The Tutor, Volume II (ch. 9, 3/18)

[Fred Key]

The Tutor, Volume II

This story is an extension/sequel to my previous story, The Tutor, which I shared in 2023, and follows the same main character. It is set roughly a year after the events in that story. It is not necessary to read the original story to read this one and understand it, but it may make parts of the story make more sense and become more enjoyable.

Chapter 1: Maxwell University

College really wasn’t all that different from high school for me, academically speaking. It had moments where it could be a challenge, but for the most part, my freshman year at Maxwell University had been pretty much a cake walk. I was pulling straight As without having to do anything beyond continuing with the rules I had for success in high school - do the reading, go to class, take notes, and stay on top of the assignments. I had placed out of the introductory math courses and was taking a pair of mid-level multivariate classes. Science was fine - physics, which was largely calculus, and familiar territory. The intro psychology class I took was easy, mostly memorization, and I had cruised through the Intro English course without trouble. This semester might be a little more work, especially with more intermediate classes on the schedule, but it felt easily manageable.

It wasn’t because I was a genius, either. What had surprised me almost as much as how well I had done coming into Maxwell University was just how unprepared a huge portion of the student body was. Seriously, there were students in my English courses who couldn’t string a paragraph together. I knew I hadn’t had a score under 98 in Multivariate Calculus, and there were four or five people who had also held solid As, but easily a third of the class struggled to a D or dropped the course outright. It was an eye-opener - not everyone who comes to college comes from a good school or with good habits. The first year was a tough transition for a lot of my classmates who had been on cruise control for various reasons in high school.

Academically, I was better off than probably 90% of my peers. The rest of my life was a lot less simple, and it really all came back to the same place. Tara had broken our relationship in November, and that had really done a number on me.

The thing is, I couldn’t blame her. Tara was a senior in high school and 18; I was just turning 20 and half the country away in my first year of college. She was sweet, pretty, and smart, and she was being recruited by a whole slew of big name universities to play volleyball - and Maxwell wasn’t a big name university, let alone a school with any strong sports programs. She was visiting schools, enjoying her senior year experience, and making the most of life. More importantly, though, we were just in different places with the relationship. I had even offered to transfer to whatever school she chose so we could be together, but I think that did more to make her feel bad than actually help my cause. I knew I was in love with her, but she wasn’t ready to spend the rest of her life with a high school sweetheart when she hadn’t even started to see the world.

Of course, she was nice about the whole thing - said it was totally her, not me, and that I had been a perfect boyfriend - never pressuring her, never demanding anything, always supportive and at her games, always ready to spend time with her. I guess that was some consolation, knowing that I was the best boyfriend she’d ever dumped. After the split, however, I distanced myself from her, avoiding calls and emails. I knew that if I kept in touch, at least right then, I would be trying to change her mind, and that would only turn things sour and uncomfortable. A couple of mutual friends told me that Tara was disappointed that I hadn’t kept in touch as a friend, but I just couldn’t. I knew she would find plenty of other guys who would be lining up to date her, so I decided to put myself first on that one.

I hadn’t really realized, however, just how much of my life was focused around Tara. The time I had spent emailing or talking on the phone was now empty space. I didn’t belong to a single club or organization at Maxwell. All my time had been dedicated to either Tara or to my classes, and as winter set in and it got dark, cold, and unpleasant outside, I found myself feeling more and more alone. Something had to change. I was looking through a list of organizations and campus groups for anything I was even slightly interested in when there was a knock on my door.

I had one room in a four-bedroom suite in one of Maxwell’s many residence halls. It was a nice deal - each of us got a bedroom with enough room for a desk, a bed, and a dresser and closet. We shared a bathroom, a separate shower room, and a common room with a microwave, sink, and fridge. My roommates were decent guys, and none of them were the fabled “horror story roomie” that everyone hears about. They were a lot more social than I was, though, and I found myself working in my room frequently while they were out at parties or catching concerts or ball games.

“Come in,” I called, and Jack opened the door. Jack was from Kansas, and he looked like he should be the poster boy for some midwestern football program - he looked like those guys you see on Sportscenter at the games, cheering and jumping up and down with their faces painted with team colors. Dressed in a torn-up jacket and his Maxwell sweatshirt, he was a perfect college guy. He also happened to be a really good guy, with a genuine smile and a friendly attitude that made everyone comfortable around him. Every Saturday, he set up a projector in our common room, put football games on the wall like a big-screen TV, and had a pot of chili going on a hot plate all afternoon, and people would come in to eat and watch and hang out. It didn’t bother me at all; if I wasn’t at the library, I was happy to sit and watch for a while, and it kept me from being a complete hermit.

“You setting up again this Saturday?” I asked. “Totally cool with me. You don’t need to check every time, man.”

“No…I mean, yeah, but that’s not what I came by for,” Jack replied. “Brother, you’ve gotta get out of this room and get over that girl already. You aren’t doing yourself any favors, you know.”

“I was just looking for a club or something to join, actually,” I said, pointing at the computer screen, which was showing Maxwell’s campus life page. “And I always have your weekly football party.”

“That’s a good start…but I kinda had an idea I wanted to run by you. You remember Annie? Brunette, wears her hair in a braid all the time? Wants to do chem?”

Honestly, I didn’t remember Annie at all. Jack invited a lot of girls to the room, what with the weekly parties and other stuff, and I wasn’t all that great with names. “Um…maybe? What about her?”

“We’re in a class together this semester - the required freshman comp class? So she gets her paper back yesterday, and she says it was a total disaster. Said the prof wrote on her essay that the grammar was below what he’d expect from a third grader on meth.”

“Ow,” I chuckled. “That’s a little harsh.”

“Right? So I asked her to let me see, and bruh–he wasn’t wrong.” Jack shook his head. “Look, I’m no writer, but at least I can get sentences to connect. This? It was all run-ons and garbled thoughts.”

“I saw a couple like that in my class,” I nodded. “Hard to figure out how they got into college.”

“Not really - she told me that she used to help her friends with math and science, and they would fix up her English papers. Anyway, she got an F on the thing, and only has a week to revise it, and I remembered you said you used to tutor, and I mentioned that to Annie, and…”

“Whoa! Jack, I tutored people in math, not English! Why didn’t you send her to the writing center?” I said, pushing away from my desk and facing him.

“Because YOU need something to do, and Annie is cute! I figured that, worst case, you look at her essay and tell her you can’t help, and there’s no harm,” he grinned. “But better case, you take a look and you CAN help, and you have something to do and make some cash. And BEST case, you take a look at HER, too, and you two hit it off or something. Win-win, you know?”

“Jack, come on, man...I don’t even know this girl, and you think I’m going to land a date trying to repair an F on a comp essay? How am I even going to help her? I can’t just write the paper for her!”

“Look, you don’t have to do anything–just talk to her and see, that’s all. What do you have to lose?”

I rolled my eyes, but the truth was that Jack wasn’t wrong. I could use a little cash toward my “buy Fred a used car” fund, and I needed something to do. Tutoring was one place I was comfortable, and it wasn’t like I was busy. “I guess if I can help her, she’d tell her friends, and that might mean more jobs,” I said. “Word of mouth is important with tutoring.”

“So can I have her call you? You’d be doing me a favor - Annie gets invited to some good parties, and if I help her here, I can hit her up for a plus one later.” Jack pulled out his phone, ready to text.

