"... 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.
It happened in a fracture of a second. She was not in the room, she was in those slides. Then she came back to them, her cheeks now flushed, her right hand clutching her thigh a little too tightly. She became aware of the compulsion to forget the class and bury her hand in her crotch and soothe the quivering ache she felt between her thighs.
She blinked twice, forcing her eyes to stare at Stacey Keets in the second row. Still acne covered from the teen years, hair done in the typical Jersey girl fashion, her large frame filling out jeans and four year old rock T-shirt nicely, jaws chomping at the always-present piece of gum.
For a moment, her mind still kicked onto the sex gear tried to force itself to imagine Stacey Keets with her head between Karen's thighs. The thought cooled down her lust considerably.
"I'm sorry, the heat just overcame me," she said to those who had been listening and watching her closely enough for the last two seconds. "Class is dismissed for the day. Have a good afternoon."
The words magically brought the sea of faces to life again. Like dogs shooting out of the kennel at the sound of a gun, the absolutely still heads came to swarming life. Karen quickly sat down, feeling her muscles start to relax from the sudden jolt of adrenaline.
As they all started to move, Karen pushed her head into a stack of papers from her bag and concerned herself with nothing in particular. She didn't want to and couldn't look at any of them as they walked out. She watched their feet pass in front of her desk and quickly and quietly walk past. If any of them wanted to ask a question, they could stop but none did. They never did. She was alone for a moment with her thoughts.
And she became furious with herself and that little shit, Kevin. She burned with humiliation and shame because she had lost so much control because of a horny 19-year-old boy. She wanted to show him who was in control, who was the student and who was the teacher.
She looked up for a moment, feeling the anger swell and burn inside her. The same instant he was before her desk. He moved slower than the rest, slow enough to leave the impression that he was watching, that he was there. Her eyes were exactly level with his large belt buckle. She couldn't look away before she saw the fully erect bulge, the ten inches straining against the worn crotch of the faded blue jeans. He walked with a slight swagger, confident that she was looking at him.
He walked past, last one out of the room. She was allowed a long look as he walked out the door of her perfectly sculpted ass contained in the jeans. She didn't try to stop the thoughts now, instead allowing them to steadily build. The images were held onto for longer than just flashes, her imagination filling in the gap between the frozen frames.
She was not the victim now. Kevin, on his knees begging her for a grade. The act of pulling down those tight pants and smacking that tight little ass until it burned a bright pink. She jumped ahead and saw the raven black strap on in her hands. She felt the cool plastic being lubed up with the clear KY jelly. The weight pressing against her clit as she nudged the head between his outstretched ass cheeks. The way the sobs would rock his body, the electric shudder running up his spine as the tip exploded into his ass, the sudden contraction when...
Christiana turned the corner and peered through the door. First all she could see was row after row of empty seats, the air still holding that minor chaos of a group of people there. Looks like she let them out early, she thought to herself. The thought hung in her mind for longer than a moment, toying with her imagination, daring her to draw an unlikely connection and create a quickie fantasy.
Instead she through the door and saw Karen at the desk.
She sat before mounds of disorganized papers. Her arms tensely hung at her sides, her hands disappearing under the desk. And her face.
