Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 NOTEBOOK EXCERPTS

   by Holly Rennick

   AUTHOR'S NOTES

   Here are four passages, a bit rewritten, which seemed worth preserving
from my original Writer's Notebook.  Having a hint of plot, the first is
perhaps a story.  The three remaining are just jottings.

   PRIVATE SCHOOLING

   POET'S CORNER

   SEXUAL SWIMMING

   AN ACADEMIC ELECTIVE

   If you've not met Cindi, she's a few stories unto herself.  Maybe from
her comments you'll see why she's my best friend.

   ********** PRIVATE SCHOOLING

   I like how the title connotes little darlings shielded from the sex,
drugs and videotapes fostered by public education.  We can't do corporal
punishment in schools.  They can at home, however.

   Maybe getting spanked would get a non-achiever up (Cindy says it works
for some guys) or maybe it would be the kiss.

   In this case (these tales always draw on the improbable) the family is
rich and the parents don't want their precious boy going to that
under-funded public dumping-ground.  But Father wants a licensed teacher to
oversee his son's education.

   Every kid makes goofs when Teacher is on the lookout.  Instruction is in
the study (of course) but for punishment time, Teacher sits on his bed. 
Spankings are over her lap, in line with what most kids receive, though not
at 13.

   Teacher rules that his jeans afford undue padding from the spank his
transgression merits.  Unbuckle.  From there, he'll soon have to remove his
jeans before bending over.  No reason; she's the teacher and it's not that
big of change.  She'll stand him underpants-clad before her while she
weighs how many swats are merited.

   Her kiss will still be the closure, of course.  (Public school faculty
can't kiss their students, either.) He'll not see punishment as uncaring if
it ends with a kiss.

   As she positions her charge for private punishment, he maybe sees her
bra.  It makes getting spanked a less austere.  Though they're alone in the
house, she has him shut the door.

   A few incidents later, him bent over her lap, it's easy for her to slip
his boxers down to spank his bare butt.  The next time, she pushes them to
his knees so she can swat properly.

   The blows aren't severe; they're for edification.  Teacher rubs his
backside a little between whacks to mitigate his discomfort.  She trails a
finger around his rectum now and then to watch it involuntarily contract.
Her skirt is sufficiently short to monitor his penis against her bare knee.

   Brushing against Teacher's chest, bouncing on her leg, feeling her
stroke between each slap, watching how her skirt works up, thinking of the
kiss will sooner or later excite his learning.

   When Teacher feels him erect, she alternates the spanks to rock him side
to side.  She wants him to accept it.

   Not long after, Teacher points him to the middle of the mattress.  He
has no choice but to stretch face down.  Matter-of-factly she pulls off his
shorts.  Rather than tossing them beside his other clothes, however, she
flips them behind her.  Rather than standing him afterwards to be kissed,
she turns him on the bed so that his pink erection pokes above his sparse
pubic hair.  Eyes on his, she leans to deliver the due caress.

   He's started shedding his shirt as well, though it was never specified
as part of the regimen.  At the end of a few such home schoolings, exposure
is part of being spanked.  He'd never be doing this, of course, but she's
his teacher.

   There's almost always a spelling error.  Five whacks.  Stripping takes
longer that the delivery.

   All of his friends are home-schooled, but he'd never tell his buddies
about ending up naked.  They wouldn't understand, Teacher tells him.  Their
teachers aren't licensed.

   Later her elbow nuzzles his admission.  She lets him close his eyes and
thrust involuntarily.  She lies flat while he crawls over her to retrieve
his underpants.

   At the end of a few more home schoolings, being touched and having to
get his underpants back is part of being spanked.

   For sure he'd never tell his buddies about bumping Teacher's tits.

   He's forgotten the capital of Oregon.  Six spanks earned.

   Teacher delivers five.

   He awaits his final swat when she slips free of her panties, wraps a leg
over him and rolls him against her.  His erection is against Teacher before
he knows who's where.

   He's never seen female pubic hair before, much less being pressed into
it.  In his confusion he softens and is worth zero.