“Fine,” I said. “But no promises. Have her call me and I’ll see if maybe I can help.”

Jack beamed. “Great! I’ll text her now. You’ll like her - I know it. I got a sense for this stuff.” He pulled my door shut, already tapping out a message.

I hope this isn’t a mistake, I thought to myself. Then I got back to my math work.

The next evening, I was back in my room reading, feet propped up on my bed, work done for the day, when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, so I let it go to voicemail. Like everyone else, I was sick of robocalls and spam. After a moment, the message text started appearing on the phone screen: Hi, is this Jack’s friend Fred? I’m Annie - Jack told me you might be able..

I quickly pressed the Accept Call button. “Hello, Annie? This is Fred. Sorry, I was screening calls. All the spam lately.”

“Yeah, sure!” Annie’s voice had a slightly unusual tone to it. It was higher than the dusky alto tone, but it wasn’t high–rather, it was kind of between the two worlds. It made me immediately imagine a woman who regularly and enthusiastically sang along with her favorite songs, getting about three quarters of the notes right. “So, like I was saying, Jack gave me your name. Did he tell you about my problem?”

“Not much,” I said. “Just that you had a rough first essay for your comp class.”

She snorted. “Rough? The prof basically told me that my writing was so bad that he’d have to create F minus as a grade to be fair. He said it was a total disaster.”

“Sometimes those guys can be real assholes,” I said, trying to be supportive. “You know, they hate their lives and their degree in comma management, and they take it out on everyone.”

Annie’s laugh was genuine and bright. “True, but look, I have to be honest with you. I really am that bad at English. I’m a science whiz, and I’m fine with math, but I hate reading and writing. I haven’t ever written a paper. Not once.”

“How did you manage to get through high school?” I asked, curious.

“It started in middle school, actually,” she said. “I had friends who had a hard time with math and science. I sucked at English. So I would do their math and science stuff, and they’d take care of my English papers. Not everything, but all the major stuff. Our high school wasn’t exactly an academic powerhouse, and no one ever looked at it that closely. I figured once I got out of high school, writing wouldn’t be a big deal anymore since I was going into chem, but I have to get by this comp class. I have one week to fix that essay, or it stays an F, and even if I scrape out a C for the rest of the course somehow, I’ll end up lucky to get a D for the semester. It’ll kill my GPA, and if my parents find out, they’ll drag me back home and stick me in community college for two years. So can you help?”

Well, if nothing else, she was honest. “It sounds like you have some real problems here, Annie, but here’s the thing - if you were a disaster in all of your classes, I’d say you were fucked. But you aren’t. You say you’ve always done well in math and science. Those classes aren’t pushover courses - people struggle with them all the time. That tells me that your problem isn’t that you aren’t capable of writing - it’s that you haven’t WANTED to learn or felt it was necessary. Now it sounds like you feel it’s necessary, right?”

“If I don’t want to fail out? Yes,” she agreed.

“Then it’s just a matter of how we get you to learn this stuff so you can fix it. Motivation plus effort yields results.”

“Huh,” she said, “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“Tell you what,” I continued. “Can you meet with me tomorrow? Bring me the essay of doom so I can take a look, and we can figure out where to start?”

“Sure! Where and when?”

“How about six at Collins Library? Third floor has some good work space. I’ll be the guy in the glasses, and I’ll have my green scarf over my chair so you can find me easily.”

Annie laughed again. “I think I remember you from one of Jake’s parties, but the scarf should help if I can’t find you. How much do you charge?”

“Let’s see what we’re going to need to do, and then we’ll figure that out. See you tomorrow!”

“Cool! Bye!” She hung up.

I put the phone down on my desk. She sounded cute. But I needed to sit down and review some grammar rules before tomorrow if I was going to have any chance of helping her. Getting her to learn how to write in a week? That was a tall order. Still, for the first time in a while, I felt…good. Like I was on the right path.

I had no idea what was starting.

[Fred Key]

Author's note: As you may have noticed, it has been a LONG time since I wrote anything myself for this board, and I have serious issues writing when I'm not "feeling it", so to speak. I also tend to be very slow about getting to the payoff moments of a story - I felt like I had to push forward enough on this chapter that readers would at least have some hint of where this was going and how it would get there. If that sort of slow roll isn't your cup of tea, you probably want to stop here. I doubt I will be able to maintain this pace, but I hope to keep some momentum going on this story for a while at least.

Ch. 2: Introducing Annie


After a good half-day of review and some note-taking, I felt like I was prepared to at least start helping Annie learn basic rules for writing. I wasn’t sure what I should count on. Could I expect that she knew how to write a basic sentence? Spelling probably wasn’t going to be good, but that could be taken care of for the most part with standard spell checkers. Grammar was going to be harder.

I settled in at a quiet table in Collins at 5:45, draping the big green scarf over my chair prominently. Right before 6, a young woman appeared from the stairwell who could only be Annie. She had that braid Jack had mentioned, but she was also full of energy, almost bouncing with every step, and had a big, happy smile on her face. She was wearing one of those knit caps that end in a pom-pom, but hers had three different ones. As she made a beeline for my table, I could see she had a giant backpack slung over her shoulder, and I wondered how anyone her size and weight could carry it without falling over backwards.

“Fred?” she asked, plopping the bag down next to an empty chair with a thunk that probably shook dust from the ceiling below. “That’s me,” I nodded. “Nice hat! Made it yourself?”

She tugged it off and showed it off proudly. “Yup! My roomie is teaching me to crochet. She says that giving me something to do with my hands keeps her from strangling me when I start tapping on things.”

“The three pom-poms are a unique touch.”

“I couldn’t pick a color,” she admitted. “So I figured that I’d use them all!” She wasn’t kidding. The cap itself was made with a bunch of different colors, and it was somehow obnoxious and cute at the same time. “So, do you want to see my essay first?” She dropped into the chair next to mine and began digging through her bag, which I could see was a total mess. Eventually, she pulled out a crumpled set of pages, attempted to smooth them out a bit, and then handed them over to me with a grin. “Here you go! Not responsible if your eyes bleed when you read it.”

The good news, I thought, was that it was typed. Deciphering handwriting on top of the sea of red that covered the paper would have probably made me give up right there. Virtually every line on the first page had been marked with multiple red circles, notes, added punctuation marks, and several “?” notes. I flipped to the second page, and saw that the marks stopped on page one. Apparently that was where the professor had thrown up his hands and either quit marking or quit reading entirely.
I flipped back to the first page and began trying to read the essay. “For most people writing abt themselves is difficult for me it is easy because i am open. No secrets. Any one can, ask me, like any thing and I dont get mad or any thing cause I am ok. With who I am and what I think–no offense when people say what i dont like or not I just roll with.”

Okay - bad, but not something I couldn’t read. As I continued, I saw that Annie’s writing was completely stream of consciousness - she just wrote whatever was in her head at the moment, wandering all over the place. After a few more sentences, I looked up to see her chewing her lip nervously. “It’s really, really bad, isn’t it?” she asked.

“What was the prompt?” I answered, dodging her question.

“The what?”

“The prompt. What was the assignment topic? You know, what you were supposed to be writing about?”

