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

[Fred Key]

Chapter 5 - Proof of Concept

Annie was warm and smelled wonderful. She was either an absolute brat of a flirt or she was interested in me, because she kept herself against my side for as much of the walk as possible. We made small talk - Annie telling me about the number of students who dropped out of Chem majors after the first semester, which was pretty astonishingly high, and me sharing horror stories from the Math department. We probably sounded like the biggest geeks on campus to anyone listening, but from a distance, I imagine that we looked like a comfortable couple on a night out - like we fit together properly somehow. It was the little things - I could tell, for example, that Annie would fit perfectly under my arm if I put it on her shoulders, without me having to strain or stretch awkwardly. Her smile–I could always see her teeth when she smiled, like a basic grin or smile was beneath her or anyone she blessed with it. Even the silly hat was perfect for her, pom-poms bouncing as she walked, the pink one the color of her cheeks in the cold.

I know that’s a lot of detail, and you might well say, “Fred, you weren’t looking at all of that - you were trying to have a conversation and be funny and keep this girl interested.” That’s true, but you have to understand that where other people were light bulbs, Annie was one of those spotlights they use at premieres and grand openings. You couldn’t NOT be aware of her, even if you tried. I wondered if that got irritating after a while, but I doubted it would for me. I like people who are honest and who aren’t scared to say what they think, and I admire people who can live at full volume at the same time like Annie. I can’t do that. For whatever reason, my emotions are just not as visible, although I felt just as strongly as anyone else when I hurt or loved or was excited.

We walked into Buzzy Bean, and were immediately greeted with a wave of warmth and rich smells of roasting coffee. The place wasn’t overly full, especially right after the dinner hour on campus, so Annie snatched us two prime overstuffed chairs in a quiet nook while I got the coffee. Black dark roast for me - if I wanted coffee, I was either going to have coffee-flavored coffee or a vanilla latte, and I wanted coffee tonight, hot and strong. I made sure that the counter guy made Annie’s mocha double-sized, with the extra shot and whipped cream as requested. I had him add sprinkles on top because…well, Annie. It was a safe guess.

I handed Annie her prize, which she gleefully took, eyes getting even wider as she took in the sprinkles. “You did extra!” she said happily, licking a bit of the whipped cream and sprinkles from the drink and pronouncing them delicious. “You do know there’s coffee buried under there, right?” I teased.

“Of course! That’s why you add the shot. It’s like a sugar AND a caffeine high at once! I can work for hours on one of these.” I didn’t doubt it–I was wondering if she’d be able to sit still for long enough to actually drink the coffee. And yes, she actually did get whipped cream on her nose when she sipped the coffee, and I did actually reach over and wipe it off with a finger. Cliches are cliche because they happen a lot.

Once we were comfortably settled in, Annie pounced. “Okay, Mister Mysterious Past Man - I’ve been waiting forever now to hear what you meant when you said you had done something like this before. Spill!”

I took a slow sip of my coffee and bit my lip, thinking. How did I want to explain this? How would she react? I decided that I should tell her the truth, at least some of it. My uncle once told me that the key to a relationship’s success was accepting the person you were dating for who they are, not who you want them to become. If you went into a relationship thinking that you could “fix” the rough parts, you were destined for heartache. I thought that was pretty good advice, and I tried to stay true to it.

“So, last year there was a girl. I had been interested in her for a long time - she was pretty, a good athlete, and was generally a nice girl as far as I could tell - but she was way, way out of my league. I was afraid to approach her because I was sure I’d get laughed out of the room. But then something kind of threw us together. I was a math tutor, and her parents hired me to come by once or twice a week to help her with some material she was struggling with. It was probability stuff, mostly, and she was completely lost. She also was completely bored with math. It was dull to her, and it didn’t mean anything.”

“And you liked her? Even if she thought math was dumb?”

“I liked her way before I knew what she thought about math. Have you ever seen someone and been unable to take your eyes off them? Like you have to be careful because you’re going to start looking like a stalker?” I took another sip of coffee.

“Yeah–it’s a little weird, right? Like you suddenly have become a serial killer and are locked in on prey.” Annie grinned behind her cup, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Are you a secret serial killer, Fred? One who preys on innocent young women with math or grammar issues?”

“That’s me. I’m like Freddy Kreuger with a red pen.” That got a snort as Annie choked on the sip of coffee she was taking. “Oh, wow - that was pretty dainty there!”

“Shut up! I got it up my nose!” Annie laughed, wiping her face. “Ok, so you killed her and buried the body?”

“Worse. I took the job and tried to teach her probability. It was after volleyball practice for her, and she had just come home. She was tired and sweaty and really not wanting to work math problems, and she just didn’t seem to get the idea, and I thought, “how can I make this a game?” You know, make it more interesting for her, like it mattered.”

“What did you do?”

“I got a die and we started to gamble based on the odds of rolling a particular number. It was basic stuff, but once we started getting into things like consecutive events, it became more complicated. Long story short, because Tara was a risk-taker and hated to lose, she was aggressive. When she started losing, I loaned her some more money to play with, and she lost that too. Then I asked how she was going to pay it back.”

“You became a loan shark, too? And her name was Tara, huh?” Annie was clearly enjoying this, even if it was a little uncomfortable for me–especially since we were about to get to the part that was less simple to explain.

“I didn’t ever intend to make her pay me back since we were playing with my money the whole time, but she got very insistent that she made good on her debts, and that she would do it, even if it took a while. That’s when I had a moment of…let’s call it creative inspiration. I suggested that if she wanted to reduce her debt, she could continue to play, but with forfeits instead of cash against the money I would risk. I didn’t expect her to say yes, but it was little stuff, like a glass of water over the head or a pie to the face. She didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“So I assume it became a bigger deal?” Annie said, smirking. “Did it escalate to clothing?”

“Not really - not then. But it ended with Tara having to draw a forfeit that was from the more significant group, and, well, it was pretty significant. I was sure that after I left, she’d never speak with me again. In fact, I was pretty sure I would be the subject of a lot of unpleasant rumors.” I shrugged. “I didn’t think–I just kind of went with what came to me in the moment, and I thought I had really blown it.”

“What was this extreme forfeit that was going to cause you to be excommunicated?” Annie asked. “If it wasn’t losing clothing, it couldn’t have been THAT bad, right?”

“I’m going to plead the fifth on that one,” I answered, but Annie smacked me on the arm. “You can’t not tell me! Not after putting it out there like that! That’s torture!”

“Promise not to judge? It was pretty stupid.”

Annie lifted her hand. “I swear I will not judge, and may the gods of chocolate strike me with an allergy if I do. So? What was it?”

I sighed. “The forfeit she drew? It was a wedgie. A messy wedgie.”

“I know what a wedgie is, obviously - nerd here - but messy?” Annie looked at me, waiting for an explanation.

“Essentially? She ended up with her dinner in her pants.”

That drew a huge “Oh, MY GOD!” from my companion, and the eyes of nearly everyone in the room. Annie was not subtle. “Sorry!” she waved to the customers who had looked over to see what was going on. When they returned to their own conversations, she leaned in and put her hand on my arm. “Are you serious? In her pants?”

“Underwear, actually.”

“No wonder you were sure you were dead meat, Fred! If she had a boyfriend, they would have been looking for your body somewhere. I can’t believe you talked her into letting you do that! I can’t believe she LET you do that!” Annie’s eyes were huge, like a cat that suddenly sees the best catnip toy ever rolling into its field of vision. “But she didn’t just talk to you again - you ended up dating?”

“Yep.”

“And you did this sort of probability tutoring more than once?”

“She sort of invited a friend the second time. That’s when clothing got involved.”
Annie sat back in her armchair, her coffee cup still clutched in both hands. She looked at me assessingly. “Wow. So when you said you had done something like this before, you meant you had done it multiple times? With more than one person. And this Tara girl STILL dated you?”

“I was pretty shocked too. But as it turned out, Tara and I had a fair amount in common, and her grade in math really did go up. It wasn’t like we did that sort of thing every weekend or something. In fact, we really didn’t do anything like it again - it just sort of opened the door. And we worked pretty well as a couple, I thought. Right up to when she broke it off.” I put down the empty mug. “I’d offer you another, but you might explode. I’ll get you decaf if you want?”

“I’m good,” Annie said, putting her own mug down. “She isn’t here at Maxwell, is she?”

“Nah. She’s going to go off to a big-time school and play Division 1 volleyball. She was probably right to break it off; we would have had a hard time making it work long distance. Although I did offer to transfer wherever she went.”

“That’s dumb,” she laughed, dismissing my noble gesture without even a pause. “Would you want to spend the rest of your life thinking ‘I made this guy follow me somewhere and change his path?’ Even if you stay together, you’d always feel like you forced him into something, and if you broke up later, it would feel even worse.”

I thought about that. “You’re probably right, now that you say it that way. And I have to say that while I was really depressed about it for a while, I met this cool girl a few days back, and things have been looking up ever since.”

“Oh, REALLY?” Annie’s teeth appeared again in that huge smile. “Tell me about this amazing young woman! Is she hot?”

