Liv Revamped: My Big Anal Gaping!

Liv is hard at work on her dissertation and she dreams about Anal Gape, and in desperate need of a break. Maybe the guy she’s tutoring can help this grad student loosen up.

The stack of books on her desk had grown from precarious to dangerous, towering like a paper city threatening to collapse at any moment. Liv stared at her laptop screen, where a blinking cursor mocked her for the thousandth time. Three years of doctoral work, hundreds of sources read and annotated, thousands of words written and deleted, and she was still stuck on the same chapter that had defeated her six months ago.

Her advisor’s voice echoed in her memory: “The dissertation is a marathon, not a sprint. You need to pace yourself.” Easy for him to say. He’d finished his marathon decades ago and now spent his days offering platitudes to students who were drowning.

Liv pushed back from her desk, rubbed her eyes, and checked her phone. Three missed calls from her mother, two from friends she’d been ignoring for weeks, and a text from someone named Alex: “Looking forward to our session today. I actually did the reading this time.”

The tutoring. She’d forgotten. Twice a week, she met with undergraduate students who needed help with their writing assignments. It was supposed to be a break from her own work, a chance to remember that she actually knew things, that she could help other people succeed even if her own progress was stalled.

Today’s session was with Alex, a senior who’d struggled through the first half of the semester but had started showing real improvement. He was smart—smarter than he gave himself credit for—and he had a way of asking questions that made Liv think about her own work differently.

She gathered her materials and headed to the library, grateful for any excuse to leave her apartment.

Alex was already there, settled at their usual table near the window. He looked up when she approached, and something in his expression shifted—warmth, maybe, or recognition. He was good-looking in an unassuming way, the kind of guy who probably didn’t realize how often people noticed him.

“Hey, Liv.” He pushed a coffee toward her. “I brought you this. Figured you could use it.”

She blinked, surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But you always look tired when you get here, and I wanted to say thanks for all the help.” He shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “Also, I finished my paper early and had time.”

Liv sat, wrapping her hands around the warm cup. “You finished early? That’s a first.”

“Your fault. You made it actually interesting.” He pulled out his laptop, but his eyes stayed on her. “You okay? You seem… distracted.”

She almost gave the standard answer—fine, busy, dissertation stress, you know how it is. But something about the way he was looking at her, genuinely curious rather than politely concerned, made her want to be honest.

“I’ve been stuck on the same chapter for months. Every time I think I’ve figured it out, I realize I haven’t.” She sipped the coffee—perfect, exactly how she liked it. “I’m starting to think I’m not cut out for this.”

Alex’s expression softened. “That’s ridiculous. You’re the smartest person I know.”

“You know, like, five people.”

“Still counts.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What’s the chapter about?”

Liv hesitated. She never talked about her research with undergraduates—it felt pretentious, like showing off. But Alex was looking at her with genuine interest, and the coffee was warm in her hands, and she was so tired of being alone with her own doubts.

“It’s about narrative theory. How stories shape our understanding of identity. I’m arguing that the way we tell our own stories actually changes who we become.” She laughed, self-conscious. “It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.”

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous. It sounds important.” Alex considered her for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“The story you tell yourself about being stuck—what if it’s wrong? What if you’re not stuck, you’re just… processing? Letting things settle so the next part can come?” He shrugged. “I don’t know anything about dissertations. But I know that when I try too hard to force something, it never works. I have to step back, breathe, let it come to me.”

Liv stared at him. No one had ever put it that way. Everyone—her advisor, her peers, the books she’d read—talked about persistence, about pushing through, about the importance of writing every day no matter what. No one had ever suggested that stepping back might be exactly what she needed.

“When did you get so wise?” she asked.

“Having you as a tutor. You talk about your research sometimes, when you’re not thinking about it. It’s always the same pattern—you get excited about an idea, chase it hard for a while, then hit a wall. But the wall never lasts. A few days later, you’re excited about something new.” He smiled. “I’ve been watching you figure things out for months. You’re not stuck. You’re just between breakthroughs.”

Liv felt something loosen in her chest. “That’s… incredibly perceptive.”

“I’m a senior. I’ve had a lot of time to observe.” He closed his laptop. “Forget the tutoring session today. Let’s just talk. Tell me about your research—the parts that actually excite you. Not the chapter you’re stuck on. The ideas that made you want to do this in the first place.”

She should have said no. Should have stuck to the schedule, helped him with his paper, retreated back to her apartment and her tower of books. Instead, she started talking.

The words came faster than they had in months. She told him about the theorists who’d changed her thinking, the questions that kept her awake at night, the moments of clarity that made all the struggle worthwhile. Alex listened, asked questions, pushed back on some points and celebrated others. By the time they looked up, the library was closing and they were the only ones left.

“Wow.” Liv checked her phone, shocked to find that three hours had passed. “I’m so sorry. I completely hijacked our session.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Alex gathered his things, walking with her toward the exit. “That was the best tutoring session I’ve ever had. I actually understand what you’re working on now. And I stand by what I said—you’re going to finish this dissertation and it’s going to be amazing.”

Outside, the night air was cool and clean. They stood for a moment on the library steps, neither quite ready to leave.

“Can I ask you something?” Liv said.

“Sure.”

“Why do you care? About my research, I mean. Most undergrads just want to get their papers done and move on.”

Alex was quiet for a moment. Then: “Because you’re the first person who’s ever made me think that ideas actually matter. Not just grades, not just requirements—ideas. You talk about your work like it’s alive, like it’s something you’re discovering rather than something you’re manufacturing.” He met her eyes. “I want to be around that. It makes me want to be that kind of person too.”

Liv felt her heart shift. “Alex…”

“I know. You’re my tutor. There are boundaries.” He smiled, a little sad. “I’m not asking for anything. I just wanted you to know that you matter. Not your dissertation, not your progress, not your productivity. You. The person who gets excited about narrative theory and drinks terrible coffee and looks at the world like it’s full of questions worth asking.”

He stepped back, giving her space. “Good luck with the chapter. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

He walked away before she could respond, disappearing into the night. Liv stood on the library steps, heart pounding, mind racing.

She’d come here desperate for a break from her dissertation. She hadn’t expected to find someone who saw her more clearly than she saw herself.

The next morning, she opened her laptop and started writing. The words came—not easily, not perfectly, but they came. And somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Alex’s voice: You’re not stuck. You’re just between breakthroughs.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she was closer than she thought. Maybe all she needed was someone to remind her why she’d started in the first place.

She wrote until the sun set, then wrote some more. And on Tuesday, when she walked into the library and saw Alex waiting at their usual table, she smiled in a way that had nothing to do with tutoring.

“Hey,” she said, sitting across from him. “I finished the chapter.”

His face lit up. “I knew you would.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” She reached across the table, her hand finding his. “Thank you.”

Alex’s fingers closed around hers, warm and steady. “Anytime.”

They talked for hours—about her chapter, his paper, everything and nothing. The boundaries were still there, still real. But something had shifted. Something that felt like possibility.

For the first time in months, Liv wasn’t thinking about her dissertation. She was thinking about a boy who saw her clearly, who believed in her when she couldn’t believe in herself, who’d helped her find her way back to the work she loved.

The dissertation would get finished. It would be good—she knew that now. But more importantly, she’d learned something she’d forgotten: that she wasn’t alone. That connection mattered. That sometimes, the best thing for your work was stepping away from it long enough to remember why you started.

She squeezed Alex’s hand and smiled.

“Tell me about your paper.”