Train the Trainer – Chapter Three


I didn’t care that he’d humiliated me in class. Or that he had basically told me to shove it. No that wasn’t it at all, despite what he obviously thought. It wasn’t even that I thought he was boring. He was in fact very entertaining.

For the past three weeks Professor Burrie had strode into the class wearing well fitted dress pants and a white shirt with whatever tie that struck his fancy for the day, and managed to look way better than any psychology professor should have.

His lips curled and curved sexily on words ending with ’s’ and ‘t’ and ‘y’. Which were a lot of words. I would know, I kept track of every one of them. Maybe if he wasn’t so damn distracting I’d actually learn something besides focusing on the things I’d rather do with him than discuss sleeping. I’d gotten precious little sleep recently anyway.

Those golden eyes popped up everywhere I went, making my palms to become sweaty and my heart to break all speeding infractions. Sleep was damn near impossible at 130 beats per minute.

Bass slammed a large palm down on my desk, drawing my focus back to my surroundings. His name was actually Bernie Alexander Stevens, but we’d just call him that because of the initials and because of his deep voice.

I blinked rapidly refocusing on the room, which was empty and I had been twirling my pen in my hands above the blank page of my notebook.

“You okay, bro?” Bass’ brown eyes looked worried. I fought a contrite grimace off my face. This was not the first time he had had to drag me back from dreamland within the last few weeks. From his face I could tell that it was quickly wearing him down, especially since I hadn’t told him the reason for it.

Every time the truth came to the tip of my tongue I had stifled it, shoving it deep at the back of the closet in my mind.

“Yeah, yea. I’m fine, I’m just dog tired,” I claimed. Also not for the first time. I wondered how long I could use that excuse.

“For a man that’s dog tired you don’t ever sleep in class. You just kinda… Space out man, it’s weird. I’ve known you for what?” He took a second to count it mentally. “Six years, and you’ve never done that before. I’m beginning to worry…”

“Screw you,” I shot, Bass never pushed when I got defensive. It always worked to get him off my case. “Nothing’s wrong, I just got a lot on my mind.”

Bass’ face said it all. He shook his head as if it helped him to let it go. “Whatever man, maybe you just gotta get out and lose whatever got you worried. You are going to the campus party right?”

I hadn’t really thought about it, but my answer was automatic. Bass would kill me otherwise. “Hell yeah.” I had to reassure him or else he’d never leave, and I was dying to be left with just my thoughts. Thoughts of the yummy professor… Awh…

I was watching my sneakers hit the linoleum and wondering about what Bass had said earlier. It really was six years now. I wondered how I had become this person I had never wanted to be. A person who hides who he is from the world like a coward.

I hadn’t even told Bass, and he had never even given me any indication that he was homophobic. It was just nerve wracking the thought of saying those three little words to anyone.

I. One letter. Am. Two letters. Gay. Three letters. Should be easy right? Even the words were like a staircase just to deceive you into thinking it wasn’t very hard to manage. But it was a staircase that left me too winded to speak just considering climbing it.

I had meant to tell him. Just like I had meant to come out to the whole damn school and my parents. Really. I had a plan and everything.

That was just about when it happened. Josh, walking daydream, linebacker and sex on a stick Josh, had called me a faggot right after the homecoming game in the locker room after everyone had already gone. I had waited back, I secretly enjoyed how long it took him to shower and had developed the habit of taking long just to hear the scrape of the towel against his skin as he dried.

I would never forget the six seconds of silence between us before I had lodged my fist into his face.

I hadn’t stopped there. He got it everywhere I could reach until coach found us and dragged me off of him. Neither of us had said anything when they all asked what the hell had happened, and Josh knew from the glare I was shooting him that he better not repeat what had went down.
When Bass had asked I said it was about time someone helped Josh put a sock in it and when he agreed, that was that.

Now two years after I still heard it whenever I got too comfortable or got ready to launch the words from off my tongue. Fucking Josh calling me a faggot.

I could practically hear my parents and siblings saying it, Bass saying it and all the girls I’d screwed, as quickly as I possibly could have, sneering it wherever and whenever they could. And I swore I wouldn’t let myself be hurt like that. Just whatever. It was my life. Nobody had to know shit anyway.

I regretted raising my eyes from the ground when I reached the parking lot. There he was. American boy version 3-point-oh. Fuck.

He lifted his leg to enter on the driver’s side of a black Audi and his dress pants hugged his ass and nearly gave me a nosebleed. He ducked to get into the vehicle and I was still staring when he pulled out of the spot and passed by where I stood. The car slowed, then the window on the passenger side went down as the car idled.

What, was he actually waiting for me to go to his car? I pushed my feet to respond to my brain’s commands and went to the lightly tinted windows, bending over and gripping the door I met his filleting eyes with my most arrogant smile. “How come you stopped?”

His eyes looked pained, and his voice was concerned, “I stopped because you looked like you were selling joints, standing at the corner like that with your head down.”

I waggled my brows, “Why? Want one?”

“Maybe another day,” He said casually, perhaps not believing me or perhaps serious about the joint. “Go home Mr. Tyler.”

I was glad he remembered the name. I grinned, “But I got a job to do here, Mr. Burrie,” I returned, “What will my customers do without me?”

