I don't doubt your character begins to feel, how you do that is up to you and will not come from my lips, even in light suggestion." Neal smiled, showing how he would kindly not help her completely pass his course, "Is there anything specifically you cannot wrap your mind around? Like how something such as this could occur, do you have an answer to these questions?" This was an interesting question, all of the students leaned in from their seats, eager to hear Alexia's answer.

"The reason your last page is so well written, is actually linked to the fact that you are so vague in the beginning of your work. Consider, we know absolutely nothing about any of the characters, yet suddenly we find both of them in a passionate struggle...Now what needs to occur before you reach this point, this sudden turn and leap to the climax of such an explosive subject. Is a build up of all these emotions that I don't doubt your character begins to feel, how you do that is up to you and will not come from my lips, even in light suggestion."

Alexia flushed slightly, glancing back down at the floor. Of course she hadn't wanted him to tell what to do. She wanted to figure this out and write this herself, she hadn't been looking for an easy ride through his class. She just wanted...guiding a little.

"Is there anything specifically you cannot wrap your mind around? Like how something such as this could occur, do you have an answer to these questions?"
"Well..." Alexia began before noticing the remaining students were hanging on her words. "I can't speak from experience or anything but...but these things obviously do happen, just look in the papers or on the news...professors and students seem to be having these relationships all over the country, probably all around the world..." She paused, leaning back against the desk along side him.

"A professor and a student are no less human than anyone else. They have urges and desires like everyone...and, I guess, students can find themselves in precarious positions, enjoying freedom and responsibilities that they might not have experienced before college...a professor can seem to be that older, wiser figure they need when things might not go as they planned."

"Not to say that some teachers probably abuse their position, use their position of authority to satisfy urges and fantasies that they shouldn't...but those cases I think are rare. I think I need to make sure I get my characters thoughts across, her confusion about what she thinks she wants, her concerns. Perhaps I should start with that...that scene and then tell the story leading up to it, almost in retrospect..." Her train of thought causing her to stop talking briefly, her mind working over phrasing and words she could use, making her drift into a day dream for a moment or two.

"What...what do you think? About my writing, I mean,...not about professor/student relationships..." She finished, a little uncertainly, realising everyone was listening and noticing how close she had moved to her teacher. And almost wishing she hadn't clarified herself. She was surprisingly eager to find out what a professor thought about such relationships. Alexia found, to her surprise, she wanted to ask Mr Broderick had he ever been tempted...but she bit her tongue, awaiting his response.

What...what do you think? About my writing, I mean,...not about professor/student relationships...

Neal enjoyed the slight hesitation, perhaps later she would ask the questions perches on the tip of her tongue and just between her lips, he could see it, see something in her eyes that had her wanting to ask, wanting to know something more about him. They would find out, they would all find out soon enough. In fact, Neal mused, many things would come out this last year of his teaching in this academy, it had all been a very sweet deal with his friend John Roberts, the dean here at the school. But quite soon that deal would come to an end, and I'll be able to retire in my fantastical bliss. Or so the thought was, more and more Neal was beginning to realize he would miss teaching, and this year would be especially hard, if things went the way they seemed they would.

"Your writing is exceptionally good at points, and exceptionally bad at others." Neal said, his eyes boring holes right through Alexia as he spoke, but he wasn't staring pointedly, there was a slight blankness to his stare, like he wasn't even watching what his eyes saw. "To say I felt nothing during the brief tryst of passion, would be a cleverly conceived lie, in fact if I was not a teacher I think I would write something on the subject," Neal grinned mysteriously, "Because of how good your piece was. Of course if I did that now, I'm afraid the University would take it as a personal experience," He chuckled, "Which would be no good for my reputation I think, nor the schools."

Neal thought back over the rough draft Alexia had given him, it was full of grammatical inconsistency's, not necessarily wrong, but they would not suffice if the novel was to be read heavily by an English critic of any sort or kind, because literature critics were particularly harsh, especially if they enjoyed the subject matter. He knew that many would in Alexia's case, but it was a strange love/hate relationship for writers or critics, if they loved something, they would act for all intents and purposes like they hated it. It was a strange breed, Neal admitted to himself with regularity as he shifted on the desk, noticing for the first time how close Alexia was to him.

A small flash of recognition was all that escaped his mask of a face, he spoke again, focusing entirely too much, for a new student perhaps, on the subject at hand, "Do you intend to make this a erotic novel?" He asked, nothing about his body undermining the seriousness and honesty in which he asked the question, "Or will you continue it as a narrative, love piece of sorts? That will help you I think, on how to rearrange your book." He paused a bit, then decided he would need to explain.

"You see, if it is to be an erotic novel, then giving the reader a first smoking scene of eroticism can be effective, but perhaps not quite so as denying them for so long, then giving it and more to them. Whereas with a love novel of sorts, you would want to capture the reader with an explosive scene, then keep them hooked for more of the same later in the novel." Neal watched Alexia closely, judging on her body language and reaction as to what he thought about giving the novella such 'taboo' or 'lewd' title as erotica. Many students often blushed brightly when he would first use that word, but the good ones quickly came around and realized a good novel can be erotic, if you write it well enough.

"Your writing is exceptionally good at points, and exceptionally bad at others."
Alexia kept her eyes lowered, the compliment and criticism both somehow cancelling each other out. It was fact and she had expected to hear something along those lines from her tutor but it was that she got to hear it with an audience.
"To say I felt nothing during the brief tryst of passion, would be a cleverly conceived lie, in fact if I was not a teacher I think I would write something on the subject,"
Alexia's brow cocked unbidden as her eyes rose curiously to meet his, wondering what he might have written.
"Because of how good your piece was. Of course if I did that now, I'm afraid the University would take it as a personal experience, which would be no good for my reputation I think, nor the schools."
"No, no it wouldn't..." Alexia replied quietly. The words 'personal experience' repeating themselve tauntingly in her mind, almost urging her to ask her unspoken question. Was this an area that interested him because it was one he had experienced...or one he might want to...?

"Do you intend to make this a erotic novel?"
"Sorry...?" Alexia's voice sounded a little tight. As if almost guilty leaving her wondering if she had murmured her thoughts outloud.
"Or will you continue it as a narrative, love piece of sorts? That will help you I think, on how to rearrange your book."
"I...I don't think I'd thought about it..." Alexia's cheeks began to grow warm. Whispers between her fellow students about the word 'erotic' drifting unintelligibly across the room to her.