“Absolutely. She’s got an amazing body for sure. I caught a look at it and I was very impressed. But what’s really got me interested is her personality. She’s smart, quirky, and almost dangerously energetic. My friend calls her “Hurricane”, and I can see why. There isn’t a lot of calm and order around her.” I grabbed her mug, and walked the two over to the counter to drop them for cleaning.

“So you think you’ve got a shot with her?” Annie asked coyly. “Is she interested?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. I thought I’d have coffee with her and see what happens next.”

“That’s a good plan. Public, no stress, get to know each other. Confess some secret back stories. And bonus–-you get coffee!”

“So do you think she might like me? I mean, knowing what you do about me and all,” I asked, trying not to look too much like I was praying for a particular answer.

“I think you’ve got potential,” Annie said, pulling on her coat. “I’d go for coffee with you. If she has any sense, I’m sure she would too. And then? Who knows?”

The two of us decided to walk for a while. It was cold, but neither of us was in a hurry for the evening to end. I didn’t want to seem pushy inviting her back to my dorm room, and for her part, she seemed perfectly happy to walk under the stars for a while.

“So I’ve been thinking about your story,” she said, and I immediately tensed up. Here comes the I’m not really ready for that kind of relationship yet speech. And things seemed to have been going so well, too. It wouldn’t be the first time, though, and I’d move on. I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to make it any harder for either of us.

“From a dating perspective, it’s a little weird, but everyone has their own thing, right? I mean, if this girl was cool with what you were doing and you were cool with it, no judgement, right? It was consensual, and you two ended up fine. Pretty much every kid ever has played truth or dare or something like that in their lifetime, and the dares are usually a little sexual and a little embarrassing.”

“Okay,” I said, “That’s a generous point of view, I think. But does it change your view about what we did? About the essay?”

“Maaaayyyybeeee?” she answered, drawing the word out to show her being on the fence about it. “I can see how your idea of strip grammar might have seemed more reasonable in your head after what happened with Tara. It would have been pretty bold to propose what you did under most circumstances, but having had it work the first time, you probably were more likely to take that risk, right?”

“Makes sense to me.”

She nodded. “At the same time, I have to admit it crossed my mind that you actually planned that moment - specifically pushed our tutoring toward it. Even if you didn’t get a Tara out of it, you might get to see a cute girl naked, which I imagine you’d enjoy. And if you planned that, then it does take away from the nice guy image I had gotten with you.”

“Yeah, I can also see that,” I said. “It’s totally understandable that you feel that way.”

“I didn’t say that’s how I felt,” Annie said, stopping and looking at me. “I said that’s how it would feel IF you planned it. The question is, did you?” She put a hand out to stop me from answering. “Look, Fred, just in case you are really super clueless - and I swear that I’ve met guys who wouldn’t know signals from a woman if she was using those glowsticks they guide airplanes with on the tarmac - I like you. You’re funny, smart, and you helped me with something that was threatening my future here at Maxwell. Those are pretty big pluses. You haven’t hit on me awkwardly. And you probably realized that if I needed that much help from you with the essay, you could have circled just about anything you wanted and come up with a reason to make me undress completely. I wouldn’t have known better.” She peered up at me and smiled that big Annie smile again. “Missed opportunity, buddy. You’re gonna regret that for sure later.”

I laughed. “I already do.”

“So I guess what I’m asking is for you to just tell me the truth here. Did you plan what happened, or was it really just spur of the moment? And Fred - don’t lie. Please. I’m pretty good at reading people, and if I think you’re lying, that’s game over right there.” She put a hand on my arm. “If you trust me, tell me the truth. If you don’t, there’s no chance here.”

It wasn’t a hard choice, but I would realize later that Annie was waiting not just for an answer, but for how long it took for me to answer. If I had to think about it, I was making a decision in my head, and that would imply that there was something to decide. And by extension, it would be proof that I had planned what happened. I told you Annie was smart, didn’t I?

Anyway, I didn’t hesitate because the truth was that it HAD been spur of the moment. And when I told Annie that, she nodded her head and then walked on, as if nothing more needed to be said.

“That’s it? No more questions? No ‘see you sometime’ that never happens?”

“Is that what you want?” she asked, cheeks dimpling.

“No! Absolutely not!” I hurriedly replied. “I just wasn’t expecting this. I thought you’d think I was some sort of pervert and just get away as fast as possible.”

“Dude, have you been near the Internet this century? You don’t even make a blip on the perv radar with a strip game. Maybe the messy wedgie, actually, but that was random, so I can’t really assign that to you completely.” She put her arm in mine again. “And maybe I just want to think the best about you because I like you and I’m ignoring flashing warning signs, like no girl ever has ever done.”

“Touche,” I nodded. “For the record, though - not lying about it.”

“I know.”

“Annie knows all?”

“Annie knows all. Except how they get the peanut butter into the Reese’s Cup. That’s still a mystery.”

We reached the park that marked the end of the so-called “campus district”, and decided to turn back. It was a quiet night, without many cars on the road, and we walked in silence for about ten minutes.
“Fred, have you ever considered how effective your methods are? I mean, as a tutor?” Annie’s question was a little unexpected, and I thought for a moment before answering. “In general, I guess I’ve got a pretty solid track record tutoring. Most of the people I work with seem satisfied.”

“I don’t mean your regular tutoring. I mean the ‘unusual’ tutoring you did with me and with Tara. In both cases, you took someone with very poor skills and brought them up to speed very quickly,” she mused. “Have you had that much success with regular tutoring?”

I had never considered it, but when I thought about it, Annie and Tara were fairly extreme successes compared to my other clients. “Not that far that fast,” I replied. “Most were pretty modest gains over time. Tutoring is usually a matter of guided practice.”

“But what if it wasn’t JUST about practice?” Annie’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “In both of your special cases, you introduced a new factor - a motivator that had consequences that were both immediate and embarrassing. What if the addition of that second factor was the reason for the faster success?”

“You’re assuming a lot,” I pointed out. “This isn’t exactly a controlled study. And if the sole factor was consequences, then electric shock would be a potent teaching tool, right?”

“But electric shock is highly painful and potentially dangerous. Who would want to risk a heart attack just to learn a little faster? On the other hand, embarrassment is a short-term, momentary circumstance. It isn’t as threatening. When you suggested an article of clothing for an error, my first thought was ‘no way’. But then I thought ‘how is this really different than playing a game of strip poker?” Annie waved her hands like she was giving a presentation. ”And while it would be embarrassing to have had to flash you, it isn’t as if there is a huge amount of shame in losing a game and some clothes in college. And by comparison, the benefits seemed significant - not losing the one guy who had been even slightly successful tutoring me. AND who I liked. A little.” She bumped against my arm again affectionately.

“So where are you going with this, Annie?” I asked. It was a unique theory–and very much an Annie sort of logic, I supposed.

“I think we need to run an experiment. In both Tara and my case, we had a potential confound - we both clearly found you attractive, and that might have influenced our behavior. What we need to do is have you test this approach on someone else - someone who knows that a romantic interaction with you isn’t an option - and see if the method still works.”

I tried to interrupt and suggest this was an unlikely experiment, and that I was happy to suspend that sort of thing while I was (I hoped) seeing her, but Annie was like a freight train coming through an intersection; there was little chance of slowing her down, and zero chance that you’d stop her. “We just have to find the right person to try this on. You said that Tara brought in a friend at one point?”
“Yeah…but that friend was very reluctant to take part,” I replied.

“But she DID eventually take part, didn’t she?” Annie insisted. “What made her change her mind?”

“If I remember correctly,” I mused, “it was Tara challenging her. She was an athlete as well, and Tara poked at her competitive streak.”

“So what if I get you another client? Maybe one of my roommates, or someone from a class who sees themself as my rival? Or if I make a huge fuss about how incredible your results were and how you saved me from disaster, and look for someone who is in an equally bad mess? Then we could test your approach and see if it works again, and if it does, you have a…”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a second, Annie!” I put up my hands. “Are you seriously suggesting that we try to convince someone that Strip Tutoring is a thing?”

“Not in so many words - and you couldn’t call it that, of course, but if you called it something that sounded right - you know, like “Behavioral Resistance Therapy”, or some catchy acronym with buzzwords? And you produced results with it? Fred, this might be a business model! How much money would people pay for strong results fast, especially in a college environment?” Annie’s excitement had her literally bouncing as she was talking, and I was hard-pressed to keep up.

“I don’t know...it seems a little far-fetched that people would pay to be pushed into learning via embarrassment like that,” I said, “And even if they did, I’m not sure I would want to be head of that type of a business. I don’t know that it would look great on your resume.”

“But it’s only a TEST, Fred!” Annie wouldn’t be dissuaded. “Think of it as, what do those engineers call it? A proof of concept! Even if you didn’t do it yourself, you could probably sell the idea. And you can’t say you didn’t have fun when you tutored ME, right?”

I smiled. “I definitely enjoyed tutoring you, even before you undressed. But yes, that was a memorable highlight.”

“So let me find someone to try this on! What do you have to lose?” Annie had her ‘mischief is coming’ look again, and I knew I was in trouble.