“I don’t know, have healthier lungs maybe,” he quipped.  

I ignored him, deciding to jump right in. “Give me a lift to Starbucks?”

“You ever heard of ‘please’? And aren’t you gonna ask your daddy?” I loved this guy’s mouth, he seemed to have no problem serving me back my own medicine. I almost replied that I was asking my daddy right now but didn’t want to come off too creepy.

“Okay, please. And by the way, you need to let that one go, professor, someone I know taught me it’s bad to bottle things up. And I really could use a coffee…” I trailed off then continued, “Unless you prefer I have a joint?”

He shook his head, as if dispelling bad thoughts. Oh, I wish you wouldn’t.

“Hop in. And dust your feet on the grass before you do.” I was so in there. I wiped my feet and was in the car in one-point-two seconds.

His car was sweet, but there was no way he could have afforded this on his salary. I prided myself on knowing money very well, Burrie was not the kind I would’ve expected to even be rolling in one of these babies. He didn’t reek the kind of stench rich people did. Maybe he’d won it in the lottery or something.

“How is your adjustment going into college?” His tone was conversational, but not effortless by any stretch of imagination. We were off to a wrong foot, and he hadn’t forgotten that I had basically threatened him earlier.

“It’s ai’ite,” I drawled, partly just to trigger him. He betrayed no emotion at all, schooling his features into polite concentration on the road. “It’s just like high school with older people. All the same parties, all the same groups of airheads.”

Finally he reacted, a raised brow. That was all. Clearly he classified me as one of them.

“What? I’m not dumb you know,” I shot at him.

“I never said or implied that you were. Although your performance in Psychology is less than stellar. You have time to get it, best to improve early on though.” His tone was neutral.

“It’s tough,” I allowed myself a little whining. Nothing annoyed like a grown man whining about something.

“It can be,” He allowed, then reached across the island between us. I held my breath as his hand got close. Then it reached past me and into his glove compartment. He pulled out a book with a stopwatch and a whip on the dark cover. “Here, it might be able to help you if you take the time to read it. A lot of it is more practical than our class sessions, but I think you will be able to follow without much problems.”

I collected the book. “Obedience Lessons?”

The professor cast me a sidelong grin, “Yeah. A lot of experiments were done on animals to test responses right? Same principle applies to humans, just add a few factors, like higher motivation, dreams and passions, you get the picture.”

“And all this stuff falls under your course?” I questioned. It sounded pretty damn neat if I could just stop drooling over the professor.

“Yeah. Not right away, but it all adds up. Anybody could use these if they understand the general principles though.”

I looked back at the cover, pondering. Why didn’t he use this on the curriculum rather than sleep cycles? I’m sure less people would’ve been talking about quitting. He must’ve had – what did he call it? Higher motivations? Ulterior motives.

He was straining out people who really wanted to do psychology from those who weren’t serious. Smart. But then I already knew he was smart.

“Starbucks.” He muttered, pulling in to drop me off at the logoed doors. “Say no to drugs, kid.” He mimicked my earlier drawl in a way that made it ten times sexier as I got out of the car, book in hand. I didn’t want to leave his fresh scent filling my nostrils with each breath but I understood that this was what I had to be content with for now. Coffee, before heading back to campus to get my car. Idiot.

As the professor drove away, I thumbed the book open and ran my fingers over the page. Purple handwriting at the bottom drew my eyes.

To Sir, with Love

– Dylan Ryman


Untitled Sexuality

By AokiTen (Wattpad user and friend of mine) – show him some love will ya?

 My suitcase was packed, and in the trunk of my car; having make do with the bare necessities until I had the chance to by or bring up everything else I’d need. I was looking forward to prep week.   The chance to start fresh. The day college freshmen get to choose to reinvent themselves, and become something. I’m hoping college life isn’t too much of a drag, among a fresh start; a little excitement wouldn’t hurt either. I have a chance to see and experience new things. To make new friends! And maybe even get a boyfriend? I’m not God’s own gift to gays but statistically speaking even I should be able to rope me a good one. Maybe not a quarterback or anything close to Mr. Popular but, a good guy, a sweet guy.   

My sister Kenna was driving me up, the window wipers of her dove grey Cadillac crisscrossing the clouded windshield while a ballad played in the background. Regina and Peter had wanted to ride up with us, but couldn’t. Instead, we opened up a Skype call so they could be with me on the drive. Having best friends who compromise is great, the only problem with those two is the fights they get in. With the way those two go at each other, it’s like watching MMA, without the rules.  At one point they had ended up in the hospital together. It was a whole other headache trying to get them to stop arguing, the doctors had to move Regina into another room over their fight of which chicken nugget dipping sauce was better. I’m lucky I only have one younger sibling, just gotta hope Millie won’t be affected by the constant bickering those two get to; they’re practically her older siblings too.   

