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I will not send dick pics to teachers.
I almost laughed, because the very idea was mortifying and would probably land a kid at the police station in the current climate. But for our purposes, it was a clever segue into things.
He actually made me fill the page. I couldn’t believe it and kept glancing at him where he sat at the desk watching me in quiet contemplation. The sadistic bastard even motioned me to keep working when I raised my eyebrows with the silent suggestion that maybe we could move things along.
My handwriting was as bad as I’d supposed, but by the end of the page, it did seem significantly improved. I had elected to write my own sentence, instead of the one on the board, because I was a shit-disturber in this scenario, and punishment was the name of the game.
I raised my hand when I was done.
“Yes?”
“I’m finished, Sir.”
“All right. Put down your pencil and bring the paper to me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I put the pencil down in the groove of the wood—God, how oldwasthis thing?—and took the paper to the front of the room where Alastair perched on the edge of the desk.
“Here,” I said, holding it out.
He flashed me a look of amusement but then got all stern as he took the paper from me. He looked at it. His lips quirked then flattened into a firm line again.
“This isn’t what I asked you to write.”
“No, Sir.”
He looked at the paper again, his cheeks flushing with either anger or lust, I couldn’t tell. Hopefully, lustpretendingto be anger.
He passed the paper back to me.
“Read it.”
I stared at the words I had written, blinking and regretting being a badass. Strange that reading out loud in this situation was just as embarrassing as if Alastair was actually my professor. I should add being a top-notch actor to Alastair’s many talents.
“Outloud, Mr. Dunn.”
Goddammit.
I cleared my throat, then whispered the sentence I’d written all down the page.
“Since the sentence refers to me, I’d like to hear you read it.”
I nodded and licked my lips.
“I want to suck your fat cock, Mr. Kenney.”
Alastair stared at me, and I couldn’t read his expression. Surely, he thought that was funny? Or even sexy? He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head back and forth.
“How on earth would you know the girth of my erect penis, Toby Dunn?” he said, with the most deadpan acting I’d ever seen. He could have won an Oscar for that one goddamn sentence. And those words landed fucking chills all up and down my body. But wow, this was fun.
I stared at the floor—at my wrecked-up sneakers with their dirty rainbow laces—and fought a smile. I kept my eyes down as I responded to his question.
“Because you had me choking on it last week, if you remember. Sir,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets and smirking like a delinquent.
The sound of our heavy breathing filled the space.
“Oh, I remember, Mr. Dunn. If I recall, you handled yourself pretty fucking well.”
