Perhaps my "praise" of his writing abilities is under the influence
of fancy, particularly of the sexual nature. While fucking men for
money, I wasn't shy, but today, after the class had filed away, I
found myself embarrassed, making excuses for my words, "I think I
overstepped my bounds," I respond.
"You sound like my parents," he tells me.
I'm instantly ashamed. Parents? Surely, I don't come across as patronizing.
(The wine helps lubricate the joints of creativity.)
"I meant that as a compliment," the English instructor assures me. "I love my parents."
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