The American Professor , livre ebook

The American Professor
Chloe Clarke
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-02-28
The American Professor About The Author Dedication Copyright Information © Synopsis Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26
About The Author
Chloe is a retired lab technician. She lived for many years in Oxford and now resides in Bristol with four grandchildren and two crazy dogs.
Dedication
To the late Alison who encouraged me when no one else did.
Copyright Information ©
Chloe Clarke (2020)
The right of Chloe Clarke to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528917049 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528961776 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Synopsis
Tom Di Angeli, the eponymous American Professor, is a young man with a great deal going for him. He is intelligent, good looking and attractive to women, but he has a problem. Because of traumas in his past life, he has an obsession for seeking out scruffy, low-life girls, preferably malodorous and having sex with them in the most sordid conditions possible. After giving in to his desires, he is hit with a wave of self-lacerating disgust. Wearying of this emotional seesaw, he takes a job in Britain, but quickly falls into his old ways again.
Meanwhile, he has fallen in love with the boss’s daughter, Elizabeth. She, however, because of her own trauma, has a strong aversion to Americans. She is also an inveterate tease, and enjoys picking up Tom and letting him down, meanwhile, doing the same to her long-term boyfriend, who keeps patiently proposing despite repeated refusals.
Ann Bone, one of the low-life girls, who he met in Chapter 1, by chance gets a job in his lab as a glassware washer. She recognises him at once and sees the chance for a little blackmail. She induces him to come to her bedsitter for sex and during this, her boyfriend, a photographer’s assistant, gets compromising pictures of them. He is now firmly in her power. She gets a better flat and compels him to pay her rent, but she wants much more than that. Seeing him as a member of the boss class, she sets out to abuse and humiliate him.
She has forbidden him to go out looking for girls like her, but one day he does, meets a girl, rescues her from her abusive boyfriend, meets her family, and finally gets involved in a street fight between the abusive boyfriend and his gang, and her brothers and their friends.
Realising that the girls he has been using are real people with needs and problems, at least, as strong as his own, he decides he must change and start by breaking off with Ann. She is furious, and posts her photograph all over the walls of his place of work and also sends some to Elizabeth who at once rejects him. With his life in ruins, he feels he must resign his job but Jill, his lab technician, who fell in love with him at first sight, but feels her chances are hopeless, persuades him that the only way is to stay and face things down. He decides she is the girl for him.
All the other protagonists find suitable partners and the story finishes with all ends neatly tied up.
Chapter 1
They came out of the pub and turned to walk up the dirty, littered street. A line of advertisement hoardings at one side hid a piece of waste ground and at the other was a row of dingy two storey terraced houses, some empty and abandoned with broken windows and gaping doorways through which piles of rubbish could be seen, others still occupied with curtains at the windows and lights on, keeping a brave toe-hold on life amid the destruction all around them.
A cold wind blew down the dark street and she shivered in her thin coat. She walked closer to him hoping to feel a little of his warmth, wishing she had something half so warm to wear on this freezing October night as the expensive looking overcoat he had on. After a few steps, she took his arm and pressed her shoulder against him, then twined her chilly fingers in his.
“Cold, sweetie?”
“Bloody freezing.”
They passed under a street lamp and walked on. At the other side of the road, a small group of young people, students from the technical college, approached and passed them as they made their way home.
They came to a road junction and turned left. The advertisement hoarding suddenly stopped, and the waste ground, littered with bricks and rubbish, was now edged by only a three-foot wall.
“You want to go in there?” he asked, indicating the waste ground with his head.
“What for?”
“What do you think?”
She considered then smiled back at him.
“All right.”
He climbed over the low wall then helped her over.
“This is nice. Most fellows would let me get over by myself.”
The waste ground was roughly L-shaped, part of it hidden from the road by the backs of houses. It was dark where the street light glare did not reach, and they headed that way, picking their path carefully through abandoned prams, bricks and other debris. Tussocks of coarse grass caught at their feet and the wind blew their hair around their eyes, making it even more difficult to see in the half-light. Once in the dark part, she felt around with her foot, trying to find somewhere without too much litter.
