I Said Yes

Gary asked the question in the traditional manner; First, of my father in the privacy of his office and second, of me on a bent knee after a candlelight dinner for two. I toyed with the trepidation in his eyes, backing away from the ring box with both hands over my mouth. He was blind to my hidden smile and the joyful tears in my eyes. I waited until the hope dimmed in his eyes and his gaze fluttered toward the floor. My feet carried me forward until I stood towering above him.

I said, “Yes.”

His nervous gaze flickered up to my face. “Yes?”

I nodded, allowing my hands to fall away from my face and reveal my beaming smile. Gary rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around me. His lips caressed mine. I giggled into his ear and he slapped his hand against my bottom. He shook his head at me while his eyes teased me with a look of parental scolding.

“What?” I asked, fluttering eyelashes as an innocent angel might.

He said, “Don’t what me, you naughty little nymph. We both know you were only playing with my heart strings.”

I shrugged. “So, what if I was?”

His finger tucked itself under my chin. “I ought to put you right over my knee.”

“You aren’t my husband yet,” I said, “besides, my father wouldn’t approve.”

Gary laughed. “I already spoke with your father and I think we both know he would not only approve, but encourage it.”

I kissed him and wiggled my bottom hoping to distract him from his thoughts of my father. It worked. Gary grabbed my bottom and pulled me into him, lifting me up off the ground. The night drifted into a haze of dancing, kissing, and cuddling. It was well after my curfew when we arrived back at my house. The front light remained burning bright and silhouetted behind the drawn curtain was my father’s waiting form. He opened the door when Gary and I approached.

My father pointed inside the house at the stairs behind him and said, “Upstairs.”

I started to protest only to be interrupted by my father’s penetrating gaze. He said, “We’ll discuss this in the morning unless you think we should wake everyone to discuss it tonight.”

I blinked at my father and glanced sheepishly at Gary. “Goodnight,” I said and sidestepped past my father into the house.

There were whispers spoken between the two men in my life as I climbed the stairs. It was too hushed for me to make out more than a few words and those few were less than encouraging when considering the promised discussion to come in the morning. The door closed and my father turned the deadbolt before his gaze searched the top of the stairs to find me. I stared back, biting my lip until I sensed he was about to say something. Wrong or right, I scurried off to my bedroom, not allowing him the opportunity to utter the words on his lips.

It was the following day in the middle of the afternoon when my father called me into the living room. My mother and sister had gone shopping leaving the two of us alone together. I was pleased he had chosen to wait before dealing with me, but when I arrived in the living room, things were not as I expected. My father had his camera hung around his neck and the lens cap already dangling free. He was smiling, which for the most part was not his attitude when disciplining me or anyone else. For just a second, I imagined I was going to get away with breaking curfew for the first time in my life. I should have known better.

“What’s the camera for?” I asked.

My father smiled. “Tradition,” he said, “Your mother and I have always endeavored to capture all your firsts on film.”

Hope surged in my breast. “Does that mean today is the first time you aren’t going to spank me for breaking a rule?”

My father raised a contemplative finger to his lips. “I suppose it does.”

“Really?” I asked.

My father nodded.

“Seriously?” I asked.

My father snapped a picture of my gleeful face. “Gary is going to be here in a minute.”

“He asked me to marry him,” I said.

“I know,” my father said.

“I said, yes.”

My father snapped another picture. “I expected as much.”

“Do you want me to give the two of you some privacy when he gets here?” I asked.

He patted my arm and said, “That won’t be necessary. However, we are going to be discussing your tardiness last night and I think it would be appropriate if you undressed to your bra and panties.”

I swallowed as heat rose up into my cheeks. “I thought you weren’t going to spank me.”

“I’m not,” he said.

Confused, I bit at my lip and complied with my father’s instructions. It would be a bit odd, standing around in my underwear for a lecture, but all things considered, it was better than a spanking in front of Gary. Though it had not happened before, it was inevitable, Gary would one day see me less than fully dressed. I tossed my clothes aside and considered how Gary would react upon seeing me in such a state.

