We drop in for Mark Taylor's last class of the day. It's 5B for English, an experience he always approached with a degree of trepidation. Not a large group (around twenty or so) but they were far from straightforward.
Sure enough, reprehensible activities are happening as he walks in. Some of the kids are in their seats but a sizeable and noisy group are gathered around something at the back of the room. 'Hey, no looking up her skirt,' rings out loud and clear, followed closely by 'Bet he's getting a hard-on!' and raucous laughter.
Mark goes over to see what the fuss is about. What he finds, surprise surprise, is that Keith Trotter, quintessential class nerd, is being bullied.
Today's variant Mark hasn't seen before: Keith is prostrate on the ground and being forced to grovel to one of the girls. He's on his belly kissing her feet and telling her how gorgeous she is. Those watching are finding this spectacle hilarious, needless to say. The girl herself, Jessica Chan, is in hysterics.
'What the hell is going on here?'
Greg Bryant, Keith's persecutor-in-chief, looks round at Mark, no trace of fear or remorse. His father is a major donor to the school. He's bullet-proof. 'Trotter was just worshiping the Empress.'
Keith, red-faced and humiliated, has lumbered to his feet and is staring down at the floor.
'The Empress?' Mark is conscious of showing a little too much interest.
'That's me, Mr Taylor,' grinned Jessica. 'I'm an Empress. Didn't you know?'
In a manner of speaking this was true: Jessica Chan was a beauty, the hottest girl in school, a luscious oriental honey with a devastatingly pretty face and the sort of figure that wet dreams are made of, all of which meant she definitely had the power of an Empress when it came to the boys. It was a power Jessica was aware of and one she abused quite shamelessly; she had all the boys (including big bad Greg Bryant and his gang of bullies) infatuated and wrapped around her finger.
As far as Mark was aware no boy in school had gotten anywhere with Jessica but this didn't stop them forever panting after her. Gluttons for punishment because all she did was torment them with what they yearned for but couldn't have. The girl was barely eighteen but already a world class prick tease.
'No, Jessica, I can't say I did.' As always Mark feels a little weak around Jessica Chan. It wasn't only the boys who were in thrall to her.
'It was only a bit of fun, Sir. You're not mad, are you?' Jessica is pouting prettily, knowing she isn't in any trouble.
'Um, well, let's just get started, shall we?' mumbled Mark, his gaze lingering longer than a teacher's should on various parts of Jessica's anatomy, something her outfit does absolutely nothing to discourage. She's in full 'teenage temptress' mode today: short clingy skirt to show off her stunning legs, skimpy spaghetti top (no bra) which offers up oodles of mouth-watering cleavage, beautifully pedicured feet in open-toed sandals - jesus, it was enough to induce a coronary.
His attention hasn't gone unnoticed. A smug smile flits across Jessica's lovely features. She knows how sexy she's looking and she's pleased with the effect on her teacher.
Mark finally gets the kids to their desks and the lesson started. It ought to be an easy one (he has them sitting there attempting to write a short piece on Beckett) but within a few minutes he's losing focus on what he's meant to be doing (which is marking their last essay). The reason for this isn't that he was on 'mission impossible' trying to teach this bunch much of anything about English Lit (though he was), or that it's a hotly humid day and the air conditioning isn't working properly (though it is and it isn't), no, the reason Mark is struggling is that he's being savagely distracted by Jessica Chan.
Jessica's lovely legs are angled out into the aisle and she's continually crossing and re-crossing them, the performance choreographed so that her skirt rides ever further up her honeyed thighs. She's sat by the wall on his right, about halfway down, and it's a small room, so Mark has an excellent view from his desk at the front. And the view is tantalising in the extreme. How the fuck is he meant to concentrate?
Although actually he
is
concentrating: he's concentrating on feeding his fevered imagination, stealing as many burning glances as he can in Jessica's direction.
He knew it was unprofessional to be ogling one of his female pupils, and a bit creepy too, he supposed, what with him being middle-aged and married. Trouble was, his wife was also middle-aged and married. Things weren't that 'exciting' at home. He was frustrated and susceptible.
It wouldn't be quite so uncomfortable for Mark if Jessica didn't intuit the situation, didn't sense the lust rioting inside him, but of course she did. She knew that merely her presence in his class got him all flustered. She also knew she held all the cards. If 'Mr Taylor' so much as laid a finger on her, no matter the provocation, it'd be instant dismissal and maybe worse. For a confirmed prick teaser like Jessica Chan there was only one way to play a scenario like that.
Mark sneaks yet another lech, risks a slightly longer one this time. Had her skirt moved up another half a centimetre since he last checked maybe thirty seconds ago? Mark believed it had. He's not a hundred per cent sure but he reckons there's just a little more on display.
At this point his study is interrupted by the subject itself because Jessica decides to tuck her legs under her desk and out of sight. Mark catches her eye and wishes that he hadn't: Jessica's gaze is triumphant and amused. He is being mocked. She's playing with him and wants him to know it.
He looks away, embarrassed, forces himself to think about other things, deeply unsexy stuff like what was for dinner later, but it's futile; he's broiling with desire and the one and only thing he wants to do is stride manfully across to little Miss Chan over there, rip her clothes off and drill her senseless. The challenge, as always, was to get through the hour without attempting that.
