Rachel Kramer Bussel's Blog, page 140
November 5, 2011
I Was on HBO's Real Sex
Whether you know that or not, I took a walk down exhibitionist memory lane for xoJane in It Happened to Me: I Was on HBO's Real Sex". Ah, youth...and if you like it, I'd love it if you'd somehow like it on there (there's a thumbs up button at the bottom) or pass it on. Appreciated! Also, my original vision for my photo was me in my leopard print dress holding my Hitachi high above my head like a trophy but I couldn't really figure out how to politely ask someone to take that (note: this was taken by me before I used it, a vibrator is a self-employment necessity imo, all the more so cause I'm not having sex for the next year, but that's another story). Self-portraits are tough, so my next xoJane piece will have a picture of the topic in question. Stay tuned!
November 4, 2011
6 fun, free and cheap events I'm looking forward to
Once again, if my photos are all a mess, SORRY, but blog fixing is last on my priority list. Working for myself full-time is still a gigantic adjustment in every way and means, literally, day and night, because I'm trying to cram so much in and keep track of my thoughts. Would that I had some Vyvanse but I don't so it's just me but I am doing my best and...well, I cannot wait until I'm 36. Life will surely be better then (next week, cool plans for that day that I will share when I can!) but in the meantime, hustlemania. Now that I am taking a break from dating until November 2012, I will hopefully have a little more mental space and time to focus on what I should be doing, rather than what I shouldn't.
I do like the new Blogger, especially because it allows us at Cupcakes Take the Cake to circumvent the 5,000 label limit, which we surpassed long ago. But still, growing pains. I get used to certain systems and when they change, my brain takes a while to catch up. Hopefully you'll keep reading.
Who says NYC has to be expensive? All of these events are FREE! Perfect for my budget. Our cupcake meetup is buy your own, but since I plan to taste all the flavors I haven't tasted yet, I'm happy to share. Join us! Or just drool over our photos at Cupcakes Take the Cake and @cupcakeblog on Twitter.
November 5, 2 pmCupcake meetup at Brooklyn Cupcake335 Union Avenue, between Grand and MaujerWilliamsburg, Brooklyn
guava con queso cupcake! photo by me
November 5, 8 pm - 11 pmQUEER MEMOIR: Speaking the Truth to Power
QUEER MEMOIR is NYC's only queer storytelling event. This month we'l; be hearing from a bunch of really fascinating folks with amazing stories, all on the theme of Speaking the Truth to Power. Please join us. The suggested donation is 5-10 bucks to cover costs, but if you want to come and and don't have the cash PLEASE just come anyway. No one ever turned away.
Even as LGBT characters and "out" celebrities become more common in pop culture and mainstream media, the richness and complexity of real queer lives is still undervalued and often invisible. Queer Memoir attempts to provide an avenue to share queer lives and celebrate the ritual and community-building value of storytelling.
QUEER MEMOIR: DOCUMENTING QUEER STORIES, CELEBRATING QUEER LIVES
We have some amazing storytellers sharing at this month's salon:
Ryann HolmesAmber Dawn Nick KriegerDan HorriganLea Robinson
Monday, November 7, 7 pm
NACHO BINGO! (I'm not 100% sure what this is but since I love both those things and The West Cafe, I'm so there)The West Cafe379 Union AvenueWilliamsburg, Brooklyn
Can we give a big giant round of applause for theaters sponsoring free events? We need more more more of that! I found out about this via the Rattlestick Theater newsletter, and The Skint is always a great source for free and cheap NYC events, giveaways and more. I remembered Erin Courtney's name from reading Ida's liner notes a looooong time ago, and then it turned out we had a mutual friend. I don't know her, but I am excited to see this performance and happy that I can be free (still feels crazy that my afternoon is open) to go to this. I'm including the upcoming dates too just so you have the info; I'll be at Tuesday's for HONEY DROP.
Cherry Lane Theatre and Rattlestick Playwrights Theater present
RATTLESTICK TONGUES: a reading series
First up:
Tuesday, November 8th at 2pm
HONEY DROP by Erin Courtney
Tuesday, November 15th at 2pmCOLLISION by Lyle Kessler
Tuesday, November 22nd at 2pm
OH, THE POWER by David Bar Katz
Stay tuned for more!
All readings held at Cherry Lane Theatre.
Admission is free. Reservations at Rattlestick@gmail.com
Jessie Oleson's Tour de Sweet for Cakespy Presents!
November 9, 2 pmButter Lane, 123 E. 7th Street, NYC
November 10, 7 pmBaked, 359 Van Brunt Street, Red Hook, Brooklyn
Not in NYC? Visit Cakespy.com for tour dates, recipes and more - also you MUST visit her Capitol Hill store if you're in Seattle. It rocks.
I do like the new Blogger, especially because it allows us at Cupcakes Take the Cake to circumvent the 5,000 label limit, which we surpassed long ago. But still, growing pains. I get used to certain systems and when they change, my brain takes a while to catch up. Hopefully you'll keep reading.
Who says NYC has to be expensive? All of these events are FREE! Perfect for my budget. Our cupcake meetup is buy your own, but since I plan to taste all the flavors I haven't tasted yet, I'm happy to share. Join us! Or just drool over our photos at Cupcakes Take the Cake and @cupcakeblog on Twitter.
November 5, 2 pmCupcake meetup at Brooklyn Cupcake335 Union Avenue, between Grand and MaujerWilliamsburg, Brooklyn
guava con queso cupcake! photo by me
November 5, 8 pm - 11 pmQUEER MEMOIR: Speaking the Truth to Power
QUEER MEMOIR is NYC's only queer storytelling event. This month we'l; be hearing from a bunch of really fascinating folks with amazing stories, all on the theme of Speaking the Truth to Power. Please join us. The suggested donation is 5-10 bucks to cover costs, but if you want to come and and don't have the cash PLEASE just come anyway. No one ever turned away.
Even as LGBT characters and "out" celebrities become more common in pop culture and mainstream media, the richness and complexity of real queer lives is still undervalued and often invisible. Queer Memoir attempts to provide an avenue to share queer lives and celebrate the ritual and community-building value of storytelling.
QUEER MEMOIR: DOCUMENTING QUEER STORIES, CELEBRATING QUEER LIVES
We have some amazing storytellers sharing at this month's salon:
Ryann HolmesAmber Dawn Nick KriegerDan HorriganLea Robinson
Monday, November 7, 7 pm
NACHO BINGO! (I'm not 100% sure what this is but since I love both those things and The West Cafe, I'm so there)The West Cafe379 Union AvenueWilliamsburg, Brooklyn
Can we give a big giant round of applause for theaters sponsoring free events? We need more more more of that! I found out about this via the Rattlestick Theater newsletter, and The Skint is always a great source for free and cheap NYC events, giveaways and more. I remembered Erin Courtney's name from reading Ida's liner notes a looooong time ago, and then it turned out we had a mutual friend. I don't know her, but I am excited to see this performance and happy that I can be free (still feels crazy that my afternoon is open) to go to this. I'm including the upcoming dates too just so you have the info; I'll be at Tuesday's for HONEY DROP.
Cherry Lane Theatre and Rattlestick Playwrights Theater present
RATTLESTICK TONGUES: a reading series
First up:
Tuesday, November 8th at 2pm
HONEY DROP by Erin Courtney
Tuesday, November 15th at 2pmCOLLISION by Lyle Kessler
Tuesday, November 22nd at 2pm
OH, THE POWER by David Bar Katz
Stay tuned for more!
All readings held at Cherry Lane Theatre.
Admission is free. Reservations at Rattlestick@gmail.com
Jessie Oleson's Tour de Sweet for Cakespy Presents!
November 9, 2 pmButter Lane, 123 E. 7th Street, NYC
November 10, 7 pmBaked, 359 Van Brunt Street, Red Hook, Brooklyn
Not in NYC? Visit Cakespy.com for tour dates, recipes and more - also you MUST visit her Capitol Hill store if you're in Seattle. It rocks.
November 3, 2011
I'm reading tonight at 9 at One and One Bar!
I'm reading tonight at One and One Bar, home of a funny story by comedian Andrea Rosen. I'll be wearing the dress below if you want to check it out in person, not sure yet what I'll read. I'm doing extremely limited readings these days, so come check it out if you're so inclined and/or want to rock the open mic. Click here for the Eventbrite details.