“You won’t photograph me in my underwear, will you?” I asked my father.

He cocked his head toward me. “I don’t see why your state of dress or undress should matter. Today is a very important first for you and I intend to document it fully.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

Gary rang the bell right at that moment, keeping my father from engaging any further into our conversation. I twisted my arms together in front of me, embarrassed and anxious. My father opened the door and Gary stepped inside. His eyes drank me in from the front door, but if he was surprised, he hid it well. They talked quietly outside of my range of hearing.

Ten minutes later, they joined me in the living room. My father stood behind me at the far wall and Gary stood facing me, next to the couch. I glanced at my father and he nodded toward Gary, telling me to give him my attention. Gary stared at me in confidence. I looked at the floor, feeling my face burning with embarrassment. He grabbed hold of my arm and guided me toward the couch.

“Kneel up on the couch,” Gary said.

I looked into his eyes, searching for answers and found only sternness. My legs carried me forward without hesitation and I obeyed the command for lack of any reason not to do it. Gary left my side and walked around to the back of the couch. He leaned over and smacked my protruding bottom with his hand. The camera clicked in the background and I blinked in surprise.

“What are you doing?” I asked, looking up into Gary’s eyes.

He said, “Spanking you.”

I glanced back at my father with his camera. My father said, “Now that you are getting married, it is no longer solely my responsibility to give you discipline. Gary must also do his part and today he is going to prove himself up to the challenge.”

Gary’s hands turned me on the couch, bring my bottom closer to him. His hand slapped against my bottom again and then again with more force. I yelped and tightened the muscles in my buttocks. Gary responded with a rough squeeze of each buttock and then a flurry of solid spanks. My bottom bounced, growing pinker by the spank and stinging more with every fleeting touch. I reached back to protect my poor bottom. Gary yanked me up from the couch, landing me back on my feet.

“When I give you a spanking,” Gary said from behind me, “you will take it with grace and dignity and absolutely no resistance. Is that clear?”

I twisted my head around to see his stern face. “It hurts,” I said.

“It’s meant to,” Gary replied.

His fingers slipped beneath the strap of my bra and unfastened it. I inhaled sharply and lifted my arms to hold it in place, but Gary tugged it off without difficulty, tossing it to join my other clothes. The camera snapped. My face burned hotter.

Gary said, “If you expect to keep your bra on next time, don’t resist me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Gary sat on the couch and patted his knee. I knew what he expected, but still I stood waiting for the verbal command. It would not be acceptable to let him think I could always anticipate his desires. My father circled behind me. The camera clicked.

“Keep playing games,” Gary said, “and you’ll be displaying your spanked bottom the rest of the day.”

“What?” I asked.

“You know what,” he said. “Get over my lap.”

I laid myself over his lap. His hand patted against the silkiness of my panties. I snuggled against him. He slapped his hand down, bouncing my bottom back to life. I kicked and squirmed, blinking back the sting. He held me firm and spanked with force and speed. My bottom burned under his attentive hand. The camera clicked away.

Gary’s hand stopped slapping my bottom and his fingers inserted themselves into the waistband of my panties. “I think it’s time to have these down.”

He pulled them halfway down my bottom and I reached back to hold them in place. “No!” I yelled at him, kicking my legs in protest.

Gary rained his iron hand down on my backside. My bottom exploded into a ball of fire. He showed no mercy, holding me tightly in place. I kicked and screamed, writhing on his lap to no avail. He kept a rapid pace, making my bottom jump from side to side on his lap. Tears tickled at my eyes and I pounded fists into the couch out of frustration. Nothing could ease the burning. I kicked my panties off, sending them flying across the room and I heard the camera click when they did.

“Things only get worse when you resist me,” Gary said.

“I’ll be good,” I promised.

“In time perhaps,” Gary said, “but I doubt any time soon.”

“Please,” I said, tears rolling down my cheeks, “I can’t take anymore.”

