Creative Writing Exercise: Please not the same old Prof and Student for Grades

[PapaRomantic]

Supper was over, and I felt we were about to reach the conclusion of my little 'class project.'

I walked into the living room where I had sent him while I finished putting the food away. He looked so young, so handsome. If I had a type, he would be so very close to it. I knew he was thinking this would be the night. Perhaps it had been a long-time fantasy of his, to bed a young, sexy professor. Perhaps it had snuck up on him. Or perhaps I would just be another conquest for a young man who was majoring in sexual activity in college.

"Hunter, I think maybe we should move this conversation to my bedroom. Care to join me?"

He didn't answer verbally - he didn't have to. Instead, he quickly rose out of the chair and followed me, like a young puppy looking for tummy skritches. I walked into the darkened bedroom, quickly finding the table lamp. Once I turned it on, a soft glow of light filled the room.

I turned back to him. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes, Professor Jennings. I've known since the first day of class!"

I smiled and ran my fingers through his sandy blonde hair. It was time to let him down. "I'm sorry, Hunter. I've been leading you along. You see, you're been an unwitting part of a little class project. I want to show the class just how easy it is to get caught up in a sexual situation that could have devastating effects on you. Free sex is available everywhere, but too many times, it comes back to haunt us. Tomorrow in class, I'm going to describe my little project to the students. I won't identify you by name. But you'll have to do a good job of not letting on that it was you if you don't want them to find out. But you'd probably better be there, because if you're gone, they'll know it was you instantly."

He looked dejected as he heard my explanation, but his reply let me know he hadn't heard a word I said. "You mean we're not going to fuck?"

"No, Hunter. You're going to go. See you in class tomorrow."

As he traipsed out the door, I could hardly wait to tell my wife about him. She was going to enjoy my story very much!

 

[ShelbyDawn57]

I touched on this with Detention, a quick little 750 word exercise about misbehaving at an exclusive all-girls college...

 

[NotWise]

297 words.

Laura stepped back from the window and said, “I didn’t see this coming.” There were shouts in the hall and police in front of the Physics building.

Stern stood at his office door and listened to the commotion outside before he locked it. “The pickets out front weren’t getting enough attention, so they brought the demonstration inside.” He picked up his cell phone and texted his lab manager. “Get the RAs into the high pressure lab and lock yourself in.”

He dropped behind his desk and took a careful look at Laura. “Studying a lot?” It was easy to imagine. Her appearance said she didn’t have time for vanities, and she couldn’t do better in his class.

“Quaternary phase diagrams are kicking my butt.” she said.

“They’re a conceptual tool.” He waved at the papers she’d spread in front of him. “You aren’t having trouble with the concept.”

Laura dropped into his side chair and pushed her glasses up. “It hasn’t left me much time for anything else.”

“You have time now.” Stern didn’t know Laura outside the classroom, so he asked, “What would you do instead?”

“I didn’t bring anything but my notebook.” A loud thump against the door and a scuffle in the hall made her glance away. “And I don’t think I can sleep.”

“Sleep is overrated.” Stern let his eyes travel down from the lines of Laura’s throat. She straightened her back. She touched her face.

Everything about Laura appealed to him. He liked her intelligence. Even her lack of vanity tweaked his knobs. Stern stood up from his chair, and Laura watched him pace the room until he stopped behind her.

Stern leaned to her ear as if someone might hear. “Relax,” he said. “I have a proposal for you to consider.”

 

[FrancesScott]

Any one interested in an intro or vignette to a story of a Prof and Student affair that isn't the same old trope?

I sighed. There it was in black and white.

Dear Prof Roberts,

We regret to inform you that your application for an additional grant has been rejected. NCI funding has been drastically cut, there was a lot of competition, and the panel felt that your submission was neither novel, nor robust enough to be further considered […]

It went on in this vein for some time, ending with a supposedly encouraging suggestion to submit other - presumably more novel and more robust - ideas in the future.

“Shit!”

The next thing was horrible to contemplate; I had to tell Midori. She’d be devastated.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!”

Calm yourself, I thought. You told her there might be bad news, she knows her post doc wasn’t guaranteed. Easy to say in my head, to her face? Would she blame me? Had I led her to believe…?

“Shit!”

“You OK, Professor Roberts?”

I knew from the lilting South Carolina accent just who was speaking without looking up from my monitor.

“Hi, Midori. Come in. Maybe close the door behind you. Have a seat.”

Never have a relationship with your Ph.D. student. Never! I thought in some consternation, and with increasing guilt. It was a simple rule. It was there for a reason. The thing is, it didn’t really take into account being bowled over by a dynamic, fiercely intelligent, and frankly beautiful woman.