   Next time maybe we should start with the kiss, Teacher rules.  It's
Salem.  Maybe you can earn extra credit.

   After a moment, she decides he's ready for the graduation ceremony.

   To make such an unlikely story interesting, contrast his emotion to her
manipulation.  For every line about action, another needs to explore
thought.

   Here's a draft of the aftermath written as a script.  "T" is Teacher and
"S" is student.
T: Oh, God!  What did you do?
S: I didn't do anything, ma'am.  I was just...
T: You didn't do anything?  Look down me!  Like your penis wasn't in
there?
S: I was getting my kiss and...
T: And you raped me.  You could go to jail!
S: No, ma'am!  I didn't.  Really.
T: You didn't?  You think I didn't come?
S: Please...
T: Well don't cry, at least.
S: I was just...
T: What were you thinking?
S: Please, ma'am, I didn't even...
T: Did you ejaculate?
S: Did I what?
T: Did you come inside me, like when you masturbate?
S: I don't...  I mean usually I don't.
T: Lie number two: everybody does.  Did you masturbate while you planned
how to rape me?
S: I never...
T: Like you weren't getting yourself ready?
S: No, ma'am.  You mean?
T: I mean getting hard like you like to get.  Your erection, that's the
proper name for it.  It's kind of hard not to notice, so there's lie number
three.
S: It happens when I get spanked.
T: Like it just happens that you try to see my panties?
S: I can't help it.
T: Or bra.  Do you make girls your own age have sex?  They're prettier.
S: You're pretty.  I've never even done it before, really, ma'am!
T: Being your first makes it OK?  Well, maybe you just lost control. 
So, did you climax?
S: I don't think so.  I mean, I hardly know what happened.
T: I know you did because you're all floppy now.  See?  Well, it doesn't
matter because I'm protected, thank God.  I barely did.
S: Did what?

   M.  Come.  You were way too quick.
S: We were just kissing, ma'am, and all of a sudden...
T: You were raping me, right?
S: It happened so fast.  I don't exactly remember everything.
T: You're stronger than I am.
S: I mean we were just kissing.  I got spanked for Oregon.
T: And you figured laying me made it even!
S: No, ma'am.  I didn't figure anything.  Maybe it just accidentally got
there.
T: You got your penis in me, alright.
S: What's going to happen?
T: We won't report it, I guess.  Your father would ask why and would be
quite displeased about your flubbing the geography test.
S: Thanks
T: Thank you, ma'am.
S: Thank you, ma'am.
T: But don't expect me to forget.  You can't forget getting laid.
S: I'm sorry, ma'am.  It really wasn't on purpose.
T: And don't think that you're too big for spankings, young man.  I've
half a mind to give you ten swats right now.  The least you can do is rub
my back to show you're sorry.  You hurt my backbone, I think.
S: Yes, ma'am.  Is this alright?
T: Yeah, good.  Reach up and undo the strap, but don't peek or anything,
as if it makes any difference now.  Pull the sheet over my butt, though.
S: I'll work harder, even.
T: Yeah, you were hard for sure.
S: I mean on Geography, ma'am.
T: Mine, probably.  I guess I'm not surprised.  When I was 14, I didn't
always know what I was doing.  Sometimes the guy just needs to get it off.
S: I didn't plan to.  Really!
T: Well, if you lose control, still remember the girl needs to get
something out of it.
S: Yes, ma'am.
T: Help her undress so her clothes don't get all messed up, that sort of
thing.
S: I'm sorry what happened.
T: And help her get in the mood.  You didn't want to be rough; I could
tell.
S: No, ma'am.
T: Don't worry.  You're pretty big, but not that big.
S: I'm sorry I didn't do it right.
T: No, no.  You did great!  95, we'll say.  You want the kiss that got
interrupted.
S: Sure.
T: Not like that.  You just laid me, remember?
S: I might, you know, get...
T: Another erection?
S: Yes, ma'am.
T: So say it.  It's a vocabulary word.
S: An erection.
T: It's natural: Ss let's try the kiss again.
S: Thanks for being cool.
T: You're just a kid.
S: Want me to take off your dress?  All the way, I mean, so you'd be
more comfortable.
T: Want to see my breasts?
S: Yes, ma'am.
T: Then say it.  It's biology.
S: I want to see your breasts.
T: Seen big ones before?
S: No, ma'am.
T: And if I say no, I get raped.  Right?
S: No, ma'am!
T: You're getting an erection?
S: Maybe a little one.
T: And you want to have sex.
S: Only if it's OK.
T: You can reach around and rub my front, but don't look.
S: You don't mind?
T: A girl always minds when a guy's going for it.
S: This OK?
T: Are you going to make me make do it again?
S: Yes, ma'am.  I'm stronger than you.  If you don't tell Father, I
mean.
T: You can trick an old teacher, smarty, but I still deliver spankings.
S: You're not old.
T: Well, school's not over.  Now about that kiss?
S: Yes, ma'am
T: School secret, OK?
S: Come on.  I won't take long.
T: Know the difference between rape and lovemaking?
S: No.
T: Twenty minutes.
S: Oh.
T: Get it?
S: I don't think so.
T: Let me be on top, then.
S: You're my teacher.
T: And your mother.