"You see, if it is to be an erotic novel, then giving the reader a first smoking scene of eroticism can be effective, but perhaps not quite so as denying them for so long, then giving it and more to them. Whereas with a love novel of sorts, you would want to capture the reader with an explosive scene, then keep them hooked for more of the same later in the novel."
Pushing the apparently continually errant lock of hair out of her eyes she looked up into his serious face. His question was not asked in jest, not that she thought it would be. It was a serious question about her writing.

"This is why I think I need guidance, sir, I have to admit to having read precious few..." She paused on the words to follow, knowing how naive and ridiculous they would make her sound, regardless of how valid they might be. "...Erotic novels so I don't even know if they are a genre I could, or should, attempt to master...do you think I should read some or is the 'stigma' that is attached to such books so strong you would dissuade me from the genre? Although, my limited experiences have given me the impression that the genre is full of cliches and far more description than substance but...the genre has existed for so long, there must be something to it's appeal...I suppose even classics like 'Lady Chatterly' were regarded as erotic novels in their day...and possibly still are...I don't think I should rule it out..." Alexia mused as she shifted against the desk, moving her weight from one foot to the other.

Her attention was now focused on the tutor beside her and on little else. The other members of the class fading into the background of her conscious.
"Would you...I mean, could you recommend any particular novels that I could read to see the potential for my story...I do genuinely value your opinion, sir, so please...do be honest...I will do all that I can to help make my writing as good as it can be..."

Neal frowned as he walked up towards his classroom. He'd quite simply forgotten that today was the first day class was held in the house he'd been granted by the Board. It had been one of the few things they had, had to do to convince him to teach. Money was not an issue, especially with his fast climbing book sales, Neal could have retired or gone on to simply continue writing for the rest of his life. Yes, his personality and probably to a greater degree his disease wouldn't allow him to be alone, in the solitary confinement of his own home, to live and let his disease fester. People, order, structure helped control the unstable mind that Neal had learned to love during his twenty-five years of life. The world of scholastics and teaching was the last comfortable place Neal could find to keep his life well ordered while still allowing the other, more creative, and less, natural, side of his mind to thrive.

So he moved back out into the thickly packed hallway. It was like a can of sardines during this particular time of the day, that was one reason he had insisted on a house of his own to teach in. He hated being in such a rigid place as the school. Moving swiftly through the thick masses, today Neal dressed in another strange outfit after having gone back to some resemblance of normal on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. (Neal's class was the only one that had sessions on all five days of the week and though students were not required to attend on Tuesday and Thursday, normally for the first two weeks they felt obligated to come, other teachers had assured him of that, Neal was confident the last fourteen weeks all twenty-one of his students would want to come everyday of the week.) He was wearing a Gianni Navy Blue suit, complete with diamond studded wrist cuffs and shoes so polished they sparkled whenever a beam of morning sun kissed them. To top it all off though, he wore a strangely designed tie that used too many colors, that he'd bought on a trip to Sydney, Australia over the past summer.

Walking briskly across the luxurious campus Neal readjusted the stylish glasses atop his nose several times before reaching the modern, dark blue trimmed, and rather large house. The students were all waiting inside, except for Jill who greeted him with an embarrassed smile from the steps, before following him inside. She was drinking Earl Gray Tea, Neal was sure of it. Entering the large sitting room, with room to fit fifty students comfortably, in fact, more then comfortably with the odd assortment of couches, lazy boys, love seats, and bean bags, Neal placed his brief case, pack bag, and coffee mug all on the circular desk that was directly in the center of the room before looking up. His eyes quickly searched the room and found to his exact knowledge, the different students had all separated to their different social groups. Which meant for the most part, they were all alone, since it was such a small class and college students tended to be mainly loners in such advanced/small classes. Except three of the males, Tony, Johnny, and Robert were together, looking very smug, confident, and unusually happy. "Congratulations guys, I heard about your rostering on the football team, that is indeed quite a feat. Not only do you guys for the most part have a very good shot at passing most of your academic classes, your also on a football team that is always tops in the division. Although," Neal paused and chuckled, "Now I'm going to have to come to all your games... Pain in my ass."

Neal was instantly known as a teacher who liked to get to know his students. Even just a week into school the students who'd all left, all twenty-nine of them, had dubbed him as a friendly guy who tried to hard to get to know you. Most college students didn't like people friendly teachers, but all twenty-one other students knew now why Neal could get away with it. It was just his personality, he could be kidding around one minute, and as hard as the thirty year veteran teacher who was just waiting for his retirement check. Since both Neal and the students knew that now, there would never be an issue with his friendliness. In fact the guys were rather glad Neal broke the ice so easily, they smiled brightly, and blushed a bit, probably because besides them, there were only four more guys in the classroom. God knows, boys blush easy, especially Freshmen, in a room full of girls. Neal didn't want to look, but he checked Jill, and the poor, shy little thing was blushing for the boys too, that made Neal smile.

"Well folks," Neal began in a voice that meant class was starting, "This is where we will be meeting for the rest of my class. Everyday I expect you to at least check in, you can even call house to check in with me, though I will expect you to come by face to face unless extraordinary circumstances present themselves... The phone number is posted along with everything else the Board wants me to let you know of, on the white board just inside the kitchen." Neal made a vague wave of his hand towards the general direction of the kitchen, while with the other hand, his left hand, he opened his brief case and removed his laptop. He then proceeded to open the laptop, start it, and then went about removing the papers from his pack bag. He had made them all start from scratch again on the opening's to their stories. Fresh, blank paper, and even kept the originals, which was a pain in the ass for anyone who had forgot to save after printing whatever they had finished.

"Most of you did an excellent job with your latest assignment. Rewriting the rough draft of your novel, in fact all of you did. The second time around, with whatever it was we talked about fresh in your heads, definitely helped you all concentrate more on less. Less description, more vague outlines. Less getting bogged down and writing through brick walls, so to speak. Less of everything, which is a very good place to start." Neal suddenly remembered and his eyes flashed over to Alexia, "Except for yours Miss Alexia, I wanted more, if you remember, you gave it to me, thank you, but you seemed to have misplaced that particularly good last scene. The last I remember, you had decided to keep it. Any reason for it's disappearance?" Since everyone was silent, and staring at either Neal or Alexia, Neal thought it necessary to add for relief, "And please don't say your canine friend ate it." Which brought a chuckle from everyone's comfortable seat.