November 3, 6:30-10 pm
The Inspired Word presents a hot night of sexy fun, lip-licking words, and utter debauchery – Titillating Tongues: NYC Erotica in Poetry & Prose, featuring some of New York City's best erotic writers: Rachel Kramer Bussel, Janice Erlbaum, Uche Nduka, Jennifer Blowdryer, Aimee Herman, Kathleen Warnock, Puma Perl, Elizabeth Rivera De Garcia, Jane LeCroy, and Sam J. Miller.
There will also be a 12-slot open mic open to all types of artists, where you can bring your own heat to the party.
Hosted by HBO Def Poetry star Gemineye.
*****
When: Thursday, Nov. 3, 2011
Where: One and One Bar & Restaurant (downstairs Nexus Lounge)76 East 1st Street (corner of 1st Avenue)Manhattan, NYCPhone: (917) 703-1512
Doors open for open mic sign-up @ 6:30pm
Show starts @ 7pm
Cover Charge: $10
Must be 21 years old or older.
"The Inspired Word isn't just a series, it's a movement."
*****
For more info on The Inspired Word series, please check out:
http://inspiredwordnyc.blogspot.com/
And please join us for our Tuesday Night Open Mic Joint - same time, same place.
November 3, 6:30-10 pm
The Inspired Word presents a hot night of sexy fun, lip-licking words, and utter debauchery – Titillating Tongues: NYC Erotica in Poetry & Prose, featuring some of New York City's best erotic writers: Rachel Kramer Bussel, Janice Erlbaum, Uche Nduka, Jennifer Blowdryer, Aimee Herman, Kathleen Warnock, Puma Perl, Elizabeth Rivera De Garcia, Jane LeCroy, and Sam J. Miller.
There will also be a 12-slot open mic open to all types of artists, where you can bring your own heat to the party.
Hosted by HBO Def Poetry star Gemineye.
*****
When: Thursday, Nov. 3, 2011
Where: One and One Bar & Restaurant (downstairs Nexus Lounge)76 East 1st Street (corner of 1st Avenue)Manhattan, NYCPhone: (917) 703-1512
Doors open for open mic sign-up @ 6:30pm
Show starts @ 7pm
Cover Charge: $10
Must be 21 years old or older.
"The Inspired Word isn't just a series, it's a movement."
*****
For more info on The Inspired Word series, please check out:
http://inspiredwordnyc.blogspot.com/
And please join us for our Tuesday Night Open Mic Joint - same time, same place.
My 36th birthday column, almost outdated already
Big changes in my personal life, all for the better. Let's just say, I will hopefully actually turn into a book author and a dream realizer by the time I get to 37, in a year and a week. Clearly, realizing dreams and being true to myself is antithetical to dating. Finally learned that lesson, go me! Not to worry, I'll still be writing my column, just will try as best I can not to write about my very thankfully non-existent personal life, and I think everyone will be better off. Birthdays are big times for change, and I'm grateful to be at a place when I'm genuinely open to change, unlike I was this year, where I just spouted utter bullshit to myself and believed it and kept running back to the safety of poor decision making because it was easier than facing the mess that is my life. Now that I have all this time to myself to figure out "what I want to do with my life" it's made me realize how awful I treat myself, and I want to do better. I'd rather be self-actualized than vulnerable any fucking day, but I am still getting "heart" tattooed on my arm in just 16 days! Not burying my heart, just helping it not be idiotic. I'll save the balancing act for the BOSU ball, where it belongs.
Hope you'll check this out - I quote Mindy Kaling! Check out her book, especially the chapters on boys and men, Jewish guys, Matt and Ben, and, of course, cupcakes.
I'm having trouble creating a sexual mission statement, as Friedman advises, because so much of my lust winds up being tied in to what someone else thinks of me, what they want. I don't consider that entirely negative, but part of my next steps are figuring out ways to combine those two things — what I want and what whoever I wind up dating wants — in a way that's mutually pleasurable. I know when I err on the side of only pleasing someone else, I do both of us a disservice, because there's few things less sexy than someone who's completely needy and subservient (not in the kinky sense, in the everyday sense). I get off on being useful, both sexually and otherwise, but only in the right context, when that aspect of my personality is appreciated for what it is, rather than assumed as a given or overlooked or taken for granted. It's a sort of maddening part of my makeup because wanting to be wanted and needed isn't exactly the easiest sentiment to convey. It puts me right back in that sweet spot of vulnerability that always makes me feel like I'm teetering on an emotional precipice. I believe that, like my trainer's advice when using a BOSU ball, part of becoming a mature adult is learning how to handle that balancing act and not panicking when I tip too far over to one side.
Read the whole thing
Listening to a lot of Adele, love her stuff:
Hope you'll check this out - I quote Mindy Kaling! Check out her book, especially the chapters on boys and men, Jewish guys, Matt and Ben, and, of course, cupcakes.
I'm having trouble creating a sexual mission statement, as Friedman advises, because so much of my lust winds up being tied in to what someone else thinks of me, what they want. I don't consider that entirely negative, but part of my next steps are figuring out ways to combine those two things — what I want and what whoever I wind up dating wants — in a way that's mutually pleasurable. I know when I err on the side of only pleasing someone else, I do both of us a disservice, because there's few things less sexy than someone who's completely needy and subservient (not in the kinky sense, in the everyday sense). I get off on being useful, both sexually and otherwise, but only in the right context, when that aspect of my personality is appreciated for what it is, rather than assumed as a given or overlooked or taken for granted. It's a sort of maddening part of my makeup because wanting to be wanted and needed isn't exactly the easiest sentiment to convey. It puts me right back in that sweet spot of vulnerability that always makes me feel like I'm teetering on an emotional precipice. I believe that, like my trainer's advice when using a BOSU ball, part of becoming a mature adult is learning how to handle that balancing act and not panicking when I tip too far over to one side.
Read the whole thing
Listening to a lot of Adele, love her stuff:
November 1, 2011
How to open a book, Jackie Under My Skin edition
There's a chapter called "How to Open" in Priscilla Long's excellent (and that is an understatement of a word, it's a must-read)
The Writer's Portable Mentor: A Guide to Art, Craft, and the Writing Life
. I'm in high observation mode, in part because I'm determined to succeed at NaNoWriMo, but more because I'm determined to succeed at life and meet many goals that are as yet unrealized. So I couldn't help but be awed by this first paragraph, and page, quoted below, of Wayne Koestenbaum's
Jackie Under My Skin: Interpreting an Icon
, from the chapter "Jackie's Death."
I'm still pondering "tranced apostrophe," and while I don't know precisely what it means, the words are beautiful to me, and the reverence for Jackie, the tension between the woman and the myth, is something I'm fascinated by. This is probably my third time picking up this book, which happens often with the amount of books I own and the rate at which I acquire them. I'm trying to be more studious and learn from what I'm reading, and savor the time to read at will (and push myself with my writing too). (Thanks to Veerublog for the block quote help for this tech simpleton.)
I'm still pondering "tranced apostrophe," and while I don't know precisely what it means, the words are beautiful to me, and the reverence for Jackie, the tension between the woman and the myth, is something I'm fascinated by. This is probably my third time picking up this book, which happens often with the amount of books I own and the rate at which I acquire them. I'm trying to be more studious and learn from what I'm reading, and savor the time to read at will (and push myself with my writing too). (Thanks to Veerublog for the block quote help for this tech simpleton.)
I began to write about the allure of icon Jackie in May 1993, while the real Jacqueline Onassis was alive and well. I addressed my sentences toward her, in tranced apostrophe: Dear Jackie, for a long time I have wanted to tell you about your frequent appearances in my dreams. I had a mad notion that she would read my book and understand my desire; that she would acknowledge the legitimacy of public curiosity; that we might become friends. It was a hopeless quest, doomed to fail. Brashly, I wanted to effect a truce between Jacqueline Onassis and icon Jackie. I wanted to find—to liberate—my "inner Jackie"; somewhere in my body was trapped a mimic Jackie O, and I wanted to afford her some room to breathe. But my plans to scale Mount Jackie—to give voice to Jackie's charisma—were foiled. Her cancer was announced; with sad suddenness, she died. I can't address Jacqueline Onassis anymore. But icon Jackie remains, a baffling array of images still requiring interpretation—not because interpretation is a panacea for loss, but because Jackie darkly captivates, and captivation fumbles for a foothold in speech. Dare I find words for why Jackie mesmerizes? Even while Jacqueline Onassis was alive, icon Jackie had a life of her own, obeying comic-book laws; we could no more explain the icon than we could avert war, bewitch our neighbors, or reverse time.</ blockquote>
More on Jackie Under My Skin:
The New York Times review:Initially, the results are amusing: Mr. Koestenbaum possesses a sharp and nimble wit, and his first few chapters seem like both a playful exercise in cultural commentary and a campy, tongue-in-cheek send-up of deconstructive pedantry. As the book progresses, however, the reader begins to suspect that Mr. Koestenbaum is actually completely serious about his undertaking, that he really believes he can decipher the hidden meaning of Jackie changing hairdos and clothes. In fact, by the end of the book, he has effectively turned her into a blank slate for his own theorizing, an approach that allows him to completely ignore the facts of her existence. It's this approach that enables him to write such ludicrous sentences as "Doom came to her, in Dallas, and it may have seemed retribution for hubris." Or to ask the reader to think of her father "in the dark night" and "imagine Jackie's love for him, and wonder if he pushed that love too far."</ blockquote>
Interview with Wayne Koestenbaum
Happy November! Kindle and Nook $9.99 ebook versions of Women in Lust are out now!