“Oh! Um…something about what we write about ourselves? I have it somewhere here.” Back into the abyss of her backpack, pulling out notebooks, random paper, two calculators, a snack box, and finally, a notebook that had COMP printed on it in big colorful letters. She flipped a couple of pages and pointed to the assignment she had copied down: “Think about a conversation or event that you took part in when you were in middle school. If you wrote about what happened now, would it be fiction or non-fiction? Why?”

Well, that helped to explain a little bit of what she was writing about, but the essay that she had written (sort of) was all over the place, and was more about what happened at a dance than answering the question. It was a lot clearer why the prof was frustrated, especially if he was reading a few dozen of these. This one essay would have taken him easily an hour even if he was only trying to help her focus on the question.

“Okay. So do you want the good news or the bad news?” I asked.

“Bad news. Always finish on a positive,” she replied immediately, but I saw her hand go to her braid nervously.

“The bad news,” I answered, “is that this essay is a real mess. Not only do you have some really serious issues with grammar, you also aren’t even clearly on topic. It would be like you started out doing one experiment in chem lab, but did the lab report using data from a completely different experiment.”

“Crap,” she sighed, slumping back in her chair. “I knew I was bad at this, but I hoped it was at least fixable.”

“That’s the good news. I DO think it’s fixable. You need work on basic sentence rules, and you need to learn how to organize and outline an essay, but this isn’t hopeless. You just need to focus - really focus - on learning these rules before you rewrite this.”

Annie looked at me with despair. “But I only have a week! How am I gonna learn the rules from years of English classes in a week?”

I shook my head. “It’s going to take a lot of work. I can give you a list of the basics and some practice exercises, and then we can meet again and go over them tomorrow and make adjustments. But you have to expect that this is going to be a project that takes up some serious time.”

The girl nodded. “Okay. I’ve got to pass this class, so I’ll just drop everything else for the moment. I can make up the Chem easily enough. Now - how much is your help going to set me back? Poor college student here.”

I had thought about this carefully. I didn’t want to charge too much, but I also didn’t want to make myself look like an amateur. “I was thinking that we might be able to make a deal. You said you used to help your friends with their science work, right? I’m fine with physics, but I can’t tutor chemistry. How about you pay me $25 an hour, but you agree to take on tutoring a Chemistry student if I get one needing help? I’ll even pay you the same $25 an hour from what I charge them. There’s no guarantee I’ll get a request for it, but it would be worth it to have the class covered if I need it.”

Annie’s smile returned at full wattage. “Deal! I thought I’d be paying like $75 per session or something horrible like that. For $25 an hour, I can actually pay you to help me learn something, not just for a band-aid. And tutoring Chem is easy for me. I’ve done it for years.”

We spent the next 45 minutes on outlining an argument. Once Annie understood that essays needed to be as focused as lab reports, she understood structure and evidence much better. I felt good about the session - we were getting somewhere.

Before she left, I pulled out a list of rules for punctuation I had typed up. “So here’s what I want you to do. Take this list and make flashcards or study it however works best for you. Next, I want you to work through these practice sheets - there’s only three. Make sure you at least have those done before we meet tomorrow. Same time, here? We’ll aim for an hour again tomorrow–half to go over these rules, and half talking about setting up your new essay.”

“Sounds good!” She stuffed everything back into that giant backpack. We swapped Venmo information, and she sent me the first $25. “See you tomorrow, Fred!” With a wave, she was off and down the stairs.

I thought for a moment about how the hour had gone, and decided that I liked Annie. She seemed like a friendly person, had been attentive, and, like Jack had said, she was cute, especially that smile. I looked forward to seeing how the next session would go.

The answer was “not well.”

The next night I was at Collins and waiting at 5:45, as usual. Annie wasn’t there at six. She wasn’t there at 6:15. I checked my phone, but I didn’t have any messages. I sent her a “Everything OK?” text, but didn’t get an answer. At 6:30, I was about to leave when Annie crashed through the stairwell door, panting heavily. “OhmygodI’msosorry!” she gasped out, words running together so fast that I could barely keep up. “IwasworkinginthelabandIhadanaccidentwiththecompoundswewereusingandaccidentallysetsomestuffonfireandthenIhadtoexplainandcleanupandnextthingIknewitwassixfifteenandIranallthewayhereandI’msososorry!”

I blinked at her as I tried to process. “Did you say something was on FIRE?”

She nodded sheepishly, still breathing hard. “It wasn’t THAT bad. Just a little fire.”

“I think I can cut you some slack on being late due to lab fires,” I said, relaxing a bit. “We can just push things a little longer. How did you do on the flashcards? Did you make progress on those rules?”

“Um…about that. I sort of didn’t get to those today. I know I was supposed to, but I had so much to do that I kept getting distracted by other things.” She looked down at me hopefully. “But we can work on them now, right?”

This was a problem. The only way we were going to be able to fix the mess Annie was in was if she worked on her own as well as with me, and she needed to be on board with that. “Did you get the worksheets done at least?” I asked. She looked down at her shoes. I sighed.

“Look, Annie, you’re obviously nice, and I want to help you. But you have to understand that you are way, way behind here, and there isn’t room for us to lose a day because you didn’t get to it. You told me that you were going to fail if you didn’t get a C on this essay, and you said your parents would pull you out of Maxwell if you fail. You have to take this seriously if we’re going to have a chance.”

“I AM taking it seriously,” she said, annoyance on her face for the first time. “I’m here working with you, right? I just got really busy, so I’m sorry I didn’t get that done, but I have other stuff I have to do too!”

“Is any of it stuff that will get you thrown out of school if you don’t finish it? Because that kind of needs to be your priority, right?” I didn’t mean to be snarky, but at the same time, I was a little irritated myself. “If you don’t do the things I need you to do, I’m not going to be able to help you, Annie.”

“Fine! I get it! Look, can we just work on the outline again today, and I’ll make sure I’ve practiced for tomorrow, all right? I’ll get all of it done.” She looked at me hopefully.

“All right. But this can’t happen again, okay? I won’t waste your money and my time on something you aren’t committed to.”

Annie thanked me profusely and swore she’d get the work done. I pulled out my notebook and started walking her through the prompt for the essay again. With some guidance, she was able to come up with some points to argue and some evidence to support her position. We stuck with the simplest possible form; with luck, we would be able to focus the rest of the week on turning her thoughts into complete sentences. Annie was focused, although I found myself a little distracted by the way she looked in the leggings she was wearing. Even with a sweatshirt on, I could see that she had curves, and her legs were very pleasant to look at. A couple of times during the session she laughed, and when she did, her face went from nice enough to strikingly pretty. It had to be some combination of her smile and how it changed the shape of her eyes, but whatever it was, it made me want to make her laugh more often.

At the end of the session, she hit some buttons and I heard the payment enter my account with a ping. “I really appreciate this, Fred,” she said. “Jack said you were a good guy and that you knew how to explain things. He was right. I feel like I understand this whole essay outline thing for the first time. It’s just a formula. Why didn’t someone say that before?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes teachers only think in terms of their subjects. Tutors who work with multiple subjects have to learn multiple languages, I guess.”

“Well, thanks again. Tomorrow at 6 again?”

“I’ll be here. Don’t forget your practice!”

On my walk back to the dorm, I thought about asking Annie out. Maybe after we got through the essay stuff, we could go hang out for some coffee or something. Even if nothing came out of it, she would be fun to talk to. I wondered idly how she looked with her hair down.