“All right - but only on one condition,” I relented.

“What condition?”

“That regardless of this, you’ll let me take you out again,” I said, giving her hand a squeeze.

“That was a given, dumbass.”
“Really?”

She snorted. “Men. Totally clueless.”

We talked all the way back to her dorm, Annie going on about the possibilities of “extreme tutoring” (I rejected that name immediately) and the need for an intake form to identify the right balance of embarrassment and fear. For my part, I just was trying to wrap my mind around how tonight had gone, and what was apparently now a dating opportunity with Annie.

At the door, Annie promised to start looking for a potential subject tomorrow. She also promised to let me know how her paper went the second time around. I told her I’d call her in a couple days to set up our actual date, and she whacked me on the arm. “What?” I asked.

“A couple days? What am I, a Tinder swipe? You’ll call me tomorrow,” she said firmly.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I confirmed, and she looked satisfied. “See you soon!”

I turned away and was immediately smacked again in the back of my head. I spun back around immediately to find Annie glaring at me. “What NOW?” I asked.

She took two steps forward, grabbed my coat, and pulled me down, planting a quick kiss on my lips. Of course it tasted like cherry lip gloss. Because Annie.

“NOW you can see me soon. Men. Totally clueless.” She shook her head, turned, and disappeared into the dorm.

The taste of cherry lingered as I headed back to the dorm. As unpredictable as Annie might be, and as crazy as her idea was, it stuck in my head. Could it work? And what were the implications if it did?

I decided not to worry about it until Annie found a “subject.” Maybe she would wake up tomorrow and have bounced right past the whole topic and on to something new and captivating. Hopefully, I would still be new and captivating, at least, because it was clear to me that I really liked Annie Jenkins.

[colomale2]

The story took an interesting turn! I was curious when you ended the last chapter on where this will go.

Can't wait to read more.

[Fred Key]

Ch. 6 - Paired Testing

I did call Annie the next day, and we set up a real date - dinner and a movie - for the coming Friday. Fridays at Maxwell were good nights to hit a restaurant because most of the parties at the frats and sororities were on Friday night. People were otherwise occupied, and you could get a decent table pretty much anywhere in the area if you called by Wednesday. Annie had already decided we were going to see an MCU movie, so I was spared having to figure out if I should propose something romantic, comic, or intellectual. Turns out “blow things up” was the good choice. Probably should have guessed that.

It was two days later when I got a call from Annie, and when I answered the phone, I almost dropped it because of how LOUD the voice on the other end was squealing. Holding it away from my ear, I clicked her over to speakerphone. “Annie? I’ve got you on speaker so I don’t go deaf. What’s going on?”

“I PASSED, FRED! I got the paper back from my prof and he read it and he actually asked me if I had paid someone else to WRITE IT FOR ME! I should have been all offended but I was so happy that it was good enough that he would even think that that I didn’t even care!”

“He accused you of buying the paper? What did you tell him?” I asked. I didn’t want to get dragged into a complicated fight over this essay with a difficult professor. Of course, I’d back Annie, but it wouldn’t help my own reputation.

“He made me sit down and explain my argument to him in detail without looking at the essay, and he made me show him my notes. I had no problem answering his questions, and I had all those notes you helped me draft with the outline, so he really couldn’t say anything more! He congratulated me on the improvement, and told me he would expect that level of quality from here out!” I could imagine Annie’s grin over the phone - her cheeks were probably all but invisible. “Fred, I’m gonna pass the class! I’m not failing out!”

“That’s fantastic news, Annie!” I said, and I meant it. She really had worked hard to jump-start her writing, and it was pretty amazing that she had come so far so fast. It did make a tiny part of me a little nervous, though. Now that she had hit her goal, would she cut and run? Let’s face it - Annie could do a lot better than me if she was looking for a boyfriend. “I’m really happy for you. I know how much effort you put into that. You deserve it.”

“Thanks, Fred! I really couldn’t have managed it without you. You may be unconventional, but you are a really good tutor.”

“Tell your friends, right? Business is always welcome. So now what happens for you? What’s your next assignment?” I asked, hoping she’d bring up our date and not some excuse to cancel. Another essay?”

“Yeah-,” she said, a little less cheerily. “Due on Friday of next week. We have to write an opinion using some rhetorical style stuff. But I feel okay about it - I have time to do a draft or two, and I was hoping I could run it by my really excellent tutor?”

“For sure! I’ll be happy to look it over. Listen, um…are we still on for Friday night?” I’m lousy at waiting to rip band-aids off. Better to get it over with.

“Why wouldn’t we be? We’re celebrating!”
YES! I covered quickly. “Just wanted to be sure that you weren’t going to need to work on that essay or something instead. Glad to hear it.”

Annie laughed. “You really are a terrible liar, aren’t you?”

“I’m not lying!” I protested. “I’m really excited about seeing you again!”

“You were totally scared I was going to dump our date now that I passed, weren’t you?”

I sighed. “Okay, guilty. I guess Annie..”

“..knows all,” she finished. I didn’t know you could hear someone smirk over a phone line, but I heard it there. “Fred, I’m excited about a date with you too, okay? I thought I was pretty clear about that when we went for coffee, but I know that some guys need really, really clear signals. This is me signaling, Fred. I like you. I want to see what’s going to happen.”

“I do too,” I said. “Sorry to be jumpy about it. I guess I’m still a little gunshy after getting dumped.”

“I’d have labeled you as dangerous and on the rebound if you weren’t. Now, I have some other really good news, too! Remember what I told you about looking around for a potential test subject for ‘special tutoring?’ I think I have a candidate! There’s another girl in my writing class who did really bad on her last paper - her name is Jenny. When we got back the revised essays, hers was still barely passing, and she was really peeved - I could tell because she stuffed it into her backpack and sat there looking like she wanted to kill the guy all through the class.” Annie chuckled. “I know the feeling, right? So I caught her after class and asked her what was up, and she said she had gone to the writing center and it hadn’t helped at all. Now she was really up against it, because she’s a sophomore, and her sorority requires members to have at least a C in all of their classes to stay in.”

“Yeah, some of them have the GPA requirements.” I could see why that would mean pressure for Jenny - at Maxwell, about 80% of social life for undergrads went through the Greek system. If you weren’t in, you weren’t going to the weekly parties and you weren’t going to meet nearly as many people.

“So I told her that I had worked with you, and that you had boosted me from an F to a B minus in a week, that I had done the work MYSELF, and that I felt really good about the next assignment - like it had stuck, you know? She wanted your name right away, but I told her that it would be better if I introduced you myself, since you have a strict referral system for ‘emergency’ cases.”

Annie was clearly very pleased with herself for pulling this off, and I had to admit, I was surprised that she had managed it so quickly. I made sure she knew how much I appreciated the help. “Whoa! I might need to make you my new sales rep, Annie! You found someone THAT fast?”

“I know – but I didn’t tell her about the approach yet, so there’s no guarantee she won’t flip out when she hears. But I figure that if she hears it from ME, a girl, instead of you, that it might make it a little more likely that she actually considers it. So I’m thinking we set up a meeting with her tomorrow for you to explain what the “system” involves, and then I’m there too to answer any questions and assure her you’re on the up-and-up and not some freak. Whatcha think?” Annie finished, excitement in her voice.

“That sounds like a good plan,” I agreed. “We already know how the week would work, based on the outline I had for tutoring you, and I can’t imagine that if her grades are that bad that she won’t need a lot of the same stuff you did for lesson material.”

“I think that when we tell her, we’re up front about the ‘special correction test’ part as the last day of the program. It’s a way for us to know that she’s truly gotten the idea and is ready, or that she needs additional practice. But remember,” Annie warned, “we can’t just assume that stripping for each error is going to be effective here.”

“Right,” I agreed. “It worked for YOU because you saw nudity as a serious consequence that would be embarrassing but not unbearable. We would need to ask some questions to figure out what Jenny’s ‘consequence’ should be. But you would be able to help with that, because you’ve got more insight into how women view things than I do.”

“This needs to be a private conversation, obviously, but it can’t be somewhere where she’s going to feel uncomfortable, either. How about that table we used at Collins? It’s still the library, and if we do it earlier in the afternoon, there’s going to be more people around, but we should still have enough space to talk without being overheard. Should I tell her 4PM?” Annie asked.

I checked my calendar, and it was free. “That works for me. Let’s see if she can make that. Will you text me and let me know if we’re on?”

Annie agreed to keep me posted, and after a few minutes, she said goodbye to start on some Chem work. I tried to focus on my own homework, but thoughts of Annie and the idea of actually pitching this idea to another woman kept me distracted. When my phone pinged, I snatched it up and read: “It’s on! Collins 4PM. Don’t dress like a creep! ”

I snorted. No matter what I wore, I’d still have a damn good chance of coming off as a creep. But I didn’t consider texting back and canceling the meet, either. Instead, I set about making some notes about how this might work, and trying to anticipate any questions that might come up. Annie would be there to back me up, but in the end, it would be my job to sell this to Jenny.