November is one of my favorite months, not just because the 10th is my birthday (and National Vanilla Cupcake Day), but because, in this case, it's auguring good things. Like the ebook release of
Women in Lust
for Kindle and Nook and the kickoff of the virtual book tour! It's also National Novel Writing Month, which I encourage you to participate in. I'm doing it this year and extra determined to finish.
(fyi, you can't search inside from my blog but you can by clicking through to Amazon)
(fyi, you can't search inside from my blog but you can by clicking through to Amazon)
October 31, 2011
Breakfast menu at Sweet Revenge in Greenwich Village = amazing!
Sweet Revenge owner Marlo Scott had me at red velvet Belgian waffles:
But even those three words didn't prepare me for the wonder of just how they would taste: light, fluffy, and delicious, especially with whipped cream cheese, raspberry sauce and (!!) salted caramel sauce. Part of the reason I rarely order pancakes or waffles for breakfast, aside from being an egg lover, is that they seem so heavy. Even when they're good it's as if a bomb is going off in my stomach. They're heavy and too much. These are not that. These are light, and my fork sank right into them. We almost had to battle over them. Even with the sauces they weren't too much, but the perfect texture and fluffiness and taste. The red was, as you can see below, not the glowingly too-bright red of food dye, but a more natural red (I don't know exactly what's in them) and I think that affected the taste. I still would probably get something savory first, and then the waffles to share. They're amazing, and a perfect winter comfort food.
red velvet waffles
This morning, the first day of their new breakfast menu, Nichelle and I ate breakfast there today and sampled our way through the entire menu. Some photos below, and more on Flickr. If you're in Greenwich Village, I highly recommend checking them out. Their food options have expanded greatly, and there's now also lunch on the menu, but save room for dessert! I didn't try to fleur de sel salted caramel apples but how amazing do they look? Want!
They bill themselves as "NYC's only cupcake, beer and wine bar," but clearly they are so much more. I've also never been there when a regular customer didn't come in and chat, and get greeted by name. For more about their cupcakes, see Cupcakes Take the Cake's Sweet Revenge coverage, including an interview with Marlo from November 2008. (Meal was comped by Sweet Revenge, and was so good I just suggested it as a breakfast spot on Wednesday. I'd eat all of these every day if I could. Seriously delicious.) Breakfast is served from 7 am to 10:30 a.m. Monday-Friday.
breakfast menu (click here to see larger image)
pumpkin quiche
It was a tossup between the pumpkin quiche and the breakfast burrito with awesome salsa as to my favorites. I liked the pumpkin quiche because it was very fresh and pumpkin-y and savory and hearty. It was filling and warm and had an interesting taste as well as a creamy texture. It felt like the healthiest thing on the menu and just very comforting to eat. The burrito was very warm and I didn't eat it by holding it like a sandwich, but with a fork (it was a little messy). Hot in both senses of the word.
egg burrito
Egg sandwich da Sorrentine
outside and inside the Scotch egg
bread pudding! (OMG this was warm and rich and sweet and delicious - only sad thing was I was pretty full so could only manage a bite. Save room!)
Sweet Revenge
62 Carmine Street
New York, NY 10014
(212) 242-2240
Facebook
@sweetrevengenyc on Twitter
But even those three words didn't prepare me for the wonder of just how they would taste: light, fluffy, and delicious, especially with whipped cream cheese, raspberry sauce and (!!) salted caramel sauce. Part of the reason I rarely order pancakes or waffles for breakfast, aside from being an egg lover, is that they seem so heavy. Even when they're good it's as if a bomb is going off in my stomach. They're heavy and too much. These are not that. These are light, and my fork sank right into them. We almost had to battle over them. Even with the sauces they weren't too much, but the perfect texture and fluffiness and taste. The red was, as you can see below, not the glowingly too-bright red of food dye, but a more natural red (I don't know exactly what's in them) and I think that affected the taste. I still would probably get something savory first, and then the waffles to share. They're amazing, and a perfect winter comfort food.
red velvet waffles
This morning, the first day of their new breakfast menu, Nichelle and I ate breakfast there today and sampled our way through the entire menu. Some photos below, and more on Flickr. If you're in Greenwich Village, I highly recommend checking them out. Their food options have expanded greatly, and there's now also lunch on the menu, but save room for dessert! I didn't try to fleur de sel salted caramel apples but how amazing do they look? Want!
They bill themselves as "NYC's only cupcake, beer and wine bar," but clearly they are so much more. I've also never been there when a regular customer didn't come in and chat, and get greeted by name. For more about their cupcakes, see Cupcakes Take the Cake's Sweet Revenge coverage, including an interview with Marlo from November 2008. (Meal was comped by Sweet Revenge, and was so good I just suggested it as a breakfast spot on Wednesday. I'd eat all of these every day if I could. Seriously delicious.) Breakfast is served from 7 am to 10:30 a.m. Monday-Friday.
breakfast menu (click here to see larger image)
pumpkin quiche
It was a tossup between the pumpkin quiche and the breakfast burrito with awesome salsa as to my favorites. I liked the pumpkin quiche because it was very fresh and pumpkin-y and savory and hearty. It was filling and warm and had an interesting taste as well as a creamy texture. It felt like the healthiest thing on the menu and just very comforting to eat. The burrito was very warm and I didn't eat it by holding it like a sandwich, but with a fork (it was a little messy). Hot in both senses of the word.
egg burrito
Egg sandwich da Sorrentine
outside and inside the Scotch egg
bread pudding! (OMG this was warm and rich and sweet and delicious - only sad thing was I was pretty full so could only manage a bite. Save room!)
Sweet Revenge
62 Carmine Street
New York, NY 10014
(212) 242-2240
@sweetrevengenyc on Twitter
Free MILF professor student spanking erotica: "Hot for Teacher" from Women in Lust: Erotic Stories
For those who don't like the term MILF, I just used it to catch the eye of those who might want see it and have it catch their eye. This story is but one of several about "women of a certain age" in
Women in Lust: Erotic Stories
who find themselves at a crossroads when it comes to their sexuality. She might be a self-proclaimed cougar, she might be surprised or excited or what have you at what's happening. Meredith gets a very special spanking. I hope you like it, and if you do, please pass on this link to someone who might enjoy the story. Below are some links where you can buy the book! This is copyrighted material (©) to please don't steal but feel free to link back here.
Hot for Teacher
by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Meredith straightened her skirt, settled herself beneath her desk with her crisp new notebook and set of her favorite black pens before her, feeling, in many ways, like she was back in high school, with all her nervousness about her outfit, teachers and what her classmates would think of her. Whereas some of her peers could barely remember what they'd done last week, memory wasn't a problem for Meredith; in fact, a surfeit of memory might have been her main problem. She couldn't stop herself from replaying the same old daunting images, and when she should have been paying attention to the equations being written on the board, all should could think about was the fact that Professor Arthur reminded her, in style if not in looks, of her very first real boyfriend, Geoff, in college the first time around, the one she'd giving her virginity to, the one she'd thought would be forever. He'd also been adorably nerdy, jittery and hopped up on coffee and optimism. She shook her head to clear it of the memory of him sliding off her panties under their picnic blanket and getting her off while their friends sailed Frisbees and kicked soccer balls around them.