Jack was sitting in the common room with Evan when I came in. “Did you hook up with Annie?” he asked, “And I mean that either way.”

“I’m tutoring her, yes,” I answered, which immediately drew a “That’s what she said!” from Evan.

“She’s cool, like you said, but we have a lot of work to do,” I said, ignoring Evan’s line.

“I warned you - but she said you helped a lot in that first session, so you must be doing something right, yeah?” Jack shot his finger gun at me. “I’m counting on you to help us build up the party fund, my friend.”

“No problem, Jack. And you were right - she IS cute. Is she always that..energetic?”

Jack laughed. “She’s like an ADHD kid after a coffee with extra espresso. But she’s the nicest girl you’ll meet. Told me she didn’t date much, though, in high school.”

“Did you guys get anywhere?”

“No, it wasn’t like that with her, man. We just hit it off in class, and she’s always ready to hit a party, so we ended up going to a few together. She dances non-stop, drinks a bit, and just has a good time.”

I nodded. “Ok. Well, thanks for the intro. Hopefully it works out for her.”

“Hopefully it works out for both of you, man,” Jack said cheerfully.

I was all ready to hit the ground running the next evening. I had some new worksheets pulled together, had done some work condensing rules about commas, and was looking forward to seeing Annie smile when things started turning a corner. Unfortunately, none of that was going to happen.

When Annie came in at six, I could tell we had a problem already. She wasn’t looking at me. “Everything ok, Annie?” I asked, hoping she hadn’t gotten bad news or something.

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Fred, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I really screwed up badly. I didn’t get the prep work you gave me done. I know I promised I would, but I just never got to it. And I know you’re going to be angry, and you’re right to be angry.”

I closed my notebook. “I’m not angry, Annie - just disappointed. I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to work. You should probably get to the writing center tomorrow - you still have a few days and that outline we put together, so maybe that’s enough for you to get some help from them.” I put the notebook in my backpack and zipped it.

“I’m really sorry, Fred - I meant to get the stuff done, but every time I tried, something seemed to come up and get in the way.” Annie looked pitiful, and I really did feel sorry for her, but feeling sorry wasn’t enough. I’ve always had a rule that if a client won’t do the work, I’ll drop them. If they aren’t committed, I can’t help, and that’s just reality.
“I know. I get it. But this is clearly not enough of a priority for you for us to be successful. I like you, and I’m not trying to be a jerk, but we were already trying to do something challenging on a short timeline. Without your work, we’re into impossible.”

“I get that. I know that this is on me, but I haven’t got any other options - I tried the writing center before, and that went nowhere. You’re the first person I’ve worked with who actually made sense when he talked. I need you to keep tutoring me. Is there anything I can do to get you to change your mind? Seriously - you’re my last chance, Fred. What if I tutor any Chem people you pick up for free?” She looked at me pleadingly. “You can keep the full payment. Just don’t bail on me.”

“The problem isn’t the money, Annie. It’s the motivation. You aren’t motivated enough to get the practice work done.”

“Then figure out how to motivate me! I mean, back in high school, the coach made us run laps if we didn’t practice hard enough. That was good motivation for all of us, because none of us wanted to run.” Annie bit her lip. “Except how would you make me run? And I run pretty regularly now, so I guess that doesn’t make sense.”

“Exactly,” I replied. “That’s the problem with your idea. You have far more freedom and autonomy now as a college student, anyway. I couldn’t just say, ‘go run some laps!’ or something. Even if you would, I’d have to be there making sure you did, and we’d end up wasting even more time we didn’t have. At least at some level, the cost of tutoring is supposed to be a motivator.” I looked at her and shrugged. “If throwing away the money you paid for a lesson isn’t enough motivation, what’s going to make you do it?”

“No! There has to be a way,” Annie insisted. “Even if I get out of this somehow without you, what’s going to change? If I don’t figure this out now, I’m going to be right back in this situation all over again. This isn’t a one-time issue.”

“Maybe you need a psychologist, not a tutor,” I said wryly. “Motivation is really their area, not mine.”

Annie’s eyes got huge all of the sudden. “Ohmygod! Genius!” She started digging through her backpack again, paper flying everywhere. One guy actually stopped while he was walking by and stared at the mess until she gave him a glare and he hurried away. Finally, she pulled out a notebook with a half-ripped cover. “We studied this, sort of. There are positive and negative conditioning methods. Like, you can give a kid a gold star if they get things right, or you can shoot your cat with a water gun if it climbs on your counter, right?”

I looked at Annie skeptically. “You want me to shoot you with a water gun?”

“Don’t be stupid. Would you think that getting shot with a water gun would be a strong reason to do your work?”
“I mean, I would prefer not to get wet, but realistically, no, it isn’t much of a threat.”

“So we just have to come up with a threat that is significant enough. Something that would make me absolutely positively do the work so I don’t have it happen,” she said, triumph on her face.

“But Annie, you’re talking about failing out of college! If that isn’t enough motivation, what kind of threat…”

She cut me off. “You’re missing the point. That’s a threat, but it isn’t immediate. I can always tell myself that I have time to fix it, or that my parents won’t flip out, or that something else will happen. I can wiggle past it. There has to be an immediate consequence, like that water gun. Get it?”

Suddenly, I found myself thinking of Tara and last year again. Of how that game I used to teach her about probability had immediate, embarrassing consequences that, once she experienced them once, made her work extremely hard to avoid them a second time. Of how she had actually become not just someone I was using the technique on, but how her competitive nature and her desire to win had made her go much farther than I ever imagined the game would lead.

Annie wasn’t Tara. She wasn’t competitive in the same way, and I didn’t know her anywhere as well as I had known my ex before I started tutoring her. But maybe there was something here...and maybe, with a cute, semi-desperate girl asking for help, I was willing to take a chance.

“Okay. I want to ask you a question, ok? Don’t think about it - just answer it. Can you do that, Annie?”

She nodded. “Sure. Open book, remember?”

“What nightmare do you have most often?”

She laughed. “Oh, that’s easy. That stupid naked in public one, where you wake up and realize you forgot to put on your pants before you went to class.”

“That’s your motivator.”

She looked at me for a minute. “Wait, what?”

“You said that whatever it was, it had to be an immediate consequence that you’d do anything to avoid, right?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“And you said that’s your nightmare, so logically, you’d do anything to avoid it, right?” I pressed.
“Okay, yes, but that doesn’t mean that I’m willing to actually DO it,” she said uncomfortably. “I’m not really the kind of person who is all ‘woohoo let’s go skinny dipping or streaking’, you know?”

“And that makes sense, since it’s a nightmare. But that also makes it a really, really strong motivator. Don’t you think you’d do just about anything to avoid having to be naked in public?”

Now Annie was seriously flustered. She was realizing that she had backed herself into a very uncomfortable corner, and was trying to figure out where the path out was. “Yeah, but even if I agreed that it was something I’d do anything to avoid, I still wouldn’t agree to do it as a consequence. I’d rather fail out of college than that.”

I gave her a thoughtful look. “Okay, so what we’ve determined is that there has to be a consequence that is bad enough that you want to avoid it, but not so horrifying that you would never be able to accept having to pay it. Middle ground of sorts. So what about this: If you don’t get the work done for tomorrow, you don’t have to go naked in public, but you have to do something less public instead? You have to flash me.”