Annie texted me at 3:45 that she was going to meet Jenny and walk over to Collins for our appointment. I sent her a thumbs up, packed my notes into my backpack, and headed to the library myself. Collins was busier than at 6, but the third floor was still largely empty, and I sat down at the table to wait for the others. I didn’t have long to wait; Annie came through the door at ten after six with a thin, blond young woman. She had hair that was shoulder-length and fashionably cut, and she was dressed in that “casual but it took me EFFORT to be this good while looking casual” style that some women are able to pull off. Jenny wasn’t overly made-up, but she gave the impression of someone who was very much aware of what social status she was aiming for, and was willing to put in the effort to get there.

Annie, of course, was Annie - bouncing, dressed in a hoodie with a scarf that was bright enough to be used to flag down passing aircraft. She peeled it away and tossed it on the table, dropping into a chair next to me with a loud “thump.” “Fred! This is Jenny!” she said, gesturing to the blond woman to sit on her other side. “Jenny…wait, I don’t know your last name! I’m such an idiot, sorry, I’m sure you told me.”

“Jenny Turner,” she said, her voice sounding a little wary. “You’re the miracle-working Fred that Annie was going on about?”

“I don’t know about miracle-working, but I tutor, yes, and I have a pretty solid track record – even for emergency cases.” I smiled modestly. “Annie exaggerates a bit, I’m sure.”

“Do not!” Annie insisted, and swatted me on the arm. “You made it possible for me to pass this semester, and that’s no exaggeration, Jenny. He’s good. I understood what he was explaining to me - he put it in terms that made sense. And you saw my grade!”

“Tell me about your situation, Jenny. Annie said you’re kind of on a deadline?”

“Kind of. Did she tell you that I’m in her English Comp class? With Professor Psycho?” Jenny was clearly no fan of her instructor. Her voice had a hint of frustration that was echoed in her frown. “He gave me a D on the first essay. And that was AFTER my rewrite. Said my argument had no evidence and that I clearly didn’t proofread even the SECOND time around. Jerk. Not everybody is a good writer, but you don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

“So you’re holding a low grade, and that’s the issue?”

“That’s PART of the issue,” she corrected. “Did Annie tell you I’m Delta Sig?”

I nodded. “She said you were in a sorority that had a GPA minimum.”

“Worse. Delta Sigma requires that sisters maintain grades of C or better in all classes to remain active. Any C means you’re on probation for a semester - if your grade drops again, you’re out. If I pull a D in comp, I’ll be suspended from the sorority - and that might as well mean I’m expelled, because even if I get back in, I’ll be one of “those” girls who “drag the sorority down” for the rest of my time here. I’ll have to try to rush a different sorority, and that’s almost impossible for juniors.”
“Ow. So you lose the social stuff AND you end up getting locked out long term? That’s pretty harsh,” I said sympathetically.

“Yeah. Some sororities are just party and chill, but if you want to be in a GOOD house, you have to work your ass off to get the bid. The network on the other side is a big deal, but really, it’s about access–the best sororities get invited to the best events and get the best perks.” Jenny shook her head. “It isn’t like I couldn’t survive without Delta Sig, but I’d honestly think about transferring if I got bounced. And I don’t want to deal with that.”

“Gotcha. So your prof said you had issues with argument and some proofreading? That sounds like there were grammar issues as well, then. Do you have the essay with you?” I pulled out my notebook to take down some notes.

“Yeah, I have it. Wanted to burn it though.” She handed me the essay, which had clearly been crumpled and then re-straightened. “I know it’s weak, but still… a D?”

I looked over the essay. It was the absolute nightmare Annie’s paper had been, but I could see what the prof was saying - it was rough. Jenny had spent most of her paper making her point, but the arguments she presented were pretty much just unsupported claims - her opinion or unsourced statements. There were several comma problems, which I also expected, and the formatting was wonky. It was fixable, but the D seemed pretty fair to me.

“So how quickly do you need to get results, Jenny? That’s the critical question,” I said, looking up from the essay. “How many essays are there in the class?”

“There are four total. Now I’ve got a D locked for the first one. I have to average a C, so I need at least a B on one of the remaining three, and I have to pull a C on the other two or I’m out of the chapter,” Jenny answered. “And essay two is due next Friday.”

“That’s a week to get your house in order, then. Not going to lie, Jenny - that’s almost impossible. I can help you improve, but in a week, that’s a tall order. It would mean meeting every day until your essay was due - usually an hour a day,” I said. “And even then, we’d be fighting an uphill battle.”

“You were able to do it for Annie, though, right? She swore you were the answer. And I can pay,” she said. “Whatever your rate is, I can do it if you can get results.”

Annie spoke up. “Jenny, Fred was able to pull this off for me, but the really short timeline made it necessary for him to take a non-traditional approach to tutoring. He warned me up front that if I wanted to get results that fast, it would require that I be willing to commit fully. I said yes, of course, but even then I was surprised just how much was required to get to success.”

“Like I said, money isn’t an issue, Annie. I can afford him. I just need to make this happen, and I can’t take chances.” Jenny looked at me. “How much?”

“Jenny, I need to explain this a little more. After the first day or two, we were already behind. It wasn’t looking good. I was almost ready to give up, and Fred was really frustrated. But he had one last thing we could try. It was pretty radical, but I was desperate, and I agreed. And I got the results. But you need to know exactly what this entails to make a decision that’s right for you.”

“Now you’re scaring me a little,” Jenny said. “What did he use, electric shocks or some sort of shit?”

Annie laughed. “No, nothing like that. He… how do I explain this the right way? He asked me what the most unpleasant things I could think of happening to me would be. When I told him, he latched on that as a starting point.”

“Okay - and what was it you told him?” Jenny asked.

“That I was afraid of being naked in public.”

“I’m sorry?” Jenny tilted her head questioningly. “Naked in public? I mean, sure, I guess, but what does that have to do with tutoring?”

Annie looked at Jenny and smiled. “Okay. You’re going to think I’m crazy, but Fred was on the verge of quitting on me. I wasn’t doing what I needed to do, and I wasn’t taking the work seriously enough. I begged him to stay with me on this, but he was going to cut me loose until I told him that I would do pretty much anything to pass this course, and I asked him if there was ANYTHING that he could try. And he made me a deal. He made me promise that if I didn’t have my work complete the next night when I showed up for tutoring, that I would strip here in Collins. Right in front of him and everyone.”

Jenny looked at her, then at me, as if trying to decide if both of us were insane, or if it was just me being a total creep. “Ohhhhkayyyy…..And?”

“And it worked, Jenny. Believe me, I wasn’t going to let that happen. No goddamn way. I had the work done and ready, and we had a great lesson. So we left the rule in place, and suddenly, everything changed. I made real progress. But we were really up against the deadline because of the way that I had wasted three days, so Fred gave me a special test. He made me write a final draft of my essay using all of the things I’d learned, but to make sure I really focused and put my very best effort into the assignment, he warned me that he would take off for errors. Or rather, that *I* would take off for errors. For each major mistake he found, I would have to take off a piece of clothing.”

“Bullshit,” Jenny said. “Who the hell would AGREE to that?”

“First, I didn’t play totally fair - of course I wore extra layers to give myself some extra leeway. But Jenny, the truth is that I might not have done it if things hadn’t gone so well to that point. I felt like I was really close to hitting my goal, and that I needed one big push to get there. And I didn’t feel like this was just some guy trying to get some cheap thrills at my expense. Fred convinced me that I could do it. In fact, he added as part of the agreement that if I ended up making enough mistakes to wind up having to actually strip naked, he would do the same because if I had failed that badly, HE would have also failed.” Annie looked at me. “Of course, that wasn’t necessarily better - I mean, if I hadn’t been already comfortable with Fred, I wouldn’t have been any MORE comfortable with being naked WITH him than without him. But he wass making a gesture, and it mattered. I believed him, and he believed in me.”

“So you really went through with this?” Jenny said skeptically. She looked at me. “And you scored her paper? How did YOU know” –she looked at Annie– “if HE was being fair?”

“I trusted him to be fair,” Annie said, “because he never hit on me. Not once. Even when I suggested at one point I would do anything for a passing grade, he was professional. And when he scored my paper, I followed the rules. I ended up stripped down to my underwear. It was awkward. But that was it. He gave me back the marked essay, told me it was much better, and then I got dressed. We had a celebratory cup of coffee and then I went back to my room and fixed the errors Fred had marked. You saw the final result - a B minus. Up from an F.”

Jenny shook her head. “I don’t think this is what I’m looking for,” she said. “Maybe this worked for you, Annie, but it’s pretty out there. And even if you were comfortable with that, I’m not.”

I interrupted at this point. “Jenny, I’ve let Annie explain this to you because if the story came from me, I’d be afraid you’d label me a sexual predator. But Annie VOLUNTEERED to explain this to you. I didn’t pay her. I didn’t write her essay for her. And I never laid a single finger on her, as she’ll attest. All I did was put an option out there on the table for her, one that she chose to try. It worked for her.”