Meredith fiddled with the simple turquoise and silver ring she'd bought to cover the deep grooves on her fourth finger, the one she'd worn her wedding ring on since the that first time around in college, after Geoff, when she'd decided it was time to get serious—right after she'd found out she was pregnant. It was a groove she feared would be forever etched into her skin, the way those pesky memories seemed to play on permanent repeat in her mind. She looked around the room at the kids young enough to be her sons and daughters, some of them younger than her actual son and daughter, with only a handful in their later twenties and thirties. She was forty-two, solidly middle-aged, and determined to get her bachelor degree and reclaim some of the youth she'd lost when she stepped away from academia to go on the road with her sexy new band member boyfriend-turned-husband. Following Clay had seemed like the right thing to do; she didn't want to be one of those women who sat around all day and complained about every pregnancy ache and pain. Instead, she'd watched show after show, then after party upon after party, where Clay had proceeded to flirt with every girl who walked by, as if she were nothing more than another groupie. Eventually, but only after giving birth twice, Meredith realized that's exactly what she was. They'd tried to make it work, with Clay setting up an in-home studio, but the kids had been little when they'd finally called it quits.
She'd worked a series of office jobs, but after this latest round of layoffs, she knew something had to change. She'd never given herself permission to chase her dream, but with the severence, and both her kids out of the house, she knew she had to do something for herself or she'd go mad. Meredith soon realized that there were other dreams she'd neglected over the years too, other needs she'd figured were for younger, hotter women. Who had time to get her hair done, to dress up, when she was working sixty-hour weeks? Men had asked her out and she'd even taken one or two up on their offers of overnight visits, quick rolls in the hay that did little more than stoke her passion and make her wistful for what might have been.
The sad truth was that she couldn't remember being as raw, as wet, as wanton as when she'd been with Clay. Until now. Her professor was far from a Clay-like bad boy, but still, he did something to her that made her want to either be the best student he'd ever seen, or the worst, if it meant detention and the chance to get properly punished. She bit her lip as a highly irrelevant, not to mention irreverent, giggle threatened to burst from her lips as she pictured herself in a schoolgirl skirt, white cotton panties, white kneesocks and pigtails with red ribbons. It was not an outfit she'd ever come close to wearing, and that's why it appealed to her. She'd never had a chance to play at being a bad girl, to try on that persona or any other besides young mom, really, followed by older and now middle-aged mom.
She was the oldest student in the class, and as such, was supposed to be some kind of role model. She could tell by the way the others gave her a wide berth, smiling politely at her but otherwise treating her as if age itself were contagious, or like she was going to tattle on them for misbehaving when the last thing she cared about was their grades or potential offenses. The others could spend all of class texting and flirting and passing notes, but Meredith, even if she didn't understand every concept, wanted points for paying attention, for disrupting her previously boring but safe life to perk up her mind. She hadn't known her pussy was going to follow along as easily.
Professor Arthur was writing on the board with his back turned to the class, so she could properly peruse him. He, too, was young enough to be her son, if she'd had kids even earlier than she had. From the back, he looked like an average white guy, sandy blond hair, blue and white button-down, jeans, brown loafers. He hadn't said much more than hello and that he was about to teach them Economics 101. Meredith had her own kind of economic knowledge, gleaned from not only balancing the family budget and grocery shopping and watching her meager bank account and 401(k) grow at a snail's pace, but from seeing her preteen daughter grasp on to fashion trends the moment she read about them in one her magazines. Meredith barely remembered what it had been like to be that young, though sitting in this seat brought memories rushing back, like passing notes with her best friend Jenny as they discussed whether Billy Tilson liked either of them and if Mrs. Singer's glamorous hair was natural or dyed and if they'd be allowed to go to the Jewish youth group sleepover.
Later, they'd talked about how they hated their moms and wanted to run away and who'd buy them drinks. Now, she'd been through the cycle of being the mom her teens pretended to hate, then the one who missed them fiercely. She could feel everyone staring at her and didn't know where to look, so she examined her French manicure, the same style she'd been getting every week for the last ten years. Maybe it was time for a change, she mused, as she looked at the girls with blue and magenta and multicolored nails.
There was only so much changing she could do, though, and right now she just wanted to make sure she passed all her classes. Getting A's would be nice, but the degree was what she was after. She had worked too hard for too long, plus all those years where her mind had felt like it was going bad, like fruit left out for too long, softening into mush as she struggled to keep one foot in that world, picking up a weighty classic now and then, its tiny print and heady ideas making her struggle in the best kind of way. Finally, the bell rang and she stood up in a daze.
She found herself wandering up to the front of the classroom, her feet moving before her mind could fully process what she was doing. "Hi, Professor," she started.
"Call me Ralph," he said.
"Ralph," she began again. "I just wanted to say that I like your teaching style. I still don't totally understand everything we're doing in here; I don't have much of a business sense, but I am excited to be learning. In the back of my mind I have an idea for running my own bakery and…" She trailed off, not really sure what she wanted other than to bask in his nearness.
He turned and beamed his full attention, not to mention two rows of extremely even white teeth, right at her. "If you ever have any questions, Meredith, you are more than welcome to visit me in my office during office hours. It's totally confidential," he said, and she wondered if she was imagining that his voice got low and intimate somehow on that last word. Were they still talking about homework?
"I think that might be helpful," she said, meaning, in fact, I'd love to dress up for you and bend over your desk. "Well, I'll see you soon," she said.
"I hope so," he said quietly, unless she'd imagined that too.
She went home and for the first time in who knows how long, she stripped down to her birthday suit and simply walked around every room enjoying the feel of the air against her bare skin. She took baths, of course, and even got massages, but those were merely utilitarian reasons for nudity. This afternoon was about her picturing herself prancing around for Professor Arthur, showing him her pendulous, large breasts, her sizable ass, the curve of her belly, the dusting of red fuzz covering her pussy. She dyed her hair a very shiny brown, trying to fool the world into thinking her a brunette, but inside her lurked the soul of a redhead, one whose innate passion had been put on hold for far too long. Instead of taking a bath, Meredith stood in her bathroom and began touching herself the way she wanted Professor Arthur—"Ralph," she said aloud to herself—to touch her. She began with her breasts, tweaking each one, holding up the nipples and tugging and twisting until the sight caused a corresponding tug in her pussy.
Then, staring at herself in the mirror, Meredith lifted her right breast and tucked her head down so she could suck on her own nipple. The flood of emotion and arousal was so intense she had to lean her left hand against the counter. She spread her legs, wondering if Professor Arthur was circumcised, picturing his cock as big and thick and aching just for her. She kept going, making sure to watch her every move, so that when she did go to her hot professor's office hours, it wouldn't be as a true schoolgirl, skittish and nervous, relying on her youthful charm and giggly giddiness, but as a mature woman who could tap into that spirit, but also had something more to offer. For all her pleated-skirt fantasies, what Meredith wanted was to be treated like a woman⎯a woman who knew exactly what she wanted, even if what she wanted was to be manhandled by a younger nerdy man who just so happened to hold her academic future in his hands.
She searched her closet, determined to find something there capable of seduction. She could afford to shop, at least a little, but Meredith wanted something familiar, a reminder that even in all these years when dating had taken a backseat to the mundane truths of Real Life and mothering, she'd remembered the girl who threw her bra onstage and got fingered backstage, who was wet and wild and carefree. She rummaged and rummaged and finally, in the back of the closet, found a red and purple dress she vaguely remembered buying, if not wearing. There were no tags on it, but the purple silk outlining the red shimmery fabric made her smile. She immediately shucked off her T-shirt and jeans and slipped it over her head, seeing that she'd need a new bra, one to be worn strategically peeking out from beneath this dress's straps.
She turned sideways, admiring the way the dress clung to her breasts, proud of them, proud of herself for not having even considered having them lifted or added to, the way so many of the women she knew had done. Meredith cupped her hands over her breasts, letting her nipples peek out, hoping Professor Arthur would like her in this dress, like her as more than a student. She decided maybe she didn't need a bra, after all⎯or panties. If she was going to go for it, she was going to go for it.
She hadn't really caught all of what he'd been talking about, but the basic lesson of supply and demand was one Meredith understood. The question was, were there other suppliers of the kind of quick, hot, dirty sex she was offering? Of course, there was only one of her, but would he be able to see exactly what she wanted, what she was demanding as well as supplying? Meredith lifted her dress and examined her pussy, the boldness of the act making her blush. Maybe there was a bit of a schoolgirl in her.
She dusted powder and blush onto her cheeks, borrowed a leftover black glittery eyeliner her daughter had left lying around the bathroom to widen her brown eyes, tossed her hair and added a soft pink hue to her lips, followed by gloss. She didn't know what the look she was going for said, but she definitely looked a far cry from her classroom persona. There, she was all about learning, absorbing, letting him run the show. By now, she was so needy, she was ready to take what she was looking for. Not without his consent, of course, that was never her plan, but if he wanted her to make the first move, she would. She could play the older woman, even if she wasn't sure that's what this was all about. Maybe she was just horny. Maybe she was just tired of the guys whose entire effort consisted of a grunt, thinking they were doing her some big favor by daring to offer their cocks not for her pleasure, but their own amusement.
