if you would mind going over them with me.”
He hesitated a moment. “This is unusual, but…very well.”
Mr. Janson liked Honey. She was not like the other girls in his class. They were raucous and indifferent, while Honey was sensitive and caring, always eager toplease. He wished that she had more of an aptitude for mathematics.
Mr. Janson sat next to Honey on the couch and began to explain the arcane intricacies of logarithms.
Honey was not interested in logarithms. As Mr. Janson talked, Honey moved closer and closer to him. She started breathing on his neck and into his ear, and before he knew what was happening, Mr. Janson found that his pants were unzipped.
He was looking at Honey in astonishment. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you,” Honey said. She opened her purse and took out a small can of whipped cream.
“What’s that?”
“Let me show you…”
Honey received an A in math.
It was not only the accessories Honey used that made her so popular. It was the knowledge she had gleaned from all the ancient books on erotica she had read. She delighted her partners with techniques they had never even dreamed of, that were thousands of years old, and long forgotten. She brought a new meaning to the word “ecstasy.”
Honey’s grades improved dramatically, and she was suddenly even more popular than her sisters had been in their high school days. Honey was dined at the Private Eye and the Bombay Bicycle Club, and taken to the Ice Capades at the Memphis Mall. The boys took her skiing at Cedar Cliff and sky diving at Landis Airport.
Honey’s years at college were just as successful socially. At dinner one evening, her father said, “You’ll begraduating soon. It’s time to think about your future. Do you know what you want to do with your life?”
She answered immediately. “I want to be a nurse.”
Her father’s face reddened. “You mean a doctor.”
“No, Father. I…”
“You’re a Taft. If you want to go into medicine, you’ll be a doctor. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Father.”
Honey had meant it when she told her father she wanted to be a nurse. She loved taking care of people, helping them and nurturing them. She was terrified by the idea of becoming a doctor, and being responsible for people’s lives. But she knew that she must not disappoint her father. You’re a Taft.
Honey’s college grades were not good enough to get her into medical school, but her father’s influence was. He was a heavy contributor to a medical school in Knoxville, Tennessee. He met with Dr. Jim Pearson, the dean.
“You’re asking for a big favor,” Pearson said, “but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll admit Honey on a probationary basis. If at the end of six months we feel she’s not qualified to continue, we’ll have to let her go.”
“Fair enough. She’s going to surprise you.”
He was right.
Honey’s father had made arrangements for her to stay in Knoxville with a cousin of his, the Reverend Douglas Lipton.
Douglas Lipton was the minister of the Baptist Church. He was in his sixties, married to a woman ten years older.
The minister was delighted to have Honey in the house.
“She’s like a breath of fresh air,” he told his wife.
He had never seen anyone so eager to please.
Honey did fairly well in medical school, but she lacked dedication. She was there only to please her father.
Honey’s teachers liked her. There was a genuine niceness about her that made her professors want her to succeed.
Ironically, she was particularly weak in anatomy. During the eighth week, her anatomy teacher sent for her. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to fail you,” he said unhappily.
I can’t fail , Honey thought. I can’t let my father down. What would Boccaccio have advised?
Honey moved closer to the professor. “I came to this school because of you. I had heard so much about you.” She moved closer to him. “I want to be like you.”
He hesitated a moment. “This is unusual, but…very well.”
Mr. Janson liked Honey. She was not like the other girls in his class. They were raucous and indifferent, while Honey was sensitive and caring, always eager toplease. He wished that she had more of an aptitude for mathematics.
Mr. Janson sat next to Honey on the couch and began to explain the arcane intricacies of logarithms.
Honey was not interested in logarithms. As Mr. Janson talked, Honey moved closer and closer to him. She started breathing on his neck and into his ear, and before he knew what was happening, Mr. Janson found that his pants were unzipped.
He was looking at Honey in astonishment. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you,” Honey said. She opened her purse and took out a small can of whipped cream.
“What’s that?”
“Let me show you…”
Honey received an A in math.
It was not only the accessories Honey used that made her so popular. It was the knowledge she had gleaned from all the ancient books on erotica she had read. She delighted her partners with techniques they had never even dreamed of, that were thousands of years old, and long forgotten. She brought a new meaning to the word “ecstasy.”
Honey’s grades improved dramatically, and she was suddenly even more popular than her sisters had been in their high school days. Honey was dined at the Private Eye and the Bombay Bicycle Club, and taken to the Ice Capades at the Memphis Mall. The boys took her skiing at Cedar Cliff and sky diving at Landis Airport.
Honey’s years at college were just as successful socially. At dinner one evening, her father said, “You’ll begraduating soon. It’s time to think about your future. Do you know what you want to do with your life?”
She answered immediately. “I want to be a nurse.”
Her father’s face reddened. “You mean a doctor.”
“No, Father. I…”
“You’re a Taft. If you want to go into medicine, you’ll be a doctor. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Father.”
Honey had meant it when she told her father she wanted to be a nurse. She loved taking care of people, helping them and nurturing them. She was terrified by the idea of becoming a doctor, and being responsible for people’s lives. But she knew that she must not disappoint her father. You’re a Taft.
Honey’s college grades were not good enough to get her into medical school, but her father’s influence was. He was a heavy contributor to a medical school in Knoxville, Tennessee. He met with Dr. Jim Pearson, the dean.
“You’re asking for a big favor,” Pearson said, “but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll admit Honey on a probationary basis. If at the end of six months we feel she’s not qualified to continue, we’ll have to let her go.”
“Fair enough. She’s going to surprise you.”
He was right.
Honey’s father had made arrangements for her to stay in Knoxville with a cousin of his, the Reverend Douglas Lipton.
Douglas Lipton was the minister of the Baptist Church. He was in his sixties, married to a woman ten years older.
The minister was delighted to have Honey in the house.
“She’s like a breath of fresh air,” he told his wife.
He had never seen anyone so eager to please.
Honey did fairly well in medical school, but she lacked dedication. She was there only to please her father.
Honey’s teachers liked her. There was a genuine niceness about her that made her professors want her to succeed.
Ironically, she was particularly weak in anatomy. During the eighth week, her anatomy teacher sent for her. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to fail you,” he said unhappily.
I can’t fail , Honey thought. I can’t let my father down. What would Boccaccio have advised?
Honey moved closer to the professor. “I came to this school because of you. I had heard so much about you.” She moved closer to him. “I want to be like you.”
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