Grad Night Party Part 1
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Back To Grad School free porn video
He clearly remembered the day he had signed up for the class in which he was now seated. It was an 800 level course intended for graduate students pursuing a Masters or Doctorate. The registrar had informed him that the class was restricted to twenty students and that there were strict prerequisites. Furthermore, since he was not a degree candidate, he would have to schedule an appointment with the professor, Doctor Marjorie Stevens or the department head and provide evidence that he was suitable for the course. There was room in the class, the registrar assured him, but he needed to quickly get approval and then she could register him.
Dr. Stevens had not yet returned to campus from a summer sabbatical, the department head would have to be the source of his approval. Deciding that a personal appeal, rather than a phone call, might carry more weight, he trundled over to the building which housed the English Department and found the office of Dr. George Murphy.
Jack Powell was forty-eight years old, stood a little over six feet tall and was exceedingly handsome with his powder blue eyes and the tinges of gray highlighting his dark blond hair. Since he certainly wasn’t the typical undergrad wanting to bother Dr. Murphy with a grade dispute, the secretary dropped her normal gate-keeper visage and granted him entrance to the inner sanctum of the department head.
Dr. Murphy, handsome in his own right, was obviously very close in age to Jack. Jack’s two plus decades in the business world had honed his ability to check out another person’s office and quickly find common ground. Before Dr. Murphy had returned to his desk from chatting with his secretary, Jack knew from the professor’s ego wall what he was proud of, he knew where he had been educated, his civic and social interests and the fact that he had served in the U.S. Army. He had quickly calculated George Murphy’s age, scanned his book shelf and peeked at his music collection.
‘Ah, Mr. Powell…’
‘Doctor, please call me Jack. It’s a little weird to be called mister by someone of my own generation. From what I see on the wall behind you, it also appears that we were also both Captains in the Army at about the same time.’
As he had done so many times before Jack had opened a door that would allow a more intimate encounter with George Murphy—who quickly reintroduced himself as George. After a short but warm dialogue which establish core commonalities, Jack got to the point.
‘Dr. Murphy…George. I know you’re very busy so I won’t take much of your time. I’m very anxious to take Dr. Stevens’ graduate course in narrative fiction. I’m not a degree candidate, here are my transcripts. I have a BS from the University of Virginia with a major in economics and a minor in English—over forty semester hours in the minor. I graduated Summa Cum Laude.’ Pausing for effect Jack continued. ‘I also have an MBA from Northwestern along with a smattering of other graduate course work I’ve done over the years—almost all of which is in literature. I’m actually writing full time—my second career, as it were.’
George Murphy examined the transcripts carefully. ‘Why this particular course, Jack?’
‘I’ve read Dr. Stevens’ work—all of it. She examines some themes and specific character traits that, as a writer, I struggle with. I believe her course can help fill in some pieces of the puzzle in my own writing. I’m particularly intrigued by her female characters, they’re strong and assertive but always eminently feminine and engagingly playful. As I’m sure you know as a writer, it can be a real challenge for a male to find the essential nuance and ennui of a female protagonist.’
‘Jack paused again to let his words sink in. He was in full selling mode. ‘I have had some commercial success as a writer, I’ve published a number of short stories in reputable periodicals and have just entered into an agreement to publish an anthology.’
Jack handed George the list of published works, it was, Jack knew, a reasonably impressive list of publications.
‘Currently I am concentrating on a story—which may well evolve into a novel—in which the male-female relationships over shadow the yarn, so to speak. It’s a new area for me in writing but I’ve become addicted to it. It may well become my primary story theme. I firmly believe Dr. Stevens’ course would be invaluable in my evolving style as a writer.’
Everything Jack had said was truthful, he had attempted to craft it in a style that would appeal to the academic—and the writer—in Dr. George Murphy. He had succeeded.
‘Strong and assertive but always eminently feminine and engagingly playful.’ George mused out loud. ‘You’re absolutely right, not only does that describe her heroines but it also fits Maggie—Dr. Stevens—to a tee. You’re obviously more than qualified to take her course. I’m sorry the university had to put you through the rigmarole, her course is very popular. Too often some cheeky young grad student without a scintilla of writing ability or preparation tries to slip in. It’s a waste of a precious seat in the class. On the other hand I’m very glad to have met you.’