By the time Kenna pulled into the parking lot, the both of us couldn’t wait to get out, stretch our legs and grab a bite to eat. Reg and Pete managed not to get on each other’s nerves, and I actually caught a nap. So far, so good. Our next destination was the administrative office, where I’d collect my key and room package before moving into the dorms. I acted like I knew what I was doing, stepping up to the administrative window and giving my name and year to the woman behind the desk; foot tapping while my reflection twitched in the glass.   “Here you go.”   She slid the Manila envelope through the little opening in the glass and I gave her a half smile, taking the handle to my suitcase and walking towards the elevator. There was another guy, and whom I assumed to be his sister, already waiting for the metal can to come down, her pink glittered press-ons tapping across the screen of her phone while her brother stood expectant in front of the elevator doors. ‘​Perfectly normal, breathe.’ ​The doors opened and we got into the moving death can, each pair of siblings took up either side of the elevator and we were on our way with a jaw clenching screech. Kenna stood behind me while the other guy’s sister stood opposite of me; he took up the corner diagonal to mine. ‘​Breathe.’ ​ My lungs tried to keep up with my heart, as each floor passed by and they didn’t get off. One look at the elevator buttons sent a jolt down my spine. ‘​The same floor?’​ We grinded to a halt and I fled the elevator like it was the death trap scene from ​Spiderman, ​rolling my luggage as fast as possible without  picking it up or looking too suspicious.

I found my dorm, jammed the key in and shook the knob like a madman escaping the cops; only letting out the breath I’d been holding when I was inside and shut the door behind me.   Leaving my suitcase by the door, I launched myself onto one of the twin sized mattresses and rolled onto my back. Remembering the elevator ride, my poor heart twittered in my chest. The pounding in my chest just calmed down as a repetitive knocking came at the door. I’d forgotten about Kenna.   

“Austen Arminius Harris! Open the door this instant!”

I rolled by eyes at the locked door.   “Yes, mom!”   

Rolling my eyes, I took my time getting the door. Swinging it open, I was met with three different pairs of eyes; brown, a light grey, and a startling green. Instantly, I blushed. ‘​I just had to go and embarrass myself in front of a hot guy and his sister. Ugh, I cry inside.’ ​Kenna propped her fist on her hip, giving me a questioning look while my gangly arm still hung off the door and I was frozen to the spot.   Elevator guy-‘​yes, I called him elevator guy’ ​stood behind the two women, clearly amused and staring back at me with a quizzical look. It took me another two seconds before my lungs decided to exhale, arm dropping to my side and spinning around to walk back into my dorm.   

‘​Alright! Might as well be myself, now that that cat’s out of the bag​’  

 I pivoted on my foot and twirled in a three-sixty, “Welcome to my humble abode. Now y’all can stop looking at me like I got squirrels living on my head or something, I let you through the door.”   Moving off to the side, I twirled myself back onto my mattress; hugging the sides and breathing against the soft surface.  

 “Eww, we don’t know where that’s been,” Kenna started.  

“Or who’s been.” Elevator guy’s sister finished.   

Surprisingly, she detached herself from her phone and was actually super pretty. Without her nose glued to her phone, she actually looked like a super good looking-I’m fun type, girl. With strawberry blond hair, pretty green eyes, and the barest of make up; she looked like surfer babe meets pop culture fashionista. She noticed my attention and held out a manicured hand.   “My name’s Cali, or Cals for short. This is my brother, Jackson.”

I took her hand in mine and shook it, and then she gestured for her brother-er Jackson; to do the same.   

 This time, it was my hand in his and the handshake ended way too soon.   “Nice to meet you roomie.” He greeted.   

‘Wait-what? Huh? Did he just say what I think he said??’   The look on my face must of gave away what I was thinking because Kenna had to physically shut my parted jaw, Cali smirking in amusement and Jackson chuckled next to her. “​When were they going to tell me he was my roomie?”  

I didn’t have to think on it because he answered me as soon as I thought it.   “We just did, dummy.”   I swiveled on him and cocked my brow. “How’d you read my mind? Oh-wait, did I?—I must’ve.”   The other three just regarded me indifferently while I had a mini conversation with myself.   

“Uh—excuse me.” Jackson tapped against my skull, smiling when I finally looked up. I blushed, trying to hide it by pretending to wipe something off my cheek. ‘​He has to stop doing that.’​ And by that—I mean smiling at me. He was the first boy here I’ve met face to face and I’m already a blushing mess, not to mention what I’m going to do when I’m living alone with this fine specimen. He was still smiling at me—‘​he has to stop doing that.’ ​

I couldn’t think straight and wasn’t sure if it was even english that came out of my mouth.   “Uh—-food. Yea—food, let’s go get food!”  

Jackson looked at me weirdly and I blushed. Trying to get out of here before he saw my red face, I swept past him and our sisters; snatching my jacket off his bed with my keys and leading the way out the door.   Turns out I didn’t even need my keys because Jackson drove us, and I didn’t know where I was going. Cali mentioned we could’ve just eaten in the cafeteria or went shopping, but Jackson insisted it would be good to have his first meal with his roomie at someplace where our food choices had variety.

On the bright side, it gave me a chance to secretly study his face while his attention was on the road though. I’m pretty sure Cali caught me checking her brother out-but she didn’t call me out on it, instead she continued to apply her lip gloss in the mirror before snapping it shut.   When we reached the diner Jackson and Cali recommended, we all walked in and headed over to a corner booth. Somehow, I ended up on one side by the wall with Jackson while our sisters took up the other side. The close proximity was already enough to make me feel self conscious and begin to sweat.

