Leaving
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Leaving… Ch. 01 free porn video
Co-authored – englander1961 and Writingdragon
Englands Dragon is the joint name for two authors who post here on Literotica, who post as englander1961, and WritingDragon.
‘Leaving ….. ‘ © Englands Dragon July 2005.
The authors would welcome comments and criticisms at either of their email addresses – either englander1961 OR WritingDragon
The authors gratefully acknowledge the great help in editing given by ‘Denise’ and ‘Will.’
The authors acknowledge the words used in the song ‘Leaving on a Jet Plane’ written by John Denver and performed by Peter, Paul and Mary.
This work may not be copied to or used at any other site without the express permission of the authors in writing.
Chapter 1
The Boeing 747 lifted off the runway at Heathrow International Airport, its engines powering the massive plane into the clear blue morning sky. As it made its way west towards the United States with 300 people aboard, Megan MacLean looked out of the window, lost in her thoughts.
Her fellow passengers would see a mature, seemingly confidant woman in her mid twenties, five foot five inches tall and one hundred and ten lbs, blue eyes and brown hair with naturally auburn tints cut to her shoulders in an ‘easy’ style. There was a slight ‘wave’ but not curly and needed minimal grooming. Not beautiful, but with a pleasantly direct and intelligent look.
Her apparently confidant look concealed a mind full of doubts and uncertainties. Why, she agonised, was she getting cold feet now? This wasn’t some foolish decision she had made on the spur of the moment, she’d been mulling it over for some time. Muttering to herself under her breath, ‘How has my life become so complicated in four short years?’ she sat back in her seat with a heavy heart. The man she was travelling to see, the man she loved, had no idea she was on her way to tell him goodbye.
Her mind drifted back to her first sight of him six years ago, it was her second week at Queen Anne’s College, University of North Norfolk, England, where she would be reading for her degree in English with American studies. As a young teenager her dream had been to pursue a career in international journalism or some form of media, and her University advisor had steered her towards a new and unusual module. A visiting American Professor would offer study in ‘The Americanization of the English Language.’
Megan had walked into class on the first day half expecting to see some tall, lanky, dowdy, solemn, grey haired old professor reminiscent of James Stewart, peering out at the students over a pair of half lens professor-like reading spectacles. The man who greeted her, as well as every other student, with a handshake as they entered, was not quite what she had expected.
He wasn’t tall or lanky. Dowdy, yes. Slightly unkempt, yes. But a professor who looked to be in his early thirties. His brown eyes were the colour of liquid milk chocolate which, had he been a dog, would have made her want to stroke him and pull his ears. Not exactly good-looking, but not bad!
When the students were seated he picked up his notes, reached into his jacket pocket, took out a pair of half lens professor-like reading spectacles, perched them on the tip of his nose and peered over them at his students. Megan couldn’t resist giggling as his spectacles confirmed his dry, dusty professor-like image to her. She lowered her eyes as she fought to control herself. The class went deathly silent. Megan’s friend dug her in the ribs with an elbow before she managed to stop. When she looked up the professor was looking directly at her.
‘My name,’ he said in a rich baritone voice, with a southern States intonation – Megan smiled to herself, the way he said ‘Mah,’ sounded so cute. Clearing his throat, he started again. ‘My name is Dr Andrew Scotsdale, I am currently a Professor at Crestin University in Hinsdale New York, where I teach Humanities, English and its history. Each year Crestin University sends a group of students to London to study British Literature as well as exchanging visiting professors. I am working with Queen Anne’s College on such a three year instructor exchange program.
Please call me Andrew if you wish, but I do not care at all for the nickname ‘Andy.’ If the young lady with the sense of humor would care to share the joke with us, I would most welcome it. I must improve my understanding of English Humor. Now perhaps I might know your name?’
Megan was mortified. What a beast! No sense of humour obviously. She felt humiliated but stood defiantly, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. ‘Professor Scotsdale,’ she stressed the formality of his name, ‘My name is Megan MacLean and you may call me Miss MacLean.’ She sat. She couldn’t, she damn well wouldn’t tell him why she had giggled.
‘Thank you, Miss MacLean. I am very happy to have you in my study group,’ he said in a dry tone. ‘I have the list of my students here and perhaps you will each introduce yourself as I call your name.’
The formalities over, he began. ‘Now for the next thirteen weeks all ya all’s unnerstandin’ of proper English is fixin to get innerestin.’ Giggles and laughter floated through the room. He stiffened in mock indignation and responded to the outburst, ‘What? Was it something I said?’ He made eye contact with all of them slowly as he continued speaking about the course. Megan relaxed and began to take notes. She thought he really is quite innerestin, smiling at how easy the twist in pronunciation was to pick up.
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