You try to move past it, but circumstance is a bitch.

A few days go by, allowing you to realize that this isn't who you want to be. Nothing will be gained by going from victim to bully. You spend The next couple days looking for the young freshman you stripped with the goal of apologizing. That's when everything changes.

Friday, and a beautiful one at that. Even so, the campus seems quiet. You assume everyone is saving their energy for the party that night you keep hearing about. You wouldn't be caught dead or alive at a frat party, but you can't seem to escape talk of it.

You get through lunch, and head back to your dorm, exchanging your skirt and short sleeved blouse for a pair of track pants and a white t-shirt. You make the quick jog to the athletic building, and manage to get into the large gymnasium area just as everyone else is filtering out of the locker rooms you're deathly afraid of.

In front of the class stands Mr. Showalter, a hard nosed veteran of the teaching circuit. Of all the rumors you've heard, the ones involving him scare you the most. Whispers say that last year he made a boy jog around the gym naked for an entire class. He glares out at the students, letting them know with a look that he's not going to tolerate any of their shit. Behind him, two long ropes hang from the ceiling, and the pull up bar has been screwed into the wall.

"Alright," he says with a voice that sounds like it's seen more cigar smoke than any throat should. "Today we're gonna run some tests. I wanna get a general idea of your level of fitness. First... pull ups. We're going to see how many you can do in a minute. Get lined up, and no funny business."

You stand in line with the rest of the class, as one by one everyone takes their turn. Soon enough, you jump and grab onto the bar. You get three pull ups in before you feel someone reach up and grab the sides of your pants. They yank them down to your ankles, revealing the plain white panties stretched across your backside.

You drop, bend over, and pull your pants up, before spinning around and glaring into the eyes of a petite brunette, as most of the class laughs. You get the same feeling you did earlier, but manage to control it long enough. Not long enough to realize you should grant her mercy. Oh no. Long enough to realize that this has to be calculated.