Day’s Verse:
And you, my dear lover—you’re so handsome!
And the bed we share is like a forest glen.
We enjoy a canopy of cedars enclosed by cypresses, fragrant and green.

Song of Solomon 1:16-17 (context)

Note: Updated scene between Hunter and student. The update will pertain to a near-future post.

Standing in from of the classroom, Hunter looked perfect. Chastity leaned back in her chair, enjoying the view as he moved gracefully—more gracefully than most women, really—around the room. His every step, every motion suggested athleticism and controlled power. Chastity had experienced firsthand the depth of that power, the driving passion that burned within Hunter that he kept firmly leashed most of the time. He wasn’t just perfectly suited to the professorial position, although in Chastity’s mind he epitomized the way all professors as a breed ought to look. No; Chastity looked at him and saw the perfect lover, the perfect body, the perfect witty mind, the perfect balance of aggression and meekness. He had called her last night, nearly panting with expectation already.

“Chastity, I need you. Now.” After the previous night, he’d lost all the reservations that had initially held him back. The professor/student barrier had fallen, hard, and neither of them wanted to rebuild it.

“My, my,” she’d teased. “Eager, aren’t we?”

“God, yes. I ache for you. I’m not whole without you. Come over, O nymph.”

“You sound high.” She knew high when she heard it, and he really did sound that way.

“No, I just jumped with Summer.” He said it so matter of factly, Chastity hadn’t really known what to say.

“…Oh.” Clever of her, but then, when the guy you’re sleeping with tells you he’d just gone on a date with your best friend in the course of inviting you over for a night of passion, things were apt to get a little complicated.

“Come over, dearest Chastity. I have some more remedial lessons for you.” His reference had broken down her reservations, and she’d laughed.

“Alright. I’ll be over in half an hour or so. Clean up your place a little bit. I don’t want to trip over piles of your dirty boxers.”

Continue reading.“I promise. See you soon.” But when she’d arrived, she couldn’t tell whether he had actually moved the piles or left them as they were. Fortunately, she didn’t have any time to make a close examination; he’d practically accosted her at the door and swept her off her feet for the rest of the night.

Chastity had only left his apartment that morning at eight to get a fresh change of clothes and a shower. He’d offered his shower, but one look in the mildewy tub had convinced Chastity that dashing back to her place would probably spare her worlds of hurt in the form of athlete’s foot.

In class, Chastity covered her mouth with one hand, attempting unsuccessfully to suppress an enormous yawn. The night had proved completely unrestful, but it had proved Hunter’s incredible sexual prowess. They had made love…oh lord, how many times? Each one blended into the next, a night of passion unsurpassed by any Chastity had experienced before. And she’d experienced quite a few nights of passion in her twenty-seven years of life. In all that time, she had never met a man with the stamina and ability to recover quickly that Hunter had displayed that evening and night. Another yawn, this one jaw-cracking and impossible to hide behind her small hand.

Chastity thought she must be setting some kind of personal record, attending these two classes in a row. She would probably attend every class from now on, if only to watch Hunter’s fine ass and maybe get a little fuck in on the side. Too bad today’s class, which seemed to be about something called the “cell cycle,” bored the hell out of her. Chastity amused herself for the hour by alternately imagining Hunter naked as he wrote on the blackboard and remembering their amazing sex from the previous night. The floor. The bed. The sofa. The kitchen counter. She couldn’t think of anywhere else the COULD have do it at his place. She had stairs at her apartment, though, which offered expanded possibilities.

The class dragged by until finally Chastity looked up from her IM conversation with her sister to hear Hunter saying, “…and don’t forget there’s an exam next Monday…” Chastity took her time putting the slim laptop away, idling and trying not to look obvious in waiting for Hunter, but another girl had already approached him. She looked about eighteen, right out of high school, and definitely dazzled by this handsome young biology professor—as well she should be. He dazzled even the experienced Chastity. Why wouldn’t he dazzle some innocent kid? Chastity sidled towards the pair up at the front, almost sneaking, and caught the tail end of the conversation.

“…deserved a C. I was being nice.” Hunter had his professorial mask on fully right now, but even through it Chastity could perceive a glint in his eye, a twist of his lips that suggested a depth of desire not usual in professors.

“But Professor—” She still sounded awed, but moved a little closer to him, putting her hand on his arm. Chastity smiled: It looked like the kid was trying to put the moves on Hunter! “—I think I could do a lot better if you’d just give me a chance.” She looked up, innocent eyes shaded by those long lashes, begging.

“Oh, really?” Hunter looked around, saw Chastity and quirked his eyebrows at her unobtrusively. “Well, uh—what was your name?”

“Christina.” No last name, eh, Christina? thought Chastity. Sounds like a cocktail waitress.

“Right, Christina. How bout if we went back to my office and talked about this a little more. They need to use this room for the next class.” Sure enough, other students had begun filtering into the room, pulling out notebooks and setting up laptops.

Hunter and Christina the cocktail waitress moved down the hall towards his tiny office, Chastity tailing not too discretely. Though he never looked back, Chastity had the feeling Hunter knew she was back there, and that this might even be a show for her benefit. Then, to her surprise, when Hunter and Christina reached his office, they went in and closed the door firmly behind them—and she heard the lock click.

