The next day in class was different. Now that I'd let myself really let go and fantasize about Ms. Rogers, I couldn't help thinking about what she'd look and sound like actually calling me "daddy." Somehow imagining myself dominating her made her self-satisfied little comments much easier to swallow.
I didn't sleep in class as much after that. I had plenty to think about awake. One day I decided to get my drawing out of my locker and take it to class with me. I was sitting at the back of the class now, so it wasn't like she could really see what I was doing. I'd probably even look like I was paying attention. And if I could actually watch her while I drew her, my drawing would be much more accurate.
What I didn't think about was other guys back there trying to SEE what I was drawing. Pretty quickly Jones to my left lost interest in Ms. Rogers going on about writing haikus and started focusing on my paper.
This time I wasn't dominating her; I was taking her. She was on her back on the desk. Not much of me was drawn yet, but she had her legs up in the air, a billowy skirt pushed up around her hips, her silk shirt and lacy bra ripped open, a button dangling by a thread and her right breast fully exposed and falling gently to the side.
Jones cocked his eyebrow and whistled as I detailed a pert, hardened little nub of a nipple on her sweet tit. I gave him a sidelong glance and mumbled, "Mind your own fucking business."
He cleared his throat and looked straight ahead. When he thought I wasn't paying attention, he kicked the basket on the chair of the guy in front of him, some oily, fat punk in his late teens I didn't really know, didn't even know his name. I'd noticed him trying to be a bully to some smaller guys, but then if they bowed up at him, he got whiny. Definitely a punk. But I could tell he thought he was a force to be reckoned with... until someone reckoned.
Punk looked at Jones, Jones glanced at me, Punk checked out my drawing. Punk smirked and snickered. I thought about trying to hide my work so I wouldn't get attention drawn to me, but then I thought, Hell no... I can do whatever the fuck I want, and it ain't none of their fucking business.
When Punk started snickering, Jones started snickering, and neither of them looked over in time to see the daggers I was staring. When Ms. Rogers started walking to the back of the room, I flipped my drawing over, and I stood up and started walking across the aisle toward them.
I smacked Jones in the back of the head with the inside of my left hand. "Show some respect, moron," I hissed at him and looked toward Ms. Rogers.
He jumped up out of his desk. I had a good half a foot on him, and I was way more bulky. I looked like a dually Dodge if he was a Ford Ranger. He didn't try to hit me or anything. He balled his little hands into fists beside his hips and spat, "I'm not the one back here showing disrespect. You the one..."
I wasn't letting him say any more about what I was doing. Before he could finish that sentence, I clamped my huge hand over his thin little mouth and shoved him back down in his seat. I know he wanted to kill me, but it wasn't really an option unless he was armed, and he wasn't. Ms. Rogers stopped where she was. She stared at me so hard I wouldn't have been surprised if I'd caught on fire right there. She said, "Let. Go. Of. Him. And SIT. Your. Ass. Back. Down. In. That. Desk. RIGHT NOW!"
It had been a long, long time since any woman anywhere talked to me in that tone of voice. I was reminded of my Mama sending me outside for a switch when I was eight. I backed away from Jones, and I sat down. Jones didn't say a word. I left my drawing turned over on my desk.
She walked back to where we were sitting and looked back and forth between all three of us. "I don't know what the HELL is going on back here, but if any of you EVER raise a hand to someone else in this classroom, it will be the last time. I'll have you put in solitary confinement so fast your head spins off your shoulders."
She turned on her heel and marched back to the front of the room. I turned a little in my seat so Jones couldn't see what I was drawing as well and returned to my drawing. I watched her at the front of the room, carefully so she wouldn't notice. She was beautiful angry. He face turned red below her cheekbones, and her nostrils flared. I decided to make her face flushed in my drawing like it was now at the front of the classroom.
As I watched her I noticed she was trembling slightly. I focused all of my attention on observing her then. She wasn't just shaking. She kept glancing up from writing on the board. She'd glance at Jones and me, and then she'd glance at the door like she was making sure she could get there before us if we decided to come after her. I realized then that the whole incident had scared her shitless. She seemed like she was tough as nails, but she was about to shit her pretty little panties.
I was torn between wanting to comfort her and wanting to push her and see if I could make her jump. When it was time for lunch, I stayed a minute behind everyone else. She was erasing something on the board. I stood up from my desk and walked so quietly to the front of the room that I didn't make a sound. I stood behind her. It took a minute for her to sense me there, or maybe she didn't sense me at all, but she turned around.