“Flash you? Are you serious?”

“Are YOU? Look, you’re the one begging me to keep helping you, Annie. You told me that you were willing to do anything to get that help. You suggested some sort of consequence that was immediate and that would be highly unpleasant for you. And I should point out that we wouldn’t even be HAVING this conversation if you had done the prep work either last night OR the night before. So yes, I’m serious, especially based on your reaction to me suggesting it. You didn’t get up and leave, so it isn’t something that you can’t even consider, but you also are made extremely uncomfortable by the suggestion, so it is a good motivator. If you just do what you are supposed to, nothing happens.”

Annie considered this for a moment. “This is the ONLY way that you’ll keep working with me?” she asked, looking at me closely. “What if I offered you something else? Like a date?”

I shook my head. “That’s not going to solve your problem. And I don’t need a date enough to have to buy one, thanks.”

Annie’s smile was huge. “You pass. It’s a deal.”

“What?”

“You pass. If you were just looking to get something cheap from me, you’d have jumped on the date. You’d figure you could squeeze more out of it later. Yeah, it’s a little weird to have flashing you as a punishment for not getting my work done, but if I do my work, you get nothing at all. That’s not what a creep would do. A creep would just demand the date or more.” She looked very proud of herself for this logic, and I wasn’t going to argue.

“So you’ll be here tomorrow with your work done and ready to go?”

“Yup,” Annie said. “Or you get to see the girls. Which you won’t. Because I don’t show off the girls. Not that I don’t think I have nice boobs, but like, I don’t just show them to boys. Which I don’t know why I’m telling you, anyway. This is weird.”

“It is. But if it works, it will be worth it, right?” I asked, trying to look encouraging and unthreatening.

“Yeah, it will. Okay. I think I’m going to go right back to my dorm and start working on those flashcards.” She stuffed all the random paper out of her backpack back inside. “Do you know what’s kind of funny, though?”

“What?” I asked.

“I kinda think that even if you had demanded a date, you wouldn’t have asked for anything else.” Annie picked up her backpack and slung it over a shoulder, wobbling slightly. “We should talk about that. If you don’t quit, and I don’t fail out.” She gave me another smile. “See ya!”

That night, I couldn’t decide if I wanted Annie to come back tomorrow with or without her work more. But I also found myself thinking about this entire idea of tutoring and the model Annie had suggested. It seemed to have some possibilities. If it worked with Annie…who else would it work with?

[colomale2]

Love your work! I have been reading Tutor 1 and love it. Glad to see you back.

[Somebody]

Loving this dynamic that they have. Responsible guys helping irresponsible girls really touches me deep inside.
Although I must say, when someone says they weren't able to get to something because things just kept popping up, I get it. Life is simply not supposed to be this busy. I think her first step needs to be simplifying her life.

[HankHill33]

Over the moon excited to see you back!! Can’t wait to read the next part!!

[Fred Key]

Thanks for the welcome back! I'm enjoying working on this story again, and hope you continue to enjoy it as well.

Chapter 3: The Devil is in the Details

I spent a lot of time the next day thinking about Annie. Was she going to be able to make herself get her work done this time? If she didn’t, what would happen? Would she actually go through with it and flash me? Or would she just no-show and be gone, out of my life? For someone I had only known for a few days, I realized, losing her was more disturbing a possibility than I expected. I caught myself wondering what it would be like to kiss her. Flavored lip gloss, like a 14 year old, but on a young woman who I imagined to be a very good kisser. That little remark at the end of the session the night before a possible date was never far from my mind.

I was at Collins at 5:30 that night, even though I knew I was being ridiculous. I’m not a hormone-oozing teenager; I like to think I have some pretty solid self-control. I was excited, though, because it felt like this was the start of a new adventure - one that reminded me a lot of the events that brought Tara and I together. I just had to be patient and not rush things.

At 5:55, I was past patient and tapping my fingers on the desk, waiting for Annie to show up. I don’t think I was this nervous before my first date. Fortunately, I was able to contain myself until once again the door to the third floor burst open and Hurricane Annie came blowing into the room.

Her face was a picture of misery. She looked totally crestfallen, even defeated. “I tried,” she said. “I really tried, Fred. I must have started on the work like 20 times.”

“Don’t tell me that you didn’t get it done, Annie. You can’t have blown it AGAIN. Not with flashing me on the line!” I shook my head. “I can’t believe it.”

She grinned broadly. “Gotcha! No boobs for you, Mr. Tutor, because I came prepared! I got through ALL the worksheets, and I spent an hour last night studying!” The inevitable excavation of her backpack followed, with multiple notebooks and texts being extracted before all four worksheets, in various states of crumpledness, were produced with a flourish.

“Great job, Annie! It seems you were right about the motivation - you had the right thing pushing you, and you delivered. I’m only disappointed, to be honest, because I know that you’d be angry with me if I WASN’T disappointed about not getting you to flash me.” I was being about 90% honest there, too - if she had failed to deliver today, flash or no flash, we would have been done, and that probably meant that nothing would have had the opportunity to happen between us, too.

Annie’s pride at having done something so simple was perhaps a little over the top, but so was Annie. I let her celebrate, and we got to work going over the worksheets. She did well with them, but worksheets are fairly basic practice tools - in most cases, they cover one or two points and repeat them over and over to help you get mastery. Still, it was clear that Annie had at least made a start on the basic rules governing sentences and punctuation usage, and when we moved to working on her outline for her essay again, she was able to write out her key argument points in sentences that were readable and clear. We made real progress–enough that when she left, I was confident that we could actually make this happen.

Days 4 and 5 of the week were grinds – we dug in hard on structure and how to put together a paragraph, some of the rules for quotations, and what constitutes a legitimate argument in an essay. The material wasn’t exciting by any stretch of the imagination, but the time passed remarkably quickly each session as the two of us worked together, joking with one another as we pushed toward the goal. A couple of times I thought about asking about that date, but I decided not to do it until after we were past the paper. It would be a distraction for both of us, and there would be plenty of time to talk about it after we ensured she was going to pass.

On day six, we hit a setback, unfortunately. I had sent Annie back home at the end of the previous session with her carefully prepared outline, all laid out and ready to assemble into a complete essay. Really, with that paper in hand, she could have just copied the sentences on it in order and produced something acceptable. At least I thought she could have done it. The paper, however, that she brought back the next day looked like it had been written by the Annie from the beginning of the week, not the Annie who was making so much progress.

“I don’t understand what happened here,” I said, looking over the outline and comparing it to the essay. “You wandered completely away from the organization we worked on. Why?”

“I didn’t mean to!” she said, frustrated. “I started writing and following the outline, but it was like it didn’t make sense to go the way the paper went. I tried to do a better job supporting my points and explaining, but it was like it just made everything worse! And I couldn’t figure out how to connect the points with transitions like you told me. It felt like all the things that I had learned just vanished when I tried to pull them together. Maybe I just can’t write.”

“Look, Annie, we made huge leaps this week. You can’t give up because of a setback. We just have to get you focused again.”

“But HOW? I have to have that paper the day after tomorrow! We’re almost out of time, Fred!” She looked like she was on the edge of screaming, crying, or both, and I understood. She was pushing hard, but it seemed like she had really hit her stride when the pressure was…

“I know how we’re going to do this, Annie. I think I have an answer - but I’m not sure you’re going to like it.”

