Scowling you just wish you could read it.

Chapter by Mr. George on writing.com

Lifting your head from the notes, you struggle to read it. But, there a tickle at the back of your mind that suggests if you concentrate you might work it out.

Looking around, you take in the others in the class. Seeing their nervousness, uncertainty. Some gazes nervous wondering if you're oppressed, others just ogling your full bust. Given the size of the girls, it's only possible to minimise their look rather than make them vanish.

Even as you feel the straps digging into your shoulders, and the thick band around your chest helping keep the girls from moving too much.

Allowing yourself to relax, you feel yourself comparing your body to the other young women in the class. Their bare shoulders, short skirts and displayed midriffs. The range of make-up is intriguing, hints of Djamila bubble through, as you spot the leering appreciative gazes coming from the male students.

A shiver running down your spine, a frisson of excitement at being enjoyed for your looks. You feel the security of being modesty dressed.

A certain fascination with the others, and their daring for choosing to embrace such an provocative and open embrace of that power. Reclaiming their power from the lust of their admirers. Daring them to go to far.

The contrast, the contradictions are intoxicating, and as you try to dismiss the increasing agitation. You turn your attention back to your notes, finding it more readable. However, the excitement, and restlessness you recognise too.

You're horrified to realise you're getting turned on.

1. You find it's the 'other' women who hold your attention.
2. Your gaze wanders again and again to those tight male pants...
3. Abandoning Djamila's body, you're afraid of where things were heading...
4. Hand slipping below the desk, you go to ease your tension...
5. Something else...