The following days passed surprisingly fast to Alexia. She spent most of them in her room, tucked away with her laptop and an almost continuous supply of caffeine, writing and re-writing her opening. Attending the lectures she knew she had to but no more. She wrote late into the nights, padding out her introduction and opening sections. A lot more scene outlines, snatches of conversation, more characters including the one Jill had inspired her to create and she handed in a more complete story or a complete storyline at least. In fact, she’d been quite pleased with herself and her work although one concern continued to niggle at her mind.

That scene.
Alexia had omitted it from the draft she handed in to Mr Broderick, referencing it as ‘The Fantasy/Office Scene’ but refraining from including it again. She wasn’t sure whether it was just nerves over being made to possibly discuss it in front of an audience or whether it was deeper, more worrying worries.

Alexia didn’t have long to worry about the consequences of doing such a thing. Soon enough she found herself sitting lotus style in a old armchair in the house listening to Mr Broderick’s introduction.
"Well folks…This is where we will be meeting for the rest of my class... The phone number is posted along with everything else the Board wants me to let you know of, on the white board just inside the kitchen."

Reflex made Alexia turn her head in the direction of his hand, eyes finding the kitchen door before returning to his face, via his clothing. It wasn’t as odd as some professor’s garbs but it was the inconsistency that struck her. The twinkling of the diamond studs along with the sunlight bouncing off his shoes snapped her out of her mild daze and back to where she should have been, listening attentively.

"Most of you did an excellent job with your latest assignment. Rewriting the rough draft of your novel, in fact all of you did. The second time around, with whatever it was we talked about fresh in your heads, definitely helped you all concentrate more on less. Less description, more vague outlines. Less getting bogged down and writing through brick walls, so to speak. Less of everything, which is a very good place to start."
A sigh of relief had just escaped her lips when he continued, making her cheeks flush with unwanted warmth.

"Except for yours Miss Alexia, I wanted more, if you remember, you gave it to me, thank you, but you seemed to have misplaced that particularly good last scene. The last I remember, you had decided to keep it. Any reason for it's disappearance?...And please don't say your canine friend ate it."
Alexia made a nervous laugh, blending almost seamlessly in with the giggles and chuckles from her fellow students, almost but not quite.

“Well, I…I did make reference to… to that scene in the draft but I…”
She wanted to say she hadn’t printed it out again in an attempt to save paper but even she couldn’t believe she or anyone on this course would put ecology over their writing.

“I wasn’t sure whether to include it or not…it was a little intense, almost too intense and I, well, I wasn’t sure if I could write powerfully enough to lead up to such a scene or be able to write at such an intense level to continue the story from that point…” Alexia admitted candidly. “I know we need to learn to follow our instincts but…but what if my instinct to write this particular story was the wrong one…?”
It felt more than a little unsettling to voice such doubts in her own talent as a writer, especially in front of the other students, but she knew that she simply couldn’t say anything other than the truth to him.

“I know that we need to learn to write in ways that we are not immediately comfortable with and I do, I do want to learn to write in as many ways as I can but I…I guess I’m just not sure if I can…” Alexia’s voice tailed off as she refrained from saying that aside from all that she had mentioned, what worried her most was where such a scene had come from within her imagination and what ramifications it might have for her future as a writer…or even on her future relationships.

“…Well, I know that I can’t without help anyway, and that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” She added quietly but with a soft, genuine smile. “Sorry for not including it, but I haven’t deleted it, I have a hard copy and, if you think I should, I will re-include it…” Alexia finished quietly, holding his brilliant gaze for a moment longer than she felt comfortable with before looking almost meekly downwards, awaiting his response.

Neal watched in utter fascination as Alexia fumbled and bumbled her way through a half-hearted explanation that ended in her surrender to a demand that he had not made. Neal had an epiphany at the moment, well more of a reminder really, that there was a strict reason most writers could not become talk hosts. They were actually horrible orators and even worse, sometimes, at explaining the amazing ideas they had stuck in their heads. Unless it was on paper of course, when it came to the written word, that was where they were comfortable and did not hurt themselves with their vast imaginations. Alexia was one of the classical writers, Neal could see it now. She had great ideas that she did not understand or know if she even wanted to put them on paper. They just sort of happened, like magic soap slipping from her hands. It gave the young teacher a very good reason to smile as she lost his gaze, so he did smile, only to realize later that it might have seemed convoluted to smile after such a bumble of an explanation and the winning of a stare off.

Something else had occurred to Neal, something he had overlooked with his own ease at overcoming the barrier between fiction and what was right or wrong in fiction. It had been something he actually never had trouble with, his novel, was full of roughly one-hundred shunned or blatantly illegal actions, deeds, thoughts, and expressions of ideas. He'd made sure there was one-hundred, it seemed like the proper number. He had written so many, that he had obviously not considered the impact it would have on someone like Alexia that was a virgin (if you will pardon the pun) with such conflicted writing. So instead of doing what he had been planning on doing, Mr. Broderick simply let his smile fade into a slight grin and he nodded softly. "Though it is the goal of this class to have you very comfortable and familiar with things that are, taboo, and hard to write about, I will not be forcing anything on anyone. I understand and your grade is not suffering because of it, don't worry." The statement was directed primarily at Alexia, and at the end there was a pause until Neal began again, speaking to everyone.

"Guys and girls..." Neal launched into his lesson for the day. First going through the methodical work of highlighted portions in each story. There was far more yellow ink used on these outline's then the previous. In fact only a few dots of green were in the stories and Neal almost reached a state of giddiness when he saw several students eyes beginning to glaze over during the mere outlines of fantastically imaginative stories. Jill had begun a subtle work on the still ever present racial problems that plagued the world. Especially when love, marriage, and large families were involved. Neal even caught a few smiles of awe at how easily Jill was able to convey her idea's on paper without blatantly shouting at what was going on in the story. Her words were very soft and they lacked so much emotion, that they created it without using any adjectives at all. It was the last story read, Alexia's piece, minus the last scene, went over well as the fifth or sixth story, though without the last scene it was turned into a complicated relationship much like Jill's, only without the racial element. In fact the stories were very similar, though the writing style and settings were very different. Neal ended with a few minutes of questions that all were basic and easily answered. Then he gave out the next assignment, "By tomorrow I would like the opening paragraph of your book, fully written, edited, and proofread a million and one times over. It must be perfect. Dismissed!" Neal had told them how important the first sentence was to a book, they'd all get that, but did they know how important the first paragraph was? He wasn't sure, and needed to find out.