“You’ll take what I give you and you’ll be thankful for it,” Gary said.

“Please, stop.” I said.

Gary responded with his hand. He raised it higher in the air and slapped it down harder and faster than before. I bawled. It was only his hand and yet my bottom was burning as if he had used my hairbrush and my father’s thick belt. There was no denying his power over me and accepting it, I closed my eyes and relaxed in his firm hold. His hand slapped against my bottom a few more times and then rested on my burning globes.

“That’s better,” he said.

The camera clicked. Gary raised me to my feet and guided my hands to rest on top of my head. He walked me toward the door and left me facing it just far enough away that the door could open without touching me. He patted my hot bottom and kissed my wet cheek. The camera clicked.

“If you had only accepted it from the start, everything would be over now,” Gary said.

“I’m sorry,” I replied, sniffling.

“I know,” he said, “but now you’ll just have to stand here, bare, red bottom on display until dinner.”

“I won’t resist you again,” I said, hoping he would have mercy.

Denying my hope, Gary said, “I know you won’t.”

A Second Chance

The house was bigger than I remembered it. I stood on the sidewalk listening to the echoes of days long past. My luggage sat on the ground beside me and the scent of freshly cut grass wafted in the air, tickling my nose. The taxi pulled away leaving me to the thoughts and ghosts of remembrance. It had been years, too many years, but I had not forgotten the important things.

I dragged my bags to the door, fumbled in my purse for the key and unlocked the deadbolt. Inside, the air was cool and filled with the musty odor of tumultuous memories. The floorboards creaked under my weight. I closed the door and looked around. White sheets covered the old furniture. Heavy drapes covered the windows. I flipped the switch and the lights flickered on with a haunting dimness. It was not quite the happy home it had been. The pieces were all where they belonged, but it was empty, abandoned. It was a feeling all too familiar and painful.

Beckoned by the echoes of better days, I ascended the central staircase. I turned to the right and faced my former bedroom’s closed door. The upper level moaned with my every step toward the room and the door’s hinges squeaked when I pushed it open. I pulled the sheets from the furniture, discarding them to a pile in the center of the floor.

It was all there, every possession I had left behind; The porcelain figurines marking the first sixteen years of my life, the plush friends I had often hugged and cried into, all of it remained in their familiar places. I sat on the bed and recalled the day I left; the fight, the tantrum, the shallowness of my youth. Tired, I snuggled against the pillows and my old, plush friends.

Come morning light, my memory had improved. Things were more the way they had been, but the house remained too quiet. I found my way to the bathroom I once shared, where the over-sized tub flooded back memories of long hours soaking in its silky confines. The soaps remained on the shelf by the door, illuminated by a trickle of sunlight from the window high on the wall. I stretched up on my tiptoes and slid the window open, allowing a cool breeze to whisper inside. The faucet handles turned with ease and my hands remembered the exact positions for the perfect mixture of hot and cold water. I poured in the lavender and watched the bubbles foam on the rising surface.

I slipped off my robe and night clothes, hanging them on the hooks behind the door. Cautiously, I dipped an experimental toe in the water and satisfied, I stepped entirely into the tub, sliding down until the froth covered me to my neck. I reached out and shut of the water. Comforted by the warm water and the familiar scent, I closed my eyes. Images drifted inside my eyelids; my sister’s smiling face, my nephew’s jovial laughter and my brother in law’s judgmental jaw. We had parted on such bad terms. It had been my fault, not theirs, but I had never told them. Now, they were gone and I never could.

A creak on the stairs, snapped my eyes open. I held my breath and listened for anything more. Beyond the quickened pulse of blood in my ears and the straggling drips of water droplets from the spout, there was only silence. I dipped my hands into the water, spontaneously splashing myself to wash away frivolous tension. My laughter rang out with a youthfulness I had thought to be long lost. I felt eighteen again.