   ********** POET'S CORNER

   Maybe this title's already taken.  My publisher will check, if I get
one, that is.

   *

   "Raggedy Anne" by Holly Rennick

   Innocent, as my brother draws me to my bed.  Raggedy Anne smiles from
her shelf.

   Claimed, as my brother kisses my chaste lips.

   Proud, as my brother awakens my yet-emerging breast.

   Presented, as my brother disrobes me as a woman.  Raggedy Anne watches.

   Trusting, as my brother lays me back.

   Hesitant, as my brother lets me look.  Raggedy Ann looks as well.

   Trusted, as my brother maneuvers his manhood into my awkward hand.

   Loved, as my brother prepares me, hips on pillow, moist where he
ventures.

   Loving, as my brother lets me prepare him.  I do well.

   Supple, as my brother parts my thighs for initiation.

   Welcoming, as my brother parts my truculence.  Raggedy Anne thinks of
Raggedy Andy.

   Brave, as my brother brings me pain.

   Ample, as my brother arrives.

   Wanton, as my brother feeds what's latent.

   Satiated, as my brother fulfills me, pubescent fantasy made real.

   Celebratory, as my brother enjoys love in return.

   Validated, as my brother gasps, siblings now wet together.

   Possessive, as my brother shrinks and slips free.

   Content, as my brother rests his head on my heaving chest.  Raggedy Anne
won't tell.

   Secure, as my brother speaks of tomorrow.  Raggedy Anne will be there
too.

   *

   Here's what I'd say at a reading, maybe at a Women-in-the-Arts
conference where we self-esteem.

   "Hello.  Hello.  Is this thing on?  Okay?  Okay.  Thank you for coming.
Let me be honest, lest you think I spew lyric.  It was over an entire
weekend that I developed my thoughts in my Writer's Notebook.  Writing,
like everything else, takes work.  English, an amalgamated language, often
has approximately-equivalent Romance language and Germanic language root
words.  "Satiated" would be the former.  Think "-ion.  Satiation's a word."
Something a bit more abrupt like "filled" would be Northern European. 
Romantic usually works best in poetry.  Being structured, not free verse,
is just me, women, but we're each different in our own uniqueness.

   "Poetry reminds us, as women, what simple words really mean.  Take, for
example, the fifth line where "lay" means to recline in the transitive
sense.  Thus "getting laid" which we commonly equate to copulation actually
refers to being positioned as the subjugate partner.  Take that, fraternity
boys!

   "My poem's about our wedding night, not the bond of marriage, but when
we're first our brother's bride.  It's the meat of a romantic novel, women.
Thank you.  I'll be glad to sign copies at the table."

