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I couldn’t quite identify the slurred accent on so few words, and he wasn’t volunteering to talk more.“I don’t repair computers,” I answered. “I can give you the names of a couple of repair shops if you’d like.”“No,” he said. He seemed to be struggling for words. This hulking man was not used to communicating with people in words, that much I could tell. “Stuff inside. I want it on a record.”“A record?” I realized that I was dealing with a man who wasn’t stupid, but didn’t speak English all that well. “You mean a CD?” I reached into Riley’s top drawer and pulled out a CD to show him an example. He nodded his head vigorously. “You want me to get the data off the hard drive and burn it on a CD?” Again he nodded and then shook his head.“Not burn. Give me.” I nodded this time.“It’s just an expression,” I answered. “What sort of data am I looking for?” He didn’t seem to understand. “E-mail? Word processing? Spreadsheets?” He nodded at all of them then held up a finger and after struggling. Of course she could have been reading from the phone book and I’d have liked it, the way she’d unconsciously toy with the button on her blouse as she read, letting it slip open in the final line of a poem. After the reading I headed out of the auditorium, but being unfamiliar with the old, hallowed halls of the English Department, I looked for a restroom and got lost in a maze of small offices and tiny classrooms. I heard some talking coming from one and wandered in, quietly sitting in a seat at the back of the room. I was mesmerized as Anne read, losing myself in her works, in the way she moved and in the way her blouse’s buttons, one by one somehow came undone. Before long it was just her and I, I was in my underwear, she wore only her bra and a half-slip. Each poem now was just another step in the seduction as her words slipped past my waistband and curled around my cock. There were no MILFs in those days, happily no AIDS as Anne’s words slid over my body more sensuously than any.
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