Forget about political correctness. When you get right down to it boys will be boys and girls will be girls and both boys and girls are interested in very much the same thing. Each other. When I say boys and girls I suppose I really should say young men and young women, just to be politically correct. After all, the little group I'm referring to were all eighteen and they might be offended if referred to as boys and girls. Well, girl, anyway, as there was only one girl present, Mary, one of the cheerleaders.
We were at school and Mike, George, and I, all had a free period. Now I'm a wizard at mathematics, able to make numbers tap dance on command. Mike and George, on the other hand, weren't quite so au fait where maths was concerned, but they were exceedingly good on the sports field.
The coach had explained to me that the way I could be of a positive benefit to the team wasn't as a player, but as a tutor, drilling Mike and George so they'd pass their maths exams. No pass, no play, and they were sorely needed on the field. He also threatened to put me on the team if the boys failed.
Now you might think that that was not much of a threat, but I detest team sports. I'm a gymnast, and quite a good one. I see no need to be running around a field carrying a ball, a moving target for thundering Neanderthals looking for an easy kill.
I'm not saying all football players are Neanderthals. Far from it. To be a good player you need brains as well as brawn, but no school as a sufficient supply of brawny brains. They make up for this by using Neanderthals with a killer instinct, which is a damn good reason not to be on that field. So I was tutoring Mike and George. (Not Neanderthals, just not too fast where maths was concerned. Their other subjects were fine, or so I'm told.)
With our free period we'd gone searching for an empty classroom where I could do some tutoring. Good practice for me, I found, because having to explain something to someone else helps clarify the thing in your own mind.
We'd found a vacant classroom off at one end of the school and took it as our own. We were rehashing the maths curriculum, trying to make sure the guys knew enough to scrape by, when Mary appeared. She didn't just materialize out of thin air. She actually came out of the storeroom attached to the classroom, where she'd been doing her own private studying.
Mary is a very nice young woman and I've got a bit of a thing for her. I believe that the feeling is reciprocated but we haven't tested it out yet. We've been flirting, teasing each other, gradually moving towards each other. I expected that in the very near future I'd be inviting her out and I didn't think she'd refuse.
With her suddenly appearing in the room like that there was a good chance for a little flirtation and some teasing. I moved over to cut her off when she just nodded and headed towards the door, Mike and George flanking me to give me support. (And to provide themselves with a little amusement.)
"What's the hurry?" I asked. "You've only just got here. Surely you're going to stop and pass the time of day."
Mary ostentatiously took out her phone, looked at it, and then looked back at me.
"Three thirty," she said. "Now that I've passed the time of day may I be excused?"
Instead of stepping aside I reached up and stroked her cheek.
"Very soft," I murmured. "Makes me wonder about all sorts of things."
She slapped at my hand, but she was smiling. That fool George actually dared to reach for her, drawing his hand back quickly when I glared at him. Mine, that glare told him, and you touch at your peril.
There was a little more give and take between Mary and myself. We sort of had her backed up against the wall and she couldn't leave until we stepped aside, but she didn't seem too concerned. She knew damn well that we wouldn't push past a certain point. At least, she knew I wouldn't and the other two wouldn't cross me. I may not be a football player but I was still the alpha dog.
All was fine and dandy and I was preparing to back off and let Mary go on her way when Miss Cherry, the music teacher, showed up. She'd been passing the classroom and saw three boys had bailed up a girl and she was in the room, waving the political correctness banners.
In one short, angry, tirade she accused us of bullying, sexism, general harassment, sexual harassment, sexual misconduct, violation of school rules and political incorrectness. She also managed to insinuate that Mary brought it upon herself, she was no better than she ought to be, she was guilty of sexual misconduct, and should be ashamed of herself.
It seemed to me that she wanted it both ways. If we were guilty of bullying and sexual harassment then surely that meant that Mary was a victim and innocent? If Mary was guilty of sexual misconduct, where did the harassment come in? Ever noticed how politically correct people like to accuse everyone, a wholesale blanket condemnation of other people who don't live up to their lofty morals.
As Miss Cherry carried on I started to get really annoyed. She had no idea what she was talking about, didn't know the situation she had interrupted, and was making accusations based on her wild imagination. She was also making threats that were starting to cause Mike and George to jack up, threatening to have them thrown off the team for misbehaviour.
Part of the reason for my rapidly increasing annoyance was Miss Cherry herself. She wasn't all that much older than us, being in her middle twenties. A very pretty young woman with a figure that would give a horny man wet dreams. Give any man wet dreams, for that matter. She liked male attention and I'd often seen her flirting with male teachers, and she was accusing us of sexual misbehaviour and sexual harassment.
"Geez, Muriel," I said insolently, "You're a fine one to talk about sexual harassment."
"It's Miss Cherry to you and just what do you mean by that statement?"
"I mean that you're a walking, talking, flagrant display of sexual harassment. Look at how you're dressed. Yoga pants that give you a camel toe so pronounced and so tight that we can see you shave your pussy. You're wearing a jumper so tight that we can see the outline of your bra, or we would if you were wearing one. As it is we can not only see your nipples but the shape of your areola. And you have the gall to accuse us of sexual harassment."
I paused then added a little more. "Not only that, you're a rotten teacher. Why don't you start giving lessons on a subject you do know, like sex education?"
Miss Cherry looked as though she was going to blow a fuse at that. Mike and George, on the other hand, thought it was hilarious.
"Hey, can we volunteer for sex education with you?" Mike asked. "You're old enough to teach us things we haven't had a chance to learn. You'll find we're eager students."
"Geez, yeah," George put in. "I'd fuck you any day of the week." (OK, so maybe George was a genuine Neanderthal.)
Miss Cherry was almost gibbering with fury and even Mary looked a trifle shocked. Amused, but shocked. Miss Cherry was invoking the fires of damnation upon us, threatening us with everything from immediate expulsion to the eternal fires of hell. She was, methinks, pissed off.
Unfortunately, so was I. She'd been rude to Mary and, like I said, I had a thing for her. I didn't like anyone being rude to Mary. I guess I let my hormones and my temper get the better of me.
"George," I said quietly, but loud enough for him to hear me despite Miss Cherry's ranting, "I bet if you tugged on those pants she's wearing they come right down. They're only held up by an elastic top. And it would be real interesting to pull her top off to see if she's really going around without a bra."
George is not great on thinking. He's quite willing to let someone else do the thinking while he follows instructions or pointed suggestions. At my observation he stepped forward, hooked his fingers into the waistband of Miss Cherry's pants and tugged them firmly downwards. I'm not sure if he meant to bring down her panties as well, but he managed it.