She knew it was a cliché, having a crush on your college professor, but she didn't care. She liked the way his voice lilted, how he made sure to turn around and truly talk to, not just at, the class. She liked how he remembered everyone's names. She liked how he used examples of real companies, straight from the newspaper, to explain things. She liked the way he looked at her, lingering on her for a few seconds longer than everyone else⎯even if that part was just in her imagination.
She drove the short distance to the school, forgoing coffee and her usual cigarette, wanting to enter as much on her own steam as she could. She didn't want to later be able to blame her "bad behavior" on anyone but herself. She wondered if it was her professor she was so hot for, or this new version of Meredith—Meredith 2.0, as her kids would say—who was shucking off her baggage and tapping into the lusty thoughts she usually kept buried under her pillow.
When she reached Professor Arthur's office, she knocked on the closed door, while looking around the quiet hallway. The school took on a different tone in the early evening, without the rush of students to and fro, their newly freed hormones practically bouncing off the walls. She could pause and look at the actual building, appreciate its history and her place in it. Meredith rounded her shoulders, feeling, for just a moment, like she was heading to the principal's office. Just then the door opened and a tall, slim blonde girl walked out, giving her a shy smile. Professor Arthur looked up at her and smiled. For a second, her mind went to the two of them; had they been in there enacting the scenarios she'd conjured in her head?
"Meredith, welcome."
"Hi, Professor," she said.
"Ralph, please," he corrected her, and before she could say anything, he added, "I just want you to know I'm glad you're in my class. I think it's wonderful that you're coming back to school. Too many people think that once they've hit a certain age there's no point, or that it's too hard."
She was tempted to ask what age, exactly, that would be, but she didn't. Instead she smiled, trying to beat back the nerves, aware that her outfit was a far cry from her classmate's casual pink T-shirt and jeans. "It's definitely challenging. I'm finding that some of the concepts are over my head. Supply and demand I get…" She trailed off, her throat caught as she watched him watching her, watched his eyes behind his glasses, watched him fidgeting with the pencil in his hand. Who used pencils, anyway?
She waited for him to say something, but he just walked closer to her until he was right in front of her. "You get supply and demand, Meredith?" he asked, looking down at her. She stood, and they were right in front of each other. "Like you're here to supply something to me, like your pussy, and I'm here to demand that you give me more?"
Oh, god. The words were crazy, over-the-top⎯and they made her instantly, achingly wet. She suddenly didn't care that he was younger, that she was his student, that she wasn't in some preppy uniform or casual chic, but instead, basically naked, save for a dress that did little to hide the nipples pressing against its red fabric, threatening to spill over the purple edges.
"Yes, like that. I want to give you…whatever you want." As she said it, she realized it was true, because in giving to him, she was gaining so much. She'd been giving and giving and giving ever since she gave birth and now, finally, it was her time to take. Taking orders, taking spankings, taking cock⎯that's what she wanted.
"I've had my eye on you, Meredith. The way you sit there in class, so attentive when almost everyone else has their heads in their phones or computers. The way you look at me. I want to give you everything you deserve. But first I think you need a spanking. Put your hands on the desk," he said, sounding far older than whatever his actual age was. When he lifted the dress and saw her she wasn't wearing panties, he whistled.
"Spread your legs for me, Meredith, so I can look at your pussy." She heard the door's lock click, and then he was kneeling in front of her, breathing on her. "When was the last time someone other than you touched you here?" he asked, running a fingertip along her sex. She shuddered, and he did it again. She pressed back against him but he grabbed one of her asscheeks and pinched it. "Answer me, Meredith. Don't make your teacher angry."
"Two years," she squeaked out, and received a smack on her right cheek, whether as reward or punishment she wasn't sure. She was sure that she was drooling, but there was nothing she could do, not with her head resting on his desk, her arms splayed at her side. She was drooling between her legs, too, especially when he spanked her again. And again.
"When was the last time your ass got spanked, Meredith?"
She was quiet, and now tears rose to her eyes. "Never," she whispered, and felt him again grab her ass, this time with both hands, holding her open. Then he did the same with her pussy lips, gripping them and splaying her wide. She'd wanted to be treated like this, she thought, like a real slut, the kind whose body is up for grabs. "You like that, don't you, Meredith?" he asked, letting go and then giving her a light tap against her pussy lips.
She trembled, then answered in an overloud voice, "Yes."
"That's good. Because I'm going to make you sore today. I'm going to make you so sore that in two days when you sit in my classroom your ass is still going to sting, and I'm going to call on you to make sure you're paying attention, not daydreaming about when I'm next going to take this sweet ass for a ride. Do you understand?"
As he spoke, Ralph had been smacking her all over⎯her pussy, her upper thigh, her butt. "Yes, I do. I understand."
"Sir," he said. "Call me 'Sir.' We're done with Ralph and Professor. That's not who I am right now. I'm your owner."
He plunged his fingers inside her, and she pressed her fist to her mouth, afraid of what might come out. She wanted him to own her, like this, to take over for her in a way nobody had in she couldn't remember how long. And her body wanted it too; she was so hot between her legs, so tight, so desperate, suddenly, to be filled. He moved, and she kept her eyes closed, not wanting to know what was coming. She found out soon enough. It was a ruler, a metal one, striking hard against both asscheeks. She'd have laughed if the pain hadn't seared its way through her entire body.
"This is what happens when you distract me in class, when you try to make my cock hard." The ruler's edges dug into her skin, stronger and meaner than his hand, but she soon got acclimated to it. She'd never gotten more than a light swat before, but she liked it. She liked being at his mercy, not having to think beyond the initial decision to walk in. The pain was like a door opening to something better, a room to a house she'd never seen before. The blows came down harder and harder and soon the tears were indeed coming down her cheeks, but they weren't from the pain. That part she could handle, though she knew she'd probably have to sit on a cushion. The tears were for all the other emotions his spanking stirred up.
"How does your ass feel, Meredith?"
"Very good, Sir," she said.
"Louder," he said in a deep voice, grabbing her by the hair and pressing her tightly to the desk, the threat of what he could do to her more than enough to make her repeat herself more forcefully.
"How good?" he asked.
She didn't know how to answer. The heat and pain were intense, but not too much. Just enough, but…something was missing. She tingled there, all over. "Good enough that it makes me want something in my ass."
She wasn't sure where the words had come from. She hadn't been thinking about that hole, had never really thought about it, though she knew her peers did, heard their whispers on Monday mornings, practically saw their asses peeking out over their tight, low-rise jeans. But now, suddenly, she was, as if he'd conjured the words out of her mouth, except he hadn't. He'd just spanked her and now she realized it was true, she wanted his cock, sight unseen, in her ass.
She felt his thumb pressing against her there and she moaned, thrashing just enough to get him to press a little deeper. "I see how much your ass needs to be fucked, Meredith." Every time he said her name, her cheeks got a little hotter. It was the way he said it, like he knew everything about her, when he barely knew a thing. But he did know some things, like how to work his thumb right there, halfway in, until she clenched around it tightly. "Hold your cheeks open for me," he said.
She reached behind her to do just that, shocked at how easily she obeyed such a command, and how much she liked it. "That's good," he said. "Now stay like that, because if you don't, I'm going to stop fucking you." Then his fingers were inside her pussy, strong and assured, and she didn't care that it wasn't her ass, as long as he was touching her, getting closer to her, giving her some part of him. "Good girl," he said, and the two words, so basic, so simple, made her melt. She wanted to be a girl, sometimes, not a woman, a schoolgirl whose only assignment was sex, and here she was, taking more fingers⎯she didn't know how many, but she knew he'd added some.
"Are you ready for my cock, Meredith?" She nodded, though she liked his fingers just fine, actually. "Yes, Sir," she amended, when his fingers stilled inside her.
"You may put your hands down," he said, and she did, resting her head against the desk for a moment, savoring her ass being in the air, being open and wet and wanton like this.