Most of the students didn't even move, they were all primarily interested in checking out this house that was basically theirs', though the only damper would be their teacher, who wasn't that bad, or so it seemed so far. They began exploring, quickly finding a game room, sound proofed library with a fireplace and several couches around it, and a small movie theater attached. There were also several bunk rooms above on the second floor, the third floor was locked, and they assumed correctly that it was Mr.Broderick's private quarters. Neal stepped over towards Alexia and asked, "Would you like to discuss more of your novel alone? I'm sorry I didn't not bring it up in front of the class, but the guys have football practice, their first, and I really wanted everyone to hear what I had to say, I hope it helped you a bit with what you're struggling with. But, come, let's talk." Neal offered his arm like a proper gentleman would, then winked, and chuckled as he dropped his arm and pointed for Alexia to lead the way towards the small study attached to the library.

Neal did not shut the door all the way, in fact he only closed it lightly so the latch did not catch, before turning around to give Alexia a bright smile as he slid on top of his desk. "Now, Miss Alexia. You were asking for my help, something I am very honored to give, but I want to do something before we go into the specifics of the scene that has you fretting. I would like to discuss two things you said that had me wondering. One was that at first, you were uncomfortable with writing something so powerful, yes, powerful is what you said. You said it was too powerful, and that you could be wrong to write something so powerful. The second thing you mentioned, was that you consider yourself inadequate to follow, or precede such a powerful scene... Frankly, Miss Alexia, I think you not really concerned with either of these two things." Neal paused finally, to catch his breath and wave his hands in the air, like he was showing off a brand new car, "Here me for a moment, you have just written an extraordinarily powerful scene, one that has left your fellow students and your teacher stunned and enthralled. Your instincts cannot be wrong if we all think it is right. Second, how can you consider yourself unable to duplicate your success? Even with just your second revision of the novel, I see flickers of the same brilliance."

There were several long seconds before Neal spoke again, obviously he was thinking very carefully over how to say what was next. "It is not that it is too powerful. It's deeper then that, you don't know if you want to write it, because you know you can. And you know you can write it very well." Neal paused to let his words sink in, he smiled kindly and asked gently, "Am I hitting a nerve?"

"Though it is the goal of this class to have you very comfortable and familiar with things that are, taboo, and hard to write about, I will not be forcing anything on anyone. I understand and your grade is not suffering because of it, don't worry."
"Thank you..." Alexia vaguely remembered mumbling almost inaudibly as she let herself sink back into the comfortable, over large, armchair. Hoping the inviting cushions and upholstery would simply allow her to sink so deeply into it she could completely avoid the curious and almost desperate glances being sent her way from her fellow students.

"Guys and girls..."
Alexia shook off the sense of self doubt that had apparently over whelmed her for a few terrifying moments and focused entirely on the lesson at hand. Jotting down his notes about describing details enough to make them alive but not to decribe things so much that they drown in their own adjectives.

"By tomorrow I would like the opening paragraph of your book, fully written, edited, and proofread a million and one times over. It must be perfect. Dismissed!"
Alexia wrote down the specifics of the assignment as the rest of the class set off on their own explorations of the house. It wasn't that Alexia didn't have her own curiosities about it, she just...had other things on her mind.
Like where her bizarre almost confession like speech had come from. She had intended to try and brush over the absence of 'that scene' but something in Mr Broderick's eyes and something hanging in the air after his words caused her to speak so candidly, so revealingly.

"Would you like to discuss more of your novel alone?"
Alexia actually jumped a little when Mr Broderickä's voice cut through her musings from such a close proximity.
"I'm sorry I didn't not bring it up in front of the class, but the guys have football practice, their first, and I really wanted everyone to hear what I had to say, I hope it helped you a bit with what you're struggling with. But, come, let's talk."
Alexia smiled shyly as he offered his arm in the perfect imitation of a gentleman from a bygone era before winking and ruining the image.

"Thank you, I would like to discuss it please...I just...I just can't seem to get things right in my head at the moment..." Alexia fell into step alongside him and followed him towards the study.
"And thank you for not bringing it up in front of the others...I know the opinion of my peers is vital when writing but...I think I need to develop my own opinion of things first..."

The study was small and smelt comfortingly of paper and of the old leather bound volumes upon it's shelves Alexia noticed, taking a seat before the ornately carved desk in the centre of the room. Watching Mr Broderick shun the other chair in favour of sitting upon the desk itself, placing himself almost directly in front of her.
"Now, Miss Alexia. You were asking for my help, something I am very honoured to give, but I want to do something before we go into the specifics of the scene that has you fretting...”
Alexia nodded her assent, debating whether to try and make herself more comfortable in the rather narrow wooden chair or remain as she was, sat with a straight back close to the front of the seat, opting for the later. It demonstrated her attentiveness if nothing else.

“ I would like to discuss two things you said that had me wondering. One was that at first, you were uncomfortable with writing something so powerful, yes, powerful is what you said. You said it was too powerful, and that you could be wrong to write something so powerful. The second thing you mentioned, was that you consider yourself inadequate to follow, or precede such a powerful scene... Frankly, Miss Alexia, I think you not really concerned with either of these two things."
Alexia’s mouth dropped open slightly as he appeared to have seen through her rambling series of explanations to the deeper, more worrying problem beneath. Rather than commenting, she settled on simply lowering her gaze from his probing one.

"Hear me for a moment, you have just written an extraordinarily powerful scene, one that has left your fellow students and your teacher stunned and enthralled. Your instincts cannot be wrong if we all think it is right. Second, how can you consider yourself unable to duplicate your success? Even with just your second revision of the novel, I see flickers of the same brilliance."
Alexia felt her cheeks flush with pride at such bluntly spoken compliments. They were not polished and gilded, there were plain and honest and therefore, much more worth receiving.

