My wife wrote her first independent novella which is currently available on Smashwords, Apple books, & Amazon, entitled Old Wounds, New Scars: A FMG Story. https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1063238 In the past she has worked with me on Muscle Love and Iron Beauties.
Here is a little sample
“Do you like my muscles, Mr. Marks?” The sandy-haired teen asked, with a look of consternation.
There was a pause and then the answer that ended my career. “Yes.”
But that’s not how the conversation happened. Not really. But there I was watching a video that my principal had sent me trying to explain my actions. My look of confusion on the recorded Zoom video when watching Heather flexing her generous muscles didn’t seem to surprise the administration. Together we watched as she pranced on the screen in her white spaghetti strap top, her luscious swollen ripe dark nipples straining through the thin cotton.
“What about my pecs? Do you like my pecs?” She grabbed the collar of her shirt and pulled down the soft material. Great ridges of the prolific muscles cleaved as she flexed her chest muscles.
“Yes, I like your pecs. Show them to me.”
The film cut off at that point with me protesting, “But that’s not what happened.”
“Yes, Bill, we know.” The Assistant Superintendent of HR, Gloria Moore, a stern lady with a seemingly permanent upturned grin, even when delivering the news of one’s career-ending folly, replied.
“Then why are you showing me this?”
“Because it doesn’t look good and even though we’ve confirmed that this video has been edited the family is threatening to release it if we don’t give in to their terms.”
“But it didn’t happen that way and you know it, so why are you confronting me?”
“I understand your frustration, and you’re a great teacher so we’d like to keep you, but if I were you I’d accept the termination agreement.”
“But the union.”
“The union already agreed. They honestly fought hard for you and got you a pretty nice golden handshake. Retirement package at fifty with time served. It’s like you got a ten-year bonus.”
“But, I don’t want to retire. It’s not like I’m some dot com guy. I can’t explain retiring at 50.”
“Look at this as an opportunity to do something else.” And that was it. In defeat, I signed the papers, but that wasn’t the last time I’d watch the video. I’d watched my termination video many times since with regret and a bit of lust. The young eighteen-year-old blonde, Heather Quick, had entrapped me on a school Zoom after class during the pandemic angling for a higher grade. It was unsettling at the time, but seemingly harmless. To this day I remember both versions as truth. In my version -- reality, Heather, an athletic volleyball player who’d been on my team, was asking me about lifting.
“Do you like my muscles, Mr. Marks?”