Soon he was back, and she heard him rolling a condom onto his cock. Then he dragged her down from the desk and put her hands on the floor in front of her, so her body made a V. Then, without another word, he was inside her. Meredith gasped; either he was huge, or she was so starved for sex that she felt like she might break in two, in a good way. She wanted to touch her clit, but didn't dare, as he drilled into her. This was about her getting fucked, not doing the fucking, and she wanted to keep it that way. She didn't want to work right now, didn't want to supply anything but her body, like this, splayed open wide for her very hot teacher. She felt like a girl in a porn video, and for a second wondered if he had a camera on somewhere taping them. What a horror that would be…but it would also be kind of hot. She smiled as he pulled out, then slammed back in, and she shifted so her V was slightly less wide, making his cock stroke her at a different angle.
She kept picturing some innocent student walking in, even though the door was locked, and realized as she started to come that she wouldn't really have minded, at least not this Meredith: slutty Meredith. She wanted someone to know that this was part of who she was too. Ralph knew, and he used that knowledge expertly. She focused on the sensation, familiar but also totally knew. She'd never gotten fucked in this position and it felt incredible; when he played with her clit, it felt all the more so. When he slapped her clit, Meredith lost it, trembling and letting herself give over to the climax, tightening around his cock and grunting hard. "That's it," he said, urging her on. "You feel so good around my cock."
She looked back at him and saw him watching them, watching himself going inside her, and that made her do it again, a ripple effect that left her wondering just what exactly he was doing to her. They'd gone far beyond supply and demand now; he was showing, telling, giving, taking—all at once. Then he started fucking her faster, and she braced herself. He didn't need long before he said, "I'm coming," and she felt him cream into the condom, then gently slide out. She stood up and her dress fell down over her waist. She was grateful for it, grateful not to be totally nude after what they'd just done.
"Sit," he said, and once she'd settled herself, he brought her a bottle of water.
"Wow," she said, and laughed, because what else could she do? She wanted to ask if he did this all the time, but there was a knock at the door. He quickly threw the condom in the trash, followed by some tissues, zipped up, wiped his hands with another tissue and then opened the door. She heard him tell the next student to give him a few minutes.
Then there was an awkward silence. She wished momentarily for it to have been a dream. How old was he anyway? "Maybe we could go out on a proper date," he said, lifting her chin to force her to look at him, her face flaming.
"Maybe," she said, suddenly anxious to leave. "But maybe we should wait until the semester ends." Did she mean that? She wasn't sure, but this was so awkward she couldn't tell if what she'd just experienced was worth it.
"So, see you in class on Friday?" he asked.
"See you," she said.
She stood, gathering her things, sure that her escapade was written all over her face. His hand cupped her ass on her way past him, a gentle reminder that she didn't in any way need. She smiled at him, with her mouth, not yet ready to bring her eyes into it. She walked out the door and kept her head high as she heard her shoes clicking on the floor. She thought of stopping at a lingerie store, but realized she wasn't in the mood for something so intimate. Instead, she went to the mall, bought a soda and wandered the stores, sipping loudly, observing her own version of Economics 101. She finished the soda and got lured into a store promising 50 percent off on dresses she didn't need but she walked in anyway, still in a sex stupor. Without buying a bra or panties, she tried on a slinky black dress that was in no way appropriate for school or work. She bought it, and promised herself she'd wear it to class, and then to dinner with Ralph.
Maybe they shouldn't wait until the semester ended, after all.
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Hot for Teacher
by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Meredith straightened her skirt, settled herself beneath her desk with her crisp new notebook and set of her favorite black pens before her, feeling, in many ways, like she was back in high school, with all her nervousness about her outfit, teachers and what her classmates would think of her. Whereas some of her peers could barely remember what they'd done last week, memory wasn't a problem for Meredith; in fact, a surfeit of memory might have been her main problem. She couldn't stop herself from replaying the same old daunting images, and when she should have been paying attention to the equations being written on the board, all should could think about was the fact that Professor Arthur reminded her, in style if not in looks, of her very first real boyfriend, Geoff, in college the first time around, the one she'd giving her virginity to, the one she'd thought would be forever. He'd also been adorably nerdy, jittery and hopped up on coffee and optimism. She shook her head to clear it of the memory of him sliding off her panties under their picnic blanket and getting her off while their friends sailed Frisbees and kicked soccer balls around them.
Meredith fiddled with the simple turquoise and silver ring she'd bought to cover the deep grooves on her fourth finger, the one she'd worn her wedding ring on since the that first time around in college, after Geoff, when she'd decided it was time to get serious—right after she'd found out she was pregnant. It was a groove she feared would be forever etched into her skin, the way those pesky memories seemed to play on permanent repeat in her mind. She looked around the room at the kids young enough to be her sons and daughters, some of them younger than her actual son and daughter, with only a handful in their later twenties and thirties. She was forty-two, solidly middle-aged, and determined to get her bachelor degree and reclaim some of the youth she'd lost when she stepped away from academia to go on the road with her sexy new band member boyfriend-turned-husband. Following Clay had seemed like the right thing to do; she didn't want to be one of those women who sat around all day and complained about every pregnancy ache and pain. Instead, she'd watched show after show, then after party upon after party, where Clay had proceeded to flirt with every girl who walked by, as if she were nothing more than another groupie. Eventually, but only after giving birth twice, Meredith realized that's exactly what she was. They'd tried to make it work, with Clay setting up an in-home studio, but the kids had been little when they'd finally called it quits.
She'd worked a series of office jobs, but after this latest round of layoffs, she knew something had to change. She'd never given herself permission to chase her dream, but with the severence, and both her kids out of the house, she knew she had to do something for herself or she'd go mad. Meredith soon realized that there were other dreams she'd neglected over the years too, other needs she'd figured were for younger, hotter women. Who had time to get her hair done, to dress up, when she was working sixty-hour weeks? Men had asked her out and she'd even taken one or two up on their offers of overnight visits, quick rolls in the hay that did little more than stoke her passion and make her wistful for what might have been.
The sad truth was that she couldn't remember being as raw, as wet, as wanton as when she'd been with Clay. Until now. Her professor was far from a Clay-like bad boy, but still, he did something to her that made her want to either be the best student he'd ever seen, or the worst, if it meant detention and the chance to get properly punished. She bit her lip as a highly irrelevant, not to mention irreverent, giggle threatened to burst from her lips as she pictured herself in a schoolgirl skirt, white cotton panties, white kneesocks and pigtails with red ribbons. It was not an outfit she'd ever come close to wearing, and that's why it appealed to her. She'd never had a chance to play at being a bad girl, to try on that persona or any other besides young mom, really, followed by older and now middle-aged mom.
She was the oldest student in the class, and as such, was supposed to be some kind of role model. She could tell by the way the others gave her a wide berth, smiling politely at her but otherwise treating her as if age itself were contagious, or like she was going to tattle on them for misbehaving when the last thing she cared about was their grades or potential offenses. The others could spend all of class texting and flirting and passing notes, but Meredith, even if she didn't understand every concept, wanted points for paying attention, for disrupting her previously boring but safe life to perk up her mind. She hadn't known her pussy was going to follow along as easily.
Professor Arthur was writing on the board with his back turned to the class, so she could properly peruse him. He, too, was young enough to be her son, if she'd had kids even earlier than she had. From the back, he looked like an average white guy, sandy blond hair, blue and white button-down, jeans, brown loafers. He hadn't said much more than hello and that he was about to teach them Economics 101. Meredith had her own kind of economic knowledge, gleaned from not only balancing the family budget and grocery shopping and watching her meager bank account and 401(k) grow at a snail's pace, but from seeing her preteen daughter grasp on to fashion trends the moment she read about them in one her magazines. Meredith barely remembered what it had been like to be that young, though sitting in this seat brought memories rushing back, like passing notes with her best friend Jenny as they discussed whether Billy Tilson liked either of them and if Mrs. Singer's glamorous hair was natural or dyed and if they'd be allowed to go to the Jewish youth group sleepover.
Later, they'd talked about how they hated their moms and wanted to run away and who'd buy them drinks. Now, she'd been through the cycle of being the mom her teens pretended to hate, then the one who missed them fiercely. She could feel everyone staring at her and didn't know where to look, so she examined her French manicure, the same style she'd been getting every week for the last ten years. Maybe it was time for a change, she mused, as she looked at the girls with blue and magenta and multicolored nails.
There was only so much changing she could do, though, and right now she just wanted to make sure she passed all her classes. Getting A's would be nice, but the degree was what she was after. She had worked too hard for too long, plus all those years where her mind had felt like it was going bad, like fruit left out for too long, softening into mush as she struggled to keep one foot in that world, picking up a weighty classic now and then, its tiny print and heady ideas making her struggle in the best kind of way. Finally, the bell rang and she stood up in a daze.
She found herself wandering up to the front of the classroom, her feet moving before her mind could fully process what she was doing. "Hi, Professor," she started.