"It is not that it is too powerful. It's deeper then that, you don't know if you want to write it, because you know you can. And you know you can write it very well."
Cautiously, Alexia glanced back up into his face. Cheeks still flushed from his words about her writing and heart now beginning to pound in her ears at his most recent comment.
"Am I hitting a nerve?"
“I…I think so…although I am not sure what nerve it is…” Alexia replied in a quiet, almost nervous voice.

She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face while she sought the right words within her mind.
“It’s just…well, it scares me…” She said eventually, dropping her hand onto her lap and looking up almost hopefully into his face, although what it was she was hoping for she could not say. “I know that the words to write that scene almost appeared on the page almost without my summoning them and that…that kind of writing shouldn’t be questioned but it’s where the words and the ideas are coming from that concerns me…”

Alexia bit her lip, her bright eyes dropping to the carpet as she admitted shyly,
“I know the ways of the world, Mr Broderick, I’m not totally naïve but…the things I find myself wanting to write about are things I have no experience of…nor would I wish to, I think…and I thought the first rule of writing was, ‘write what you know’. How can I write it if I don’t understand it? If I fear it…?”

Britwitch said:

“I know the ways of the world, Mr Broderick, I’m not totally naïve but…the things I find myself wanting to write about are things I have no experience of…nor would I wish to, I think…and I thought the first rule of writing was, ‘write what you know’. How can I write it if I don’t understand it? If I fear it…?”

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Mr.Broderick, Neal, let several long moments, nearly three full minutes pass as he mulled over Miss Alexia's questions. They were not simple yes or no, right or wrong questions. English was not a language of do's and do not's. That was why Neal loved it so much, there really was no right or wrong answer to any question Alexia gave him. That being said, however, Neal wanted to make sure his answer was something that not only he believed, but could prove without a shadow of a doubt had some merit, some bearing with the original question in mind. That is why it took him three minutes, roughly a minute for the first question, it was much easier to explain how you can write something without any additional instances added.

The second question took more time, although that was mostly because Neal instantly separated the if from the rest of the question. Alexia did fear what she could write, but she did know how she could write it, she just didn't know if she should or would write it, the way it was meant to be written. Although, Neal had to add about thirty seconds onto his mulling time, because he confused himself thoroughly with altering the original question to something that resembled this, "Since I fear my own writing, should I even write it?" He said it out loud, rather softly to Alexia. "Since I fear my writing, because I have not experienced what I am writing about, should I write it? All I am doing is making the question a bit more exact, I'm sorry for being such a pain in the ass, but it's obvious how you write," Neal made a scribbling motion, then a typing motion with his fingers and rolled both eyes in a circle.

Then he became rather serious again before giving, what he felt, the best possible answer was. "Sometimes Miss Alexia we do not write about what we know, but about what we imagine. A few days ago I asked you whether or not you would be writing your novel as an erotica piece, or as a love narrative. The only real difference between the two is that with a love narrative, the writer normally has experienced what they are writing about, though not always. In a erotica piece, fantasy and imagination are often taken to the absolute extreme, with aliens, and hosts of other odd sexual fetishes, though sometimes it is just the simple fantasy of say, falling in love with a teacher." Neal smiled, hoping she was beginning to understand his point, "Your second revision seems to lend itself more towards the love narrative, though from a completely fictional point of view, of course. Though with the last scene added back in, you certainly could call it an erotica short story as well."

Neal paused against and shifted a bit on the table, straightening his sleeves and wrinkling his nose at one point, before pushing the glasses back up on his nose. "You are writing about something you can only imagine doing, you are writing because you want to know about it, to experiment, to see how you would react if you were your character. This is how you can write something like this, even while being afraid of it and not having experienced it first hand. You are imagining it, you are separating your self from your imagination, and letting your imagination soar." Mr.Broderick ended with a certain far away look in his eyes, before they refocused on Alexia, and came crashing back to the present. He smiled softly at Alexia and waited, wondering what more she would ask or say.

"You are writing about something you can only imagine doing, you are writing because you want to know about it, to experiment, to see how you would react if you were your character. This is how you can write something like this, even while being afraid of it and not having experienced it first hand. You are imagining it, you are separating your self from your imagination, and letting your imagination soar."
Alexia listened attentively, her mind subconsciously making notes of all that Mr Broderick said, wishing she had thought to take her notepad out of her bag to do so more effectively. Although her mental note-making faltered as she spoke about her apparent 'desires'.

"But I...I'm not sure that I want to know about that...about the kind of scenario I have written about...it's dark, dark and violent and...well, it's every woman's nightmare, isn't it?" Alexia felt the tell tale warmth on her cheeks once more. Her fingers rising to idly twist a piece of hair purely out of a need to focus on something other than what was beind discussed. "I mean...it's almost...it's almost rape, sir...how, that is, why would I want to know about such a thing?"

As unsettling as the idea was, it was the only logical reason she could think of. Moreover, Mr Broderick was a teacher, and not just a teacher but one who was very highly thought of. Why would he say anything but his genuine, honest, academic opinion?

There was also the worrying, fluttering sensation awakening in her stomach as she spoke. Her imagination already flying back to that scene. Putting her in the place of the character, imagining the hands, the hot breath...
She coughed quietly and adjusted her blouse, shyly looking up into Mr Broderick's face. Praying the contents of her imagination would not show on her own.

"I mean...it's almost...it's almost rape, sir...how, that is, why would I want to know about such a thing?"

Neal ignored those blotches of blush and her racing pulse for the moment, and instead focused solely on the question at hand. He was qualified to speak about this, and to a very long extent, even if it wasn't the most academically accepted topic in any school. He waved his hand to her embarrassment, brushing it off like a piece of crumb cake, "Many women fantasize about rape, and more specifically about what you've written. A scenario that could easily be called rape, but for the victim," Neal provided air quotes for the word victim, "It was not rape in the sense that they enjoyed it. Or in some cases the just like it hard, and find sex unsatisfying if it is a gentle cuddling with some prick who is just enjoying himself. They want to feel used, abused even sometimes. There is a whole sub-culture of people who enjoy this, and there are even a few men who enjoy it," Neal made a disgusted face, "Though that is another subject entirely."