   *

   I'd not add this to my speech, but "romantic novel" means the title's in
raised silver by the grocery checkout.  Probably not with your brother,
though, if it's sold beside Women's Day.  Safeway would have company
policy. My revised-for-supermarket-sales narrator would be a scullery maid
who's taught herself to read by the light of a taper.  He'd be the Earl's
youngest son who dreams of freedom.  They'll sail to France (never Germany)
in the sunset chapter.  Six weeks to write.  Just one culmination in the
whole novella.  Smothered with similes.  Mammoth metaphor.  5000 copies a
month.  At 10 percent, I'm rich!

   When I read my poem to Cindi, she liked how I worked in Raggedy Anne. 
Girlfriends understand stories unspoken.

   Next day she recited her poem that, as she pointed out, actually rhymes.

   "Sexual Poem" by Cindi Barton

   If you are a loyal sis,

   Give your bro a Frenchy kiss.

   'Cause you'll never find another

   Who'll screw as sweetly as your brother.

   A Cindi classic!  AABB.  She was pretty proud.  She pointed out that as
I couldn't do a chemical equation, scientists have a more well-rounded
education than do language majors.  Perhaps.

   ********* SEXUAL SWIMMING

   Remember the soul oldie "Sexual Healing" by Marvin Gaye?  Cindi says
that after she heard it, she'd beg, "Oh, doctor!  I'm so sick.  Please make
me better?"

   Sexual Swimming's more interesting.

   Cindi's little strawberries are a maroon shade, no secret in her
casually-cinched bikini.  She has this theory about swimming that everybody
gets to play with everything.

   We always associate with the specifics of our coming of age.  If there
was a song on the car radio, that tune still gets you thinking about his
zipper.  If your first orgasm happened at summer camp, you remember the
campfire song.  Keep in mind that Cindi came of age on a beach outing.

   Swimming and sex are associated by fashion conspiracy, Cindi figures. 
(Of course, she also sees conspiracy between McDonald's and Burger King to
make milkshakes from mine tailings.) Speedo trunks.  Bikini bottoms cut
exactly to where you shave.  (I thus need a wide cut.) Remember when tops
just revealed nipple shape when the water was cold?  These new synthetics
Technicolor your areole.  They even sell net tops.  Those baggy trunks that
cling around a guy's cock when he climbs out!  He'll towel off right there
in front of you.  Guys never have erections after doing laps, though,
opposite to us.

   We help out, of course.  Undo your strap to tan your back and get on
your elbows to look around.  Cindi makes me do it if we're where we don't
know anybody.  Watch some centerfold type lift her waistband enough while
she Coppertones her tan line.  Guys line up their Spandexed equipment due
north.  If there is an outside shower, swimmers pull their elastic out to
let in both fresh water and furtive peeks.  There's a lot to see at the
pool.

   Cindi's right about the touching part, too.  Getting tossed around in
the shallow end, every part of you bumps every part of him.  There's
piggyback at the 4-foot where he sits on your shoulders and your head makes
him hard.  Or you get on him and he teases you.  He'll ask you for date
later, presuming that you're always like that.  It's just the pool.

   Watch a breaststroke lesson.  You know exactly where the instructor is
going to support the pubescent girls.  Or watch a Junior Lifesaving
instructor fondle each right breast to teach the cross-chest carry.  The
girls queue up for it because they can bump his penis.  If the teacher's
female, she'll have the boy students hold breast.  When I took lessons, the
lady teacher held this guy to learn the backstroke and he got a boner
because every stroke bumped her.  She steered him around where all us girls
could see.  His name was Ray, so we'd refer to him as Raised, but not to
him directly.  It wasn't his fault.

   Cindi and I saw this maybe-13-year-old get this guy twice her age to
drag her around so she could practice the frog kick.  She held him around
his waist until she could drop her wrist to where it counted.  Cindi knew
she would.  He spent a good ten minutes just floating her around where his
waist was just submerged.  It's hard to see below the surface.  She was
grinning like a jack-o-lantern.

   Or watch couples lotion each other, fingertips accessing where the sun
never will.  Under his balls, for example.  Watch guys bury a girl in the
sand or girls bury a guy.  Either way, they get petted.  I've never seen
anyone mind getting buried.