“I like failing less! Hit me.”

“What happened three days ago when you turned a corner and got your work done for the first time? What made the leap work?” Annie looked at me with a puzzled frown, but I kept going. “You were under pressure that actually made you react. You knew you’d have to do something you were seriously uncomfortable about if you didn’t make it happen.”

“Go on,” she said. “I’m listening.”

“I think that we need to make sure that you are under the same level of pressure when you produce your essay. You need to be focused, knowing that anything that goes wrong has a cost you don’t want to have to pay. So here’s what I suggest - you take this essay back with you to your dorm tonight. You really dig in and make sure you give it your best work. And to make sure you do, you’ll have some incentive. For every grammar or structure mistake you make, and for every time you deviate from the outline when you write the essay–you’re going to lose a piece of clothing.”

“WHAT?” she squeaked. “For every one? There’s no way!”

“That’s right,” I finished. “For this essay, I’m not taking off for mistakes - you are. If that doesn’t motivate you to give me your absolute best effort for tomorrow, I don’t know what will.”

Annie shook her head. “This doesn’t seem fair, Fred. Even if I really overdress, and count shoes and socks, I maybe can stretch this into 10 articles of clothing. Maybe. I can’t write this essay without making 10 mistakes! I mean, I get the idea here, and it scares the hell out of me, so that much makes sense, but if I don’t even have a chance of success, why would I take the risk?”

“Because you DO have the chance, Annie. Look, you have the essay more than three-quarters finished in outline form. If you concentrate on writing straightforward and complete sentences that focus on the specific points of your outline in the order you’ve arranged them here, you can do this. You understand all the different bits - you just have to pull them together carefully. You’ll double-check every sentence after you finish the draft because any error could be the difference between safety and total exposure.”

Annie looked uncertain. I reached out and I put my hand on hers. “I believe you can do it, Annie. I really do. But I’ll make a promise to you as well, because I’m so confident that you’ll be successful. If you end up naked because of this deal, I’ll strip down and join you, because it will be at least partially my fault for failing to get you to the finish line. Then we’ll sit down and fix the essay together. Either way, I’m going to make sure you pass. What I want, though, is to prove to you that YOU can pass on your own. That’s worth the risk for me. How about you?” I pulled my hand back, and I waited for her answer.

The brunette stared at me for a moment. “You’re serious - you’ll actually bet your OWN clothes on me pulling this off? You honestly believe that much in me?”

I nodded. “I do. And I believe in me, too. After all, you do have the best tutor at Maxwell training you. How can I bet against him?”

I could see her searching my face for any hint that I was lying, but I wasn’t. I truly thought she could write that essay. The look on her face suddenly went from skeptical to full radiant smile. “I don’t think anyone has ever gone out on a limb quite like that for me before, Fred. I’m not sure if you’re an amazing tutor, an incredibly persuasive perv, or just a really good guy. Maybe all three. But if you’re willing to believe in me that much, I can’t walk away without looking like a real idiot, can I? Let’s do it.”

We agreed that, under the circumstances, it might be best if she came to my dorm room for our session tomorrow, so we decided to meet there at 5:30 instead of the usual 6 PM. My roommates were usually at the cafeteria right when it opened at 5:30, so we would have a little extra privacy. Neither of us were keen on answering questions about what we would be doing.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Annie said, then winced. “I just hope you don’t see much of me.”

“Keep that in mind when you work tonight, and we’ll both end up happier,” I assured her. “It’s going to work.”

I walked Annie downstairs and out of the library this time. As we left the building and stepped into the snow falling gently in the darkness, she paused. “Fred? Can I ask you something?”

“Sure - open book, right?” I replied.

“Have you ever pulled a stunt like this before? Talked a girl into doing something ‘to help you learn’?”

My stomach hit the ground hard. Of all the questions Annie could ask, that was the one question I hadn’t anticipated. And it was also the one question that could make me look like a completely manipulative asshole.

I suppose I could have lied and said no. I could have kept what happened with Tara last year a secret. There’s no reason to think Annie would have ever discovered it. But I didn’t want to lie to this girl, either. I liked her. And if I couldn’t be honest about what happened with Tara – if I acted like I should be ashamed of it — then how could I believe that my relationship with her had been so great? No. I wasn’t a liar, and I wasn’t a jerk, and I wasn’t ashamed.

“Well, the simple answer, I guess, is yes. But it isn’t really a simple answer kind of question, is it?”

I paused and waited to see if Annie would react. If she would flip me off or tell me that she didn’t want to talk with me again. If she’d start screaming at me - or just flat out slap me.

She didn’t. She just smiled again. “I guess not. So you’ll have to explain it to me. Not tonight, though. I have this paper due tomorrow, and the asshole I’m writing it for is going to be looking for reasons to tear it apart. But tomorrow night, after I’m done with that guy, you’re taking me for coffee. A mocha with a shot and extra whipped cream. And you’ll explain to me why I’m not going to use it to scald your nuts off.” She grinned. “Just kidding about the last part. Mostly.”

“Okay. Good luck with your asshole. Wait - that didn’t come out right.”

This time she laughed. “Bye, Fred.”

I watched her vanish into the falling snow before I turned and headed back toward my own dorm. Suddenly, I felt like Annie wasn’t the only one who needed to prepare for tomorrow night. That coffee–threats aside–sounded a lot like a date, and suddenly I felt a lot of pressure not to screw it up. What if, after hearing the story, she decided to leave? How much should I tell her about Tara? About us? Where was the line between sharing and oversharing?

Sighing, I shifted my backpack strap on my shoulder and trudged ahead. It was too late to go back now. Annie would need to hear at least some part of the story. Hopefully, by tomorrow night at this time, I’d have figured out which part that was.

[colomale2]

Love where this is going!

[Fred Key]

Chapter 4: Taking off for Spelling (or Grammar)

The next day I went and got a haircut. It had nothing at all to do with the cute girl I would be taking for a coffee tonight. Possibly after seeing her naked. Nothing at all.

Yeah, right.

I don’t think I ever spent as much time prepping for a test as I spent that day on a coffee date. I picked out my best polo and slacks, making sure I was wearing a nice pair of boxers - you might be joining her naked, so make it look good - shaved, and made sure I had everything I might need - cash, credit card, notebook, and of course, a red pen. If you’re going to do something, do it right. That includes scoring the paper of the girl you are tutoring, threatening with stripping, and trying to convince to date you.

It wasn’t until around 4 pm - I had finished cleaning my room and wiping down the common space - that I slowed down for a minute. I was cleaning the mirror in the bathroom (those things can get pretty nasty with four guys sharing a sink, brushing teeth, and shaving) when I saw myself in the glass and stopped. I looked at the guy staring back at me - average in most ways, cleaned up nicely - and thought about what I was going to tell Annie about the past and how I got here. Did I even understand it myself?

Before I started tutoring Tara, I had always thought of myself as a pretty ordinary guy who just happened to be good at explaining things and had solid academic skills. I had dated, but not often; I liked girls and I definitely liked the things you could do with them, but I thought my experience would be limited to some intense kissing until I got to college, and then something would magically happen that would give me a chance to become sexually active. I thought that seeing a pair of breasts in person for the first time would be like winning the lottery. Then I met Tara, and for whatever reason, things changed.