I took a deep breath, telling myself, there is no fool like an old fool, and you should know better. Now you have to…

I realized that Midori had been sitting patiently waiting for me to speak. How long had it been? Minutes surely.

“I’m sorry, Midori. I… I have some bad news.”

“Are you ill Professor?” she inquired with a transparent look of concern on her porcelain features. We’d agreed on formality while in work, the better to avoid unwelcome attention. But now the honorific sounded jarring to me.

If anything, Midori’s concern for me made things worse. I could never tell whether it was Southern politeness, or Japanese respect for elders. Perhaps each reinforced the other.

“Is it the NCI grant then, Professor?”

She was just so fucking smart. Her mind was crystalline. To someone like me, it made her close to irresistible, though she was also delicately pretty. Beauty and the beast of a brain.

“Yes, I’m afraid so, Midori. I… I didn’t do a good enough job of the proposal. I… I let you down. I’m so sorry.”

And just like that, I was weeping. She was going to hate me, it was the end. The end of an ill-advised and unprofessional affair. But one that had meant everything to me. And now…

Then she was kneeling next to my chair, and her hand was on my thigh and she looked up at me, her own more modest tears forming in the corners of her dark, monolid eyes.

“It’s OK, Professor.”

“Don’t call me that, please.” It was heart-breaking.

“It’s for the best,” she went on, and it was like a knife in my heart.

“You told me, it was uncertain. And the climate is difficult for science, everyone knows that. I appreciate you trying.”

Midori’s kindness and understating were ripping me up inside. Why? I bowed my head and sobbed.

“Hey, Prof… Hey,” she corrected herself. “I think it really is for the best. You see…”

Something in her tone made me look up abruptly, and I saw a half smile on her thin, ruby lips.

“I… I hope you aren’t angry. When you told me there could be a problem. Well, I really wanted to stay at Cold Spring, and…”

“And…?” I asked a tiny shred of hope forming in my chest.

“And I spoke to Professor Ramirez, and he…”

“You got another position. Oh thank God, Midori.”

“Yeah. I said I wanted to stay at Cold Spring. But I didn’t say why. I mean, I love the place, and the work. But I also love… I mean…” Her pale skin was now bright red.

Wordlessly, I pointed at my chest.

“Yeah,” Midori replied. She moved up and kissed me. “And, well, we could be official, right? If you like. There is no rule about dating, or cohabiting with…” she has turned a deeper red now, “…if that’s what you’d like, of course… someone else’s post doc, is there?”

I stood and lifted my lover to her feet, embracing her tightly. “I’d like that very much. Are you sure it’s what you want, Midori? I’m practically a fossil.”

“Don’t be so silly. Thirty-six isn’t old. And yes, it’s what I want. I want you, Jane.”

And we kissed as if we’d never kiss again.

 

[Comshaw]

Inspired by madelinemasoch's call for stimulating exercises, I offer this: Let's have something different in the Prof/Student trope.

I've had a couple in my real life. I did have a student ask for a higher grade in return for sex, but I made her a deal. I'd tutor her in any of her freshman subjects, and if my help helped, she could reward me with a sexual favor that she deemed appropriate (She finished the semester on the Dean's List, btw). Another was a young lady who followed me to my office after class on a Friday to announce that her Dom (a previous student of mine) heard that I'd be alone for the weekend, and that she was to be mine until Monday. I'll also note that I had affairs with two of my female teachers when I was a student. One was while we explored ancient Greek archaeology, and the other was while we discussed and debated anthropological theory.

Any one interested in an intro or vignette to a story of a Prof and Student affair that isn't the same old trope?

Interesting, but some of us don't got no sophisticated background like college and such. We'un got to be cannon fodder (a' la Macnamara's army) while those with smarts did the college thing. But that college pussy you uns are tellin' about sounds like it would have got a dead mans dick hard. But then there ain't no room in such a place for a common good ol' boy now is there?


Comshaw

 

[SimonDoom]

I don't have a short exercise to offer. But I'm working on a long story featuring older male professor and female grad student. She discovers that he is an erotic story writer with a particular fetish, and she tries to persuade him to use her for that fetish. There's no blackmail. I'm trying to navigate the consent issues in an explicit and intelligent way.

 

[FrancesScott]

I sighed. There it was in black and white.

Dear Prof Roberts,

We regret to inform you that your application for an additional grant has been rejected. NCI funding has been drastically cut, there was a lot of competition, and the panel felt that your submission was neither novel, nor robust enough to be further considered […]

It went on in this vein for some time, ending with a supposedly encouraging suggestion to submit other - presumably more novel and more robust - ideas in the future.