The bathroom door burst open. I sat up, covering my chest with folded arms and turned my head to the door. The intruder stood there staring at me. I gazed back at him, speechless and confused. Stanley Roth was dead, just like my sister, his wife, and my nephew, his son. There had been no survivors of the accident. I had already lived through the nightmare of futile hope and come out the other side. He could not possibly be standing in the doorway. Yet there he was, wearing the same white polo shirt, the same black slacks, and the same familiar, disapproving expression on his face. It was absolutely him.

Stanley glared down at me, his voice all too real as he asked, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Go away,” I whispered.

I closed my eyes only to find him still standing over me when I reopened them. He grabbed my wrist. His grip was as solid and firm as it had ever been. He pulled me up until I was standing in the tub. I stared into his eyes through his black framed glasses and watched him look me over. He was exactly the way I remembered him. His dark, penetrating eyes still made my heart tremble. I would have tried to cover my nakedness, but experience assured me he would not have allowed it. Stanley liked to make me blush.

“This is what I get for taking you in?” he asked, waving his hand to accentuate my wet, soapy and naked body. “I ought to take the door off its hinges and then we’ll see if you still waste so much time in here.”

I tried to pull my wrist free of his grip to no avail. “I don’t understand,” I said.

Stanley scowled at me. “You don’t even know what time it is, do you? Your behavior is beyond ridiculous. I’m sick and tired of you disappearing up here and pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

“The world exists,” I said while continuing to struggle against his grip, “but you don’t.”

He released me and I stumbled backward, nearly falling in the slippery tub. His hand sailed through the air, striking the side of my face. My head turned, stung by the impact. I gasped and blinked with tears burning in my eyes. It was a page from the past, turned, and apparently, turned back. The scolding words falling from his lips and the callous ones dripping from my poisoned tongue were old parts being played new again. It was our constant dance, each inflicting pain on the other with selfish disregard. Either of us could have ended it all with a kind word, but that was not our way.

Stanley wagged his finger at me. “You may be my wife’s baby sister, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to baby you. This is my house and I’m through putting up with your bad attitude and irresponsible behavior.”

“I’m a grown woman,” I said.

He turned his back to me, looking at the rack on the wall behind the door. “I’ll believe that when you start acting it.”

My legs splashed in the water as I backed away from him until the wall and tub would allow me to go no farther. “You don’t even know me. It’s been years.”

Stanley looked over his shoulder at me. “Stop with the nonsense. You’ve been living here for six months and just because I didn’t see much of you in the two years prior, doesn’t mean I don’t know you. I’m married to your sister after all and believe you me, she had some of your same selfish tendencies when I married her.”

He turned back to the wall and said, “Now, you were supposed to pick up your nephew from football practice an hour ago, but you forgot, just like you always do. To top that off, the kitchen is still a mess from your breakfast. Of course, I’m sure you’ll promise to clean that up later because there is always a later when it comes to anything you should have done.”

I recalled the incident with clarity and the repercussions that followed. It had started us down a slippery road from which we had never recovered. I looked at Stanley’s turned back and considered the possibility fate was giving me a second chance, a chance to make things right. He turned to face me with the heavy strap lifted off the rack and dangling from his fingers. Trepidation surged into my throat and my limbs trembled.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“I’m sure you are and if not, you will be soon enough,” Stanley said. “Turn around and bend over, because we both know you’ve earned this.”

He was right and probably more than he knew. I turned around, pushing myself away from the wall with my hands. My feet slid smoothly on the silky wet surface of the tub. Water dripped from my skin and the window’s breeze brought with it a chill and goosebumps. I leaned over, laying my hands on the tub’s lip and bracing for the imminent strapping. Stanley took his time, taking up position behind me and aiming the two-tailed strap at my wet and naked buttocks.

My eyes fluttered closed. I bit my lip and wondered if I would soon awake in my old bed to find it was all nothing more than a dream. The strap whistled as it cut through the air. At the loud slap of leather crashing against my wet bottom, my eyes sprang open and wide. I blushed scarlet knowing the open window would carry the unmistakable sounds of my spanking out into the neighborhood. A second strike of the strap left my bottom burning in sync with the double lines left by the strap’s two tails. Stanley waited for the echoes of my yelps and the strap’s impact to fade into silence before sending the strap singing anew.