George signed the course approval slip. ‘Don’t be a stranger! Maybe we can grab a bite to eat or a beverage during the semester—and I really mean that. By the way—Powell—any relationship to the Powell family endowing the new business center?’
Jack smiled, but did not answer.
‘I think I already know the answer, Jack. One of the largest private contributions this school has ever received. I’m both touched and impressed that you didn’t choose to throw around your clout with the Board of Visitors. No quid pro quo ante expected but should you again feel desperately philanthropic, the English department…’
‘I’d love to chat with you about it over that lunch and beverage.’
The two man parted company with a warm handshake, Jack walked back over to the registrar with the precious signed approval slip clutched in his hand.
Dr. Marjorie Stevens…not Marge or Margie but Maggie. It fit her so perfectly…like Maggie the Cat. Jack had calculated from her curriculum vitae that she was approaching forty but she could easily have passed for much younger. She moved like a cat, always poised and often on the balls of her feet. She did not dress to entice but nothing about the simple loose fitting cotton blouse and skirt did anything to hide what lay beneath.
Her hair, somewhere between blond and auburn, was perfectly complemented by a smattering of freckles. She wore not a hint of makeup, her rich full lips were inviting even without the blush of lipstick. The eyes were a sparkling emerald green and they bored into one with the intensity of someone who takes the task at hand extremely seriously. A bit of the Irish colleen from her mothers side? Maybe Stevens was a married name, she wore no ring. Discreet inquiries had confirmed that she was certainly not currently married.
It was the smile that had captivated him, when Maggie smiled there was an earthy richness there that lit up her entire face, it was neither forced nor fake but alluringly real. It hinted at the playfulness that her writing style exhibited. It had not a hint of coyness. Her smile said, ‘You’ve pleased me, but don’t even think of fucking with me—I’m way out of your league.’
Maggie Stevens was just finishing up describing the writing assignment for the following week.
‘In summary you’re all going to take what may be your first foray into writing erotic fiction—not romance novel stuff, but good solid steamy—even nasty—prose. Certainly romance is an important ingredient in writing about good sex but it’s how you get there that makes the difference between good fiction and recreational smut. All of the other elements which we have discussed in terms of character development and painting a picture are essential. On the other hand, we have to know—clearly understand—how these characters e
nded up in the sack…or wherever. And, as always, we need closure— not some kind of Albert Camus ending—real closure. Any questions? Great! I’ll see you all on Monday.’
Maggie Stevens was not one to hang around after class chatting with students who were all too often simply trying to gain brownie points. The majority of the students in any graduate class would never succeed as writers, they lacked the passion, the discipline and the basic ability to tell an interesting story. The percentage in this class was always a bit higher thanks to the screening process but there were only a couple that showed real promise. Most just hadn’t lived long enough—-didn’t have the repertoire of life experiences.
As the rest of the students filed out, one lingered, it was Jack Powell. He had not done so in the past. He was also head and shoulders above his classmates. He didn’t need to garner brownie points, his writing was almost flawless, absolutely stellar, even gifted. His contributions in class discussion were not frequent but always dead on. His insights often followed an hour of others rambling around the point and tended to concisely encapsulate the core issue. He always won the Maggie smile, often accompanied by an admonishment to the rest of the class to, ‘write it down, word for word’.
He was also not the typical grad student. She knew very little about him other than the one line summary of his qualifications and his age. He was forty-eight but hardly looked it. He was not a degree candidate but possessed undergraduate and graduate degrees or experience which her boss had deemed sufficient. He was also the kind of man she found attractive. Obviously comfortable in his own skin, he could be assertive without being aggressive. He had an easy smile—never a smirk. As the oldest and the most articulate member of the class, he never demeaned the comments of others but chose instead to carefully and meticulously make his point without a hint of put down.
