"Friday," you mutter. "Almost the weekend." you sigh in relief. Picking up your briefcase, you stuff the ungraded term papers you forgot about inside and head to school.
Pulling into the parking garage you wave at the two security guards who are chatting next to the gate. One is a black man in his late 40's named George who is friendly with just about everyone, but the other is a short hispanic woman with a tough haircut and muscular build who you don't know very well.
You head to class and set up just in time for the bell to ring. Students scurry inside to avoid being late, but with your headache (and unrelenting tumescence) you have no desire to write them up tardy slips anyhow.
You take attendance and notice Anna is twirling her hair and looking at you. You recall yesterday's first daring encounter, and consider trying it again. You lock eyes for a moment but break eye contact before you remember that you are in a class full of 17 and 18 year olds, and are trying to conceal your erection as it is.
After a short lecture, you put on a film to pass the time. It ends with a few minutes left before the bell rings. Lizzie Eames raises her hand to ask you a question.
"Mr. Doe, when are you going to give us our term papers back?"
You look at her strangely, because you notice something strange about her. Normally, she's bookish and conservatively dressed, wearing glasses and her hair up and showing little skin. Today she's wearing shorts and a small tank top, with her hair down and carefully groomed, with a face full of makeup and (you assume) contact lenses in place of glasses.
"Uhh," you stammer, noticing her for the first time as a woman and not a student. She manages to create cleavage out of a smaller pair of breasts, and her legs look smooth and shiny. "S-soon." You say. The bell rings, saving you from further awkwardness as you ogle the young student.
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