“Miss Havers?”
“Yeah?” I asked. I zoned out. Fuck me. I have no idea what’s going on.
The teacher paced the front of the classroom. Classroom being an over-kind term: it was really just a bland, white jail cell. Trapped, we were all trapped and being brainwashed to believe that the Pythagorean Theorem would get us somewhere in life. Right. Like I’ll ever use that shit when I leave this cell.
“Miss Havers?”
“I didn’t hear the question,” I mocked. Go me! It’s your birthday! You sound like you actually give a shit.
“Miss Havers, did you hear anything I said?”
I shrugged. Fucking professors, think they’re all mightier than fucking God. Especially this one, whatever the fuck his name is. He wrote it on the board, somewhere. I think that was thirteen hours ago when class began. Ugh. I just want to tear my hair out. What possessed me to sign up for a three-hour math class on Saturdays? This really sucks the giant-
“Psst.”
I had to bite my lip and try not to shriek. Someone behind me was tapping me. What the fuck? I don’t know any of these fuckers. I’m new here. Freshman, hello! Leave me the fuck alone and keep thy hands to thyself. That’s the rule, kids. Stick to it.
“Psst.”
This fucker isn’t going to relent. So I just try to unceremoniously pivot my body in this ridiculously cramped desk and see what this toadstool wants. Why the fuck do they always find me? Fucking freaks. I hate them all.
“What did he say about next week?” this kid questions. I gotta give him the look over before I can think. I’m a young, horny female after all. Presumably, he’s horny too because he’s got a cock. Cocks are always hard, right? In college, anyhow. In a few years, they’ll always be soft. Might as well take advantage while I can.
So anyhow, what the fuck does this kid want? He’s staring at me and I’ve totally forgotten. He’s gorgeous. Fucking unkempt black hair swept forward on his tan forehead, deep brown eyes. An adorable lopsided smile, big ears. He must be a softy; I always fall for the softies. They never wanna fuck, always want to make love. What the fuck? This is college. Get over yourselves. Ahem. I was saying. He’s wearing this precious little argyle sweater vest over a white button shirt and black slacks. Cute. I like it. It’s a bit nerdy, kind of emo but it works for him. I usually like bad boys but hey, a little variety never hurt anyone. Variety is the spice of life, after all.
“What did he say about next week?” he repeats. “I was taking notes but he was talking too fast.”
I shrug. How the fuck should I know? I was too busy plotting the demise of Western Civilization and now I’m too busy trying to see-through your sweater vest, hottie. Fuck, I can’t say that to him. Clear throat, breath. “I didn’t catch what he said.”
He stares at me quizzically and then to my blank notebook. “Did you copy down any notes?”
“No.”
“How are you going to pass?” he questions, mesmerized by the empty sheet of lined paper. He’s staring at it like it’s a fucking diamond in the rough. What the fuck? Alright, schoolboy, take your eyes off my notebook.
I shrug.
“Sorry,” he frowns, eyes downcast. “I just really need to pass this course.”
“So do I,” I smirked, biting down on the end of my pen. I do that when I’m sexually frustrated, you know? It’s a bad habit. I’m a bad habit. Maybe schoolboy will let me be his-
“Miss Havers, Mister Milson,” the school marm drones as he lords over us. “Congratulations, you are now a study group.”
“What?” I stammer, staring at schoolboy. He’s continuing to stare like a lost puppy dog. Fucking great! I get paired with a fucking loser. He’s probably going to leave class and run upstairs to the library and study. That is, until his Chess Club meeting. What the fuck? Why am I being subjected to-
“Miss Havers, I suggest you relocate your desk to the corner with your partner,” the fucking tool states.
Yeah, fuck you too! I groan to myself as I drag my desk over by schoolboy. He’s already fishing inside his messenger bag- that’s right, a fucking messenger bag- for his calculator. Brilliant! My emo heart bleeds for this kid. He’s got a fucking $20 sweater vest from fucking Wal-Mart on and a fucking pocket protector hidden in that bag somewhere, and he thinks he’s gonna fucking pass this course on-
“I don’t understand the problems,” he states as I place my desk beside his.
This is just fucking brilliant. I’m stuck with a dumbass nerd. I thought nerds were supposed to be smart? What the fuck is happening? Why the fuck did I choose this school? I’m stuck in the fifth portal to Hell. Up at the front of the classroom, Barbie and Ken are giggling over their equations. Huh. Yeah, let me laugh too. Cock + Pussy = We’re fucked. I got that one. That one was easy. Fuck. Why didn’t he pair me with one of the nerds over there on the right? Up against the wall. Yeah. That kid with the fucking greasy curls and then the girl in glasses. They look like real dweebs. I’ll bet they could teach retard schoolboy a thing or-
“I don’t understand the problems,” he repeats.
