14
Melanie's fingers danced over the keyboard of her professor's vintage Smith-Corona typewriter. It was the machine he had written all of his poems on, the same poems she discovered when she was just nine-years-old. The words the Spanish poet had written far across the sea, had somehow managed to find their way into the hands of the little Iowa girl, thanks to her local library. She was obsessed over anything written by Dr. Armando Fontaine with the same intensity a junkie longs for just one more hit. His words had been her drug and they flowed like a river through her veins. Now, nearly ten years later, the poet was her professor and - more importantly - her lover. He had deflowered her, making her into the woman that now sat in this New York City hotel room, frantically pounding the ke
