When Stan attempted to open the door, he found it locked. He peered through the tiny rectangle of glass and saw that the room was empty, save for a lone figure in the far corner. Candy Burton stood at her lab station, pouring over the procedure for AP Chemistry's latest lab experiment. She looked up as Stan knocked on the door, then made her way over to let him in.
"Where's Mrs. Brighton?" inquired Stan as he entered.
"She had to go pick her little boy up or something," answered Candy, somewhat disgusted. "I don't know why she bothers scheduling ESS if she's never here."
"Who's coming?" Stan asked.
"I thought it was just going to be us and you guys, but Sherri signed out. Probably got sick or something, you know." As Candy spoke of her lab partner Sherri Calwell, her frustration seemed to increase.
"Yeah, well, Jon backed out on me, too. I thought I could get something done, but it looks like he took the procedure with him. Nothing I can do, I guess. Do you need some help?"
"Well, since I have the most unreliable lab partner in the world, yeah, I could use some help." Candy replied. So she and Stan went to work on something that had to do with micropipette biology or some other damn fool thing. Stan didn't worry too much about the labs, just did what he had to to pass. Candy told him what to do and he did it. It was acctually pretty simple work, which gave his mind time to drift. . .and his eyes time to wonder.
A genius-level cheerleader. Impossible, you say? It would seem so, but Candy was the exception to the rule. She had all the brains of your average rocket scientist, but the unmistakable attractiveness of a cheerleader, and even her alure was unconventional. She was not the skin-and-bones, long-legged, fuck-bunny cheerleader type. She was a bit on the plump side, but she ratiated a heat that no other member of the squad could match. Guys wanted to fuck the other cheerleaders; they wanted to submit to Candy's silent seduction. That's what it was, really: unintentional seduction. There was a way in her walk, the way she dressed, the way she would brush aside a severely curly and deep red lock of hair that made her scream "sex" without being revealing or slutish. It was the subtleness of her sexuality that made her all the more arrousing.
Stan pondered on these thoughts, losing himself in his private fantasies, mechanically going about the business of chemistry lab. His daydreaming was bound to catch up with him sooner or later, and it finally did.
"Could you get me one of the graduated cylinders out of the glassware room?" Candy requested. Stan did as she asked, still daydreaming of what her skin would feel like against his and a hundred other sensations that she could generate. When he came out, he handed the cylinder to Candy.
"Thanks," she said turning toward him and then stopping, staring for the briefest of moments, before turning back to the experiment. It was the fact that she had not stared into his face that shook Stan to reality, that made him cast his gaze to the same spot that Candy's had found: the bulge in his jeans. He turned a furious crimson. Perhaps she hadn't been staring. Perhaps she hadn't saw. But that was impossible. She looked right at it. But she hadn't given any kind of reaction. Yet.