No. That’s not being honest. I knew why things had changed. They changed because I took a chance the night of that first tutoring session with her. I decided to see if a girl might be willing to play the equivalent of strip poker with me, and found the courage to put it on the table. She could’ve walked away. She could have thrown me out of her house. But she didn’t. And because of that, I will never forget the moment a beautiful girl - a girl I never thought I’d get near - took off her top for the first time in front of a boy, aching with embarrassment from doing so. I will never forget the feeling of having that nervous girl bend over my lap and peeling down her underpants to give her a bare-bottom birthday spanking. All because I had taken a chance.

Now here I was, about to have another girl in my dorm room, and she had agreed to take off a piece of clothing for every error I found in her essay. And while both of us had agreed that this was not normal, both of us had agreed to do it. Why? That was the big question. Maybe women really are just as horny as men, and because of the way things work in society, they have to find an excuse to do something like this. Maybe Annie and I were both just weirdly perverted in some way - maybe she was a closet exhibitionist, and I was into having control over women. I didn’t think that was it, but maybe I couldn’t see my own fetish or something.

Either way, one of the basic rules of college that had been drilled into me for years was that if two people want to do something consensually, no matter what I might personally think of their choice, it was their right to do it. Both of us were consenting adults, and both of us had agreed on this evening’s rules. Did I really need to question it beyond that? But a part of me wondered…if there are two women out there who will do this under the right circumstances - allow themselves to be tutored with, shall we say, unorthodox methods - how many more might there be who would also do the same?

I finished the cleaning, and with about a half hour before I could reasonably expect my tutee, I decided to read. Of course, I couldn’t stop checking the clock, and I ended up reading the same page three times before I understood it, but at least it helped pass the time until the knock came at the door to the suite. I dropped the book and tried not to sprint over there like an overexcited kid on Christmas morning.

As I let Annie in, I noticed that my roommates were indeed out. Two rooms were open, and the third, Jake’s, was closed, but I knew he would head to dinner straight from the gym. “Hey,” I said, “you found it.”

“It’s not hard. It’s a dorm room. Has a number and everything, Fred. Hey - this place is actually kind of nice! You do live with other people, right?” Annie dropped her bag on the floor casually. She started peering around the room, looking at the countertops and the sink.

“You know I do. Jack and two other guys. They’re not here right now, but they’re decent roommates, not slobs. I never have any problems.”

Annie’s grin was back, this time with a mischievous look. “You cleaned the place for me.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Well, aside from no college boy ever living this neatly, I can still smell the stuff you used on the sink. But you get points for the effort. Which one of these boxes is yours?”

I pointed to the one on the left. “Can I look?” she asked, her smile broadening. “I want to see what your room looks like. You can tell a lot by someone’s room.”

“Help yourself,” I gestured. She walked to the doorway and put her head inside. There wasn’t much to see - a desk, a bed (neatly made), a dresser (clothes stored, not scattered around), and a small extra floor rug to add some color. I had a couple of posters on one wall - one of an art print by Escher that I liked, and one for my long-suffering football team. “So what can you tell?” I asked.

“Most people would look at this room and think ‘he’s dull,’” she said. “You have two posters, almost nothing personal, and everything is neatly put away. They’d think you were the kid who got picked for safety patrol in elementary school because you were so responsible.”

“But not you,” I replied. “Annie sees all?”

“Annie does. The rug - it’s small, but it was chosen specifically to match your bedding. It’s also not cheap–it isn’t fraying at the edges or stained or worn. You aren’t dull - you’re organized. You like things to fit nicely, and like to know where things are. But you aren’t just work - you have a sportsball poster, so there’s at least something you yell about - and you have a novel by Terry Pratchett on your shelf, which is a sure sign that you are intelligent and funny in a marvelously snarky way.” She did a little “ta-da!” with her hands. “How’d I do?”

I laughed. “Impressive. You picked up quite a bit.”

“I’m pretty good with reading people,” she said. “At least emotionally.”

“I’ll remember that,” I replied.

“So,” she said, taking a deep breath, and letting her shoulders relax. “Sorry. This has me really nervous, actually. I don’t know why I agreed to do this.”

“We don’t have to if you aren’t ok with it,” I said quickly. “The idea was just to get you motivated to do your best, so you’ve already…”

“Oh, please,” she snorted. “The idea was to motivate me AND to get me at least partially undressed. But I knew that, and I was still on board. Especially since if I REALLY blew it, I won’t be alone standing here naked. Yesterday it just sounded like a naughty game. Today it feels more real, that’s all.”

I shook my head. “I’m serious, though. There’s no requirement that we do this. If you just want me to look the paper over, I’ll do it. No strings.”

“Are you kidding?” She stuck a finger in my chest. “Listen, bud, I spent all night working on that paper, and I’m actually kind of proud of it. I think it’s good enough to take my chances with. I’m not afraid to stand behind something I put my name on.”

Now it was my turn to look at her. “I notice you haven’t taken your coat off yet. How many layers of clothing did you put on before you came over?”

“Three–but it’s COLD out, so it wasn’t like I’m cheating!” She had the decency to look slightly guilty, though. “Fine. I’ll take off the coat and the gloves before we start.”

“Are you wearing leggings?”

“Okay! I’ll take off the hoodie, too! But that’s it!” She peeled off the outermost layers and dropped them on a chair. “Should I grab my paper now?”

“I guess so,” I said. “I think we should do this in my room - my roommates aren’t coming back anytime soon, but just in case…”

“You want me naked AND in your bedroom? And we haven’t even been on a date yet! You’re a dangerous man, Fred.” Surprisingly, she didn’t have to dig through her backpack this time - the paper was right at the top, waiting. With a “here goes!” half smile, she handed it to me, and then followed me into my room, closing the door behind her.

I sat down at the desk, and took out the red pen. “So the rules are that any major error counts as one piece of clothing lost. You’ll take the pieces off as I find an error, until we get to the end of the essay.” She nodded her agreement, sitting down on the bed with her hands balled together nervously.

The essay, I could see, had clearly been proofread. Where Annie had made multiple spelling errors before, I didn’t see any leap out at me at once. That was a good sign. I read over her introduction with interest, hoping that she had followed the model. Midway through her third sentence, though, she made her first mistake - using effect instead of affect. I circled it with the red pen, and looked up at Annie. “Good start, really. Much better. This is a common mistake - most of the time, affect is the verb and effect is the noun. There are a few special cases, but that’s a good general rule.”

Annie nodded. “Right.” She looked down and pulled off a boot. She was wearing rainbow-striped socks, which she wiggled at me. “Hope you like the sock. You may not get anything else!”

“I hope you’re right,” I lied, but I grinned to make it clear I knew she knew I was lying. Turning back to the paper, I read on. The introduction was brief, but it made the point she was trying to get across in a simple, direct way. She wasn’t going to win any prizes for literary excellence, but it was..oops. There was error 2 - a comma splice. I circled it. “When can a comma be used to connect two sentences, Annie? Remember the rule?”

“Um…” she said, eyes looking up as she thought. “When there is a conjunction too?”

“That’s right. If you don’t have that conjunction, what you get is called a comma splice. That’s what happened here - no conjunction.” I pointed to the newly circled error. “Got it,” she said, pulling off the other boot.