Well. Chastity stood for a moment, wondering what she should do. Wait for them? If Hunter was going to do what she suspected, though, Chastity expected a long and possibly embarrassing wait. She decided to go to work after all, although she’d taken the day off. She’d just play it by ear from here on out.

* * *

In his office, Hunter stood and looked at Christina. She looked very young, but also had an air of expectation that turned him on. The way she smoothed her jeans against her hips and her shirt clung to her breasts suggested experience beyond what he might expect. And her protestation earlier—“I could do a lot better if you’d just give me a chance.” It didn’t sound as innocent as she’d looked. This was a delicate moment, and Hunter handled it as if she’d handed him a loaded gun.

“So you’re asking for a second chance on the homework?” Clarify her meaning. Get her to say something explicit.

“Well… I thought maybe I could do something to earn some extra points.” Again she moved in, her hand on his forearm pressing delicately. “Is there any, you know, extra credit I could do or anything?”

“I don??
?t usually give students the chance to earn back points. It’s not fair for everybody.” Ha! He’d sounded almost exactly like the professor he’d had who denied his plea almost precisely like that. The difference was that while his professor meant it, Hunter only used this as a tool.

“You mean there’s nothing I could do for you to convince you to give me a better grade?” She pressed in, surprisingly aggressive. “I’m sure I could do something for you.” Then, before Hunter could respond, she stepped up against him, letting him feel her breasts through the fabric of her shirt. He slipped his hand under her shirt, feeling her warm flesh.

“I suppose that would depend on what you’re thinking of,” Hunter told the student—what was her name? Christine? Christina? He stroked her back, feeling the clasps on her bra. His pulse beat inside him with the excitement of the illicit. Hunter loved these moments, lived for the times when he knew he had once more defied the system and come out the winner.

“My father owns the Gallo de Oro restaurant downtown,” she told him, hands pressing against his chest, her body molding against his. By “downtown,” she meant Bothell, not Seattle. “I’m could arrange for you to have a full meal there with a friend without being bothered by any annoying checks.” Her hand brushed his cheek, and Hunter smiled benignly down on her.

“I’ll have to see how the meal goes,” he cautioned, “but I think we can reach an accommodation. What grade was it you felt you deserved?”

“Oh, a B would be fine,” she purred, moving back a bit to straighten her shirt. “Thank you very much, Professor. This means a lot to me.” Amazing, thought Hunter, how quickly she stepped back into their student-teacher roles.

“I’ll reassess your paper with that in mind. And remember, there’s always the possibility of reassessment for other grades in the future.” Hunter sat down. “I’m free tonight. I hope I’ll see you there.”

“Oh, certainly,” she said, escorting herself to the door.

* * *

Summer dressed in her finest for George Barre’s funeral. She didn’t want to stand out and she wanted extra credibility beyond her press badge. During the ceremony, several of George’s coworkers stood and spoke of his altruism, his goodness of heart; a middle-aged man stood up to speak about how much Dr. Barre—apparently he had an honorary PhD since Summer investigated him—had contributed to the gay community. It made Summer’s stomach clench to hear how thoroughly he had duped them all.

Afterward, Summer interviewed some family and the coworkers who had spoken. They said:

“George was a loving father, a good provider, a wonderful man.”

“Dr. Barre gave everything to get this drug to market, and his work will impact the world for the better for years to come.”

“George and I grew up together. Ever since he was young he always wanted to make a difference in the world, and it’s a shame he hasn’t lived to see the outcome of all his hard work.”

“Dr. Barre’s research was cutting-edge. His passing is a great loss to science.”

Then one research assistant told her in a low voice, “I don’t like to speak badly of George, especially here—” motioning to the crowd of darkly-clothed people at the reception “—but I’m not so sure about his research methods. He kept such a tight hold on his data, never showed it to anybody else… I’m worried. It’s not standard procedure, but the higher-ups let it slide because his research looked so appealing. It’s just not normal. That’s all.”

Summer made an appointment to meet the research assistant for coffee afterwards, then meandered through the crowd, gathering more quotes. She hadn’t been able to blow the cover on George Barre all those years ago just on the basis of Paul Zamarro’s claims; he alone was too flimsy. Too, she had been such a novice writer then that she’d not had the resources at her fingertips that she had at this point. Now, though, with BioSyne’s unprecedented success and this research assistant’s concerns… Now she thought she’d be able to dig up some real dirt on the man. Or: My NaNoWriMo profile.

One thought on “Romance Novel: Day 20

  1. Some mechanics in the Hunter/Christina scene:
    -Make him a little more explicit (ie, maybe “I do have a project a girl like you might be interested in”).
    -Add a little more touching before the kiss.
    -Maybe the girl can start crying and he can “comfort” her.
    It’s just a little too fast now and I think it might be too drastic. I don’t think Hunter would go any farther than BJs in his office; overall, I was thinking more small gifts, dinners out, etc, than actual sexual favors, but whatever you like.

    The Summer part is *very* good and I’m finally more interested in her than Hunter/Chastity (and her apart from any relationship she’s in!). I highly doubt any research assistant would say that in public, though; his practice probably is fairly normal for university research nowadays. Try moving that line into a private dialog.

    The humor is petering out. Don’t forget you’re writing a farce.

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