Before she could speak or thank him Neal opened up, "Now, just now before I answered your question I saw you blush, and then you flinched. You coughed and smoothed your perfectly unwrinkled shirt. In speech therapy and classes it would be called a catch, or a habit, something you do when you're unsure of what to say, how to say it, or if your mind is somewhere else and you must bring it back to the present." Neal stood up and ran a hand through his hair, then coughed into his closed fist, "Something like this, or," He adjusted his glasses upon his face in the strange way that he always did, "That," He smiled as Alexia grinned, recognizing that she wasn't the only one guilty of a catch. "But you used two at once, and you blushed beforehand, so I'm wondering if my words are more correct then you are trying to let on... Consider," He moved very close to Alexia just then, "I am your teacher and if I was to suddenly lock the door, and throw you over my desk, would you enjoy it? You would be surprised, yes, but after reading this writing, I'm sure you've thought about it. Tell me, what do you think, about all of this?" Neal didn't move from his place close to her, she could hear him breathing and see his chest rising and falling with each breath, but he hadn't touched her or done anything to scare her physically.

"Many women fantasize about rape, and more specifically about what you've written. A scenario that could easily be called rape, but for the 'victim'...It was not rape in the sense that they enjoyed it. Or in some cases the just like it hard, and find sex unsatisfying if it is a gentle cuddling with some prick who is just enjoying himself. They want to feel used, abused even sometimes..."
Alexia, to her great discomfort, found herself unable to do anything but look at her professor as he spoke about such things with an ease that was almost unsettling.
"...There is a whole sub-culture of people who enjoy this, and there are even a few men who enjoy it...that is another subject entirely."
The shudder that passed through her body could not have been stopped even if she'd tried to suppress it, although whether it was the candid explanation she was listening to or it's content she couldn't pinpoint.

"Now, just now before I answered your question I saw you blush, and then you flinched. You coughed and smoothed your perfectly unwrinkled shirt. In speech therapy and classes it would be called a catch, or a habit, something you do when you're unsure of what to say, how to say it, or if your mind is somewhere else and you must bring it back to the present...Something like this, or...That,"
In spite of her prior concerns about the direction their conversation was taking, Alexia couldn't help but smile as he pointed out her anxious habits, a sense of relief filtering through her for a moment or two as he displayed his own nervous 'twitches'.

"But you used two at once, and you blushed beforehand, so I'm wondering if my words are more correct then you are trying to let on..."
"...Sir...?" The sense of relief was swiftly extinguished within her and the knot in her stomach tightened as Mr Broderick moved closer, much closer.
"Consider...I am your teacher and if I was to suddenly lock the door, and throw you over my desk, would you enjoy it? You would be surprised, yes, but after reading this writing, I'm sure you've thought about it. Tell me, what do you think, about all of this?"

Alexia's eyes widened as her breathing faltered. His tone was serious and his expression unwavering. He hadn't even touched her and yet she felt a curious tingling moving across her skin. Subconsciously she drew back ever so slightly upon the chair.
"I...I don't know, Sir..." Alexia's voice was quiet and tight, almost meek as she replied. Trying in her mind to remember where she was and what they were talking about.

Her story. It was about her writing.
She wasn't being propositioned, it was just a converstion, just a line of enquiry to help her understand...wasn't it?
"I suppose that, if you...if you were to..." Alexia took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with steadily increasing speed. "If you were to do that then obviously I would...well, I would..."
All at once her imagination exploded with the image of Mr Broderick's words. Alexia heard the click of the lock followed by her own gasp as he moved her, she could almost feel the smooth surface of the desk beneath her back, the warmth and solidity of his body above her, on her. Pressing down, holding her down, his hands moving...

She shut her eyes tightly, trying to push the images and sounds away from her mind. Forcing herself to focus on how all of this might somehow relate back to her story.
"I can't say...I don't know what I would do in that situation, Sir. In my story the character has emotional ties to her teacher which makes the situation confusing for her. She feels attracted to him but knows what he is doing is wrong...because they have flirted and shared banter in class she almost feels that its, well, that its almost her fault that he's doing what he's doing...and because she has felt attracted to him before...she can't make up her own desires, thus allowing him to continue, giving him the control he apparently wants and believing herself to enjoy it...maybe she does enjoy it, I don't know..."

"If...if it was me, I don't know...I guess I can't say because I haven't been in such a situation and I doubt I ever will...and I'm sure you wouldn't place me in such a position, would you, Mr Broderick?" She finished weakly realising that throughout her words, he had remained where he was. So close she could feel his breath against her.

Neal paused long enough, just long enough for Alexia to understand that he would, if she wanted to and if he perhaps wasn't so smart. But his words were the complete opposite, "No, of course not. Not only would I be fired, but I could never live with myself for doing something so degrading to a student of mine. Not even to a girl like Cheryl, no matter how much of a slut she might be underneath her rich frilly self. I'm here to cherish your young minds and help them grow, although in some cases it is simply watching as you clear a path for yourself. A few of your fellow students, and yourself are really very easy to teach, I don't have to do much of anything." Neal gave a small laugh, but he still hadn't moved. That was another way of telling Alexia how obvious it was, that if this was a story, if this was fiction as it was on paper he most certainly could, would, and should pick her up and lay her on his desk. Of course there would have to be a relationship first, like the one described in her book and they most certainly did not have that yet. She was too timid, too afraid of her own desires to even joke about them, let alone let someone extract them from her mind and turn them into realities. Neal fell silent and backed up to the desk, his eyes remaining intently on Alexia's and waiting to see if she had any other questions.

The observant, humour laden response Alexia expected to hear did not come.
Instead Alexia felt her breathing falter as Mr Broderick simply stayed where he was, leaning in close, his intense gaze focused upon her, the pause lasting moments but feeling so very much longer.

"No, of course not. Not only would I be fired, but I could never live with myself for doing something so degrading to a student of mine. Not even to a girl like Cheryl, no matter how much of a slut she might be underneath her rich frilly self. I'm here to cherish your young minds and help them grow, although in some cases it is simply watching as you clear a path for yourself. A few of your fellow students, and yourself are really very easy to teach, I don't have to do much of anything."
Alexia echoed his laugh but felt a cold ripple dance over her skin as his eyes continued to hold hers, his body inclined towards her purposefully, albeit motionless.