“Shit!”

The next thing was horrible to contemplate; I had to tell Midori. She’d be devastated.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!”

Calm yourself, I thought. You told her there might be bad news, she knows her post doc wasn’t guaranteed. Easy to say in my head, to her face? Would she blame me? Had I led her to believe…?

“Shit!”

“You OK, Professor Roberts?”

I knew from the lilting South Carolina accent just who was speaking without looking up from my monitor.

“Hi, Midori. Come in. Maybe close the door behind you. Have a seat.”

Never have a relationship with your Ph.D. student. Never! I thought in some consternation, and with increasing guilt. It was a simple rule. It was there for a reason. The thing is, it didn’t really take into account being bowled over by a dynamic, fiercely intelligent, and frankly beautiful woman.

I took a deep breath, telling myself, there is no fool like an old fool, and you should know better. Now you have to…

I realized that Midori had been sitting patiently waiting for me to speak. How long had it been? Minutes surely.

“I’m sorry, Midori. I… I have some bad news.”

“Are you ill Professor?” she inquired with a transparent look of concern on her porcelain features. We’d agreed on formality while in work, the better to avoid unwelcome attention. But now the honorific sounded jarring to me.

If anything, Midori’s concern for me made things worse. I could never tell whether it was Southern politeness, or Japanese respect for elders. Perhaps each reinforced the other.

“Is it the NCI grant then, Professor?”

She was just so fucking smart. Her mind was crystalline. To someone like me, it made her close to irresistible, though she was also delicately pretty. Beauty and the beast of a brain.

“Yes, I’m afraid so, Midori. I… I didn’t do a good enough job of the proposal. I… I let you down. I’m so sorry.”

And just like that, I was weeping. She was going to hate me, it was the end. The end of an ill-advised and unprofessional affair. But one that had meant everything to me. And now…

Then she was kneeling next to my chair, and her hand was on my thigh and she looked up at me, her own more modest tears forming in the corners of her dark, monolid eyes.

“It’s OK, Professor.”

“Don’t call me that, please.” It was heart-breaking.

“It’s for the best,” she went on, and it was like a knife in my heart.

“You told me, it was uncertain. And the climate is difficult for science, everyone knows that. I appreciate you trying.”

Midori’s kindness and understating were ripping me up inside. Why? I bowed my head and sobbed.

“Hey, Prof… Hey,” she corrected herself. “I think it really is for the best. You see…”

Something in her tone made me look up abruptly, and I saw a half smile on her thin, ruby lips.

“I… I hope you aren’t angry. When you told me there could be a problem. Well, I really wanted to stay at Cold Spring, and…”

“And…?” I asked a tiny shred of hope forming in my chest.

“And I spoke to Professor Ramirez, and he…”

“You got another position. Oh thank God, Midori.”

“Yeah. I said I wanted to stay at Cold Spring. But I didn’t say why. I mean, I love the place, and the work. But I also love… I mean…” Her pale skin was now bright red.

Wordlessly, I pointed at my chest.

“Yeah,” Midori replied. She moved up and kissed me. “And, well, we could be official, right? If you like. There is no rule about dating, or cohabiting with…” she has turned a deeper red now, “…if that’s what you’d like, of course… someone else’s post doc, is there?”

I stood and lifted my lover to her feet, embracing her tightly. “I’d like that very much. Are you sure it’s what you want, Midori? I’m practically a fossil.”

“Don’t be so silly. Thirty-six isn’t old. And yes, it’s what I want. I want you, Jane.”

And we kissed as if we’d never kiss again.

I decided to cut thirty words and publish as a 750 word story.

Now published: https://www.literotica.com/s/the-grant-750-words

 

[Tio_Narratore]

Interesting, but some of us don't got no sophisticated background like college and such. We'un got to be cannon fodder (a' la Macnamara's army) while those with smarts did the college thing. But that college pussy you uns are tellin' about sounds like it would have got a dead mans dick hard. But then there ain't no room in such a place for a common good ol' boy now is there?


Comshaw

Nice try, but those who write "us don't got" and "we'uns" don't use words like "interesting" and "sophisticated." But I do take offence at your statement that "the college thing" kept young men out of McNamara's army; the poor and uneducated were over represented, for sure, but more than enough of my fellow students from then now exist only on the wall in D.C and in the memories of those who knew them.

 

[Tio_Narratore]

I don't have a short exercise to offer. But I'm working on a long story featuring older male professor and female grad student. She discovers that he is an erotic story writer with a particular fetish, and she tries to persuade him to use her for that fetish. There's no blackmail. I'm trying to navigate the consent issues in an explicit and intelligent way.