“You got a torch?”
“A what?”
“Oh, you Yanks call it some funny name or other. You know, a little light with a battery that you carry in your pocket.”
“A flashlight.”
“That’s right, what a stupid name! Have you got one?”
“Yes, here you are.”
“Find me a place, no broken glass.”
They searched around for a few minutes with the aid of the light till they found somewhere that would do.
“I’m not taking all my clothes off, mind you. Not in this wind.”
“I know. Just your panties.”
“Knickers, for pity’s sake,” she said, making a face at the word he used which sounded so unbearably twee to her British ears.
“All right, knickers, then. Can I put my hand down your front? It’s cold.”
“I’ll bet it is. All right, if you warm it first.”
He put his hands in his pockets and smiled as she got ready. He did like a girl who was not afraid to say what she wanted. She unbuttoned her coat, put her tights and knickers inside her shoes, and sat down on the grass.
“Hell, it’s cold. Come and warm me up a bit, Yank. Wrap that smashing coat round me.”
Just for a moment, he stood looking at her, anticipating the pleasure to come. Then he knelt down beside her and took her in his arms. He kissed her softly on the lips and whispered,
“You gonna be good to me?”
“Depends on what you want.”
“Just the usual. Nothing fancy.”
“Try me then.”
He lay on her and tucked the edges of his coat round her sides. She wriggled and sighed happily,
“Oh, that’s nice.”
Then he kissed her, open-mouthed, pushing his tongue in as far as he could. Her breath was stale, and smelt of cigarette smoke and beer. Her skin felt greasy and her hair smelt as if it had not been washed for a month. He was instantly aroused by her griminess. He buried his face in her hair as she murmured,
“Oh, you don’t half get me going, Yank. Kiss me like that again.”
She opened her mouth and felt his tongue exploring inside. Like being screwed at both ends, her cousin called it. He pushed his hands inside her clothes and found her small breasts. When he did, he was rewarded with a gush of sweat mixed with cheap perfume which increased his sense of arousal. Then he felt his way between her legs.
“What’s your name, Yank?” Up to now, they had addressed each other simply as Yank and Sweetie.
“Tom Bone,” he answered. The first was true, the second untrue. It was a name he had devised specially for his amorous adventures. It had a slightly absurd sound, he supposed because it sounded a little like trombone and girls often laughed at it. When they did, he felt as annoyed as if they had laughed at his real name. This girl did not laugh, though. She said,
“Don’t you want to know what mine is?”
That was the last thing he wanted. He preferred to think of the girls he picked up as just a body, not a person, so he could forget the whole sordid business quickly.
“Yes, sweetie, tell me.”
He felt he really ought to.
“Ann Bone.”
No wonder she hadn’t laughed! He had a momentary sense, almost of fear, as if he felt she now had some sort of gold over him.
“If a bobby finds us, I’ll tell him you’re my old man and we’re having it off here for a bit of a change.”
“Bobby?”
“Oh, cops they call them in the flicks.”
“Oh, yeah. Is one likely to come by?”
“I don’t think so. They’ve usually got enough to do, keeping an eye on the yobboes.”
“Thank God for that.”
“Come on, then, Tommy, aren’t you going to get on with it?”
“Don’t call me Tommy, I hate it.”
“I can’t call you Tom, that’s my Dad’s name.” Oh God, what next, he thought . “Tommy sounds friendlier, anyway.”
“Oh, all right, then.”
He started to work on her, making her yelp with delight. As he did so, she was thinking what a good job it was her Dad couldn’t see her now. Only last night, he’d smacked her round the face in a half-drunken rage when he’d found her kissing her boyfriend in the front passage. He hadn’t been so drunk, though, as not to wait till the chap had gone before he did it. He knew what mig