Maggie liked him and respected him although she hardly knew him. She wondered why he was here…wondered what he thought he could possibly gain from her course. She never, ever, mixed socially with her students and the thought of an affair or even a friendship was out of the question. She’d made that mistake in grad school, it had led to a marriage that was over before it started. She would not make that same mistake as a full professor.
‘Yes Mr. Powell?’
‘Jack, Dr. Stevens, please. Mr. Powell makes me feel older than I already am.’
Making an exception to her normally iron clad rule, Maggie responded. ‘What can I do for you, Jack?’ She gave no indication that he should reciprocate.
‘I’d like to schedule five or ten minutes with you to discuss the assignment.’ Jack responded.
‘Are you uncomfortable with it?’ Maggie responded, still smiling but bordering on challenging.
‘Not at all. I’ve been writing erotic fiction for over a year now. It’s still a new genre for me but one that I find very enjoyable. I’ve published a handful of stories in this vain. You indicated that you wanted 10,000 words, I have a story that I’m just putting the finishing touches on that tops out at 20,000. Neither my proof reader nor my editor have seen it, so it’s still ‘virgin’, so to speak, just me. It’s a good story, my publisher has accepted my last eight stories, this one is much better than those. They’ll publish it.’
‘I have no problem with that.’ Maggie responded. ‘As long as a professional editor hasn’t had any input it would be acceptable to submit it. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed reading your other work so I’ll waive the word length maximum in anticipation of a good read from you. Where can I get a look at your previous work in this genre? I’d be very interested to see how you’ve evolved.’
Jack Powell opened his briefcase and handed her a bound volume. ‘Dr. Stevens, this is just a loaner and not one to be shared. While it takes the form of an anthology, it includes many stories that weren’t good enough—in my judgment—but in chronological order. It also includes, between each story, my own personal critique of each story. Bluntly, some are just recreational smut…as I was finding my way.’
‘Great! I promise to scan through it over the weekend. Anything else?’
‘Yes, one more thing. The story I’d like to submit deals with a relationship between a professor and a student. It may hit a little close to home, as they say. If you are uncomfortable with that, I’ll be more than happy to write something else for this class.’
It occurred to Maggie that Jack had been neither flirtatious nor lascivious in his statement and generally was concerned about how she would take the subject matter. She could be brutal with stories of this type based on her own personal experience. Still, she was intrigued. He was a damned good writer. Could he take a theme that she seldom enjoyed and make it work?
‘Not my favorite theme, Jack but go with your instincts.’ Maggie paused, making an instant, uncharacteristic decision. ‘Jack, you’ve piqued my interest. Do you have time to let me buy you a cup of coffee or do you need to get back to work or home to your family?’ She was probing.
‘I’d like that very much, Dr. Stevens.’ Jack replied smiling softly. ‘And I no longer have either a day job or a family to get home to.’
Oh great! A struggling, out of work, middle aged writer, Maggie thought to herself. He had said, ‘no longer had’ which seemed to indicate that he had once had a family. Did he have children from that broken marriage as she did? It was just a cup of coffee, he was both handsome and enigmatic. What the hell.
Maggie and Jack walked across the campus to a small contractor operated coffee shop which offered a reasonable facsimile of the national brand. They procured their coffee, she insisted on buying. He didn’t argue or get all macho about it.
‘So what in the hell are you doing in my class? You’re unquestionably a gifted writer. As good as your character development was day one, it just gets better with each story you write—particularly with your female characters. What do you hope to gain here?’ She paused and made another uncharacteristic decision. ‘Outside of class, of course, call me Maggie. I’m violating a rule I never violate in terms of first names with students but you’re obviously not the typical student.’
‘Thank you, Maggie.’ Jack replied, obviously pleased by her gesture. ‘Actually you are the only reason I’m in this class, or more accurately, your writing. It astonishes me that you haven’t had more commercial success, maybe your publisher doesn’t see it. I’ve read everything you’ve done that I could get my hands on.’
Always the academic, Maggie responded. ‘What, precisely, do you find of value in my work?’