"I...I know you are very busy, sir, but could I ask you something?" Alexia began, swallowing slightly and beginning to raise her hand to her hair before his comments about 'catches' passed through her mind and she smiled shyly and let her hand drop into her lap. "As I'm not sure of the direction my story will take, could we...I mean...could I share it with you, and only you, here rather than in front of the class? I don't want special treatment, sir, please don't think that's what I mean but...but as the subject matter is so," Alexia paused, trying to think of the right word, biting her lower lip as she did so.

"So unusual, I don't want your lessons to become taken up by it...nor would I want anyone to get the wrong idea about what I'm writing about. I realise writing about a student and teacher like this could appear to some to be somehow based in reality and I know that some of the more 'creative' imaginations out there might do more than simply think such things." Alexia laughed slightly realising what it was she was suggesting. "I guess I want to protect your reputation, sir, as much as my own...but I do understand if you would rather continue to read my work and comment on it in class along with everyone elses'..." She finished quietly, lowering her head and her gaze slightly.

In truth, she wasn't quite sure where this odd idea had come from, nor that it was actually any better to keep seeing him in private meetings as opposed to having an audience to their debates, except there would be no one there to see her blush as they discussed such risque topics.

Indeed, having an audience would probably dispell any notion that they were in fact doing anything untoward. Nevertheless, her suggestion had been made, and all Alexia could do was wait to see if it would be accepted.

Not only would hiding her story for private sessions mean intimate, private, conversations behind closed doors. But it would also coddle her mind and restrict the minds of others by hiding such a controversial topic. It made all the sense in the world for Neal to refuse, only, he found that he could not entirely. No, he had a much more devious and better way that would not only maintain his standing as someone who cared to nourish and nurture their minds, but would also hopefully provide more trust for Alexia to grasp. Neal was self-analytical, but nothing he analyzed would ever lead him to believe he did this for any other reason the the ones he was about to give her even though deep inside he knew these answers were nothing more then lies.

"I can understand your unease Alexia, but you are an adult now and as one I expect you to be able to discuss this kind of material with your peers. In fact that is the goal of my glass, to sharpen your minds and let you freely express yourself on paper and through your words. Doing this in private would hurt you in the long run and that is something I can not do in any good conscious." Neal paused and gave a brief smile as if he was reconsidering something even though it was already entirely made up in his mind, "However, since you have already dropped this particular scene from your story I see no harm in continuing to leave it present from what review in front of the class and talking about it more in public. However you will have to work much harder on the rest of your story to make sure it is up to the general standards as without this piece you will have little leverage for silly mistakes. Do you understand?"

"I can understand your unease Alexia, but you are an adult now and as one I expect you to be able to discuss this kind of material with your peers. In fact that is the goal of my class, to sharpen your minds and let you freely express yourself on paper and through your words. Doing this in private would hurt you in the long run and that is something I can not do in any good conscious."
Alexia nodded, lowering her gaze and feeling the increasingly familiar sensation of embarassment rising up in front of her. Of course her suggestion was inappropriate...
"Of course, Sir, I..."

"However, since you have already dropped this particular scene from your story I see no harm in continuing to leave it present from what review in front of the class and talking about it more in public. However you will have to work much harder on the rest of your story to make sure it is up to the general standards as without this piece you will have little leverage for silly mistakes. Do you understand?"
Alexia looked up into his face, eyes wide and slightly questioning before seeing the sincerity upon his face. A smile quickly spread across her lips.

"Really, Sir? Oh thank you...I really am sure I will be able to write with more confidence...with more freedom knowing I won't have the immediate pressure of explaining the more explicit scenes in front of everyone..." Alexia's voice was suddenly lighter than it had been since setting foot inside his cosy yet imposing office. "And I will, I promise, I will work twice as hard as I have been, harder, and do all that you ask of me, Sir, I won't let you know..."
Her young face was earnest and eyes bright with enthusiasm. It was as if almost all her concerns about her risqué story had somehow faded away.

Taking a long, deep breath Alexia let her eyes drop to her bag on the floor.
"Would you like to start now, the discussion, or would you rather we made an appointment for another time...?"
Mr Broderick shrugged in a non-committal manner making Alexia pause before bending down to reach into her bag and retrieve her trusty notebook and latest printouts of her story. She figured he would quickly tell her if he would rather their analysis of her scenes waited for another time.

Most of her printouts were covered in pencil notes, arrows and under linings, slightly dog-eared around the edges, definitely having been read several times. In amongst them were two or three pages that were pristine. They almost looked as if they had come straight from the printer tray and into her hands. These were the scenes she had been avoiding discussing.
She shuffled them around for a moment, moving them back to front and then front to back before looking up into Mr Broderick's expectant face.

“I’ve tried…I’ve been trying to write a scene prior to the other…well the ‘rape’ scene, Sir, and I’m not sure if I’m getting the right tone. You see I think the girl, she’s attracted to her Professor but she feels a sense of unease around him. When she first suspects he might feel the same kind of attraction that she feels towards him she, well, she doesn’t know how to react…”

Alexia held out one of the printouts, paper shaking almost imperceptibly as she waited for him to take it. To read it. To give her the feedback she needed.

It was a classroom scene, the Professor had handed out exercises for the students to complete. The girl, the central character, was seated at the back. Her mind focused on her work but threatening to wander off on its own, in search of its own distraction, when a distraction presented itself.
… It was a new scent, a new aftershave, or perhaps she had simply never noticed it before. She could smell it drifting around her like an invisible embrace. Her eyelids fluttered as it reached her nostrils again, making her subconsciously lick her lips. Her mind wondering whether it smelt different upon his skin, whether it would smell different if it rubbed off on hers.

She could feel him then, stood behind her, leant over her shoulder supposedly reading her work but she could sense his eyes were not on the paper on her desk, she tentatively glanced upwards and saw his eyes looking past her face but only as far as her chest. Her breathing faltered as her eyes moved away, glancing over her classmates. They were all focused on their own work, lost in their own worlds.

Then she felt it. Circling between her shoulder blades, his thumb, drawing lazy circles in the centre of her back. It was subtle, it could almost be called innocent and yet that simple action had more effect on her body than the most intense kisses she had shared with boyfriends up until that moment. She felt warmth spread across her cheeks. She fidgeted in her seat, squirming almost. Wanting to speak but knowing that to do so would take that wonderful, almost dangerous, sensation away from her.