He took his time striping my backside with red welts from top to bottom. I yelped and splashed in the water after each stinging impact. Against the incredible odds set by inflicted pain and protective reflex, I held my position. It was different than that first time when Stanley had been repeatedly forced to put me back into position.  I had not wanted to accept it then, but with years of regret weighing over me, I had a new understanding of the discipline’s worth. My distaste for the pain was easily outweighed by my need to make amends. Tears dripped from my eyes into the tub’s soapy water. It was cleansing, just like the sharp sting emanating from my heated, damp buttocks.

Stanley concluded the spanking and dangled the strap next to his leg. “Stand up and face me.”

I turned to him and wiped the tears from my cheeks. Our gazes crossed and I felt his observance of the real sorrow gleaming through my eyes. His own eyes softened with forgiveness and unabated love. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment under his gaze, just like they always had. I looked down at the floor and his feet, still wondering how it all was happening and if it would last. It felt real, my bottom burned with the proof of solid reality.

“If you start acting your age, we won’t have to do this again,” Stanley said.

I nodded.

Stanley handed me a towel. “Dry yourself off and get downstairs. That kitchen won’t clean itself and we’ve got guests coming in less than an hour.”

I took the towel and stepped out of the tub. The towel was more abrasive than soft against my burning buttocks, forcing me to dab at the water rather than rub. Still damp, but no longer dripping wet, I hung the towel back on the rack. Stanley stood by the open door watching me. Though his eyes made me self-conscious, his intention was more likely to ensure I did not slip back into the tub pretending it was all a bad dream. That is what I would have done long ago, but not now. I stepped closer to him, intending to grab my robe. It was my reflection in the mirror that caught my eye and froze my hand. The face staring back at me was of my eighteen year old self.

“Stop wasting time,” Stanley said with that old familiar edge in his voice.

“Sorry,” I said and reached for my robe.

I descended the stairs with Stanley right behind me. The front door swung open and my nephew walked inside followed by my sister. They were all back. It was just like it had been, before I had ruined everything. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and shared that ‘freshly-spanked-and-deserved-it’ look with my sister. Unlike before, I gave her a wry smile, letting her know I was fine. I made my way to the kitchen where my mess still waited to be cleaned. However it happened, it felt like a second chance and this time I was going to do things right.

Time For An Update, Again

I know nobody noticed, but did you know Summer is not available yet? Well, let’s clarify, Summer has indeed arrived, temps in the upper 80’s to mid 90’s are a sure sign of that here in sunny, southern California. The Summer I’m referring to though is the one I’m writing called The Spanking Days of Summer. Although I might arguably say those have even arrived, but that’s another story for another time. Anyway, Summer, The Spanking Days of Summer, the story, the one you’re all waiting for with baited breath and twinkling eyes of curiosity, that story, isn’t quite ready yet. Should I apologize or just bare my bottom, touch my toes and take my medicine?

While you are considering that loaded question, I’ll plead my case. What do you mean my times up? How could you have decided that quickly? This so unfair! Can you see me stomping my foot and pouting? Is this what you want? Are you happy now? Don’t answer that.

All kidding aside, I haven’t been able to focus on Summer quite the way I intended to and it has fallen behind. I’m still working on it though and while its progress is much slower than I would have liked it is making its way through the various stages of writing. There have been more changes, more rewrites, more characters, and more spanking going into Summer than I originally planned. As far as it goes, that’s a good thing.

What’s really great about The Spanking Days of Summer, is that the story is more than just about a few bottoms, bare, clothed, or otherwise, getting reddened, it’s about people making choices, right or wrong, and dealing with the consequences, and in Summer not all consequences lead to sore backsides.