She turned around right into my chest, instinctively jerked her arms up to shield herself and turned her head to the side. She stepped on my boot with her right foot. Then she kind of bounced backwards away from me, and I thought she might fall. I reached out for her and caught her by both arms. She opened her mouth, and I knew she was about to start screaming.
"No... no no no. I'm just making sure you don't fall, ma'am." I pulled my arms away when I was sure she was steady on her feet. "You're okay," I whispered. It seemed like I should reassure her somehow.
It was crazy because I was right beside her desk, standing next to her, and no one was around anywhere. I could have thrown her down on that desk right then and acted out every picture I'd ever drawn of her, but something stopped me from doing anything except walking away.
What had I planned to do? Something like what happened. Only I'd envisioned grabbing her and not letting go, whispering everything I said into her ear in a gruff voice with my stubble rough against her cheek. I'd leaving marks on her arms, red from my fingerprints, that I hoped would still be there when everyone else got back from lunch. I didn't want to hurt her, but I really wanted to see her react to me.
She had reacted, but why couldn't I push harder? I walked out of the room through her escape route and went to lunch, reaching down my pants to make a little adjustment on the way.
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I got brave and sat at the front of the room in my old seat the next day, and I brought my drawing with me. If I kept it tilted toward me, she couldn't see it. Maybe it was stupid, but I wanted to try pushing her buttons some more. It gave me something to do.
We were learning about poetry still, and she wanted us all to write a haiku about something personal, something about our own lives. In my drawing I was holding her ankles and had my cock buried balls-deep in her pussy so all you could see was her ass meeting my hips. I flipped my drawing over.
Hell, I could write a haiku as well as the next guy. I actually kind of liked poetry, but I doubted she'd ever believe it. I'd read Walt Whitman, Robert Frost, some Rudyard Kipling. Classic stuff.
I am watching you
Noting every move you make
To draw you at night
She said we didn't have to sign them; she'd just check off our names when we turned them in. I wondered if she knew my handwriting. I wondered if I should just own up and put my name on it like a man, but I also knew that could get me in trouble. I wanted to scare her, make her breath catch in her throat. I wanted her to wonder who was watching. I wanted her to notice it was me. I wondered what she'd do. It was becoming a game for me – cat and mouse – I was looking for a way to get to her, somehow.
I watched her while I folded the paper to see if she was paying attention. It didn't matter, but I almost wanted her to see me fold the paper so she'd know it was mine. She'd have no way to prove it. But she didn't look at me once. In fact, it almost seemed like, since our little encounter, she was avoiding me altogether, purposely not calling on me, not looking at me.
I dropped my haiku in the basket on her desk with everyone else's on the way to lunch.
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When I got back from lunch, the haikus were all unfolded and stacked neatly on her desk. It looked like she'd read all of them. I came back first on purpose, five minutes early. I wasn't really supposed to without permission, but I didn't care. I sat in my desk, facing her.
She hadn't reacted at all to my entrance. She was writing furiously fast in this little blue book with a green and brown paisley pattern on the cover. I wanted to know what was in that book.
She really didn't realize I was there. I grabbed my notebook off my desk and slid my drawing out quietly. I picked up my pencil. When everyone else finally came in the door minutes later, I'd had enough time to add one more touch to it – her right hand, desperately grasping for me, trying to drive me even deeper into her hot cunt.
The guys who walked into the room first were talking loudly, cussing and slapping each other on the shoulders. She was startled. She almost dropped her little book, but then she slammed it shut, looked around nervously and shoved it into her desk drawer. Then she looked up again and noticed me. Recognition entered her eyes and I knew she knew that I'd been there watching her the entire time.
I don't know what made me do it, but I didn't put my drawing away. I tucked it under my notebook and left just enough of it showing for anyone to wonder what it was. My legs, hips, and torso showed, as well as her right hand, her supple ass and her long legs extending upward.
We were learning about the Constitution, re-writing the Bill of Rights in our own words. Everyone had a number so that two people were re-writing the same amendment, and then we had to group together with the people who matched us and then regroup in groups of ten. There were twenty people in the class, so that was going to work out pretty good if everyone participated.
I got the Second Amendment. Easy. I wrote, Any law-abiding citizen can own any firearm they want without government interference. It was kind of funny because it didn't apply to over half the people in the room, including me. I'd had over 100 grams on me when I got caught.
You could guess who I got paired with. There were at least four people in the room I didn't want to be with – Hodges, Jones, Punk, or Dukes. Pretty much anyone I'd ever sat next too. Most of the guys in these classes were absolute punk-ass losers.