Interestingly I'm currently working on a similar story. A grad student wants to research the sexual underground, and her thesis advisor is anonymously leading her into the demi monde.

 

[TheLobster]

For last year's summer contest, I wrote Teaching Miss Stacy.

It starts as seemingly standard story of student trying to weasel out of the class (summer school) by seducing the teacher and trading sexual favors. But it quickly turns into something, well, opposite to that.

 

[Tio_Narratore]

For last year's summer contest, I wrote Teaching Miss Stacy.

It starts as seemingly standard story of student trying to weasel out of the class (summer school) by seducing the teacher and trading sexual favors. But it quickly turns into something, well, opposite to that.

I'll take a look. Thanks.

 

[StillStunned]

I decided to cut thirty words and publish as a 750 word story.

I don't think you've joined any of our other Writing Exercises yet, but you should keep an eye on the wordcount. There's a rule about not posting "more than three paragraphs" in the forums, which of course is pretty vague. And no complete stories.

We usually try to limit our snippets to about 350-ish words. Of course some go over, but the mods have been very tolerant about that. Presumably as long as it's the exception rather than the rule.

 

[Comshaw]

Nice try, but those who write "us don't got" and "we'uns" don't use words like "interesting" and "sophisticated." But I do take offence at your statement that "the college thing" kept young men out of McNamara's army; the poor and uneducated were over represented, for sure, but more than enough of my fellow students from then now exist only on the wall in D.C and in the memories of those who knew them.

Damn, you saw thorugh my subterfuge. I am surprised. You have to be pretty smart to do that huh?

If you think the college thing didn't keep young men out of the military during Vietnam, you need to educate yourself. When the draft was instituted most, if not all of those who were in college were given a 1-Y deferment. That is a fact. Those who weren't in college, even those who were married carried a 1-A rating. They were the first to be drafted. And who were they? They were the young men who were not college students, who were just trying to live their lives. Rarely if ever were any young men pulled out of college to be sent off to fight. If they dropped out or quit, that was another story because if they did that the 1-Y deferment was changed to a 1-A rating.

And apparently you have no idea what Macnamara's army was. Here, let me give you a heads up.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Project_100,000

So while you and others were playing finger the kitty with the girls and female teachers, they were sending kids that shouldn't even have been in the fucking military off to be cannon fodder. They were literally cannon fodder because of their lack of mental capacity.

"...more than enough of my fellow students from then now exist only on the wall in D.C and in the memories of those who knew them." Yeah and pigs fly. Do you have one name in mind, just one student, one friend you knew personally whose name is on the wall? I do. On a cold, rainy night in 1991 I stood at the wall and read the names of those I served with etched into one of those black granite panels.



Comshaw

 

[Tio_Narratore]

Damn, you saw thorugh my subterfuge. I am surprised. You have to be pretty smart to do that huh?

If you think the college thing didn't keep young men out of the military during Vietnam, you need to educate yourself. When the draft was instituted most, if not all of those who were in college were given a 1-Y deferment. That is a fact. Those who weren't in college, even those who were married carried a 1-A rating. They were the first to be drafted. And who were they? They were the young men who were not college students, who were just trying to live their lives. Rarely if ever were any young men pulled out of college to be sent off to fight. If they dropped out or quit, that was another story because if they did that the 1-Y deferment was changed to a 1-A rating.

And apparently you have no idea what Macnamara's army was. Here, let me give you a heads up.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Project_100,000

So while you and others were playing finger the kitty with the girls and female teachers, they were sending kids that shouldn't even have been in the fucking military off to be cannon fodder. They were literally cannon fodder because of their lack of mental capacity.

"...more than enough of my fellow students from then now exist only on the wall in D.C and in the memories of those who knew them." Yeah and pigs fly. Do you have one name in mind, just one student, one friend you knew personally whose name is on the wall? I do. On a cold, rainy night in 1991 I stood at the wall and read the names of those I served with etched into one of those black granite panels.



Comshaw

I do. And I have even more friends who weren't students whose names are on the wall. And I never had a student deferment. Keep your resentment for those like your supreme leader of the bone spur batallion.

 

[NotWise]

I think a lot of people are going to turn their backs on a thread that's turned into two old men arguing over issues from more than fifty years ago.

 

[Tio_Narratore]

I'm happy to drop it. I have no idea why Comshaw decided it was worth attacking. I'll be happy to see it back where I started it.

 

[NotWise]

247 words.