I think he might’ve noticed because he scooted over a little so he was on the edge of the seat rather than smushed in her with me. I shot him a thankful smile right as a  waitress came over to ask us what drinks we wanted. I ordered a strawberry shake, Jackson a coke, and the girls ordered a root beers. By the time we had ordered our food and eaten, Cal and Kenna got along great and were making foam-stashes from the lip of their root beers. 

Everything was going great until it came up to the point where Cal made a comment about Jackson still being single. I choked on a french fry and sputtered, trying to get enough air past the fried potato in my throat. Jackson turned and pounded on my back and asked if I was alright.   If my eyes weren’t teary and there wasn’t a fry stuck in my throat, I would’ve thought he looked concerned for me. I sucked in a mouthful of shake before repeating what Cal had said.  

“Wow, really? Still single?”

It was Jackson who replied.   “Yea, I haven’t exactly found the right person yet. I’m looking for someone I can relate to and really spend time with. I haven’t met anyone like that yet.”  

Nodding along to his words, I leaned my head on my fist and got lost in my thoughts.   ‘​Would it be too early to say I’ve got a crush on this boy? What feelings are brimming beneath the surface, and what should I do with them? Do I say something? Do I have the right?’ 

One thought jumped out from the rest. ​If only he were gay. 

Train the Trainer – Chapter Two

I couldn’t find someone I thought looked like Teddy – so screw it, here’s an actually teddy :p


Nobody is supposed to have two moms, how did they have you?

Teddy could still hear them. He could still see their faces twisted into mocking jeers and the tears on one girl’s face from a full belly laugh. They thought it was funny, laughing at him for never having a father.

I can’t believe you actually believed them, of course you have a dad somewhere…

A dad. He had never needed a dad before, having two moms made him special. That’s what his mom said anyway.


Teddy felt stupid now. They had lied to him, of course he had to have a father somewhere, since everyone else did. And he couldn’t be special.
He was a slow, stupid, little kid freak.

Teddy slammed the door shut when he got into the silver Honda waiting for him at the curb and buckled in without a word. He didn’t even look at Mommy.

“How was your day Teddy bear?” Mommy’s voice was full of his favourite peppermint candy. Teddy closed his eyes. He didn’t want to be her ‘Teddy Bear’ right now. And he didn’t want to feel warm and fuzzy and special when he heard her say it. It was just another lie. Just like everything else she had told him. Teddy gave an irritated sigh.

When she finally caught on to the mood Louisa took a hand from the wheel and placed it between them, approaching the seven year old cautiously. “Bad day I’m guessing.”

Teddy ignored her. This was her fault. Her fault, and mom’s. They should’ve told him, why didn’t they?
So he used the one thing he knew for sure would hurt her, the silent treatment, he’d learned it from mom after all.

“Teddy you have to tell me something.” Mommy insisted with ‘the tone’.

“Why,” he broke his silence, “You don’t tell me everything!”

Louisa rose a slim brow, where was this coming from? She didn’t have to take this from her seven year old, she was the parent here. “No. But you are not my mother. I’m yours, so you have to tell me everything.” When he remained silent she nudged him and gave him a feather soft prompt, “C’mon, tell Mommy everything.”

Teddy knew he wouldn’t win. Now that his friends had planted the idea of having a father, the thought wormed its way around his brain and burned like a brand. He needed to know. “Who’s my father?”

Louisa slammed the brakes, knocked breathless as icicles of fear penetrated her consciousness. Behind her a car swerved out to avoid crashing into her rear and the driver yelled, “Get off the damned streets lady!”

Eyes wide as plates met hers from the backseat of the man’s car as the child absorbed the ‘bad word’. Louisa refrained from answering in kind and instead refocused on the road. She eased on the gas and shot a glance at Teddy, who had folded his arms waiting to hear what she had to say now.

It wasn’t like the first time three years ago, when he had stopped her as she read Goldilocks to ask her what papa bear really was. This time an answer like before won’t work. It was no longer enough to hear that a papa bear was the biggest and the strongest who protected the home.

This Teddy wouldn’t laugh and call his Mom the papa bear because of the time she snapped at the teenagers throwing eggs at their car and calling out rude names.  

No. This was different. Her baby was angry, demanding answers.

“So that’s what’s bothering you.” It was a statement but Teddy nodded. “Who troubled you about that?”

“Little Nick. He said babies need a daddy and a mommy, and that without a father that someone can’t have a baby.” Teddy hardly breathed getting it all out, then continued, “Rudy called me freak because I said I was different – I told him what you and mommy always said… That I was special.”

Louisa heart clenched painfully. There was always some snot faced brat that came out of nowhere and that told your kid he isn’t special. Louisa had just been hoping he came much later if at all. “Teddy bear you are special, you are…”

“Am I a freak?” Teddy interrupted, holding back the tightness in his throat and fighting to keep his vision clear.

“No. You’re my little boy and you’re not a freak at all,” Louisa took a calming breath. She could handle a lot of things, she could run a whole agency of private investigators with a fraction of her mind but not this.