   Take a couple carloads of high-schoolers, both kinds, on a Saturday. 
Would they take off their pants to play badminton?  Hardly.  To play
croquet?  Nope.  To go skinny-dipping?  In a minute!  After they re-dress,
the boys go right back to sneaking neckline peeks and the girls go right
back to keeping knees together.

   Cindi has about 15 rules about sex under water.  "It's better if you're
holding onto something fixed, not just floating." Or, "Unless you're sure
there'll be absolutely nobody else in the pool, wear a two piece?" Duhh,
why's that, Cindi?  Like it you'd even feel it?

   At River Sands, I watched Cindi expose her little orbs about 12 inches
from a guy's nose, lotion his thigh and run her elbow back and forth over
his crotch, all at the same time.  She just had some extra SPF-12 coconut
and we were leaving.  He was kind of a pudgy guy, maybe 35.  Cindi nodded
me where to block the view from the lifeguard tower.  Her arm held down his
suit so his erection wasn't that obvious.  She rumpled my towel over him
before he climaxed.  She knew I'd be okay about it being my towel.  To me
the story's not erotic; it's about being nice.  It wasn't as if doing a guy
made her orgasm as well.  He smiled goodbye to me too.

   Most big pools have a little pool for kids.  It's a good chance to chat
with moms your own age.  We admit we envy each other.  Plus swimming's safe
exercise, not like jogging where you wreck your knees.  Plus you get a tan.
Plus you can read.

   So it's more than just Cindi's theory about swimming and sex.  Hanging
out at the pool frees you up to enjoy yourself.

   ********* AN ACADEMIC ELECTIVE

   You and your work become one you if you keep the same job too long.  I
do love language.

   My Subject Idea: "Composition about Sexual Awakening" for kids that are,
in fact, awakening.

   We'd do grammar, vocab building, etc.  "Today we'll talk about similes
and metaphors.  Let's have ideas describing something long and hard. 
Please not steel shaft."

   Look at Victorian literature, for example.  Here are a couple of lines
from "Miss Coote's Confession, or the Voluptuous Experiences of an Old
Maid" published the leading erotic publication of the Victorian Age: "You
have a dear little cunt, very fat and plump.  But I wonder you have much
hair on it.  How old are you, Nina?" She replies, "Just 15, sir."

   We'd face the social pressures of today.  "If a person doesn't want to
do it, that's rad too.  How could a friend help him or her still feel
included?" (My class idea is dead in the water if the committee sees any
sexist language.)

   I'd make theme analysis something worth thinking about.  "Which makes
the better story sequence?  One minute for a home run or 5 blouse buttons
at 12 seconds per?  Bra underneath.  David and Laura, come on up and show
us how that would work."

   Student-teacher conferences for sure.  "Don't worry, Luke.  You're still
growing.  By the way, do you do yard work on Saturdays?"

   We'd look at the painting "Venus and Cupid" (1531) by Lucas Cranach the
Elder.  (I've posted the picture at
/files/Authors/Holly_Rennick/Venus_and_Cupid.jpg.)

   "Now boys, here's your essay topic.  We see goddess of love Venus draped
with a strip of Saran Wrap.  They apparently had this in 1531.  Women are
sexier wearing just a tad.  High heels especially.  And here's her boy
Cupid.  But where's the rosy-cheek cherub?  He's got a weapon.  Where's he
looking?  Why's he on a platform?  What did Sigmund Freud discover about
mother and sons?  Look up Oedipus Rex in your index.  Greek classic.  It's
natural for you both.  Okay, girls, check out Cupid.  If that doesn't work,
how else can he help his mom?"

   Implicit in "seduction" is the notion of a victim, the passive object of
someone else's control.  But what about at Capton Springs when we're all
equal?  We'll get into postmodernism.

   We'd work on point-of view.  "Okay, kids.  Let's discuss how the same
first-se scene would look from the eyes of the three characters: the
girl's, the boy's, their Mom's when she walks down the hall.

   The subject's interdisciplinary and has a Life Skills component.

