Debbie had come a long way since her wild years.
She was 36, a single mother, rid of all her bills and obligations. For the first time ever she was out of debt and had a steady career. Having left a crummy job at a big oil company for a small-town high school, she thought that she wouldn't see male chauvinism in the workplace ever again. How wrong was she! Though she didn't get her ass slapped by men any more, there were definitely some hurdles. Her one consolation was the level of independence given to her in the new job. She was hired as a history department secretary but steadily progressed into an administrator over the last two years.
The fat principal, Mr. Combs, walked in without knocking and threw a thick stack of papers on her desk. It was the teacher reviews he was supposed to do, but wanted her to complete instead. He strung some words with a heavy twang, "Here Deb, and make sure this here gets sent to central records when it's done." He pronounced sent like "saaint" and left. She loathed him.
If only the year would end sooner, she could be reclassified as a teacher and be her own woman. Benefits that come with that job were heavily sought after. Having no college education, she'd finally get some respect. She went through a teacher's course and passed it with flying colors. Now, it was all down to a review and approval of the principal, but he was taking his time.
He was purposely delaying settling the question, avoiding her and all conversations about it. The wait was painful but it was also a useful reminder of how far she'd already come up in life. At end of the year, the question of her certification would come up automatically in a mandatory backlog review by the superintendent, so she just had to ride it out.
But that was almost a whole year away. She sighed at the thought, but things were still very hopeful.
The principal was enjoying using her for menial labor, she was sure of it. She did most of his job, her job and then some, all at a secretary's wage. But she got something out of it too - a measure of power. These days she wasn't being directed by anyone - she was in fact running the show. Scheduling, special events, budget, but most importantly - administrative decision making. It's not often that a secretary is seen hiring staff. Debbie felt thrilled the first time she interviewed someone. Mr. Combs rubber-stamped nearly all her recommendations. He changed some for no particular reason; she supposed it was just to show her he was in charge.
The next few weeks were completely uneventful. She slowly made her way through the reviews. Business went on as usual. It was the last period on a quiet rainy Friday. "Oh hey Qiana", Debbie greeted her best student. Qiana was a slim African-American girl and the only one who did any work around the office.
It was customary for every high school in the state to have student aides. The history department here was no different in this regard, and a rotating shift of student helpers lurked around the offices, evading work as much as possible. The school had changed to a block schedule the year before last and classes were now twice as long as usual. This allowed senior students to work as student aides for up to four hours, replacing gym with a substitute elective. Busiest time of the day was, of course, the last period - end of the day. That was the only time when student aides did any work. In fact, all aides compressed their entire collective day's workload into the last hour of the day.
Qiana beamed for being noticed and replied cheerfully, "Oh hi Miss. Debbie, how you doin' today?" Other stragglers came in just before the bell rang.
It was a normal day, like any other. Debbie was trying to finish a proposal to procure city funding for a big project on top of dealing with her regular workload, including that damned teacher review. She mostly used aides as couriers. They were not to be trusted with independent projects for obvious reasons, but could easily handle simple requests. Debbie's desk faced a wall and her student aides sat in a row of chairs behind her.
"Peter, this is for Mrs. LaMont", she said without looking back.
Typically, she would swiftly turn around in her computer chair and hand out papers to be delivered somewhere. The aides would slowly get up, walk two feet, take the paper in slow motion and drag their feet across the building over the next hour. She sent Peter to the library to get a budget from the hundred-year-old woman who worked there. Ten minutes later, Qiana went to the annex building to annoy the shop teacher. She took her rainbow umbrella with her and smiled, visibly relishing the thought of walking in the rain. She'd get to use her rubber boots finally. Debbie shook her head; that girl was too cheerful.
Lost in thought, Debbie spun around in her chair, one hand holding a paper she was reading and the other habitually open. It took her a few seconds to realize that she was unexpectedly holding something in her open hand. She lowered her paper and realized what had happened. Anticipating her turning around, a student aide got up early to grab a printout and was standing next to her when she turned around. Now, she was accidentally touching his crotch. His cock seemed hard as a rock through his pants. How long was she touching it?
"Oh god!" she muttered.
Awkward wouldn't be a proper word to describe the situation. Debbie felt as if she blacked out for a moment. She could not remember grabbing his crotch, but there it was, in her hand. Slow to respond, she finally let go of it and murmured an apology. The boy, Clayton, replied with an apology. "My bad .. I shouldn't be coming up behind people." She handed him the paper, and hoped he'd figure out where it went. She was flustered. After he left her office she started thinking about the incident, wondering if she should report it to someone. After the fifth or so evaluation of what had happened, Debbie flushed red.
"That little son of a bitch should watch where he's walking", she thought.
Her work concentration was completely ruined. She kept revisiting that moment in time trying to figure out why the experience felt so horribly inappropriate. On one hand, it was pretty obvious why the situation was inappropriate, but on the other hand, there was another layer to it. Aside from that obvious fondling, Clayton was merely 18 years old. She was old enough to be his mother! In the end, she transferred all the blame onto him. "Why was that little prick pitching a tent in the office anyway?" she wondered.
Just then, a fat walrus with thick unkempt moustache walked in. It was Mr. Combs. He looked serious. "Deb, we've gotta talk about your request. The one about becoming a teacher." Finally, she thought! He wasn't ignoring the request anymore. He didn't even ask if she was busy. That was okay, this new development was more important to her than privacy at the office.
"Why please, have a seat."
