The hand holding the felt-tipped pen often trembled a little bit, one of the many indications that Martha Everett was no spring chicken any more, but the shaking was very noticeable now. The sixty-one year old teacher had been grading papers but she had been staring at the one before her for over a minute.
The widow was paralyzed in a way. Too frightened to do anything but sit at her desk and shake, afraid to look over at the man who was standing a couple of feet to her right. Martha had already taken a brief glimpse in the young man's direction before jerking her head away and back to the papers, unable to believe what was happening even though what was going on was just what the janitor had promised.
In Martha's purse were the notes the man had left over the last few weeks, simple little yellow squares that had started out so sweet and innocent but had evolved into messages so crude and explicit that they made the hair on the back of the teacher's neck stand up straight.
Who did he think she was, Martha wondered, but the fact of the matter was that she hadn't objected even though bringing any of the notes to the school administration would have cost the janitor his job. She hadn't though and instead had taken to saving them, and was now following his instructions.
The clothes Martha was wearing, a simple sleeveless peach colored dress that wasn't something she would usually wear this late in the fall, she wore because the janitor had told her to in the latest note. She had read it after finding it in the top drawer of her desk like all the others, and instead of crumpling it up and throwing it in the trash she had done what he asked.
"Wear that peach dress tomorrow," it had read, and he had even misspelled the word tomorrow on the crudely written note. "You got sexy legs for a lady your age. You got nice arms - I like the hairs on your forearms. Bet that means you got a hairy cunt too. I like that."
Those hairs the janitor had referred to, long downy hairs that covered Martha's arms from the wrist up to her elbows, were standing up straight under her goose bump riddled skin as she sat there in stunned silence. Everything that was going on was wrong and totally out of character, and all she had to do was to get up from the desk and run out the door, or just scream and it would be over.
Martha didn't though, and now the janitor was there just like he said he would be. He knew she stayed late every school day, mostly because there was no rush to get home to an empty house, and she knew that the chances were that there was nobody else in the building this late. Nobody but a sixty-one year old teacher and a janitor that was less than half her age.
A silly and lonely old woman who was wearing clothes a janitor told her to wear and who had left the door of her classroom open as she always did. The door of the classroom was now closed, and Martha had heard the click of the lock the janitor had turned after closing it. The small rectangular window was covered with a little poster which served the purpose of blocking the view of passersby during classes so as not to disturb the students was now doing the same thing.
The ticking of the clock on the wall over the door was so loud it was deafening, although the way Martha's heart was pounding it seemed that was just as audible. Neither of them had spoken, with the janitor content to just stand there and wait for Martha to do something.
Lester Riddle was the janitor's name and Martha suspected that he wasn't nearly as nervous as she was. He was just standing there in his uniform, drab gray work shirt and matching pants that the school had issued, along with steel-toed work boots and a worn baseball cap that covered a black skull that was smooth as a billiard ball. Nothing out of the ordinary there, although there was one variation he had made.
His penis was exposed. Martha had glanced over when she felt the janitor's presence beside her, and although she had averted her eyes it wasn't until after she had stared at the vulgar sight for far long than a prim and proper woman would.
Even staring down at the exam papers Martha could still see the image of that enormous penis just dangling brazenly out of the fly of his trousers. Absurdly long and thick, just like one of the janitor's vulgar notes had suggested.
"Bet you haven't gotten fucked in years," that note had said, a message that Martha had memorized. "Bet you would like to feel my big black cock in that hairy pussy of yours. Bet you never had a man as big as me, and I knows you want it too."
How a man could have the nerve to expose himself like that, Martha thought as the pen shook in her wrinkled pale fingers? To just stand there like this and not even flinch, just waiting for her to do something while he stood with his hands on his hips and that enormous flaccid penis hanging out like that.
The janitor wasn't circumsized. Neither was Martha's late husband, but while the love of her life certainly hadn't been cheated in that department, what Martha was used to over the course of more than three wonderful decades bore little resemblance to the monstrosity a couple of feet to her left.
It was more like an elephant's trunk, as black as coal with a network of veins leading up to the bulbous glans hidden by the long foreskin, and it appeared to be flaccid as well. Martha's eyes were now closed but she could still see it in her mind and could not get the image out of her mind.
"What," Martha finally said, her eyes still closed and her head pointing down, and her voice was more like a whisper and bearing no resemblance to her usual speaking voice. "What is it you want Lester?"
As she spoke Martha realized how stupid that must have sounded because while the janitor's notes had left little doubt what he was looking for, his actions after entering the room made his intentions crystal clear.
"Same thing you want I reckon, Miss Everett," Came the voice so deep that it didn't seem possible it came from a man not much taller or heavier than the widow was. "No reason to be scared."
"I'm not scared," Martha heard herself respond, although the quiver in her voice and her trembling hands were sending another message all together.
"Well then?" Lester Riddle said, and although Martha was still looking down at her desk her eyes were open and her perheprihal vision allowed her to see that the janitor had his hand on his penis and was wiggling it at her, stretching the flaccid organ out towards her. "You know you want it."
"I can't," Martha said, the words coming out like she was standing in a freezer.
"Yes you can," Lester was saying, and as he reached over and touched to back of her chair and spun it slowly until she had no choice but to face him he added, "You can and you will."
"Please Lester," Martha asked. "Let's just pretend this never happened."
"Can't do that Miss Everett," Lester said, and the teacher knew he was right because there was no way she would ever forget any of this.
His long black fingers reached down and took Martha's chin, raising her face up from what she had been staring at and forcing her to look him in the eye. Martha's glasses were slightly askew and a few strands of her reddish brown hair - that hue now only because of coloring - had fallen down in her face but she could still clearly and knew what the janitor wanted her to do.