“So who’s my father then?” Teddy insisted. He had to be the most stubborn, single minded child ever raised. Even as a toddler when he fixated on a toy there was no taking it away and no bargaining. He knew in the moment what he wanted.

But she was his mother. Louisa had to protect him, even if she had to protect him from the truth, and from himself. He’d never understand anyway, it was better this way. She had gotten the chance to build herself a real family, he didn’t lack for anything, they had a loving home, two cats Teddy adored and he got his Christmas wish every year. Like couldn’t get more perfect for a kid, Louisa didn’t understand how her son could feel so cheated. She sighed.

“Very soon, we’re going to sit down and talk all about your father. But not today. Sweetie, okay? I’m so sorry those kids said mean things and made fun of you, and you don’t know how much I wished I could take it all back so you never had to feel this way….” Nor would he ever know just how much. Most parents did the best they could, even when they did wrong things.

She knew Teddy wasn’t satisfied, he got that look on his face that said that he would be bringing it up again. Just that he would wait for now.
This wasn’t over.

Teddy looked away from Mommy, and out through the window. It was okay, she’d lied for seven years of course she didn’t want him to know the truth. So Teddy would have to find out the truth himself.

Train the Trainer -Chapter One

Comment the name of this guy if you know it!


He was making me late for work. Again.

He had insisted on dressing me every day for the past week, as he used to do when I first got a job at the University as a psychology professor.

His hands took their time, tucking my shirt in and caressing my thighs. He applied the occasional squeeze to my balls, giving me a wicked grin each time he did so, teasing me to take him on right here, right now. I sucked in air like I always did, battling for self-control.

“Can you speed this up any?” I snapped impatiently.

“I can.” He replied, unruffled by my tone, “I won’t.” He knelt, pressing a kiss to my hip and fire bloomed along my spine.

“Dylan,” I protested, a warning tight in my voice. “I’ll be late for class.”

“Let the bastards wait.” He looked up at me, with his deep blue eyes challenging me. “Better yet, let them know why. Let them know you had to fuck your bratty sub into subspace before you could leave the house. Give them the details too if they’re into it.” His voice was a sultry mix of smoke and desire as he palmed me through the material of my steel gray dress pants.

I groaned. He wasn’t making this easy. Especially when he made such suggestions that blew my mind to consider them, knowing the choice was all mine. I made one last defense, “They don’t pay me to scar my students for life, baby.”

His eyes narrowed at the endearment, latching onto whatever handholds I offered for him to weasel in and have his way. “For that kind of material? No sir. They should be paying you double.”

I couldn’t help it, I sniggered. Then I pulled him up to his feet, and pressed a bruising kiss to his lips, playing with the smooth skin along his back and following his spine to his trunks-clad ass. He made all the sounds that I knew and loved as I played him like my favorite instrument.

Eventually though I ended the kiss, holding his chin in one hand and squeezing tightly to pull away. He looked at me, with reddened ‘fuck me’ lips and wild eyes. “See you in five hours.”

“But I’ll be in at the office by then,” He complained, more than a little breathless.

I grinned. “So? I’ll see you in your office. Where hopefully, you would’ve cleared your desk like a good boy.”

His spine stiffened and I could read the desire in his eyes, smoldering at the promise. It was always effective when I set deadlines on him. Dylan worked like a dog when given purpose and an incentive, and I had discovered that he was just the sort of person to take charge when given an order to do so, and boy was it sexy. “Yes sir,” was all he said in reply, still breathing heavily,

“Now are you going to finish dressing me or do I have to do it myself?”


I smirked all the way to class before reining it in to face the tough nuts that were my first years. They still thought they would be learning hypnosis or how to become Patrick Jane from The Mentalist, and had been sorely disappointed so far.

 I had assigned them reading on the sleep cycle of human beings and asked them to write an academic paper on the effects of sleep deprivation.

Thirty one blank faces stared at me with faces that said they had either only started last night or this morning. Maybe they hadn’t even finished. I wouldn’t put them on the defensive at the start of my class, there was plenty of time for that.

I started my lesson, assuming that they were all the best and brightest and able to follow my teaching points since, “Obviously, you’ve all done the assignment.” Many a chair shifted and gentle coughs followed this statement.

Aha. Got you.

“Sir, I’m sure the class would benefit from a recap of the levels of sleep,” came an impertinent drawled from the front row. This bright eyed spokesman appeared to have no idea what was going on in the class but was brave enough to demand a spoon feeding. He had guts.

I turned to face him, meeting his eyes and giving him a slight nod. “Perhaps you’d care to enlighten them, as you’re so concerned about everyone else’s understanding of the topic, and not your own.” The class rumbled with amusement, I suppose out of enjoyment of someone else taking the pressure for them all.

He flushed, and the freckles showed on his cheek beneath a sprinkling of red stubble. Even so he decided to stand and address his colleagues. He did a rough and hurried explanation as he consulted his notes ever so often before sitting again and having the nerve to say to me, “Carry on.”

I cleared my throat, “Excellent,” And he appeared gratified, nodding in acknowledgment. Then I continued, “Thank you for exhibit A on what points are completely irrelevant to our current topic. I hope you all took note.” Thirty students erupted into raucous laughter and the guy sitting beside him rubbed a knuckle into his temple with a quiet remark.