“Now, maybe you’re right, and this isn’t for you. I respect that. If you had more than a week to work with, I’d be happy to try to help you with regular tutoring. Unfortunately, there’s no way to reteach that much material in a week unless there is an unusually strong motivator for the student to succeed. I have a good reputation as a tutor because I don’t promise things I can’t deliver, and I can’t promise you success here in a week with straight-up lessons.” I looked at her and shrugged. “But clearly you are uncomfortable with the idea of stripping in front of a strange guy, right?”

Jenny looked at me like I had said the most obvious thing in history. “You think? I’m not one of those wet T-shirt girls at the parties, okay?”

“Exactly. It upsets you to even think about it. Makes you angry and defensive, right? But ask yourself this - WHY? I’ll bet the answer is that you would find the experience to be incredibly embarrassing. You would blame the person you were stripping for, of course, but you’d blame YOURSELF even more for letting yourself get into the mess in the first place, wouldn’t you?” I looked at Annie. “Annie here made a choice. She decided that she wanted to pass badly enough to push herself into a corner where her options were success or embarrassment. Annie, if you had missed another answer, would you have taken your bra off?”

Annie nodded. “I would have. Hated it, but I would have done it, because those were the rules. And I needed the rules to make sure I would get the job done. And Jenny, I would have been freaked out to show Fred my chest, but I know that the sun would have risen in the morning. It’s not like I’d have been the only woman ever to make a dumb bet and end up flashing some guy during college, right? No one would have cared except me, and I would have dealt with the embarrassment and gotten over it. But the thought was enough to make me do everything I could to succeed. And I DID it.”

Jenny took all of this in. She looked at Annie, then at me, thinking her words over. “So...I’m not saying yes here,” she said, “but…how would this work? If we did it. How would I know this was private and discreet?”

I think Annie was going to answer here, but I stepped in before she could. “You have a little more than a week before your next essay is due, right? So does Annie here. What I’d propose in your case is that we have a little competition. Annie told me she is confident she can handle the next essay, but what if we put that to the test?”

“Wait, what?” Annie said, suddenly seeing herself moving from one side of the experiment back to the other again. “Fred, I already…”

“I know, Annie, but you still need to practice, right? So here’s the idea. I work with Jenny for the next six days. On day seven, both you and Jenny will turn in a polished draft of your next essay. I’ll score both of them. We’ll count the number of errors in each one, then subtract the low number from the higher error count. That will be the number of pieces of clothing that the person who has more errors has to remove. The other person will be off the hook. Afterwards, both of you will have corrections that you can use to finish your final version to turn in.” I turned to Jenny. “You have a little risk, but not as much as Annie did the first time she did this, because you’ll have her total number of mistakes subtracted from your final count even if you make more errors. That means you’d have to make at least eight more errors in a two page essay than she did on her own in order to end up naked. No offense to Annie, but that’s not very likely.”

“It COULD happen!” Annie said grumpily.

“It COULD. It could ALSO happen that Jenny has fewer errors since she’s been working with me all week and is prepared. If so, you’ll be the one undressing again, Annie, and you might not get off with just showing off your undies this time.” I gave her a wink, outside of Jenny’s sight, just so she knew I was playing with her.

“Fine. I’m not afraid of your stupid challenge, Fred. I’m going to blow this essay away. But you might not want to take him up on this, Jenny,” Annie said confidently. “At least not if you like keeping your personals personal.”

“Are you trying to bait me into doing this, Annie Jenkins?” Jenny laughed. “Is he giving you a kickback or something?”

“No. But I know I’ll work even harder if I have something at stake, and making a poor little sorority girl strip? That’s motivation for me.” Annie grinned at Jenny. “So what about it? Willing to put something on the line besides a grade? Or do you want to take your chances with the writing center and more frustration?”

Jenny stood up. “What time are we meeting tomorrow, Fred? Because you’re going to help me write a paper that will give you a first-hand view of what Annie is packing under those god-awful fashion choices.”

Annie jumped up and offered Jenny a high-five. “It’s on!” she crowed, then sat down and hid her head apologetically as several people hissed at her to quiet down. “You aren’t going to be sorry about this, Jenny. Fred’s going to help you. I mean, you might be a LITTLE sorry when you have to show off those boobs…”

Jenny and I set up a meeting to work together the next afternoon. I took her paper with me so I could start pulling a plan together, then said my goodbyes to the two young women and headed out from Collins. A few minutes later, I got a text from Annie.

“Told you I could make it happen. I’m amazing, you know. But that was a cheap trick dragging me into that trap again!”

“I would feel sorry for you, but you said you were ready to take on the paper this time, right? This will just be a chance for you to solidify what you learned. And how could you possibly lose, right? You’re ANNIE!”

“True. But now you’re buying me Junior Mints at the movie as well as popcorn to make up for making me risk my dignity again.”

I laughed as I read that one. “You have dignity? Is it under that scarf? Is it blind, too?”

“Are you making fun of my scarf? Because I’ll have you know that EVERYONE loves my scarf. You, sir, are clearly a philistine.”

“I withdraw my objection to your scarf with apologies! I’ll apologize to it personally on Friday night,” I replied.

“You’d better, or it won’t be giving you a goodnight kiss this time.”

[colomale2]

You're awesome at writing! This is taking a great turn and I like it!

[Fred Key]

Thank you! The encouragement is very much appreciated. I know that many folks are more interested in "get to the good stuff" stories, and that's totally cool with me, but I like to think there is a group of people here who enjoy the slow story-telling and getting to know the characters a little better as the story unfolds.

[jojo12026]

I am looking to more Fred. Annie is such a breath of fresh air with a fantastic look on life. I hope you are "feeling it" long enough to get in about 60 chapters!! Lol

[Somebody]

I'm really loving the developing relationship between Fred and the scarf. Will he get that kiss? I hope so.

[Fred Key]

That will have to be a side story - ENF (Embarrassed Nude Fabric) based.

[Fred Key]

Apologies for the long delay on Chapter 7. It was too important to rush.

Ch. 7 - 867-5309

I started working with my new client on Thursday afternoon, roughly a week before her next essay was due. Prepping for Jenny’s issues wasn’t exactly the same as setting up to fix Annie’s; I had come to believe that Annie (shockingly) had some ADD issues - she was able to focus in like a laser when she was on task or interested, but she was like that dog in the movie who stopped in the middle of a sentence to yelp “SQUIRREL!” when it came to life in general. Jenny, I thought, was more of a victim of bad teaching than her own issues. She hadn’t had anyone write her essays for her in the past, but she had somehow been a B student in high school English despite not understanding basic grammar rules. I had a hard time understanding how someone could have gotten out of middle school while still consistently writing in fragments and run-on sentences, but I had gone to a decent, middle-class system. Jenny was, I discovered, from a smaller town in Georgia, and she had been hell-bent on getting out. She was near the top of her class, so the transition to college had been a real shock for her, with the classes requiring a LOT more effort than high school had. She had managed most of her freshman year on memorization and by staying out of courses that required papers instead of exams. The composition requirement, though, was unavoidable at Maxwell, and while she had put it off, she was now having to face it head on.

Unlike Annie, who had been reluctant to get to her work at first, Jenny came in ready and willing to put in her best effort. I don’t know if the reason was that she was scared of being bumped from the sorority or fear of losing the face-off with Annie, but either way, she took notes, did the assigned homework, and was as dutiful a client as I had ever had. We quickly isolated the four basic rules for use of a comma, then covered how to fix fragments and run-ons. I made her read her paper slowly and out loud, pointing out how obvious some of the mistakes she made were when you actually read back the paper and heard it. Basic things like run-ons and fragments suddenly became much more apparent to her, and the flow of the writing became more natural.

The issue that was actually hurting her the most, however, was her lack of understanding of what a well-supported essay really meant. Her idea of writing an essay was to write a personal opinion, with half-supported ideas that might or might not hold up under scrutiny. If she believed it, that was enough for Jenny, and that might have gotten her by in her small town, but it wasn’t going to pass muster with the profs at Maxwell. These classes were taught by the people whose bread and butter was rhetoric and debate, and they were going to demand well-presented and thoughtful ideas supported with actual, cited evidence.

As a result, much of our time after day one was spent on research methods and on citations - understanding how to use proper MLA format, getting the hang of finding good sources instead of just taking whatever Google spit at you (Google Scholar was a totally new concept for Jenny!), and teaching her to focus on what I called the chair model for evidence. Every idea should be supported by multiple pieces of evidence. The more evidence is present, the stronger the argument - much like a chair. You could build a chair with one leg, but it would be almost impossible to use. You could build it with two legs, but it would be equally difficult to balance on it. Three legs were really the minimum needed to make a chair sturdy. Four was better. Five or more and you were getting into ridiculous and unnecessary. Similarly, a good point in an argument should be supportable by no fewer than three pieces of evidence.

It was a simplistic method, like the five-paragraph essay, but the reason simplistic methods exist is to teach people before they try something harder, and that’s what I was aiming for with Jenny. To be fair, for someone starting so far behind, Jenny picked up on the idea very quickly, and soon she was building some decent arguments that I had to push hard to knock down. When she wrote a full point on her own for the first time on Friday, and I looked it over and saw no obvious flaws, she got a huge smile on her face as she realized things were starting to make sense to her.