‘You do all the things that great writers should do but it is your female characters that first caught my eye. I absolutely adore your female characters. As a male it is the one area that I most often struggle with. My editor, a woman, is helpful at times, but your women have a richness and strength that captivates me. They are always strong, self assured and in charge—but always feminine and…playful. It is as if one can almost smell, taste and feel their womanhood—that remarkable three dimensional quality absent of stereotype.’
Without a hint of lewdness Jack Powell had just uttered the most patently erotic words Maggie had heard in a long time. He fucking gets it. My publisher doesn’t get it. My few loyal fans get it. Smell, taste and feel…the words brought moistness to her special place. It occurred to Maggie that there was nothing sexier than a man who got it, appreciated it and even wanted it in his characters…and in his women?
Jack Powell had at that moment graduated from an attractive male to the sexiest man on earth. Oh shit! You know nothing about him and you want to fuck him…maybe more. Slow down, girl. You’ve been here before. You’re unlucky in love. You haven’t had
a real relationship in years. Your few casual dalliances have been unsatisfying and always far away from this campus. Your vibrator is your best friend. Don’t even think about it. Finish your coffee and go home to your empty house and canine companion. What the hell. You don’t have anything else to do. At least get to know him, he’s your best student. He’s very easy to be with and interesting to talk to.
‘Thank you, Jack. That’s very kind. I seem to be having the desired effect, I’ve noted that the women in your class submissions have evolved remarkably over the past eight weeks. Tell me a little bit about Jack Powell and how he got here.’
‘I’ll attempt the short version. I always wanted to write—loved to write. I switched majors from English to business in hopes of getting a better job when I graduated from UVa. I had the same thoughts when I went for an MBA at Northwestern. I got married in the Army, when I left active duty, I had a family to support and took a job which I thought would pay well. We had two children, now in their twenties, a boy and a girl. The marriage lasted longer than it should have because we had children. We ‘got married in a fever’ as John and June Carter Cash so eloquently put it. Fortunately we parted as friends for the sake of the children.’
Jack paused to sip his coffee. ‘For twenty-two years, up until last year, I worked for the same company. You’ve heard of them, they’re the second largest employer in town after the University, and currently a Fortune 50 corporation. Around fifteen years ago, they hit some hard times. At the time they were barely in the Fortune 500. Along with a handful of others, I took a chance and gambled my retirement and my life savings. I even took out a second mortgage, we depended on the fact that we could fix what was wrong. It was the right gamble although it became an almost 24/7 endeavor for many years. Two years ago we looked at the 25 billion dollar corporation which we had grown from less than a half a billion in under fourteen years and decided that it was time to cash in or out depending on your perspective. We took it public and agreed to stay on for a year or so to help with the transition to new management—which we hand picked. We were all tired. The original seven of us still hold seats on the board, we hold the majority. I’m very close to my kids who both live on the West Coast and I have an amiable relationship with my ex-wife. Now it’s just me, my puppies and my writing.’
Jack paused then continued, he wanted Maggie to know him. He wanted to know her. ‘I like a good cigar occasionally and am very partial to full, rich, deep and complex California Zinfandels with a few remarkable Cabernets thrown in. I have no criminal record and am not involved with anyone…haven’t been since I can’t remember when. I live alone outside of town about thirty minutes from here on a few acres. I putter in the garden and enjoy working with my hands—when I’m not writing. I sleep in a custom made oversized bed with a big fluffy sled dog and an oversized Weimaraner. I had it made in hopes of getting enough room to sleep comfortably, but neither dog seems to have learned to sleep parallel to me. The Weimer is a big, lovable goof ball, the sled dog is my princess, she is the absolute love of my life. I would sacrifice my life for her…as she would do for me, I believe. I get together with old friends, mostly old workmates. My kids visit often and I go to the West Coast as often as I can to be with them.’
Maggie laughed at the image of this man struggling for sleeping space with his two canines. ‘I have a puppy. I have a young blue Great Dane—a neutered male a little over a year old. I love dogs…I despise cats.’ Maggie grew pensive for a few moments. Jack didn’t interrupt her thoughts but never took his eyes off of her. Wow…a really interesting man. Just take him home and fuck him, Maggie, you know you want to. First, she owed him her saga.
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