This wasn't her first time being late, and it wouldn't be the last either. Cursing numerous epithets as she rushed to get ready, Joanna made a note to...destroy the alarm clock when she got back home.Rushing into the bathroom with clothes in hand, Joanna flicked the lights on and saw herself in the mirror. Curves, dark brown hair and blue eyes stared back. She had been working on herself lately, going to the gym as often as possible. She wasn't perfect of course, but she was getting there in her. Then the Judge even started to throw out that evidence, but my Attorney pointed out it was all public record and could also be used in the divorce action. The Judge was smart enough to see that something like that could rear its head up at the least opportune time.Especially since there was no way to put gag on things already publically released that anyone could and may have already obtained. Since he wasn't the one to hear the divorce request he wasn't sure he wanted to try to rule on. I will look for this in your story, and if I cannot find it, I will fail you." What she didn't realize is that a good short story seldom works this way. She was stuck in the rigid conformity to the linear that the educational system encourages, unable to think outside of its structure, or to venture into the fields of her own thoughts.In my first year of university, one of my lecturers was a best-selling Australian author. And in the first class of Effective Writing, when we got into the topic. It slid out an inch. “What are you doing?”“Getting your naughty cunt so hot and wet, Mrs. Abboud,” I groaned. I nipped her clit.She gasped.The bottle slid free a little more.My tongue swirled around her clit. I gripped the bottle in both hands, pulling harder. Her pussy sucked at it. She gasped and moaned, her face twisting, her headscarf shifting. Some of her black hair spilled out as she groaned and thrashed, the stirrups squeaking. More and more of the bottle came out, streaked with her.