I wasn’t ignoring Annie during the week, but my opportunities to see her were limited. She was very busy with classwork, and when I texted her to see if she wanted to grab coffee midweek, she turned me down politely, saying she was working on her paper for composition, and that (quote) “I want to be absolutely certain that the next time you see me will be fully clothed. At least for the first hour or two.”

I wasn’t going to argue with any message that suggested Annie might be less than fully clothed in the near future, so I wished her luck and told her she better be working hard, because Jenny was making big strides. She sent back a picture of Grumpy Cat, which I took to mean that she wanted me rooting for her, not Jenny.

What I didn’t tell Annie, though, was that she had a huge advantage in this contest, one that had been increasing every day this week, even as Jenny and I worked away. So much of our time had been spent on argument and research, which were Jenny’s biggest issues, that grammar had really only gotten a couple of hours of work time. Jenny was still making mistakes with her sentence structure, and still had the bad habit of writing the way she talked, leading to run-on or comma spliced sentences. Her arguments were improving, but the way she presented them often resulted in tenses being mismatched or in parallel structure issues. I wasn’t sure we would get enough time to really work on those problems, and by Thursday, my concerns were proved correct.

I told Jenny that afternoon when we met that I felt like her ability to write arguments was now at the passing level, and that she should concentrate on gathering evidence today so that she could draft her essay and proofread it before the big contest. This time, however, Jenny pushed back. “I’m not looking for a passing grade, Fred. I need a STRONG grade. Like a B or an A. My argument has to be so solid that Professor Asshat can’t poke holes in it.” She insisted we spend the tutoring session looking over her outlined points and trying to come up with possible counterarguments or weaknesses.

SInce she was the customer, I did what she wanted, and to be fair, it did help her paper. The argument she was making (she had been assigned to read an article about a proposed solution to global poverty, and to argue for or against the proposal) was sound, and her evidence was lined up logically and from solid sources. She was ready to write the paper; the only question was whether she could pull it together with her writing skills. It was kind of like watching someone assembling a do-it-yourself kit - all the pieces were there, but the success or failure of the effort was going to come down to how much time was spent to do the assembly, and whether the builder was going to do enough to make things fit nicely into place, or just slap it together with glue and pray.

Friday afternoon was spent on going over what goes into a good introduction and conclusion to the essay, so I at least was able to help a bit with those sections to make sure the sentences were grammatically clean. I pointed out a couple of issues, helped her correct them, and then reminded her that she needed to apply those principles to the rest of the essay as she wrote it tonight. Jenny was confident that she would be able to put the pieces into place. “Annie’s going to be biting her lip when she sees this,” she said gleefully. “She thinks she’s going to crush me, but I think I’m going to surprise her.” I wished her luck - a win from her would be a win for me on some level.

“You aren’t going to be too disappointed that I’m not stripping for you, right? You know Annie is into you, and I don’t think she’d love me taking your attention off her,” she said. “You DO know she’s into you, right?”

“I’m not totally clueless. Just male,” I joked. “I’m into her too. I’m hoping we get a date night after the showdown tomorrow, but that may depend on how things go. And on whether she suddenly realizes she has a pile of corrections to make to her essay after we score them.”

“Fred, you seem like a decent guy. Can I give you some advice?” Jenny asked.

“Sure, I guess,” I replied. Did Jenny know something about Annie that I didn’t?

“After this, you need to be very careful who you take on as a tutoring client. Specifically, stay away from tutoring cute women. Don’t give her a reason to get jealous. Annie is the sort of girl who wants your attention. Make sure you give it to her, or she’s going to let you know you’ve screwed up–or walk entirely.”

It wasn’t bad advice, honestly. I knew that Annie could be mercurial, but I also knew one thing Jenny didn’t – that Annie saw this as part of a bigger experiment, one she had bought into and wanted to see out. I wasn’t sure which outcome would be better tomorrow: Annie losing, and Jenny proving that my tutoring approach was effective, or Annie winning, but doubt falling on this whole “tutoring through calculated incentive” approach. I suspected that Annie winning would be the right short-term result, but it might also make her question the whole experiment, and I didn’t know what that would mean for the two of us.

“I’ll remember that, Jenny. Thanks. Now go work on that paper. Even if you beat Annie tomorrow, don’t forget the real prize - getting that GPA up. And be sure you do that proofreading!”

I sent Jenny on her way, packed up, and headed back to the dorm. I texted Annie again, asking how her paper was going, and she sent Grumpy Cat again, so I decided I’d let that go for the night as well. I ended up watching a movie with Jack - one of the many interchangeable movies with Jason Statham - and relaxing, which was really not the worst way to spend a Friday night if you weren’t going to have a date. At least it didn’t involve someone puking on my shoes.

In the back of my mind, the thought was percolating, however, that tomorrow afternoon I would be meeting with Annie and Jenny, and that there was a distinct possibility that one of them would be undressing. Possibly undressing completely. This didn’t help with my falling asleep, either, as my imagination was working overtime, and eventually I had to resort to the last-ditch method for getting to sleep - reading sociology. I swear, those books should have the “do not operate heavy machinery after use” warning stickers. I read the same page four times without understanding a single word of it, and on the fifth try, I finally fell asleep.

The next day was a fairly unpleasant day, even by winter standards. It was cold, but just warm enough that it was rain falling, not snow, and it was that awful cold rain that goes right to your bones. I hoped it would let up, but it was still falling steadily when I headed for our agreed meet-up. This time, Annie had set us up to meet in the Chem building; apparently she was acting as a class tutor for one of the profs, and told him that she was going to hold an extra office hours session over the weekend, so he arranged for her to get a building key. “I just didn’t announce those extra hours to the class. Oops!” she grinned, leading us up the stairs. The building was, as far as I could tell, empty - I’m sure someone was working in their office or something, but the lights were off in the halls, and all the rooms on the second floor were dark. Annie led us to an inside classroom that had no windows, turned on the lights, and then locked the door from inside. She put up a “Do Not Disturb - Honors Research Project” sign over the door glass, and then locked the door from inside to ensure we wouldn’t be taken by surprise. “So, Jenny, are you ready to show Fred what lingerie Delta Sigs are wearing these days?” Annie was her usual brash self, but I noticed that she was wearing a bulky looking sweater that I supposed was covering an extra layer of clothing again. Bold was one thing; foolish was completely different, and Annie was no fool.

“I don’t think that’s how this is going to play out,” Jenny replied calmly. “Fred told me I was on point with my argument, and I spent plenty of time pulling this essay together. If anything, I think the odds are that Fred’s going to get another peek at what the tragically dressed Chem student is wearing this season.”

“All right, shots fired, gauntlets thrown, postures…postured. Whatever.” I held out my hands. “Ladies, your essay drafts, please.” Jenny confidently handed hers over in a manilla folder, then took a seat. Annie, of course, had to pull a couple notebooks, a bag of Chex mix, and a stuffed rhino out of her backpack before she found the somewhat crumpled draft to hand me. “Don’t ask,” she said when I eyeballed the rhino questioningly. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.

“Just be glad she didn’t wear that day-glo scarf again,” Jenny laughed.
I took the essays and sat down with my official red pen to mark them. For the record, I don’t ever use a red pen. If you want to make sure someone tunes out your comments as quickly as possible, write them in red pen. It’s like saying to someone “Don’t look - this is going to be a disaster.” In this case, however, I felt that using a red pen was more symbolic - and I was pretty sure Annie would somehow find my failure to be appropriately theatrical disappointing, so red pen it was.

I marked Annie’s essay first. I was struck by how much better it was than the disaster she had handed me a couple weeks ago; this essay was readable, had a legitimate point, and heavens be praised, appeared to have been actually outlined! I could see where she had assembled the paragraphs using the formula I had shown her, and she even had a conclusion that tried to make clear why her analysis was significant. If Annie had actually mastered grammar, this would be a B essay, or possibly even an A.

Unfortunately, Annie had not mastered grammar. It would be more accurate to say that Annie had punched grammar in the face once or twice, and was currently in a hockey grapple with it on the ice, waiting for the referees to come in and intervene. I was only halfway through the essay when I circled the fifth error, and it was one of the most frustrating ones you could possibly find as a tutor - a spelling error. That in an age where every word processing program had what amounted to on-the-fly spellchecking and yet there were still students who regularly made spelling errors was, in my opinion, ridiculous. It just shouldn’t happen.

Annie must have seen the glower cross my face, because she started fidgeting nervously at her seat, pretending not to be trying to count the red marks. I ignored her and kept reading until I reached the end of the paper. I went back and counted the errors - three comma errors, an agreement error, using it’s instead of its, and the spelling error, which I was tempted to count as three just to make a point. Instead, I wrote a large 6 at the top of the paper, and picked up Jenny’s to score.

While Annie’s argument had been much improved, Jenny’s was outstanding. I knew it was going to be from all the time we spent on it, and she delivered - good points, well-supported and well-organized. There wasn’t a bit of unsupported opinion to be found. If anything, she had gone too far in the other direction, and I made a note that, for example, she really didn’t need to cite a source to prove that global poverty was a problem that several aid agencies worldwide existed to address.