“You’re my pet.” The room’s curtains were closed, but the late-afternoon light seeped around its edges into a darkened room. Sanders sat in the shadows on the edge of the bed with a leather collar clutched between his knees.

Bonita closed her bag with a decisive click. “It’s been good, but now you need to find a different girl for that dog collar and leash.”

“We have a presentation in the morning,” he said.

“You have a presentation in the morning, and you can do it without your star student in the front row.”

She searched through her purse then dropped a key card beside him. “You’ve done what you can. Your introductions have been useful. I appreciate all that, but Hui San’s work is fives years ahead of yours. He can take me places you’ll never go—starting tonight.”

“I’ll destroy you.” Sanders said. He stood up from the bed and whipped Bonita’s collar into the corner. “None of the work I put your name on is yours. It’s mine, and everyone’s going to know it.”

Bonita stopped with her hand on the door latch. “It’s your word against mine, isn’t it? You’re old and bitter. I’m young and smart. Who’s going to listen to you?”

Sanders watched the door close behind her. “Nothing lasts forever,” he said to no-one at all. He found his cellphone in his jacket pocket and flipped through his contacts. The next girl wasn’t going to be as sharp as Bonita.

 

[Comshaw]

I do. And I have even more friends who weren't students whose names are on the wall. And I never had a student deferment. Keep your resentment for those like your supreme leader of the bone spur batallion.

BAWAHAHA! You think I'm a Trumper? If you're going to make such a supposition from the little facts available, you're not as smart as you think you are. Additionally, only those who are running out of facts to back their argument resort to insults. It appears you are and you are.

If you were going to college in the Vietnam years and you didn't have a deferment, there were only a few reasons why: too old, too young or you weren't a citizen. EVERY young man of draft age had a rating. And EVERY young man in college had a 1-Y deferment. It was automatic. Actually some who weren't in college got it too, if they had someone on the local draft board who could pull strings. That I know is a fact because an acquaintance from high school received one just that way. You really need to educate yourself before engaging your mouth.

As to your claim in your second sentence, I sincerely doubt that. There are 58,320 names on the wall. With that number mixed into a population in the country at the time around 203 million, it's doubtful if ANYONE other than a person who served in country knew multiple people whos names are engraved on the wall. The best thing for you to do is quit trying to blow smoke and make your involvement sound bigger than it was. It ain't workin'.

Comshaw

 

[Comshaw]

I think a lot of people are going to turn their backs on a thread that's turned into two old men arguing over issues from more than fifty years ago.

Please be my guest. The door is that way.

Comshaw

 

[NotWise]

Please be my guest. The door is that way.

Comshaw

What do you expect to get from posting on this thread?

 

[Milo9012]

I've had a story clanging around in my head for quite a while that fits pretty neatly.

I'm tempted to give it a try, but I'm a notoriously slow and procrastinating scribbler.

But, what the hell, I'll try nonetheless.

 

[NotWise]

I've had a story clanging around in my head for quite a while that fits pretty neatly.

I'm tempted to give it a try, but I'm a notoriously slow and procrastinating scribbler.

But, what the hell, I'll try nonetheless.

I'm slow, too. But then, it doesn't take long to put together 300 words or less with an idea and not many constraints.

 

[Milo9012]

I'm slow, too. But then, it doesn't take long to put together 300 words or less with an idea an not many constraints.

I can manage that.
The idea started from a caption I wrote for a smut photo I downloaded.

 

[UsuallyPresent]

Finesmith - jeweler type of blacksmith - has a bdsm-fetished apprentice. The apprentice is all stealthy about it at first but as the smith doesn't care what others do behind their doors doesn't judge. The apprentice learns and takes stuff home to 'stress test', learning about finishing all details being important, especially for such 'toys'. The apprentice gets bolder, less subterfuge, and the smith makes suggestions. Screw-clamps vs tweezer nipple clamps, smoothed chains, better removable & washable padding, etc. The smith backs out of invites to 'see it in use', but appreciates the offer - just not their cuppa tea. Cut a year, have someone asking for more aggressive toys - chain flogger? Spurred cuffs? Spiky chastity device? - and gets turned down by the smith. Explains privately to the apprentice that they don't mind pain, but damage should be avoided in their opinion. Etc, continue on discovering limits/options and work around/within limits and the repercussions thereof - someone aggressively misuses a toy and the cops come calling, perhaps? Someone's spouse is upset with hubby/wife's bruises caused by the smith's works, etc.

 

[Comshaw]

What do you expect to get from posting on this thread?

What do you expect posting a snide remark? You don't like what I posted? Great, don't read it. Simple solution to a simple problem.

Comshaw