I’m still incredibly excited about telling this story and bringing it to all of you. Hopefully you can forgive my slow progress and will still enjoy it when I finally come to the conclusion of the process. In the case of stories like Summer, the process of writing the story is more than simply sitting down at the computer and typing away. It requires careful planning to ensure all plot lines are neatly tied up, that characters stay true to themselves and that the setting remains consistent throughout. I had to go to the trouble of drawing a town map if you can believe it. Even after all the planning and all the writing is done, the story still isn’t complete though.

In order to bring you the quality of story you deserve, the pages have to be edited and read and re-read until I am confidant the story is of the highest quality I am capable of producing. I don’t do enough of that with my casual postings on this blog and sometimes when I re-read a story on here I get pretty embarrassed by the mistakes I’ve left behind, but that’s the price of producing large quantities of material in a short time. When it comes to the effort of producing an ebook I want it to be as good and as perfect as I’m capable of producing.

On another note, coming this Friday, July, 23, 2010, I have a rather unusual short story scheduled for your enjoyment. It is, simply put, the oddest story I have written for Imagine the Stories and I am quite certain there will be mixed reactions to it. As a warning, let me say the story is a bit dark and reminds me more of things I wrote in the past than my current efforts. Still, I think the story has redeeming qualities and is in fact an interesting exploration of the question that has yielded so many great science fiction stories; What if?

Until next time, happy reading, happy spanking, and happy Summer.

The Spanking Chronicles of Cedar Lake: Uniform Lost

I woke up realizing three things; My name was Maggie Blake, I was on the couch in Adrian’s apartment, and I had very little time to get back to Cedar Lake if I was going to make it to my first class. Technically, I was not even supposed to be off campus, but if I made class in time it was doubtful anyone would notice. The real problem was when I sat up on the couch and realized the only part of my uniform, only clothes for that matter, still on my body were my panties. I blame Adrian.

Scurrying about the apartment, I searched for my mysteriously missing uniform. Not remembering even taking it off was mildly concerning, but that was a question best left for another time. I found my bra lodged between the side arm and cushion of the couch I had slept on. The rest of my uniform was completely absent. Snapping my bra in place, I found Adrian sipping coffee in the kitchen.

“Where are my clothes?” I asked.

Adrian finished sipping with a smirk on his face and said, “Where did you leave them?”

“I never took them off,” I said.

He looked me up and down and said, “That seems highly improbable.”

“Cute,” I said flashing him an irritated smile, “I have class in a half hour and I’ll get whacked if I’m late. So game over, I need my uniform, now.”

Adrian stood up from the table and said, “I’ll help you look, but I swear, I didn’t touch it.”

I said, “Someone took it off me and it wasn’t me.”

He said, “I don’t think any of my friends would do that.”

“Whatever,” I said, “I don’t care just as long as we find it like right now.”

Together we spent the next ten minutes tearing his apartment apart. We turned up my skirt hanging in his closet, but the rest remained in hiding. I glanced at the clock. If I did not leave in the next five minutes I would be late and if I left in the next five minutes without my blouse, socks and shoes, I would be whacked. The situation was quickly developing into a no-win scenario.

Adrian said, “Why don’t you put on a couple of your spare things and I’ll drive you over to your dorm where you can grab a uniform from your room. We’ll find this one later when you aren’t stressing out.”

I said, “If anybody sees me in that top, I’ll get whacked. That’s why I keep it here.”

“It’s a chance sure, but if you don’t get to class on time it’s a certainty. Your choice, but I’d take the chance,” He said.

“Fine, give it to me,” I said, holding my hand out toward him.

Handing the gray tank to me, he said, “Even if it does go bad, at least you’ll look cute.”

“You really don’t have a clue about my school do you?” I said, pulling the tank on and tucking it into my skirt.

“They just like to keep you girls on your toes,” Adrian said.

I shook my head laughing, “Boys too, Adrian, boys too.”

“Yeah, but I bet they whack a dozen girls for every boy that gets it,” He said and changed the subject, asking, “Are we still meeting up at the game tonight?”  