Jenny hadn’t spent enough time on grammar review, however. It was something that had worried me during the week, but that she had overruled me on. Now it came back to bite her pretty hard. Jenny’s sentences were generally short and choppy, but that would have been workable if she had just used periods on a consistent basis. Instead, she tended to string those together with commas into a long series that might have seemed reasonable in her head, but on paper was just a series of comma splices. I circled those commas again and again, with each string of sentences costing her two or more errors. The numbers added up fast, too, and I could see that both Annie and Jenny were sensing the way things were going. Annie was looking much more satisfied with herself, while Jenny looked like she was turning paler by the moment.

Throw in a couple of other mistakes - an open parenthesis that never got closed, and a rogue semicolon that appeared to have been added for no reason whatsoever - and by the time I reached the end of her paper, Jenny’s essay was up to an unlucky 13 mistakes. “I have some bad news, Jenny,” I said, standing up and handing each of the women back their papers. “While your argument was absolutely spot-on, you had a lot of issues with punctuation. It’s clear we should have spent more time on that.”

“Thirteen??” she said incredulously, counting the red marks for herself. “Please tell me that Annie made more mistakes than that, Fred.”

“Um… not exactly.”

Jenny looked up with actual concern on her face now. “How many?” she asked Annie.

“Six,” Annie said. “Warned you I was going to crush this, Jenny. That’s seven pieces of clothing you’re taking off for us.”

“SEVEN? You are fucking kidding me!” Jenny groaned. “I knew this was a stupid idea. How did I let you talk me into this, Annie?”

“Because you were sure you’d beat me,” Annie replied smugly. “But you didn’t count on one thing - that I had already been embarrassed once. No goddamn way I was going to let myself get humiliated twice in a row. Fred saw too much last time anyway.”

“It was only underwear,” I reasoned.

“It was MY underwear, “ Annie said sternly. “And I was IN it. That’s not a freebie - you have to EARN that sight, bucko.”

Jenny was still sitting there, staring at her essay. Her lips were moving, and I realized that she was listing out what she was wearing in her head, trying to figure out what taking off seven pieces of clothing would mean.

“By the way,” Annie added, “don’t forget that socks and shoes only count as one item each.”

“When did THAT become a rule?” Jenny said incredulously. “Now you’re just trying to make this worse for me!”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t wear extra layers,” Annie laughed. “You couldn’t have been that cocky, Jenny. No way.”

Jenny bent over and started untying her shoes. “I DID wear extra,” she said, tossing one on the floor and starting on the second. “But I just went from four items to two because SOMEONE didn’t give me the full rules!” She pulled off her socks, thick wool ones, and dropped them next to the floor. “That’s two. Do I get to count the coat, even if I already took it off? It’s technically clothing I wore here…”

“Nope,” Annie said. “What you’re wearing now is what you get.”

“I hope you get your eyebrows burnt off in Chem Lab,” Jenny said with a huff of irritation. She pulled her sweater over her head. “Three.” After a moment of hesitation, she unbuttoned her jeans and wiggled them down. It took some effort, because she was wearing a pair of leggings underneath, and they were a snug fit. “Four. Three more to go…FUCK!” She swore suddenly and loudly, startling both of us. “Remember that you SWORE that this was private! You better keep your mouth shut about this, both of you…”

Jenny didn’t have three pieces of clothing to spare, I realized. She was down to her shirt, bra, leggings, and presumably, her panties under those. And she had to give up three more items.

“Okay. Okay,” she said, as if trying to persuade herself that it was, indeed, okay. “I’m going to have to take off my bra. I don’t have enough to avoid that. Can I just do that and get it over with, or are you going to be a total shit and insist that I go all the way down to my panties?”

“I don’t think..” I started to say, but stopped when I realized that Jenny wasn’t talking to me. She was looking at ANNIE.

Annie tapped her finger to her lips thoughtfully. “Hmmm. I could be merciful, Jenny…or I COULD be the total shit and really make you suffer. I bet Fred would prefer the full show – wouldn’t you, Fred? I mean, Jenny is a sorority dreamgirl...seeing her in nothing but a pair of panties would be memorable, wouldn’t it?”

“Maybe,” I said, “But honestly, Jenny isn’t who I really want to be staring at.”

The look on Annie’s face told me that I had said exactly the right thing. She gave me a smile that was better than the goodnight kiss I had gotten on our date, and that wasn’t a low bar, either.

“Well, if Fred is okay with it, I guess I am too,” Annie said, turning back to Jenny. “You can skip to the big finale. But do it quickly, okay? I have a date tonight.”

“Ugh, please stop. If you two want to just have the lab to yourselves, I could go…” Jenny snorted.

“That’s all right,” I assured her. “I can wait a few minutes until you’re done.”

“Such a gentleman,” muttered the blond girl. She pulled her undershirt off, leaving her in a satiny white bra that she filled out quite nicely. “Fred, I’m not going to hold this against you, because I made the choice myself, but if I don’t get a B on this essay, I’m going to find you and kick you in the nuts.” With a deep breath, she reached back and unhooked her bra, sliding it quickly down her arms and planting both hands on her hips. “There. Boobs.”

Yes, they were. Jenny was no slouch in that department, and hers were impressive, a pair of snowy hills with small, dark aureoles. I wondered if her hair was naturally blond - I thought that a blond would more likely have pale nipples - but I didn’t dwell on it. In fact, I did my best to stop looking, turning away from Jenny and facing the wall. “Okay - you paid your bill. You can get dressed,” I said.

Annie laughed. “I guess Fred’s seen enough, huh?” I could hear Jenny scuffling with her clothing, and a muffled “at least one of you is polite” came from behind me.

“So, aside from having to flash your tutor,” Annie asked, “how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?”

It was a moment before Jenny answered. “You can turn around again, Fred,” she said, and I did, finding her zipping up her jeans. “What do you mean, Annie?”

“I mean, once I got past standing there in front of a guy I barely knew in my underwear, I realized that I actually had worked pretty hard and learned a lot. I’m wondering if you feel that way too.”

Jenny looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t know, honestly. I felt like I did a really good job on that essay, and then found out that I did a pretty bad job with it.”

I interrupted. “That’s the wrong thing to take away from this, Jenny. Your essay’s biggest issue last time was that you didn’t argue well and you had no support. This essay was almost the opposite - if I hadn’t seen you do the work, I might wonder if you bought it or used AI or something. It was that solid.”

“Really?”

“Really. Yeah, you have grammar issues, but now that I’ve circled them, you should be able to look at them and make the fixes pretty quickly. You don’t need a huge amount of practice - I bet that a couple more days on punctuation and you’d be fine on your own. We just ran out of time because the deadline for the essay was so tight.”

“Maybe that’s true,” she conceded, pulling her sweater back on. “I mean, I do feel like I had a clear idea of what I needed to do with the argument part. But I have to be honest - it’s hard for me to be enthusiastic when I just showed my tutor my tits because I made grammar mistakes.”

“That’s fair,” I said. “Maybe the better time to ask would be after you get this paper back, because I think you’re going to be feeling a lot better about all of this when you see your grade. How about this - you made a pretty substantial ‘payment’ here tonight. Wait until you get your paper back, then decide if you want to pay me for the tutoring time. If you don’t get the result you were hoping for, then we’ll call it even. If you do, you can pay me what you think the job was worth - and you can consider recommending me to friends for regular tutoring work, even if you wouldn’t recommend the “emergency service” method.”

“You can’t just GIVE AWAY your work, Fred!” Annie objected. “You put in hours with Jenny this week!”

“This is a new business, right? Jenny’s endorsement and satisfaction with my work is a lot more important right now than a couple hundred dollars. She’s in a major sorority with a serious social network. If she gives me a thumbs up and tells other people I’m worth working with, I’ll have more work than I can probably handle.” I turned to Jenny. “What do you say? Fair deal?”

“More than fair….as long as you NEVER mention tonight’s session to anyone else.” Jenny smiled wryly at me. “I’m pretty sure that won’t be an issue with you, though, will it? I think Annie has gotten pretty lucky with you, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.”

“Who said I don’t…” Annie cut herself off quickly, then scowled when Jenny laughed at her. “Don’t you have corrections on that essay to take care of?”

“I do. Fred, I’ll be in touch about the essay result. I might want to schedule a couple more days to review the grammar after.” Jenny leaned over and whispered something to Annie, then headed out the door with a “Later!”

“Annie, are you BLUSHING?”

“No, I’m not blushing. My face gets red in the cold. Nice job calling attention to a girl’s imperfections, Fred,” she said in an irritated tone.

“What did she say to you?”

“Shut up. Nothing.”

I laughed. “She said something, all right.”

Annie whirled on me and stuck a finger in my face. “Listen, mister, you have about ten seconds to shut up and ask me what I want to do tonight before you lose any chance of me doing something stupid to get the image of Jenny’s tits out of your head!”

“What do you want to do tonight?”

“Go back to my room. But you’re taking me to the movies first. I haven’t forgotten about those Junior Mints, either.”