Unfortunately for Annie, she didn’t have that down in the paper itself. There were two more comma splices in the first body paragraph, which cost her the rainbow socks. “No stinky feet jokes, or coffee is off,” she said firmly. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, circling where she had committed one of the most heinous crimes against the English language - using “alot” instead of “a lot”. “I ought to make you pay double for this one,” I told her. “That isn’t even a word. Don’t ever use it. Never ever.”

Annie looked unconvinced. “Is that your opinion or a rule? Because I don’t have to undress for opinions.” I had her pull out her phone and check it, and she did. Then she scowled at me. “I’m taking off the jeans, but only because I have on leggings. And you’re finding too many errors, so this is all your fault.” I watched as she shimmied out of the jeans, which probably wouldn’t have been as tight without the extra layer underneath.

“Just to be clear,” I said, “I want you to know that this is actually a pretty good paper. Sure, you have some errors, but I understand what you are saying, and it makes sense. This is so far beyond where you were with the first version that the prof is going to be stunned.”

“He’ll probably think you wrote it for me,” she said irritably. “I bet he refuses to give me the points back even if my paper is actually good! He’s a jerk.”

“I’ll vouch for you, and you can always write your next paper in the writing center if he doubts that you can actually do it. That way you’ll have proof. They can record you working there.” I put up my fist. “But you did a lot here, Annie, and you should be proud!”

She bumped it, and gestured for me to go back to reading. “Hurry up. I’m dying for coffee,” she said, “and your room is cold.”

I shook my head and circled a quote that was missing a quotation mark. “It’s about to get a little colder,” I joked. “You’re running out of strategic options. I’m guessing right now you have a thermal shirt, a bra, your leggings, and your underwear left. One or two more errors and we’re getting into the danger zone here, Annie–do you want to stop here?”

She looked at me for a second, then shook her head. “Nope. I’m in this all the way. Keep going. She pulled off her t-shirt, which did indeed have a thermal top under it. There were some intriguing curves under it, too. Annie caught me eyeing her, and swatted my shoulder. “You aren’t going to see ‘em, so stop dreaming!” She was smiling when she said it, though. Was she enjoying this?

I was in the third body paragraph when I hit the next comma splice, and she had to choose what to take off next. She decided to pull off the thermal top. “Don’t stare!” she whined as she pulled it up over her head and shook her braid free. Her bra was lacy and black, and I decided that she had chosen it specifically in case this happened. Her breasts, while still covered, were much more visible now, and they were very nice - they looked like they would be generous handfuls, and I hoped fervently I would get a chance to measure that myself at some point.

“Almost to the end,” I said, wrenching away my stare from Annie’s chest. “Conclusion paragraph.”

“You’re hoping I have two more errors in there, aren’t you?” she said, folding her arms over her breasts.

“No comment,” I said, and began skimming the final sentences. I paused for a moment, then circled an entire sentence. “Wait, what’s wrong with that sentence?” Annie demanded. “I don’t see any commas! I used the quotation marks right and put in the citation!”

“Nothing’s wrong with the sentence,” I said, “but it shouldn’t be here. You don’t put evidence in your conclusion, remember? This should be in one of your body paragraphs. It confuses the reader.”

“Oh, come on! The reader ought to be smart enough to figure it out!” Annie pouted. She toyed with the waistband of the leggings. “Are you sure that’s a real mistake? You aren’t trying to strip me just for yourself?”

“I’m sure,” I said, “but you’re welcome to check it with someone else if you want. Maybe put your top on first, though, before you go do that.”

“Jerk,” she said. “I can’t believe I agreed to do this.” She reluctantly put her fingers into the waistband of the leggings. “Don’t judge my underwear, ok? I was worried about this. It has NOTHING to do with you.”

I watched as she eased the leggings down over her backside, then pulled downward. A matching lacy black pair of high-cut panties was underneath, one that left her hips tantalizingly bare. Annie, now down to her black underwear, had a really nice body - that much was quite visible. Apparently, my approval was also visible, though, because she looked at my crotch and laughed. “Easy, tiger - it looks like SOMEONE likes what they see!”

“I like what I see quite a bit, actually,” I said, not bothering to hide my gaze. Annie wasn’t an idiot; she knew I would be looking at her, and I wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. “And anyone who judges THAT as anything below a ten needs their head examined. You obviously have both my votes.”

“Both?” she asked, then got the joke and laughed. “Okay, finish already. It’s cold, and if I have to actually completely humiliate myself, I want to know already. The suspense is worse than stripping.”

I checked the last two sentences. They were error-free. “Done!” I said, and she threw up her hands and let out a victory “Whooo!” She actually threw some air punches. “You are officially allowed to dress again,” I said, “although I give you permission to stay in your underwear as long as you like.”

Annie laughed again, and immediately started pulling on her clothes, much to my regret. “So aside from the errors, was it ok?” she asked, skipping the leggings this time and just pulling on her jeans. “Do you think it would pass?”

“Pass? Annie, this essay is at least a C. It’s got a clear argument, it has support, and it follows essay format. You might even pull a B minus if there are enough bad essays in the class.”

“Serious? You aren’t just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Seriously. You wrote a legit essay. And you more than earned that cup of coffee…if you still want to get it, that is,” I trailed off, suddenly wondering if she would just want to take off now that she had achieved her goal.

“Are you kidding? We are TOTALLY getting that coffee. You’re buying, and I NEVER turn down free coffee.” She pulled her socks on, and started getting them into the boots. “You know, I was really hoping to avoid stripping down that far–but at least I did well enough to save SOME things for your imagination.” She looked up at me from the floor, that mischievous grin back again. “At least for the moment.” Hopping up, she grabbed me by the arm. “Get your coat! Coffee demands our presence, and she is a fickle goddess!”

I pulled my coat and shoes on. “Coffee is a goddess?”

“Anything that good has to be female, right? So…Buzzy Bean or Giant Corporate Coffee Chain That Might Sue Me If I Name It?”

“Buzzy Bean, for sure. Much more comfortable to sit.”

“That’s right!” she said, perking up. “You owe me a story! Coffee AND an embarrassing backstory – it’s like heaven!”

We headed out together, joking the whole way. It wasn’t until about halfway to the coffee shop that I noticed that Annie had never let go of my arm – and I didn’t mind it one bit.

[jofeyes1]

I really like Fred's character. To answer his question, based on my experience as a master, I believe that there are more women interested in being controlled by a man than is generally thought. The problem is that they perceive that creative, responsible, discreet, and self-controlled men are few and far between. I believe these are the qualities that most women look for in a master, and they are not easy to find.

[Somebody]

I really like Fred's character. To answer his question, based on my experience as a master, I believe that there are more women interested in being controlled by a man than is generally thought. The problem is that they perceive that creative, responsible, discreet, and self-controlled men are few and far between. I believe these are the qualities that most women look for in a master, and they are not easy to find.

Too right! With emphasis on 'perceive'. Of course men ALSO perceive that there aren't very many good and caring ones, and thus few of them even attempt to develop those things within themselves, since they're so little chance of finding someone into it. But as long as sensationalized narratives make more money than the truth, people are going to continue to have a warped outlook that they feel they have to compensate for the flaws of (or in a few unfortunate cases, emulate deliberately)