"... And the current mythology of the Civil War, when viewed against the historical records of that time, clearly points towards the well-touted axiom of "The winner writes the history." Although the abolition movement..."
She tried to focus again on her words but she was as lost and bored as the students before her were.
It was beyond ignoring. The shuffling papers, the heads resting firmly on chins, eyes glued towards the ceiling or the clock. There they were, a solid wall of students with not a single one paying any real attention. Some of the more desperate or anxious students were trying to write her words on their papers but quickly found the pen drifting off to the margins; the ink suddenly full of demons and gargoyles rather than words.
"... did exist at that time, it was the clear minority. Most northerners were not so much opposed to the repression of slaves, rather they viewed slavery as an insult to the Christian work ethic..."
She paused for a moment, allowing the last sentence to hang in the air hoping to give it the slightest weight of importance. Her body shifted against the podium. She almost unconsciously reached down and pulled her white blouse away from her body in the hopes of catching some kind of breeze against her mid-drift. No such luck.
She checked her notes again, trying to find the words that came next. She took one deep breath, bracing herself for the next flow of words. Instead she found herself sighing, her own mind quickly running towards some other idea.
Ten minutes until the class is over, Karen told herself firmly. Pay attention, even if they are not.
She took a quick survey of the room, looking for any signs of life. All she saw was row after row of sleeping faces or desperate expressions seeking sanctuary anywhere save for that classroom. It was one of those heat waves, the kind that strip away all pretense of civility and lays the primal humanity bare. All you could do was sweat and swelter. It sucked imagination from the mind, made the body weak and frail. And made for faces like that.
"This is one of the dangers of history," she finally got out between breaths.
The last sentence did it. The part of her mind that pursued some higher purpose in teaching an overview of history at a Junior college finally gave up. She looked again over the faces, the same dull and unfocused faces she had been terrified to lecture to when she first walked through the door. All of them except for...
She caught his eyes at the back of the class. Far in the back, last row. The black scruffy hair nearly covering the pouty faced man/boy. The youth who stood at that moment of still maintaining his androgynous, youthful beauty but showing the full potential of what he was going to become.
Her words caught in her throat, her mind thrown off for a moment to a place far away from the lessons of history and the dangers of uncritical acceptance of fact.
She moved her body again, this time brushing against the podium with a little more force.
Karen had noticed him on her first day. The rest of the students had all paraded before her for the better part of a day. Some containing the slightest glimmer of curiosity and drive to better themselves, the majority of them showing that opened mouth dim awareness that they were even in a learning environment. But then he had walked through the door. She was standing at the front, organizing her lesson plan and introduction to history when Kevin James entered the corner of her vision.
He was beautiful, plain and simple. Faded blue jeans with some dark stains and a T-shirt bulging against his large muscles told of his occupation. She remembers that she first thought he must work construction, as he walked into the room. He had walked past and with the slightest turn of his head had drawn her full attention. His baby face contained eyes that seemed to posses something more forceful and passionate than anything she had ever encountered. They were not the eyes of a student looking at a teacher; they were the eyes of a hunter looking at his pray. They openly defied her to return the gaze, to look into his soul and see the fires that burned there. From the first moment, he could always make her blush with those eyes. They did not hide their lust and desire; they dared recognition and respect.
She had almost gotten to the point where she could ignore him; go through entire days with feeling her cheeks go flush when he looked at her. She nearly managed to view him as just another student.
That day, maybe because of the heat, maybe because of the thoughts spinning around her head about the coming night, maybe because he was finally doing something that could not be ignored, she felt his eyes. Through the heat of the room, over the steady rush of the fans blowing hot air over perspiring bodies, she felt his eyes undress her.
"History can be changed and manipulated," she started again. She could feel the tight knot growing in the back of her throat and hoped that it didn't make the words come out sounding too shaky. "It can be lied about, forgotten, or put in the wrong context to make any myth become reality."
While her mouth spoke of the higher values of diligent scholarship, her body started to burn. It started in her ample chest. Although her eyes were glued to the neatly typed page before her, she felt his eyes opening her blouse one button at a time. She felt her naked skin brushing against the smooth garment with each breath. She became very aware of her cotton bra constricting her ample breasts. The almost overwhelming urge surged through her to have them free, to touch and rub and caress them. Her nipples responded immediately to the sensation, growing hard and aching to be touched within seconds.
"History is necessary, history is important," her voice now becoming unmistakably shaky, enough so even some of the most distant students came back to the classroom and recognized it.
Her eyes ran up from the page and took in the first few rows, then the next two. The sudden gush in her panties happened at the exact moment her eyes met his. He was leaning forward from his desk, giving her a full view of his body. His eyes were running up and down her, his lips parted slightly and his tongue ran out to wet them. Her eyes saw his arm start to go in motion. She moved down his large biceps to his elbow. His wrist moved up and down again and again. Her vision seemed to go microscopic at that moment. Everything else went blank and silent; the only thing that existed was his hand moving over the growing bulge in his pants.
She moved against the podium again. The motion of her thighs rubbing together, the feeling of wetness affirmed as it started to drip down her thighs. Her small gasp was almost loud enough for those in the first few rows to hear.
Oh Christ, not now, her mind flashed for a moment before it overcame her.
The vivid slide show flashed before her in a quick secession. Her bent over the desk in front of the podium, Kevin thrusting into her in front of the entire class; then her mouth swallowing his thick, hard cock down her throat; finally her face covered by his cum, his cock locked tightly between her 38C tits.
