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Return to Book Page. Preview — Professor's Pup by Corbin Cini. Sam Anthea. Just because everybody else has fallen for Professor O'Finley, didn't mean that Marc did.
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Sitting in the first row, handing in essays weeks before the deadline, asking questions after class No, those were all just signs that Marc was a good undergrad student. After all: He wasn't gay. But when O'Finley offers Marc an academic edge in exchange for nothing but a f Just because everybody else has fallen for Professor O'Finley, didn't mean that Marc did. But when O'Finley offers Marc an academic edge in exchange for nothing but a few hours of Marc's time Well, a few hours of his time, as well as his openness to crawl, wear a tail and fetch some ball.
Marc might have been hesitant at first, but when O'Finley reassures him that no, he isn't gay either, he agrees. And well. Maybe Marc is a little bit gay after all. A 11k words novelette about an undergrad's first time as a pup. Sweet first time puppy play with dark undertones. After all, O'Finley just needs Marc to get fond of the idea first before he can lead him further down the rabbit hole Get A Copy. Kindle Edition , 32 pages. More Details Friend Reviews. To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. He drove an unusual car and when I saw one of them I would flinch and my heart would race, ten years and thousands of miles away.
I dreamed about him for twenty years, no lie.
I was a Senior at college, and not quite out yet at the time. One night during spring break I was supposed to catch up with these friends to go bar-hopping, but I got out of work late and missed them at the first stop on our rounds, a bar not far from campus. He was also gay, and while he thought he was closeted, it was a pretty open secret on campus.
So with a plan in mind, I went up to him to say hello. Which turned into a lengthy conservation. He deflected it at first, but gradually he became clearly interested After all, messing around with a student could seriously backfire on him. But eventually I won him over with promises of discretion, and we went back to his place for the night.
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I had a great time, and hope he did too. We only hooked up that one time, and kept things casual when we crossed paths for the remainder of the semester. On the flip side, I taught at a large southern hemisphere university as somewhere between a TA and a professor, basically an industry professional who taught some classes.
Yeah, I hooked up with some students. About five years after I graduated college, I got an invitation to return to my alma mater to do some teaching.
I was 25, newly single and had a good job in the industry I was teaching. I taught on the side of my regular job for three years. Fucking sensational hourly rate, and I really enjoyed teaching. I was teaching an English-related course, so I challenged a lot of students to play. This one sent me a drunk IM on the app one Saturday night right after semester finished, I replied equally drunk , and we ended up trading numbers.
We texted back and forth for a couple days before she made it very clear that she wanted a no-strings sexual relationship. She showed up at my doorstep crying, banging on the door, asking the neighbors to let her into the apartment building. Bullet dodged. She was engaged less than a year later.
I decided a few weeks out from the end of semester that once I was done marking her work, I was going to throw caution to the wind and ask her on a date. All this flirting had to go somewhere, right?
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We dated for around six months. Once I picked up the pieces of my shattered heart after we broke up, there were a couple more student hookups in my final year of teaching.
Both of them started off as email banter and ended up getting more personal. I first met him in a summer school class, an elective for my major, and during the next 6 weeks, I grew completely infatuated, although respectfully studently. But over the next year I saw him around the building where he and I had classes, and I went out of my way to be places and events where he would be, just because it was so wonderful just talking to him and being with him.
The boyfriend just could not compare, so he was gone. He sweetly asked if I wanted to share lunch with him on campus the next day. I did. It was September, a year after our class together, and by the end of December we were married. I ran into a former PoliSci professor of mine on campus one day and sat down to chat because A he was that hot professor that everyone drooled over and B he had recently written me a recommendation letter. He was about to leave my university for a different teaching position, so I suggested we get coffee to catch up. The happy hour night started at a normal bar, and progressed to a karaoke bar where we started making out due to the combination of alcohol and moving renditions of 80s anthems.
A nice lady next to us said we were cute couple. Be reminded—this is a 40 year old and a 19 year old at a dive bar. He failed miserably, but it was kind of cute. We went back to his place which, surprise, was a dorm on campus because he was an in resident faculty member. We proceeded to have wild sex all night, after which he asked me to go to a wedding with him later that weekend.
The setting: a small liberal arts college in the Hudson Valley. Throughout my sophomore and junior years, rumors fluttered that I was romancing my advisor, a very well-liked English professor. You know the one. Also during this time, I started gaining a lot of notoriety for winning writing contests, garnering low-level grants, and the like. People harrumphed, often believing my faculty paramour was behind this success. It heightened my already-wild reputation, especially among the male members in my Creative Writing major.
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I relished the attention; I neither confirmed or denied the whispers. Cheon transferred the originals — four-track tapes, from which he had to sync each track by hand — so there was a Cowley-like element of artistic interpretation in trying to guess what each song should sound like. It turned out that Patrick had entrusted her with it so his family would never see it. We met at a cafe and she brought out the journal — it was a black German notebook, wrapped in silk with a gold stamp.
I started crying reading it. The journal is faithfully reproduced, including doodles and misspellings, with the release.
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