We didn’t watch much of the movie, but I did buy Annie the Junior Mints. Her mouth was sweet and warm and eager, and while I COULD say that the film was so bad we had no qualms about leaving halfway through it, I honestly have no idea what the damn movie was, and I didn’t care, either. Annie and I ran back to her room, ignoring the cold drizzle and chasing each other through half-melted snow and across greens until we finally arrived at the dorm. By then, we were more than ready to go inside and warm up.

I didn’t find out if Annie’s roommates were home. She dragged me in the door and straight into her bedroom, closing the door behind her and shrugging her coat into a pile on the floor. Her eyes were sparkling and her hair was wet from the rain. “Take off your shoes,” she ordered.

“My shoes?”

“You aren’t getting on my bed with those dirty things on.”

I took off my shoes, and had about a second to kick them aside before Annie tackled me onto the bed, kissing me with more energy and enthusiasm than I had ever felt in a kiss. She was electric, her lips soft and warm and faintly tasting of those mints. “I’m keeping you,” she declared as she broke off what seemed like a ten minute long kiss. “I like you. And you’re a decent kisser. And before you ask, the answer is no.”

“No? Am I allowed to ask what the question was?”

“Whether you get a vote on this.” She kissed me again, hands on my face as she pressed herself against me. I had one hand around her back, and the other hand behind her head, fingers weaving into the hair where her tight braid started. “I’m still deciding how far this goes tonight. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Brat,” I said, stroking her hair.

“Me? A brat? Never. I’m sweetness and puppy eyes all the way down.”

My hand closed over the tight left cheek of her bottom. “Funny - I don’t feel a tail…”

“Might be hidden in there somewhere. You might have to look for it,” she breathed, eyes still alight and dancing.

So I did. Annie tensed a little when I slid my hand into her pants, probing with my fingers to slide under the panties I found, then cupping the warm, taut flesh. My index finger slid gently between her cheeks, tracing the ridge of her tailbone. “No puppy tail,” I said, “but no devil tail either. I’ll call that a draw.”

“I still haven’t forgiven you for insulting my scarf.”

“I thought the Junior Mints were restitution!” I gently rubbed her backside with my hand, then slid it upward and under the back of her shirt to rub her lower back.

“Mmmm,” Annie purred. “Why are you so good at touching?”

“That’s a new compliment,” I said, kissing the top of her head. “I’ve never been told I was a good touch before.”

“It makes me nervous,” Annie said, sitting up suddenly. My hand pulled free of her shirt and I looked up at the girl straddling me. She sighed and climbed off, then curled up next to me, head on my shoulder and arm over my chest.

“Why nervous? Did I do something wrong?” I asked, confused.

“No…you’re doing everything RIGHT. That’s what makes me nervous. I like you too much, Fred. Right now, I really want to get naked with you and have amazing, intense sex. I mean, I REALLY want that.”

“I really like you too, Annie. And I think you probably have me hornier than you are at this point, because I’ve never had a girl kiss me like that. You really are a hurricane, you know - a beautiful, smart, and mind-blowing hurricane.”

She leaned up and kissed me. “Please don’t hate me for this, but I don’t think we should go any farther than this tonight. I know, I dragged you back here, and I probably seem like a huge tease with the sex talk and all. But if it makes any sense at all to you, I want you TOO much. We’ve gone on one and a half dates, but I’ve never gotten this into a guy this fast, and…I don’t want to mess this up by rushing it. I have a feeling that you’re one of those ‘big moments’ you get in life, and if I blow it, I’m going to hate myself for it.” She looked away. “I must sound like a total nutjob right now, huh?”

“Annie, if you want to take this slowly, I’m fine with that,” I said. “I could sit here and just kiss you all night, and I’d be perfectly happy. Well, ALMOST happy. There’s one thing I’d kind of like to ask you to do, but it’s fine if you don’t want to, ok?”

“Ask me,” Annie said, looking up at me. “Worst I can do is say no, right? Wait - this isn’t some weird thing like ‘how do you feel about gerbils in the bedroom’ or ‘can I sniff your panties’, is it? Because if it is, don’t ask. If you have some crazy fetish or something…”

“No gerbils, I promise,” I laughed. “I’m pretty vanilla.”

“Okay,” she said. “Then what?”

“Would it be okay if you undid your braid and let your hair down?”

Annie bit her lip for a moment. “My braid? Fred…okay, you couldn’t know this, but that’s a way bigger ask than you think it is for me.”

“Hey, request withdrawn - I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Annie!”

“No, you deserve an explanation, because it shouldn’t be a big deal, but it is.” She scooted up a little against me and leaned her head so it touched my face while we both stared at the ceiling. “When I was in elementary school, I got into a fight with this girl named Kimberly. She was one of those queen bee girls who run the world - you know the type - and she hated me for some reason. Well, I made the mistake of actually punching her after she shoved me, and she and her friends caught me the next day in the bathroom. They held me down and hacked off a chunk of my hair with scissors. Of course I went to a teacher, but her friends claimed that she was with them somewhere else, and I didn’t have any proof that she had done it, so all the school could do was call my mom to come and pick me up. I was a wreck, crying and scared and sure that I looked hideous.”

I squeezed her a little tighter against me as she continued. “Mom took me to a salon - a real hair place - for the first time, and she paid a lot of money for a stylist to cut my hair into something decent, but it was short, and I felt like I looked like a boy. I didn’t have boobs yet, and I only wore t-shirts and jeans, and of course, the bitch squad started calling me Andy.”

“Sounds pretty horrible,” I said, amazed at how cruel kids could be even though I knew it well from my own experiences.

“I started growing my hair back right away, but it takes longer than you think. It was summer before I could really even pull it back in a ponytail. And then I started having panic attacks. It was like I couldn’t breathe. I felt incredibly vulnerable, like someone could jump me at any time. I even had to go on medication to help with it, which made me feel even more self-conscious.”

She took a breath, and I could feel she was trembling a little, even now, years after this had happened. I hurt for her, a real stab of pain that I couldn’t help fix this like a grammar or math problem.

“So TLDR, I was going to a birthday party, and I put my hair in a braid to make it look a little nicer. And I went the whole day without a panic attack. I left the braid in, and the next day, no panic attack. I figure that somehow, in my head, I felt like a braid was harder to attack than loose hair, and that made me feel safer or something? Anyway, I started wearing a braid all the time, and as long as I have, I haven’t had another panic attack. I only take it out to wash my hair, when I’m alone in the shower.”

I sat up and took Annie’s face in my hands, kissing her gently. “I understand. Forget about it. Believe me, I’m plenty happy kissing you right now.”

“I’m sorry, Fred. You must think I’m a basket case - “No, really, I want to have sex like crazed weasels but we can’t because this might be something more special than weasel sex, and I can’t undo my braid because I might have a panic attack, and I have this weird thing about waffles, blah blah blah blah red flags everywhere.”

Annie looked at me, and I could actually see a hint of fear in her eyes - she sounded like she was joking, but under that was a genuine worry that I was going to bolt because she was too much of a freak. Well, that wasn’t happening, and I had to make sure she knew it.

“Listen to me, Annie Jenkins. You aren’t scaring me away that easily. We take this as slowly as you want to. I won’t lie and say that I don’t want to get you undressed and see the full Annie after getting that peek at you in your undies, but you can’t ever go back from a line you’ve crossed in a relationship. You never get another first kiss. You never get a second first touch, or first undressing, or first sex. I get that, and I want each of those things to be special, okay? And that takes both of us wanting that moment and knowing when it’s right. I trust you to tell me when you think it’s right.” My hand went to her braid, lifting it up. “And this? If this is what makes you feel safe, then I’d rather you feel safe with me. You’re beautiful, Annie, and I don’t care what you wear or what you do with your hair or if you ever wear makeup or any of that crap. All I care about right now is YOU.”

She looked at me, eyes searching for any sign I was lying, but I wasn’t lying. All I wanted was to be with Annie Jenkins right now, right here.

That smile broke over her face. The one I can never get enough of.

“You mean it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said. “I really do.”

Annie kissed me again with that ferocity that blew me away. “Good,” she gasped when we finally came up for air again. “Because I am going to make you forget you ever dated that Tara girl, that you saw Jenny’s rack, and what your mom’s phone number is. Not tonight, but soon.”

“More than enough for me,” I said, catching my breath. “I probably need time to prepare for this hurricane, anyway.”

“So tonight…”, she said, chewing her lip. “I don’t want you to leave yet. Can we just…cuddle for a while? Just you holding me?”

“As long as you want me to,” I replied, lying back on the pillow and making room for her in the crook of my arm. Annie happily snuggled up next to me, closing her eyes as she put her head on my shoulder. I kissed her forehead, and her arm tightened around my chest in a squeeze of appreciation.

Before we drifted off to sleep, I heard her whisper quietly, “I finally picked a good one.”

[Somebody]

This story is to relationship dynamics what Jackie Chan is to choreography. Perfectly captured both sides of the yin-yang. A guy telling the girl what to do to better herself, and the girl taking complete control in the romance, bedroom, etc. departments. So much delicious vulnerability. Truly we could solve society's ills if we just read stuff like this and studied it.