This is another snippet of a Dear Sir, I’m Yours prequel (set five years prior). I’ll be writing out several scenes over the next few weeks, alternating with more letters, and when the whole thing is done, I’ll package it all together as a pdf on the Free Reads page. For now, I’m calling this prequel “Letters” since I haven’t come up with another title. I’ll accumulate the links here in reverse chronological order if you need to catch up!
Snippet Three – Office Interrogation
Snippet Two – The First Day of Class
Dear Dr. Connagher:
For our first written assignment, you asked us to write you a detailed letter about what we’d like to get out of class. Are you insane? Didn’t we already have a little talk in your office about what sort of things were safe to discuss as professor and student?
Because what I’d really like to get is closer to you.
You’ve condemned me to a semester of hell. As we agreed, I’ve been coming to your office each week for “tutoring,” all so painfully proper that I want to scream. You leave your door wide open. You call me Miss Jackson and I call you Dr. Connagher and we talk about Shelley and Byron, Blake and Keats, but while you drill me on all the extracurricular reading I’m doing (as you asked), I’m sliding my feet deeper beneath your desk, trying to wrap my legs around yours. Or I’m wondering what you’d do if I got up and very calmly walked over to your door, locked it, and then started taking off my clothes.
Really, what would you do? Would you send me to the dean’s office? Would you kick me out of class? Or would you tell me to come sit in your lap?
Please, please, tell me the latter. Or better yet, maybe we could try out that big desk of yours that you so studiously keep between us. I’d like to be between it and you for a change, if you know what I mean.
I can’t stand it, Conn. There, I said your name. I broke your rule. What are you going to do about it?
I want you so badly that I lie awake at night and ache. This need keeps gnawing away, eating me alive. I need to know the strength of your hands. I need to hear your rumbling voice against my ear while you squeeze my ass like you threatened. I’m doing everything I can to get your attention, to push you over the edge, but you just won’t go, will you?
I know you won’t. I don’t want you to break, not really. But I’m breaking inside every single day. Each time that you call me Miss Jackson and ignore my every attempt to get even a finger of your incredible body on mine, it feels like a physical wound that I’ll carry as a scar for the rest of my life.
So tomorrow, I’m going to wait until the very end of the day, and then I’m going to stop by your office right before you leave (yes, I know I’m borderline stalking you because I memorized your entire schedule) to inform you that I’m dropping your class. If I don’t drop out by Friday, then it’ll be too late. You’ll have to give me a grade.
I don’t want a grade, Conn. I don’t even want an A.
All I want is you.
Yours in agony,