"Call me Ralph," he said.
"Ralph," she began again. "I just wanted to say that I like your teaching style. I still don't totally understand everything we're doing in here; I don't have much of a business sense, but I am excited to be learning. In the back of my mind I have an idea for running my own bakery and…" She trailed off, not really sure what she wanted other than to bask in his nearness.
He turned and beamed his full attention, not to mention two rows of extremely even white teeth, right at her. "If you ever have any questions, Meredith, you are more than welcome to visit me in my office during office hours. It's totally confidential," he said, and she wondered if she was imagining that his voice got low and intimate somehow on that last word. Were they still talking about homework?
"I think that might be helpful," she said, meaning, in fact, I'd love to dress up for you and bend over your desk. "Well, I'll see you soon," she said.
"I hope so," he said quietly, unless she'd imagined that too.
She went home and for the first time in who knows how long, she stripped down to her birthday suit and simply walked around every room enjoying the feel of the air against her bare skin. She took baths, of course, and even got massages, but those were merely utilitarian reasons for nudity. This afternoon was about her picturing herself prancing around for Professor Arthur, showing him her pendulous, large breasts, her sizable ass, the curve of her belly, the dusting of red fuzz covering her pussy. She dyed her hair a very shiny brown, trying to fool the world into thinking her a brunette, but inside her lurked the soul of a redhead, one whose innate passion had been put on hold for far too long. Instead of taking a bath, Meredith stood in her bathroom and began touching herself the way she wanted Professor Arthur—"Ralph," she said aloud to herself—to touch her. She began with her breasts, tweaking each one, holding up the nipples and tugging and twisting until the sight caused a corresponding tug in her pussy.
Then, staring at herself in the mirror, Meredith lifted her right breast and tucked her head down so she could suck on her own nipple. The flood of emotion and arousal was so intense she had to lean her left hand against the counter. She spread her legs, wondering if Professor Arthur was circumcised, picturing his cock as big and thick and aching just for her. She kept going, making sure to watch her every move, so that when she did go to her hot professor's office hours, it wouldn't be as a true schoolgirl, skittish and nervous, relying on her youthful charm and giggly giddiness, but as a mature woman who could tap into that spirit, but also had something more to offer. For all her pleated-skirt fantasies, what Meredith wanted was to be treated like a woman⎯a woman who knew exactly what she wanted, even if what she wanted was to be manhandled by a younger nerdy man who just so happened to hold her academic future in his hands.
She searched her closet, determined to find something there capable of seduction. She could afford to shop, at least a little, but Meredith wanted something familiar, a reminder that even in all these years when dating had taken a backseat to the mundane truths of Real Life and mothering, she'd remembered the girl who threw her bra onstage and got fingered backstage, who was wet and wild and carefree. She rummaged and rummaged and finally, in the back of the closet, found a red and purple dress she vaguely remembered buying, if not wearing. There were no tags on it, but the purple silk outlining the red shimmery fabric made her smile. She immediately shucked off her T-shirt and jeans and slipped it over her head, seeing that she'd need a new bra, one to be worn strategically peeking out from beneath this dress's straps.
She turned sideways, admiring the way the dress clung to her breasts, proud of them, proud of herself for not having even considered having them lifted or added to, the way so many of the women she knew had done. Meredith cupped her hands over her breasts, letting her nipples peek out, hoping Professor Arthur would like her in this dress, like her as more than a student. She decided maybe she didn't need a bra, after all⎯or panties. If she was going to go for it, she was going to go for it.
She hadn't really caught all of what he'd been talking about, but the basic lesson of supply and demand was one Meredith understood. The question was, were there other suppliers of the kind of quick, hot, dirty sex she was offering? Of course, there was only one of her, but would he be able to see exactly what she wanted, what she was demanding as well as supplying? Meredith lifted her dress and examined her pussy, the boldness of the act making her blush. Maybe there was a bit of a schoolgirl in her.
She dusted powder and blush onto her cheeks, borrowed a leftover black glittery eyeliner her daughter had left lying around the bathroom to widen her brown eyes, tossed her hair and added a soft pink hue to her lips, followed by gloss. She didn't know what the look she was going for said, but she definitely looked a far cry from her classroom persona. There, she was all about learning, absorbing, letting him run the show. By now, she was so needy, she was ready to take what she was looking for. Not without his consent, of course, that was never her plan, but if he wanted her to make the first move, she would. She could play the older woman, even if she wasn't sure that's what this was all about. Maybe she was just horny. Maybe she was just tired of the guys whose entire effort consisted of a grunt, thinking they were doing her some big favor by daring to offer their cocks not for her pleasure, but their own amusement.
She knew it was a cliché, having a crush on your college professor, but she didn't care. She liked the way his voice lilted, how he made sure to turn around and truly talk to, not just at, the class. She liked how he remembered everyone's names. She liked how he used examples of real companies, straight from the newspaper, to explain things. She liked the way he looked at her, lingering on her for a few seconds longer than everyone else⎯even if that part was just in her imagination.
She drove the short distance to the school, forgoing coffee and her usual cigarette, wanting to enter as much on her own steam as she could. She didn't want to later be able to blame her "bad behavior" on anyone but herself. She wondered if it was her professor she was so hot for, or this new version of Meredith—Meredith 2.0, as her kids would say—who was shucking off her baggage and tapping into the lusty thoughts she usually kept buried under her pillow.
When she reached Professor Arthur's office, she knocked on the closed door, while looking around the quiet hallway. The school took on a different tone in the early evening, without the rush of students to and fro, their newly freed hormones practically bouncing off the walls. She could pause and look at the actual building, appreciate its history and her place in it. Meredith rounded her shoulders, feeling, for just a moment, like she was heading to the principal's office. Just then the door opened and a tall, slim blonde girl walked out, giving her a shy smile. Professor Arthur looked up at her and smiled. For a second, her mind went to the two of them; had they been in there enacting the scenarios she'd conjured in her head?
"Meredith, welcome."
"Hi, Professor," she said.
"Ralph, please," he corrected her, and before she could say anything, he added, "I just want you to know I'm glad you're in my class. I think it's wonderful that you're coming back to school. Too many people think that once they've hit a certain age there's no point, or that it's too hard."
She was tempted to ask what age, exactly, that would be, but she didn't. Instead she smiled, trying to beat back the nerves, aware that her outfit was a far cry from her classmate's casual pink T-shirt and jeans. "It's definitely challenging. I'm finding that some of the concepts are over my head. Supply and demand I get…" She trailed off, her throat caught as she watched him watching her, watched his eyes behind his glasses, watched him fidgeting with the pencil in his hand. Who used pencils, anyway?
She waited for him to say something, but he just walked closer to her until he was right in front of her. "You get supply and demand, Meredith?" he asked, looking down at her. She stood, and they were right in front of each other. "Like you're here to supply something to me, like your pussy, and I'm here to demand that you give me more?"
Oh, god. The words were crazy, over-the-top⎯and they made her instantly, achingly wet. She suddenly didn't care that he was younger, that she was his student, that she wasn't in some preppy uniform or casual chic, but instead, basically naked, save for a dress that did little to hide the nipples pressing against its red fabric, threatening to spill over the purple edges.
"Yes, like that. I want to give you…whatever you want." As she said it, she realized it was true, because in giving to him, she was gaining so much. She'd been giving and giving and giving ever since she gave birth and now, finally, it was her time to take. Taking orders, taking spankings, taking cock⎯that's what she wanted.
"I've had my eye on you, Meredith. The way you sit there in class, so attentive when almost everyone else has their heads in their phones or computers. The way you look at me. I want to give you everything you deserve. But first I think you need a spanking. Put your hands on the desk," he said, sounding far older than whatever his actual age was. When he lifted the dress and saw her she wasn't wearing panties, he whistled.
"Spread your legs for me, Meredith, so I can look at your pussy." She heard the door's lock click, and then he was kneeling in front of her, breathing on her. "When was the last time someone other than you touched you here?" he asked, running a fingertip along her sex. She shuddered, and he did it again. She pressed back against him but he grabbed one of her asscheeks and pinched it. "Answer me, Meredith. Don't make your teacher angry."
"Two years," she squeaked out, and received a smack on her right cheek, whether as reward or punishment she wasn't sure. She was sure that she was drooling, but there was nothing she could do, not with her head resting on his desk, her arms splayed at her side. She was drooling between her legs, too, especially when he spanked her again. And again.
"When was the last time your ass got spanked, Meredith?"