Between her thighs a tingling, aching sensation began to throb. Making her wet her lips again and again. A soft, soft sigh escaping her lips as his thumb began to trail higher, taking a lazy route up her spine. Higher and higher, up under her hair to her neck. Then his fingers extended, starting to stroke the back of her neck, awakening excited tingles and sending them dancing merrily out across her shoulders and down her spine.

Knowing she couldn’t sit still or keep quiet for much longer, she started to sit forwards, to silently ask him to stop his torment. His fingers changed, they rose sharply and gripped her hair, sending a bolt of nervous excitement through her body, drawing her back towards him, giving his own silent answer to her question.

She whimpered, the sound barely audible to any except them. His finger massaged her scalp, almost rewarding her for her response, her behaviour, reassuring her, before walking back down her neck and then stroking down her back in one continuous movement as he moved to stand beside her.
“This…” He pointed to a passage on the page with one had while reaching in front of her with the other and, after slowly finding her hardening nipple beneath her shirt, firmly squeezing it. Rubbing it between the pads of his fingers and pulling ever so slightly, twisting it, making her back arch and eyes water with the almost overwhelming rush of pleasure and pain that washed over her. “This will need further work…”
Then his touch was gone, but the ache remained. Growing stronger and stronger as she watched him walk away and return to his desk. An ache she knew she would not be able to ignore.

Neal read the pages once. He nodded to Alexia and read them again. Then he placed held them loosely in his hands and stared up at the ceiling. It wasn't a distant, angry, or disconcerting stare. At least he hoped not. It was supposed to be intelligent and alive as he thought and forced his mind through the scene from several different points of view. First, the girls. The tone for her was definitely erotic, and exciting, full of adrenaline and attraction the girl didn't understand. It was quite good in fact, Neal wondered if any student of his had ever had a reaction nearly as violent or pleasant as this one from his presence. He doubted it, and thankfully that was a comforting thought.

The second point of view would be the teachers, something Neal rather enjoyed doing in any story, romantic, erotic, or whatever, that had a teacher included in it. It was easy for him to see the teachers side of view, and often it was not the main character that had any visible flaws, for undoubtedly a story featured the main character and thus any flaws could hardly be seen. No, no it was often the secondary characters that could expose the main characters flaws, or the stories flaws itself. Such as Alexia's story, would a teacher really be so bold as to... Torture, the students nipple in class?

No matter how smooth, no matter how dexterous the man was there was a good possibility he would be caught by another student, a camera, or perhaps even the Dean himself. Barring any of those three likely hoods, the guilt and nervousness associated with such an action could have been enough to drive the man wild. Of course, by the presence of the 'rape' scene in Alexia's story, it did drive him wild. So it really did make a lot of sense. Perhaps there was nothing wrong with the tone? Neal looked at the paper a third time and read through it, and then gave Alexia quick glance and opened his mouth to speak.

Nothing came out, the thought struck him and he closed his mouth, the smile telling her that everything was perfectly fine disappeared. There was something wrong with the tone, something he had not seen before, it was really quite subtle but it seemed important now, the more Neal thought about it. Again he looked at Alexia and smiled, only this time it was the smile that said she shouldn't feel too bad, it was only a little mistake. "I believe in this case relating school and their relationship is a bit of an oxymoron. The teacher obviously has passed any mental limits or barriers that have kept him from doing this to another student, and trust me," Neal said with a dead serious face, "All us teachers need these barriers. But he has passed them and his wild lust and desire has overwhelmed him. I do not think he could contain himself to say in a deadpan, teacher like voice that her work needed to be fixed. He would have to whisper it, or not say anything at all... Because if he did have the coolness to do that, he wouldn't be so out of control with his hands. It's really very complex, and I nearly missed it, but I do believe that is the fault in the tone that you are hearing when you read it."

Alexia watched with bated breath as Mr Broderick read and re-read her pages. Feeling her heart falter every time he looked in her direction. Her cheeks pinked as she sensed him reach the climax of the scene, growing warmer with each reading.

She was expecting him to simply dismiss the scene as being too fantastical, too unbelievable...another fantasy scene for her to incorporate into her story.
"I believe in this case relating school and their relationship is a bit of an oxymoron. The teacher obviously has passed any mental limits or barriers that have kept him from doing this to another student, and trust me...all us teachers need these barriers. But he has passed them and his wild lust and desire has overwhelmed him..."
Alexia breathed a mild sigh of relief. There was clearly something he wanted her to change or remove but to know that he hadn't dismissed her work entirely was a massive weight lifted from her mind.

"I do not think he could contain himself to say in a deadpan, teacher like voice that her work needed to be fixed. He would have to whisper it, or not say anything at all... Because if he did have the coolness to do that, he wouldn't be so out of control with his hands. It's really very complex, and I nearly missed it, but I do believe that is the fault in the tone that you are hearing when you read it."

Alexia thought for a moment. "I understand what you mean, Sir, but if he was to whisper to her...surely he might whisper something more. The line I wrote would work as a comment that if overheard could be explained. If his confidence was such that he would want to whisper, to make the event even...darker...than it already it was, what would stop him making a far more lewd suggestion? Or would whispering make that statement about 'needing more work' have more impact...? Having said that I haven't the faintest idea of what he might say instead..." Even as Alexia finished her musing she had closed her eyes and was imagining the scene within her mind's eye.

She was sat at the desk, at the back of the classroom, she could hear the scratching of pens on paper, the occassional sigh or cough. She sensed the teacher approach, felt his warmth, his breath...her heart beginning to pick up its pace with anticipation...

Her brow creased as she tried to imagine what she might hear whispered in her ear. What would make the scene work...what would make it the best and worst of experiences for the girl...? Would his whispering in her ear that her work, her nipple, would need more work be thrilling enough or would it need to be something more...something far more lascivious...?

Then Alexia's heart actually stopped for a moment. Not daring to open her eyes she thought she heard Mr Broderick moving...moving around, around behind her...her brow creased a little more as she shook her head slightly, convinced her mind was allowing itself to become too deeply involved in her story.
"I...I don't know, I can't tell, what he would do..." Alexia murmured, more to herself than to her teacher but all the same she wanted his feedback, his opinion. She needed it.