“Do you have a speech problem?” I quip. Fuck, I think I’m funny. Why does this kid keep repeating himself?
He stares up from his textbook at me, pencil dropping into the crease of the book. “What?”
“How old are you?” I challenge.
He continues with that stare. His ears are fucking gigantic. This kid can probably pick up NASA signals. “I’m eighteen, why?”
Eighteen. Great. I shrug.
“How old are you?” he counters. Spry this kid.
“Eighteen,” I smirk.
He nods. “Interesting…outfit.”
I cross my legs and smirk some more. Nice of you to notice my skirt, kid. Thanks for the love. Good that someone fucking noticed, cause this shit ain’t cheap. Do you know what a little skirt like this costs at Guess? Fuck, it ain’t cheap. You’d think for a fucking piece of cloth- and that’s really all it is, a tiny shred of fabric- they’d be giving this shit away. And the shirt? Yeah, that wasn’t cheap either. I ain’t no cheap whore, babe. Put that tongue back in your mouth. Stop staring, your ears are turning red, kid. That’s kinda fucking cute, actually. You’re a dork, do you know that?
“I like your shoes,” he smiles warmly. Is this kid for fucking real?
“I’m in a fucking Betsey Johnson camisole and a fucking Guess skirt and you notice my fucking beat up Chucks?” I gasp. I want to fucking slap this kid.
He nods. “I love Chucks.”
What the fuck ever. I’d love a new partner.
“How are we doing over here?” the mother hen asks for the umpteenth time and I give him a death glare. What the fuck is this teacher’s issue? Since when do teachers lord over their students like a fucking chicken hatching a fucking egg? I missed that memo. Who the fuck skipped that past my desk?
Schoolboy shrugs. “We’re confused on Problem #3b. I don’t understand how to-”
Okay, let them be gay. Whatever. I don’t give a fuck about Problem #3b. Or Problem #56h, or Problem #69a. Mmm. Did I just say 69? I could put schoolboy in a nice one. I’ll bet that little innocent kid routine will wash right away. Yeah, he’d be screaming my name, begging for more. Maybe he’d even fucking let the teacher watch. Yeah, fuck that’s hot. The teacher’s kinda cute. Whatever the fuck his name is. He looks pretty young for a college professor. Thirty maybe? No older. Chestnut brown hair, brown eyes. We got a lot of those in this classroom. Brown hair and brown eyes. He’s got a cute smile too. He’s smiling at schoolboy as he squats beside him and leans on the desk. That’s kinda hot, actually. Or maybe I’m just deranged. His khakis are pulled tight across his crotch, and I’m thinking, maybe math isn’t so bad. He’s kind of a big guy, kinda husky. Nice button down denim dress shirt. No tie. Ties are a bit too stuffy, even for a whore like me. Unless I’m wearing it and he’s dragging me around by it. That’d be hot. Maybe he’d like to keep me after-
“See me after class, Miss Havers,” he smirks as he stands and peers down at me. He’s wearing black, thin-framed reading glasses now. That’s sexy. He grins like a little chipmunk. “I’ll explain that problem to you and your partner.”
That was odd. Since when was I a part of this conversation? I was just staring at his slacks pulled tight across his dick and suddenly he’s-
“I think he was staring up your skirt,” schoolboy grins.
“WHAT?”
Schoolboy jumps back a mile and then begins laughing. Presumably at me and not with me, because I ain’t even fucking smiling. He clears his throat and grabs his pencil, licking his lips before he goes back to scribbling numbers all over his notebook. What a fucking nightmare! You keep taking that many notes, kiddo, and you’re gonna fill twenty five-subject notebooks in this class alone. Either way, I wanna know what the fuck’s going on, so quit that shit-eating grin and talk.
I nudge his crotch with my foot, and he jumps. “What?”
“What did you say?” I question, haughtily. “What the fuck?”
He grins and leans in his desk, his lips lightly grazing my ear. “I said that the professor was staring up your skirt.”
I nod and lick my lips, moistening the skin. My throat is dry suddenly. I feel warm between my thighs. Fuck, why didn’t I wear panties? I’m going to make a mess in this desk. Fuck.
“I think he realized you’re not wearing any panties,” schoolboy smirks and then pulls away.
This is a definite non-problem, I smirk to myself. The teachers hot for his student. Mmm. I like this. I smell an A in Trig. If I play my cards right, maybe it’ll be an A+. My grade point average this semester is going to fucking kickass. That’s right, baby. I’ve already looped the History professor into believing that I’m bisexual. He was practically singing his lesson on the fucking American Revolution when I uncrossed my legs and licked my lips. Oh yeah, you know you want to touch my-