“Right, so here’s the important parts – sleep has four stages of a cyclic nature…” It took a while but by the end of the class I’d managed to induce some REM sleep in a few of my students. It was always this way for the first years who really had no idea how psychology was a science. They all thought it was manipulating and mind blowing tricks.

For the most part I made sure they got the message. You want a show, go to the circus or stay at home for Netflix and chill. My second years were entitled to more fun because they were true psychology majors, here to work and respect another person’s consciousness.

I hadn’t realised that the kid had waited back in the class. He made no pretense of packing his bags or anything, he just had thrown a hip casually against his chair and waited with his hands in his pockets, looking at me.

“Can I help you?” I finally asked, waiting for him to state his business.

He waited for the rest of the students to finish leaving until we were alone. “I’m Tyler Grad.”

I waited, with a clear, ‘so what?’ on my expression. Then I said, “I’m Andrew Burrie. Pleasure to meet you.”

He smiled, shouldering his bag, “I know who you are obviously. Are you always this condescending?”

“With a little effort, yes. Can I help you?” This Tyler reminded me of myself when I was in high school. He didn’t seem to get any message but his own.

“Yea. Yeah you can help me. You can help me by never giving us these shitty analyses to complete about sleep. I had to fight sleep to get a few sentences in.” I grabbed a pen and paper, scribbling quickly. “What are you doing?”

“You’re telling a story aren’t you? I figured I’d make a submission to the diary of a wimpy kid on your behalf.”

He flushed again. Those freckles got mad every time blood suffused his cheeks. His voice grew deeper, as if he meant to sound tough and threatening, “Watch it, Burrie, or my father will hear about it.”

I bit back peals of laughter. I didn’t give a shit who his father was. What did he say his last name was? Vlad? Fad? Pad? “Whatever. I’ve got better stuff to do, Tyler. If there’s ever a valid concern, feel free to lodge it under my office door or send an email. Don’t waste my time after my class.” I opened my laptop and took a seat in my chair, waiting for the next class.

I pretended he wasn’t there. After a minute I looked up. He was still there, bracing on his chair. “You’re welcome to sit in the remedial class if you go register and pay the facilities’ fee,” I offered. I had a job to do, and I was growing used to dealing with pampered pricks like him who felt they could have it their way. I always took great pleasure in directing them to the nearest burger king.

Finally he stormed out, “Just wait and see, sir.” He toppled his chair in his advance to the door.

Hmm. Temper, temper.

Whoever his daddy was, I’d dealt with worse.

Train the Trainer – First Look!

Prologue – The Beast’s Cage

I hope he rotted in jail.

No. Rotting was a natural process, given to leaves and dead things to return it gently, however grossly, to the minerals of things to nurture the new. Rotting was too nice a process for Al. So here’s what I really wished on him…

I hoped he got the biggest, burliest, horniest cellmate in the whole prison joint. And to that end, that he was fucked every uncomfortable wakeful moment of his prison sentence. Without lube.

I wished fisted, gaping and bleed-some sodomy on him as I was walked to my cell where I was to share his sentence of ten years for driving my fiancé to and from the bank. A bank which I was made to understand he robbed effectively in under two minutes – how reminiscent of our own lovemaking. It was like bank robbery practice in bed, ‘Can I come in under two minutes? Gee let me see….’

“Come forward,” the blue uniformed prison officer gestured with the baton and I imagined shoving it satisfying up into Al’s rear orifice.

“Assume the position.”

By which he meant, ‘’spread em”. Gosh I had thought that was only in movies. And I had thought it couldn’t have been more humiliating for my family to see me on trial, be sentenced for accessary to the crime and be sent to prison without a shred of personal belongings. It was like they wiped the memory clean and killed the ‘good society mule’ right from existence. And instead you were just ‘a prisoner’, or inmate 5427.

I extended my limbs and waited, once again for another random officer to derive his pleasure from feeling every curve of my body.

Yes. There it was. The customary linger on and between my breasts and over the rise of my ass. I marked this officer, with the low buzz cut and washed out blue eyes, as one to stay far away from until this was all over.

“Clear, you can come through.” He waved me forward to walk ahead of him, “Turn right.” He directed me through the dimly lit halls that stank of aged and rusting pipes and bars.

When we finally reached the cells the officer started counting, just beneath his breath but still audible in the close quarters. I could feel the interest of the inmates stirring, as some of them peered from their bunks or wherever they were crouched. I ignored it as best as I could while trying to size up who was the biggest bully among them all. I’d need friends for my ten years, or so I had been told.

“…Five and six. Now turn left.” The guard must’ve been new or something if he still needed to count. He counted another six cells on the left, “…Five, and… six. Now turn right.” He continued, “One, two, three, four, five … six.” He stopped in front of the sixth cell.

This one had better light, but appeared to be empty. The officer jangled the keys as he searched now for the right one, checking on me as if I could run away with my cuffed hands and feet in a secure facility. Asshole.

The key was labelled, ‘666’ and was slightly bigger than the others.

You have got to be kidding me.

Inside the cell there was a wide comfortable mattress on one side, and a thin mattress that had been made neatly with autumn coloured sheets and even had a matching pillowcase. I knew which one was mine for sure. Because if this was the cage of the beast, I’d sure as hell sleep on the floor before I messed up the fine white comforter and white pillows on her bed.

“Go on in,” the young officer opened the cell wide and nodded with a quick jerk of his head for me to get moving.

In answer I rose my hands, still in cuffs and looked him right in his eyes. He blushed. Yep, definitely new. Then he fumbled with another set of keys, clicking the chain cuffs around my feet before taking off the cuffs around my hands.

I rubbed warmth back into my palms and entered into the beast’s cage, looking around.

It was clean, and smelled of pine fresh. The walls of the cell had been painted on, creating portraits that looked like they would sell in a gallery. As the officer locked back the cell I approached the wall, examining the paintings and becoming more and more impressed with each one.

I had been a curator at the art gallery down in Brooks, never in my wildest dreams would I have thought to find fine art in a cell. Ironic that I searched my whole career for a masterpiece for the gallery and now that I was fired and in jail that I should find several.

Maybe the inmate here wasn’t so bad, if she could make art like this. How did they even allow all this stuff in the prison?

I was looking at the face of a man now. All hard lines about his mouth, hard blues rimmed his irises and a jawline that could slice cheese. He had wavy dark hair and a prominent chin. The power of this image made me look away from the center of his eyes. It was hard not to contemplate who he was, lost in the emotions conveyed by the masterful piece.

I almost did not notice a door at the far back of the cell opening and a small woman with silvered hair with streaks of black emerged. Her prison uniform was obviously altered. I realised that I was not looking at a jumper, I was looking at a navy blue skirt, then an almost tunic-like top of the same colour. Her face had makeup, and she exuded the presence of someone very much in control, like the man in the painting.

“He was my husband.” She said without greeting, as she came closer. Her voice was elegant, slightly accented perhaps from years of travelling and socializing in high society.

I didn’t know what to say. Who was this woman? What was a woman like her even doing here? But I caught on to the use of past tense for her husband. “Was?”

“Yes. Was.” She offered no explanation. “You must be Kaitlin…. I’m Miranda.” She passed me and settled onto her mattress. “I had them prepare for you. Figured you for an autumn kind of girl.” She nodded towards the bed.

A beast who could small talk. I was growing in my amazement by the second. “You knew I was coming.”

“I asked for you specifically,” she replied looking at me where I still stood.

“Why?” And the guards had given in to her request. That spoke volumes.

“We have things in common. You and I.” Miranda stood and came to stand beside me, facing the painting. “What do you think of my work?”

Art? She knew I was a curator and wanted me in her cell to talk about art? This woman was crazy, and I was beginning to sense why she was dangerous. There was a spark in her, the kind that lights homes on fire and burns things to the ground. She oozed ‘wild card’ aura.

I had to clear my throat and stand my ground, pretending not to fear her closeness. “It’s a beautiful piece, it has all the elements of a masterpiece except one.”

“Except one?” Miranda was intrigued.

This was my area of expertise, I forged ahead, “Yes. Much of what people pay for in the art is the personality of the artist. The piece may be accurate but it lacks fire. The face, it’s flawless, almost inhuman. There’s no emotion underneath.”

Miranda came as close as someone who was a proper lady could ever come to sniggering. Then she touched the very part of the painting I had been avoiding. The eyes. “That’s my husband. Flawless on the outside. No emotion underneath.”

My heart raced, I had been wrong. It was intentional to make him soulless. But still, there was something else about it… “And you still loved him?” I could tell that much. The brush strokes caressed his jawline, kissed his lips and there were miniscule, curved little lines that looked like fingerprints on his cheek. As if someone had touched there tenderly before the paint could even dry, and had never bothered to cover it up.

Miranda was surprised this time. Her smile evaporated. “Yes.” She became cold in that one word. Then when she spoke again she was professional. “That’s why we are alike.”

I rose an eyebrow. In this moment I felt anything but love for Al. He had screwed me over.

Miranda looked at me, with those same unnerving eyes, although hers was a deeper blue. “We are intelligent women, I could tell from the time I first saw you enter the courtroom, your eyes. I could see it all. You’re a smart woman, can you tell me how you didn’t know your fiancé was robbing the place?”

I gritted my teeth. The judge figured the same way. He assumed that I was in on it because of how everything added up against me. With my wedding coming up we needed cash, and a honeymoon in the Bahamas was nothing cheap. Of course that all meant it was reasonable to assume that I knew we were robbing the bank. I shook my head, angry now. “I was a fool. I thought he loved me.”

“Yes. Exactly. Intelligent woman – who was a fool. The man you were with loved you, at least that what you told yourself at night.” Miranda returned to her bed and sat yet again, primly. “It blinded you to him. I know a bit of what that is like.”

“But you still love him,” I said without even thinking.

Miranda smiled. “Yes. Yes I suppose that’s the way it has to be with me. I still love him because we’d been married for thirty years. I remember so much of what he used to be… but I’ll tell you a secret, just between us girls…” Her voice lowered, she was letting me in on the real dirt. “I always knew he was a monster. I didn’t mind as much being treated like a washcloth. That was marriage, functional, messy but functional.”