The Punishment Room

There was a coldness about the room. It came from the soft flicker of fluorescent lights recessed into the ceiling, from the dull white paint on the  upper walls and the gray-blue paper decorating their lower half. My obscured reflection staring up through the floor's polished sheen offered nothing of the warm reassurance I craved.  The clack of my heels against the wood floor echoed with the cold, hollowness of a cell. Most of all, the room was cold because of its vacancy, its loneliness.

My arrival was proceeded by the arrival of an equally cold message. Delivered via the company's intranet messaging system, it had filled the computer screen leaving no possibility it could be missed or ignored. My throat went dry, my eyes blinked and burned with the damming of trepidatious tears. Unable to clear away the message, I shut off the monitor and glanced guilty about the office. No one had noticed or gave any indication they had seen. I rose to my feet, standing on legs braced by trembling knees and forced myself to walk.

Brian Emmerson awaited me in the hallway. With a stoic face and dispassionate eyes he assessed me from head to toe. I imagined a checklist in his mind's eye and the silent ticking off of mark after mark against me. When his gaze crossed my own and eyes locked together, he gestured down the hallway to my left. I glanced to the right, briefly considering the prospect of fleeing out the exit. The warmth of daylight beckoned me, but Brian's eyes assured me of what I already knew; There was no escape.

At the end of the hallway was the room. Brian opened the door and I stepped inside with him close behind me. The door slammed closed and locked. I walked further into the room, feeling trapped. Brian followed me for a few more steps before stopping about a quarter of the way into the room. Though I chose to avoid looking at him, I doubt his gaze ever left me alone. When the wall would permit me no further distance, I stopped, reaching out and touching its cool surface. 

Tutor Me Hard

So like, physics was so not what I thought it was like. I mean, what the hell? Physics sounds like it is supposed to be like about the physical and the ‘ics’ which totally sounds like ‘exs’ which is just like one letter shy of ‘sex’. So like, physics was supposed to be about physical sex. I mean that is like a real science, right? Apparently, so not what I was thinking and that like made it super hard uh, difficult, there was like nothing hard in sight.

When the professor was like talking about attraction and opposites and poles and stuff it all, like sounded right on. I was totally on board. I mean opposites, dude, they attract and we all know it. Just take a look around, right? Everything was like totally cool and then somebody said ‘vectors’. I am like totally thinking about ways to approach, but it is not supposed to be all math and shit. Signs and co-signs were all totally cool too. I mean I’m a Libra and I would love to know all about my co-signs. Can you believe the professor had like the nerve to laugh at me when I asked?

I was like whatever after that. I mean, if even the professor is clueless why should I even care? Then there was like this problem cause I like failed the midterm and I like have to pass the moronic class to get my degree. Whatever! I would be like totally all for it if it were what it was supposed to be. I mean like sex is something to study cause we all have to do it in the real world and like nobody wants to come off as all inexperienced. This other stuff, well I do not think I will like ever have a need.

Enter the tutor, David Cooker. I call him Davey Cockett and he calls me Viola. It is like totally normal cause that is like my name, but he like blushes when I call him Mr. Cockett. Can you imagine why? Whatever. I just call him Davey mostly, but he still like blushes. So, he is like my tutor, and that is like a hard uh, difficult job. He is good though. I mean like he has taught me stuff and he is like a little cute in that geeky, all older dude sort of way. Opposite attraction and stuff I guess, but I would like totally do ‘physexs’ with him.

So there I was, standing outside his house on a beautifully sunny day. Davey has one of those small, two-level homes, that bachelors like love. Tile roofing, reminds me of Missions and like historical places and stuff, but it is like cool. Not much of a private yard or anything to it, but the shared grounds have like lots of plants and green things. I could totally live in a place like it, but anyway, I was standing there. My hand was poised to knock on the door while I was like thinking of excuses and reasons to give him. I mean, I like had a bad test report  to tell him about and I like did not want to cause he gets like red-faced about stuff like that. It is kind of cute, until he starts with that awful lecturing.