   Our text: "Sexual Submission in Creative Writing, an Anthology", Holly
Rennick, Ed.  Oh, the liberty of fantasy!

   There's so much from which to choose.  For example, Sir Walter Raleigh
("I throw this humble cloak over yon puddle, oh Queen Bess") was ruthless
(twice jailed in his youth), conceited and greedy.  Here's John Aubrey's
account of Raleigh spied having his Lordly way with a fair maid against a
tree.

   "Nay, sweet Walter!  Oh, sweet Walter," she protested weakly, but "as
the danger and pleasure at the same time grew higher, she cried in ecstasy.
She proved with child."

   No porn, though.  Here's why.  "You're swimming alone at your favorite
secluded spot in the river.  You're totally nude because you forgot your
postage-stamp bikini.  The cold water makes your 38D's feel great.  You lie
on your blanket, rub your sweet melons for delight and feel the beginnings
of rush between your thighs.  You juice your sweetness until your pink
blushes.  Suddenly you hear a noise and look up.  A man in a mask!" There's
so much Internet trash that a quality analogy might prove difficult.

   Or how Malcolm X practiced used black girls for rape practice says a lot
about racism.  My anthology would be about the big picture.

   The way I see it, the rape theme plays to a women's-lib solidarity
credential, "Another Angry Rape Survivor" for the braless march.  I know a
music teacher who was "mentally raped" when her flute teacher had her hold
her elbow horizontal and rubbed against it with the rhythm.  She remembered
her repressed memory after they caught her showing a boy how to hold his
sax.  Wait a minute!  Would you sit there, flute Washington Post March with
repeats and then at the last bar notice what you'd been drumming?  You'd
remember it.

   So maybe I should title it, "Repressed Victimization and Sexual
Submission in Creative Writing".

   If I start filling out the syllabus, I'd probably masturbate myself
loony and never finish the formwork.  My Sexual Awakening class will never
happen, but I'm dead serious that it would help kids' verbal skills.

   *

   Cindi wants to team-teach, to cover procreative physiology.  "Lab
partners.  Discuss boys' and girls' organs that operate the same, but look
different.  You can experiment.  Oh, Carlos.  Shanna's at the dentist this
afternoon, so I'll be your partner."

   Cindi says Darwinian Rape is already invented by evolutionary
biologists. Survival of the best seed-spreaders, like why burrs are sticky.

   Cindi knows all sorts of science experiments involving condoms: weather
balloons, for example.

   Male PE teachers chose their profession to see little nipples; female PE
teachers, to see jock straps.  We wouldn't want a PE teacher pitching in
because we don't see sex as a mid-school sport.  But that's just our
opinion.

   Here's a short story idea.  Curvaceous coach uses a left-behind
sweatshirt as excuse to enter the boys' locker room.  The team demands she
shower for them or they'll file a sexual harassment complaint.  Capton
Springs just had an assembly about the paperwork.  She faintly protests,
then agrees, but just to her underwear, a violet set she'd chosen for the
occasion.  Coach will extradite herself at the opportune moment, leaving
them spurting on the locker-room benches.

   She does a provocative shed of her designer gym suit, considering
there's not a lot of fabric to tease with.  She doesn't mind her sports bra
getting wet, but hadn't quite anticipated the shower's effect on her
undies. The boys chant for more.  Coerced beyond her perfect 10 come-on,
she grudgingly sheds the rest with less finesse.  A boy who'd seemed well
behaved in kickball pulls down his gym shorts and says he's the captain. 
PE teacher's now worried.  Then they push PE teacher into the towel room
and take turns.  A rather dark tale, but I'm feeling bitchy.

   THE END

   Holly on the Web

   Wherever you found this piece on the web, thank you to the server.  My
problem is that I've no systematic way to update the various servers.  As
literary errors (or just poor word usages) are made known to me, I'll
repair that which is salvageable on /~Holly_Rennick/.
My website's not much graphically, I admit, but HTML isn't my native
language.  If you take the time to read me, don't wade through older
version.

   You can contact me via the site's message form, HTML code by the smart
people at ASSTR.
   Holly