That sounded sad. As a woman that had been about to enter marriage with a dirt bag I couldn’t even disagree. She was right, I was just sad that nobody had warned me like this before.

“Do you want to know why I killed him?” Miranda had continued, and she grabbed my attention again. So that was why she was in here. Her voice coloured with pride and hardened with hatred all at once, “He hurt my children. And I would kill him a thousand times again without a second thought.”

So she had been jailed for killing a monster. I wondered if it was to be this way for all women who loved horrible men.

“I know you didn’t know about Al, and I know you’re in here because the judge was an asshole who needed to prove a point.”

“How do you know all this, and how do you have all this?” I think my wonder at it all must have seeped into my voice, gesturing all around me.

“Men think they have power because they have wealth, and position. Some women have both and never have any power at all. But look at me. I’m freer in prison that I ever was living with my husband, and it’s all because I demanded what I deserve. Respect.” Her voice curled around the word and then spat it out in the fiercest way she could manage. “What about you? You want to get out of here?”

This woman had made me into a believer in just a few minutes. I didn’t deserve this, and I wanted more out of my life. I wanted my life back, and I damn sure wanted Al to pay. When I finally nodded she smiled, and her teeth flashed pearly white. Perfect.

“Then listen to me carefully…”

Train the Trainer Book Cover Preview

Following Obedience Lessons is book two, Train the Trainer

Obedience Lessons fans already know what’s going on, I’ve recently let slip on my plan to release book two by November of this year. So we are on schedule, and today you get to see one of the candidate covers for book two.

Against the black backdrop, we see Andy, with his hands behind his back as if he is the submissive (and we know he is not). After book one, Obedience Lessons, which displays Dylan looking determinedly ahead, we have this visual of Andy not even showing us his face. Could it be that he has some secret shame, is being humbled and being taught new lessons by an entirely new teacher?

What do you think? Does it get your vitals (you know what I mean :3 ) in a buzz?

You’ll have to wait and see, but the cover drop is just one way you get to pick my brain and see what’s in store for you in book two – Train the Trainer.

If you know you’ve got questions and I’m the only one with answers you know what to do. Hit me up with a comment, email or follow me on twitter where I will be engaging with my readers more directly.

Read Now – Under the Sheets

You can check out the updates so far — click here

Seriously I lost count how many times I have agonized over this book concept. I has lingered somewhere at the back of my consciousness for as long as I can remember. I really don’t know how I ended up creating the cover one day before deciding, “screw it, I’m going to post this” and ta-fricking-dah 9 chapters on wattpad.

I’ll admit, the cover could do with some more work, but I’m no graphic artist, I’m a writer, and I’ll get to the cover eventually (sure you can volunteer to do it pro-bono, don’t let little-ole-moi stop you 😉 ). In the meantime, I’d love you to show some love for love’s sake because as you will soon realize if you haven’t already known that Under the Sheets is a book about gay love.

Wow! Did not see that coming – you should’ve. Especially since this blog is all about my homo-erotic thoughts published into books for my community of readers which I love. #lovewins

So yes, Under the Sheets is also about a love triangle, where Eric a.k.a ‘Rick’ is in a relationship with dependable Adam, yet drawn by the wild and free Kael.

Ever been caught between two perfect loves? This one’s for you.

In either case, gay, straight, chill ally or whatever, read my stuff, I dare you.

Obedience Lessons 1st Anniversary

A year ago I started writing Obedience Lessons, click for a free preview

Honestly I can’t recall when I began to write Obedience Lessons. I had started and stopped, re-worked and re-worded, scrapped and re-drew it so many times. So what I do remember is when I looked at it and finally said, “You know what? This shit ain’t half-bad.” And from there it gradually improved.

Today, I’m hella proud. Because in under one year of being fully published, Obedience Lessons has over 5000 votes on Wattpad and about 120,000 reads. And I know it wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without the crowd of supporters that assured me through the worst blocks of insecurity that they loved my stuff and wanted to see me keep writing.

I did it for them as much as I did it for myself.

So I’m about to do something else they have been pestering me to get done. I’m going to be releasing the Sequel to Obedience Lessons in November of this year, and will be updating sneak peeks, hints and even trailers right here on my blog. Don’t believe me? Wait and see.

P.S. it’s called “Train the Trainer”.

A new world: In which I discover life above ground

They all used to look at me like I was some kind of rare fossil that the earth had sworn it had buried long ago. “You don’t have a twitter account? No Instagram? Oh my god I’m so sorry….”

Yes. They were sorry. Because obviously I didn’t make this personal choice of disconnecting from what I then saw as meaningless and a clutter of my personal life; it had to have been forced on me right? “He probably can’t afford internet,” may have been one of their rationalizations. Ha. I prided myself on not caring for as many years as I’ve been writing.

Turns out the idiot masses were right. So here I am. Gritting my teeth and swearing that I’m only doing this because its what successful people do. They network. But maybe you are all just like me, and I’ve misjudged you as people seeking fulfillment in a social platform full of strangers who don’t care much for you individually, because you lack real lives, I’m sorry 🙂 Not sorry.

Instead I’ll suck it up because it’s what all the experts said I have to do, please welcome me to the world people. I swear not to bite any heads off.

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