She was quiet, and now tears rose to her eyes. "Never," she whispered, and felt him again grab her ass, this time with both hands, holding her open. Then he did the same with her pussy lips, gripping them and splaying her wide. She'd wanted to be treated like this, she thought, like a real slut, the kind whose body is up for grabs. "You like that, don't you, Meredith?" he asked, letting go and then giving her a light tap against her pussy lips.
She trembled, then answered in an overloud voice, "Yes."
"That's good. Because I'm going to make you sore today. I'm going to make you so sore that in two days when you sit in my classroom your ass is still going to sting, and I'm going to call on you to make sure you're paying attention, not daydreaming about when I'm next going to take this sweet ass for a ride. Do you understand?"
As he spoke, Ralph had been smacking her all over⎯her pussy, her upper thigh, her butt. "Yes, I do. I understand."
"Sir," he said. "Call me 'Sir.' We're done with Ralph and Professor. That's not who I am right now. I'm your owner."
He plunged his fingers inside her, and she pressed her fist to her mouth, afraid of what might come out. She wanted him to own her, like this, to take over for her in a way nobody had in she couldn't remember how long. And her body wanted it too; she was so hot between her legs, so tight, so desperate, suddenly, to be filled. He moved, and she kept her eyes closed, not wanting to know what was coming. She found out soon enough. It was a ruler, a metal one, striking hard against both asscheeks. She'd have laughed if the pain hadn't seared its way through her entire body.
"This is what happens when you distract me in class, when you try to make my cock hard." The ruler's edges dug into her skin, stronger and meaner than his hand, but she soon got acclimated to it. She'd never gotten more than a light swat before, but she liked it. She liked being at his mercy, not having to think beyond the initial decision to walk in. The pain was like a door opening to something better, a room to a house she'd never seen before. The blows came down harder and harder and soon the tears were indeed coming down her cheeks, but they weren't from the pain. That part she could handle, though she knew she'd probably have to sit on a cushion. The tears were for all the other emotions his spanking stirred up.
"How does your ass feel, Meredith?"
"Very good, Sir," she said.
"Louder," he said in a deep voice, grabbing her by the hair and pressing her tightly to the desk, the threat of what he could do to her more than enough to make her repeat herself more forcefully.
"How good?" he asked.
She didn't know how to answer. The heat and pain were intense, but not too much. Just enough, but…something was missing. She tingled there, all over. "Good enough that it makes me want something in my ass."
She wasn't sure where the words had come from. She hadn't been thinking about that hole, had never really thought about it, though she knew her peers did, heard their whispers on Monday mornings, practically saw their asses peeking out over their tight, low-rise jeans. But now, suddenly, she was, as if he'd conjured the words out of her mouth, except he hadn't. He'd just spanked her and now she realized it was true, she wanted his cock, sight unseen, in her ass.
She felt his thumb pressing against her there and she moaned, thrashing just enough to get him to press a little deeper. "I see how much your ass needs to be fucked, Meredith." Every time he said her name, her cheeks got a little hotter. It was the way he said it, like he knew everything about her, when he barely knew a thing. But he did know some things, like how to work his thumb right there, halfway in, until she clenched around it tightly. "Hold your cheeks open for me," he said.
She reached behind her to do just that, shocked at how easily she obeyed such a command, and how much she liked it. "That's good," he said. "Now stay like that, because if you don't, I'm going to stop fucking you." Then his fingers were inside her pussy, strong and assured, and she didn't care that it wasn't her ass, as long as he was touching her, getting closer to her, giving her some part of him. "Good girl," he said, and the two words, so basic, so simple, made her melt. She wanted to be a girl, sometimes, not a woman, a schoolgirl whose only assignment was sex, and here she was, taking more fingers⎯she didn't know how many, but she knew he'd added some.
"Are you ready for my cock, Meredith?" She nodded, though she liked his fingers just fine, actually. "Yes, Sir," she amended, when his fingers stilled inside her.
"You may put your hands down," he said, and she did, resting her head against the desk for a moment, savoring her ass being in the air, being open and wet and wanton like this.
Soon he was back, and she heard him rolling a condom onto his cock. Then he dragged her down from the desk and put her hands on the floor in front of her, so her body made a V. Then, without another word, he was inside her. Meredith gasped; either he was huge, or she was so starved for sex that she felt like she might break in two, in a good way. She wanted to touch her clit, but didn't dare, as he drilled into her. This was about her getting fucked, not doing the fucking, and she wanted to keep it that way. She didn't want to work right now, didn't want to supply anything but her body, like this, splayed open wide for her very hot teacher. She felt like a girl in a porn video, and for a second wondered if he had a camera on somewhere taping them. What a horror that would be…but it would also be kind of hot. She smiled as he pulled out, then slammed back in, and she shifted so her V was slightly less wide, making his cock stroke her at a different angle.
She kept picturing some innocent student walking in, even though the door was locked, and realized as she started to come that she wouldn't really have minded, at least not this Meredith: slutty Meredith. She wanted someone to know that this was part of who she was too. Ralph knew, and he used that knowledge expertly. She focused on the sensation, familiar but also totally knew. She'd never gotten fucked in this position and it felt incredible; when he played with her clit, it felt all the more so. When he slapped her clit, Meredith lost it, trembling and letting herself give over to the climax, tightening around his cock and grunting hard. "That's it," he said, urging her on. "You feel so good around my cock."
She looked back at him and saw him watching them, watching himself going inside her, and that made her do it again, a ripple effect that left her wondering just what exactly he was doing to her. They'd gone far beyond supply and demand now; he was showing, telling, giving, taking—all at once. Then he started fucking her faster, and she braced herself. He didn't need long before he said, "I'm coming," and she felt him cream into the condom, then gently slide out. She stood up and her dress fell down over her waist. She was grateful for it, grateful not to be totally nude after what they'd just done.
"Sit," he said, and once she'd settled herself, he brought her a bottle of water.
"Wow," she said, and laughed, because what else could she do? She wanted to ask if he did this all the time, but there was a knock at the door. He quickly threw the condom in the trash, followed by some tissues, zipped up, wiped his hands with another tissue and then opened the door. She heard him tell the next student to give him a few minutes.
Then there was an awkward silence. She wished momentarily for it to have been a dream. How old was he anyway? "Maybe we could go out on a proper date," he said, lifting her chin to force her to look at him, her face flaming.
"Maybe," she said, suddenly anxious to leave. "But maybe we should wait until the semester ends." Did she mean that? She wasn't sure, but this was so awkward she couldn't tell if what she'd just experienced was worth it.
"So, see you in class on Friday?" he asked.
"See you," she said.
She stood, gathering her things, sure that her escapade was written all over her face. His hand cupped her ass on her way past him, a gentle reminder that she didn't in any way need. She smiled at him, with her mouth, not yet ready to bring her eyes into it. She walked out the door and kept her head high as she heard her shoes clicking on the floor. She thought of stopping at a lingerie store, but realized she wasn't in the mood for something so intimate. Instead, she went to the mall, bought a soda and wandered the stores, sipping loudly, observing her own version of Economics 101. She finished the soda and got lured into a store promising 50 percent off on dresses she didn't need but she walked in anyway, still in a sex stupor. Without buying a bra or panties, she tried on a slinky black dress that was in no way appropriate for school or work. She bought it, and promised herself she'd wear it to class, and then to dinner with Ralph.
Maybe they shouldn't wait until the semester ended, after all.
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Sex diary!
This week's sex diary: "The 26-Year-Old Woman Screwing Her Ex in a Public Bathroom.
We've all screwed an ex, right? Well, I have, that's for sure. I've never screwed an ex in a public bathroom. A current...um, possibly (not recently though, but 2003? yes indeed).
We've all screwed an ex, right? Well, I have, that's for sure. I've never screwed an ex in a public bathroom. A current...um, possibly (not recently though, but 2003? yes indeed).
October 30, 2011
I ate a real grasshopper today
Read all about it at Cupcakes Take the Cake!
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Random Scottsdale photos - last two days of sun and relaxation were exactly what I needed. My life is turning around, so fast I sometimes don't know where one part of it stops and another starts. Which is mostly good, but it's nice to have a little time to just decompress.
(click above for more on my cupcake adventures)
And one from the Museum of Sex in NYC:
[image error]
Random Scottsdale photos - last two days of sun and relaxation were exactly what I needed. My life is turning around, so fast I sometimes don't know where one part of it stops and another starts. Which is mostly good, but it's nice to have a little time to just decompress.
(click above for more on my cupcake adventures)
And one from the Museum of Sex in NYC:
