Authors: Astrid Lee Donovan
One week later
Once again Nicole sat tall and proud behind her neat, basic work station at the Fitzgerald State College library; though this time she was in no way fearing or dreading the student she was due to meet here in less than ten minutes.
Indeed, she only feared and dreaded the grade he may have gotten on the first composition he was due to complete under her expert tutelage.
Oh, she knew that Spyder McKenzie was smart enough to pull off a winning composition. She only hoped that he had taken the time and initiative to complete, edit and polish his essay—which concerned the romantic themes and undercurrents prevalent in the works of The Bard, William Shakespeare—and in accordance with the deadline set by Ms. Hart, his English comp teacher—a particularly prickly instructor who’d even once threatened to give her a failing grade.
“During the entire course of my four year term of undergraduate study here at Fitzgerald, my affectionate, heartfelt nickname for her was Ms. Hart-less,” she mused, adding with a shudder, “Hey, I was an overly stressed undergrad. Cut me a break.”
She only hoped that the finicky old professor would cut her newest pupil a bit of a break; for aside from showing a great deal of creativity and more than a little writing talent, Spyder expressed a genuine willingness to learn. And while he sometimes stumbled in a few minutes late for their weekly tutoring sessions, at times even arriving in a semi-conscious state that had to be corrected via a handy dandy ‘coffee IV’ (translation, a pint of Starbucks premium blend retrieved in a frenzy en route to the library), he always did manage to make the sessions; arriving with a bright smile and—mostly—prepared to learn.
“Although it seems that today, he happens to be running a few minutes later than usual,” she noted, biting her lip as she took a cautionary look at a clock that adorned a nearby wall. “I sure hope everything went OK with his first big composition.”
She cringed in spite of herself moments later, as her usually beaming pupil walked into the library with a deep, pronounced frown; approaching their table with slow, trudging steps as he averted his eyes to the ground below them.
“Hey Nic,” he greeted her, tone low and dispirited.
“Hi Spyder,” she returned, adding as she pinned him with a gaze of keen concern, “Is everything all right?”
Spyder sighed.
“Everything’s OK, I guess,” he assured her, tone vague and unconvincing. “I only wish that I had done a bit better on my first big compositions for Ms. Hart.”
With these words he withdrew a neatly folded paper from the zippered pocket of his smart pleather jacket; holding it between them as he told her, “I was so hoping I could tell you, Nicole, that I had earned an A plus on my first big report. Guess I should have known better; I was aiming too high.” He paused here, flipping open the paper with a dramatic snap to reveal his mysterious hidden letter grade. “After all the excellent help you gave me, I guess this is the best I could do, Chief. Sorry.”
Nicole’s eyes flew wide as they regarded the phantom letter grade; one emblazoned across the top of his typewritten cover page in a brilliant flash of scarlet red ink.
“A minus,” she said the words in a low, hushed tone that conveyed an expression of pure and complete disbelief. “I know that the show has been off the air for years, Spyder, but I still feel I must ask. Am I being Punked?”
Spyder guffawed outright.
“What, you find it that incredibly impossible to believe that I could earn a grade of A on any given report?” he asked. “Even an A minus?”
Nicole shook her head.
“No, no, you misunderstand,” she countered, raising her hands before her in a defensive stance. “For any mere mortal, the act of earning a grade of A minus from Miss Hartless would be akin to earning an honors diploma from just about any other instructor. The woman would give Jane Austen a grade that’s on the dark side of a C minus, on her best day.” She paused here, adding as she clapped Spyder’s planed back with a warm, affirming clap, “Excellent show, Spyder. I’m so proud of you.”
She took in her breath as her newly smiling student took the hand that rested on his back and drew her closer to him; staring into her eyes as he swept her up in his muscled arms for a warm, tender embrace.
She released this breath the moment she felt the hot press of his hard muscled body tight against hers; a sensation characterized by the alluring bulge of his defined chest muscles as they strained the fabric of his tight pleather jacket, by the gentle brush of his soft hair across her breasts, and the subtle hoist of his hard, trim hips against her buxom, rounded ones.
The experience was completed when she caught a whiff of his light, citrus tinged cologne, and when the deep, smooth voice she’d come to love resounded deep in her ear.
“This isn’t about me,” he assured her, wrapping his strong arms around her buxom waist and pulling her closer still, “It’s all you, Nicole. It was you that encouraged me to approach my compositions in much the same way I would my songs. It was you that taught me to have fun with my writing, and you know me—if I’m not havin’ fun in life, then why bother? You, my dear, are a miracle worker.”
Nicole smiled.
“Why thank you Spyder,” she told him, her rebellious arms wrapping around his muscled shoulders as she fought to steady her quivering voice—along with her pounding heart. “I myself have a lot of fun working with you.”
Pulling back with a broad smile, Spyder fixed her with an intense olive eyed stare as he agreed, “We do have a lot of fun working together; so I’ve been thinking, Nicole, why not do more than just work?”
Nicole froze.
“Well what did you have in mind?” she asked.
Spyder shrugged.
“Well I dunno, we seem to get along pretty well,” he allowed, adding as he graced her with a white toothed smile that made her heart beat faster still, “I thought that maybe we could hang out or something—you know, like friends.”
“Oh,” Nicole replied, trying to hide the disappointment in her tones as she pulled away from him. “Well, I suppose that we could grab some lunch sometime, or maybe take in a movie.”
Spyder shook his head.
“I have an even better idea,” he told her, adding as he took his usual seat at Nicole’s study station, “Listen, my band, the Lightning Rods, will be playing tonight at the Rock Pile—you know, that cool night club just off Fourth?”
Nicole shrugged.
“Well I can’t say that I’ve ever actually attended a show at that club,” she admitted, adding as she shifted her feet beneath her in something of a self-conscious stance, “I only know of its general location because the building shares an office complex with my grandma’s foot doctor.” She paused here, adding through pursed lips, “There, I now have said the least cool, least sexy thing humanly possible. Are you still sure that you want me at your show?”
Spyder guffawed outright.
“More than ever,” he assured her, “and I hope you enjoy it. We go on stage at 8 p.m. sharp—so do us both a favor and be there!”
That evening Nicole found herself driving her basic teal compact car down an all familiar route; the crowded two lane downtown street that generally took her directly to the front entrance of the Something’s Afoot foot care clinic.
“Of course when I’m carting Granny around to the foot doctor’s, I’m generally not dressed like the misbegotten star of a BBW fetish video,” she reminded herself, then wished fervently that she hadn’t when she took a look down the length of her short, fully made form. “Why in the ever lovin’ livin’ daylights did I do this to myself?”
Like most things in life, it was all Jodi Halston’s fault. Her ever-meddling best friend had talked her out of the perfectly sensible T-shirt and jeans that she’d planned to wear today in favor of the classic ‘little black dress.’
“OK, let’s be honest here Folks,” she mused, rolling her eyes heavenward. “There’s no way in Dante’s Hades that I ever could fit in to a little black dress—so I guess a sexy black dress will have to do.”
Indeed, the knee length black velvet number that adorned her curvaceous form easily qualified as sexy; as did the rarely worn sheen of ruby red lipstick that adorned her lips and the inky black mascara that now lined and surrounded her wide dark eyes.
“Criminy, I never dress up like this—or, depending on how you look at it, dress down,” she shook her head from side to side. “What is this man doing to me?”
He almost made her miss her turn, that’s what; and now Nicole swore softly as she jerked her turning wheel sideways to detour into the parking lot of the Rock Pile; a distinctive single level building with stark ebony walls, shaded windows and a cast iron fence surrounding—one that came complete with a swinging door that she now passed through as she made her way into the club.
“Always did wonder what went on in this place,” she mused, a strange trickle of excitement coursing her spine as she stepped into the dark, musty lobby of the Rock Pile and purchased a ticket at a small admissions table. “Guess I’ll find out tonight.”
Her thoughts suspended when she came face to face with a promotional poster for that night’s featured performers at the club; a glossy, high definition image that showed her a beautiful Spyder in all his glory.
Standing at the center of a group shot that also featured three other snarling and appropriately angry and rebellious looking young men, Spyder shone in a form fitting sleek leather jacket that accentuated every defined bulge and plane of his bronzed, lean muscled body and black kohl eye liner that gave him just a touch of retro and accentuated his gorgeous chiseled features.
“Beautiful,” she breathed, reaching forth her fingertips to touch and outline his glossy, glorious image.
“Why thank you, Miss.”
She jumped in spite of herself as she suddenly realized that she wasn’t alone.
“Criminy, there I go thinking out loud again,” she whispered, turning to face the three dimensional rendering of the image she’d seen earlier.
And, if possible, the man before her easily outshone his photographic image.
Dressed in the same skin tight black leather jacket portrayed in the picture, Spyder’s sleek ebony hair shone and was framing a face also adorned with a light sheen of stage make up and a familiar and very brilliant smile.
“You look amazing,” he praised her, adding as he offered her his hand, “I have a few minutes before my show. Care to dance?”
Soon Nicole found herself dancing through a dream; clasped against the tall, lean muscled body that had filled her dreams every night since he had met its mysterious owner.
Wrapping her arms around his bulging shoulders, she savored the sway of his hard muscled hips against hers as her breasts crushed his perfect pecs; the long, silken strands of his ebony hair brushing soft against her chest as his citrus tinged scent filled her senses.
Swinging her across the rustic tiled dance floor that distinguished the main performance hall of the Rock Pile Club, Spyder’s long, trim legs moved in perfect time to a hard rock ballad that poured from a nearby jukebox; his beautiful bronzed face shining in the room’s low light as he drew back to sear her with a warm, sweet gaze.
“I’m so glad you decided to come here tonight,” he told her, pulling her closer still as he added, “I wasn’t sure you would.”
Nicole smiled.
“Well I just might end up surprising you tonight,” she told him with a wink, adding in a lower tone, “In more ways than one.”
She took in her breath as her amorous dance partner pulled her flush up against him; inviting her to feel the outline of his massive chest, his rock hard abs, and the noticeable bulge that strained the threads of its skin tight covering.
“Well then do allow me to get a head start,” he whispered soft and low, “by doing something that just might surprise you.”
She took in her breath as he seized her lips in a hot, passionate kiss; his full, warm mouth massaging hers as his sturdy hands clenched and enshrouded her waist.
Sinking against him with a contented sigh, Nicole basked in his affections as he continued to ply her lips with the sweetest of kisses; their tongues entangling between them as their breaths merged and their bodies clung closer together.
The couple’s hands joined between them as their joined lips ignited in a divine friction that threatened to drive her insane; causing her public surroundings to dissolve around her as their kiss seemed to catch fire.
All too soon though, the moment passed.
“Spyder? Hate to interrupt, dude, but we do have a show to do.”
Freezing in Spyder’s arms, Nicole shifted her head to see that their private haven had been rudely disrupted by the presence of a third party: a slender man with jet black fingernails and shockingly purple hair.
Forcing a smile as she recognized the man from the poster she’d seen in the lobby, Nicole nodded in his direction and said, “Oh hi! You must be a member of the Lightning Rods.”
The man rolled his eyes heavenward—and sharp in the direction of his fluorescent purple widow’s peak.
“Brilliant deduction,” he sniffed in her direction, “considering that you probably just saw my picture on the poster out there.”
Spyder froze.
“Neo!” he admonished his apparent bandmate, pointing an accusing finger in his direction, “You apologize to this kind lady. Now.”
Nicole snorted.
“And how brilliant are you, dude, that you just flat out insulted someone who just paid admission to see your band,” she reminded him, holding up the basic orange paper ticket she’d procured at the front door. “And that you call yourself Neo.”
Neo scowled.
“Whatever,” he sniffed, adding with a sideways glance in Spyder’s direction, “What ya doing dancing with her, anyway? You know we have a whole group of hot models coming to see the show tonight.”
Spyder had heard enough.
“I cannot believe that you would be so rude and inappropriate, Neo,” he snapped, wrapping a protective arm around Nicole’s broad shoulders as he demanded, “Apologize to my friend.”
Neo said nothing, just shot a demoralizing look in the direction of a smirking Nicole as he repeated, “Yeah, whatever.”
“Brilliant comeback, rock star,” Nicole snapped with a smirk, adding as she wrapped her arm around Spyder’s trim waist and gracing him with a reassuring squeeze, “It sounds like your band might need you for rehearsals. Go on, then—we’ll talk after the show.”
An hour later Nicole found herself standing front row center at the Rock Pile; now surrounded by a throng of excited girls as she just barely managed to hear the opening strains of a Lightning Rods show.
Of course, she couldn’t exactly blame the throng of yelping, drooling young ladies who crowded the stage before her; cheering, hooting and out and out hollering as they observed the vision of beauty in motion.
His long, luxurious mane of silken midnight black hair waving like a flag around his gorgeous, chiseled head, the enigmatic Spyder swayed and slithered his sculpted body as he crooned and screamed the lyrics to the songs that he penned himself.
She couldn’t drag her gaze from his flawless image as he threw his head back and flexed his pecs; gyrating his trim muscled hips to sensual effect as he sang forth with the cry of the siren.
Her funny, affable pupil morphed before her wide, desirous eyes; becoming a sex god and a mystical phantom, a glorious force of nature who ruled the stage with his smooth, deep, melodious vocal stylings and rhythmic, seductive dance moves.
Moved by the music, Nicole moved as if in a dream toward the stage; taking her place among the throng of adoring fans who thrust their arms in the air and screamed his name aloud.
Standing stock still at first with her hands folded before her, she soon surrendered to the sheer, irresistible lure of the sound; her curvaceous body swinging and swaying in time to the rocking rhythms.
Losing herself to the feeling, her movements quickened as her hips swung back and forth and her own arms hoisted in the air; her face breaking out in a gleeful smile as she felt younger and freer than she had in ages.
Her public surroundings once again dissolving around her, she focused her gaze on the gorgeous man who held his audience in the palm of his hand; the wild man who now gazed upon her with the familiar sweet smile that she’d come to adore.
Returning his beam in full, Nicole’s dance moves grew quick and frantic as she lost herself to the beat, moving closer to the stage as her rocker leaned forward to sear her with a sultry gaze; tossing the length of his silky hair full in her face as he crooned a chorus of his most seductive song specific for her benefit.
“I want to tease you and please you,” he crooned in a low, sexy growl, “I want to rock your world.”
Her eyes widening at these suggestive words, she stared for a timeless moment into his eyes—then for an even more timeless moment at his thighs, as he gyrated his hips full in her face.
Feeling her head shift back and forth, hypnotically and in time with his movements, Nicole giggled in spite of herself as her heart pounded and her pussy gushed in a fit of sudden, unrestrained arousal. She’d never wanted a man more; and she’d never before experienced the sensation of being the ‘hot girl’ in the crowd.
For a few precious moments she and Spyder stood face to face at the front of the stage; with him continuing to serenade her and dance for her pleasure.
Finally he broke their gaze, leaving her with a teasing wink as he backed away from her to turn his attention to the other lusty ladies in the crowd.
Shifting her own gaze elsewhere on the stage, she shot a triumphant smile in the direction of a stunned Neo; who—as expected—mouthed the word “Whatever” in her direction before turning his glimmering bass guitar pointedly in another direction.
Her smile dissolved as she heard a spate of giggles erupt from just behind her; a sound that seemed to erupt from a lovely, generously endowed group of women who seemed to gather in a flock at the center of the dance floor.
“Is that what they call an organized group of bimbos? A flock? Or perhaps I should more properly reference them as a band or a pack?” she mused to herself, adding with a slight smile, “If nothing else, I’d wager that those gals do indeed constitute the ‘whole group of hot models coming to see the show tonight’ that Neo referenced earlier.”
Poised to turn around and engage the lot of them in a robust round of sisterly high fives, she froze as she heard the apparent ‘head of the flock’—a tall, statuesque blonde with abnormally sizable mammaries up front—said in an abnormally loud ‘confidential whisper,’ “You gotta love it when the band guys give fan service to the fatties. The sad part is, because of that little serenade and bump and grind, that poor gal probably thinks that Spyder has a genuine interest in her.”
Gritting her teeth, Nicole turned to the girl with a single smooth flourish and said, “A ‘fatty’ I may be, Madame, but at least everything on my body is natural and original. You won’t find an ounce of silicone or acrylic on any part or portion of my anatomy. Can you say the same? I also happen to make my money with my brain, not my body. Can you say the same? And while you are pondering these two pivotal questions, let me rush to assure you; I do not believe that Spyder has an interest in me because of his recent, very sweet serenade.” She paused here, lifting her chin to proud effect as she added, “If anything this belief spurns from the fact that, I know him personally and he’s made it very clear that he’s interested.”
Rather enjoying the look of abject shock that crossed the features of the stunned stripper, Nicole returned her attention to the stage; where Spyder and his bandmates continued to belt out their signature brand of music, singing, dancing and playing to the crowd as their set continued for another solid hour.
Aside from being aroused and intrigued by Spyder’s sensual performance style, Nicole reveled in both the humor and the richness of his lyrics. Indeed, despite their simplistic titles, many of his songs showed strong lyrical structures and well-constructed bridges; and, in some cases, he injected a strong dose of heart and sentiment into his songs.
One of his ballads, titled “Lonely Hearts,” even managed to pull at her own heart strings, as it told the story of a young man looking for love in what often proved to be a cold, lonely world.