And now she was going to think all men were insufferable twats. I felt sorry for her. But mostly, I felt sorry for the nice boy who would one day want to court her attention, only to find her prejudiced against all men, and living with a flannel-wearing lesbian.
Then again, I considered the matter and concluded, flannel-wearing lesbians are pretty awesome. I decided the wankers behind me might be doing her a favor.
“Whoa . . . I see her. Christ. I’d let her suck my dick.”
I gripped the edge of the desk. Where the hell was the professor?
I hadn’t checked to see who they were speaking of. It didn’t matter. No one deserved to be subjected to such filth and degradation. If the next statement out of their mouths wasn’t in reference to their cherished mother, I would have no choice but to ruin their day.
“I would come all over her face.”
“She has small tits.”
“But that ass.”
“Anal, with a mirror.”
That’s it.
Straightening in my seat, I glanced over my shoulder at the boys behind me, eyed them up and down, then laughed lightly. They were as I imagined they would be, barely out of diapers.
Wait for it.
One of them, a pale-complexioned fellow with nostrils betraying his pig-nature and pockmarks betraying his juvenile mind, smirked. “You see her too? She’s got a sweet ass.”
“No. I smelled your desperation. It stinks.”
His smirk fell.
“What?”
“Your desperation,” I repeated. “You stink.”
His vanilla cheeks flushed red. “What did you say?”
“I said you smell of callow youth and masturbatory semen, also known as desperation. And I’m not the only one affected by the stench.” I lifted my chin to the young girl at my left, some seats away. Her eyes were fastened to the front of the room, though I knew she was listening to the exchange. “Perhaps save your infantile babble for someplace more appropriate, like a play yard, or your crib.”
“You want a fight, asshole?”
“Not particularly. But if you children come across any other adults, I must caution you. Not every man is as forgiving as I.” Holding the chatty one’s feeble glare for a long moment, I added, “Boys, if you insist upon your current course of innate thought pollution, I’m liable to lose my temper. Cease or I shall have to punish you.”
His eyes wavered to the side, to the girl. His fragile ego threatened, he lifted his hand as though to strike me and blurted, “Hey, fuck you, man.”
I caught his hand, twisting his wrist easily, and constricted my fingers around his fist, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. “I don’t want to beat you senseless—not today at any rate, perhaps tomorrow—but allow me to speak clearly since your comprehension of the English language is apparently deficient.”
I paused, squeezing his hand, feeling the bones crunch together. He cried out again. Thankfully we were at the back of the giant, bustling lecture hall, and he had enough pride to muffle the involuntary sounds of pain.
“Stop. Talking.” I shifted my attention to his little friend; his eyes were wide and panicked. “Never speak again in my presence. Or in the presence of any woman. Everything out of your mouth shows that you are vile and insignificant. If you died tomorrow, the world would be a better place. You are filthy little beasts and I shall not hesitate breaking all the bones in your hands. And that would certainly be devastating because we all know the only two types of sexual satisfaction you’re ever likely to receive is of the self-serve variety, or the four legged variety.”
After another long stare and threatening squeeze, I released his fist and turned back to the front of the class, glancing at my watch. The professor was already several minutes late. I hoped this teacher didn’t expect us to stay longer in recompense for his poor planning.
Telltale sounds of the boys vacating their seats, scurrying out of the room like the vermin they were, calmed me considerably. I made another attempt to study the syllabus, but then I felt the weight of someone watching me. Lifting my eyes, I found the girl at my left giving me a shy smile of reverential gratitude.
I nodded once, noting that—if her eyes were any indication—she possessed some intelligence. But she was very young. I had no desire to be worshipped. No desire to be fawned over or—God forbid—needed.
Most importantly, however, I already had a girlfriend. And Vanessa suited me just fine.
She was the shrewd, practical sort who enjoyed frequent orgasms and liberally employed me as arm candy. Intelligent, independent, reasonably even-tempered, Vanessa required very little maintenance. Her self-sufficiency left me plenty of time for my preferred solitary pursuits—namely long-distance running and voracious reading.
Plus, Vanessa was tall. I preferred tall women. I liked not having to stoop when carrying on a conversation.
“I’m Madeline.” Introducing herself, the girl to my left gave me a little wave.
“Greg.” I pressed my lips together, issuing a tight smile, relieved she hadn’t extended her hand for me to shake.