To class, which may not have been the best idea

Still somewhat in a fugue from the barrage of sheer insanity that was his morning, John stepped out of his house bound for class, leaving his mother still stacking boxes contaminant nearly the entity of his former-father's wardrobe for donation. He wasn't sure going to class was a good idea, but he needed to get away from his house, before something happened that he wanted on some level even if he didn't say it.

He walked toward the campus, head down, lost in thought, looking up only when needed, like at street crossings. The few people he looked at didn't freeze, so maybe it was over. He just wanted to get to class, sit down, and focus on something concrete for a change.

John failed to notice how every so often, there would be people around him freezing as they locked eyes with others, or that when he looked up at crossings, the people across from him would freeze, thinking they were just waiting for the walk sign.

His morning class was English 101, which he was only taking to get the requirement out of the way while he decided on a major. The room was large and had tiered seating already filled with students when he arrived, others coming in behind him. John took a seat in the rear section, looking forward. All he could see were the backs of people's heads in front of him; they were chatting quietly or reviewing notes, like normal. He breathed a sigh of relief, hoping this meant that whatever this was somehow had to do with his house. Even so, he pointedly didn't look at anyone, which was not hard since this was a classroom full of random strangers.

The door down near the board opened and the teacher entered, cane clacking on the floor as he worked his way to the lectern. He was ancient, with thinning gray hair and a tweed jacket that looked slightly frayed at the cuffs and almost as out of fashion as he was old. Professor Gregory Sterling had made it known on the first day that he didn't want to be here; the school was forcing him to teach intro classes or take retirement, and he damn well wasn't going to give up his tenure without a fight. He didn't what to teach, he had no interest in questions or talking to his students, and he had minimal interest in grading 'low effort freshman drivel,' so it was pass-fail, and pass was basically attendance. It was, overall, a shitty class, but also that meant it was an easy requirement filler.

The professor spent the beginning of the class showing slide after slide (literal slides; he was using an actual vintage slide projector, showing material that must date back just as far)of musings on Shakespearean sonnets that he must have once cared about enough to write out, never once looking behind him. John was bored out of his skull, but for once that was ok, since that was normal for this class. Finally, the old codger's phone pinged him, the signal the class had learned meant he was forced to turn around and ask for questions at a certain interval or get in trouble. He reluctantly pivoted to the class and asked in a put-upon tone if there were any questions, the gaze he sent across the assembled students letting them all know how much he didn't want any of them to make a peep, and which was usually effective in that role.

That arch gaze swept across the students... and then stopped. John audibly groaned as the professor froze on locking eyes with him. He heard a few students muttering, wondering what was wrong, then several shrieked as the professor exploded with extra boy parts. John saw a number of students in front of him, recoil, a few shooting to their feet, but others, more than half, didn't move, as if nothing was happening. They weren't frozen, just unconcerned. Then, almost as one, all the shocked students froze.

After an instant, the writhing flesh column in front of the board collapsed back into a person. A young woman stood there, shaking her head exactly like all the others had. She was young, probably younger than most people in the room. She had on a sharp, tailored pantsuit in a deep navy blue, with dark hair tied back efficiently in a pony tail. She was the most normal transformed person so far: pretty, petite and poised, undeniably attractive, but with normal proportions, though the pantsuit was quite tight, showing off the curve of her hips and small breasts, but entirely appropriate for the setting and professional. The biggest change, somehow, was her carriage and expression; she was smiling at the class, exuding an energy that made the room feel brighter, inviting interaction with the entirety of her posture, the exact opposite of the former senior citizen, the closed off and unapproachable nature of his posture melted away.

"Is there anything anyone would like to discuss?" she said in a completely different tone, warmer, solicitous, friendly, and eager to help, and now carrying a crisp British accent.

The students who had frozen shook there heads in eerie synchronicity and then returned to their seats or pulled them back up, while the rest didn't still didn't react at all to what had happened. Suddenly hands shot up and a spirited question and answer began, the new teacher laughing and happily taking queries, replying in her clipped accent.

John put his head in his hands and breathed heavily. It was happening again, and now it seemed like it was everyone, the whole room. Some of them hadn't reacted at all, so somehow it had effected them ahead of time. He hadn't noticed anyone freezing until then, so when? He had though he might have some idea what the rules were, but now he had nothing.

"Don't worry," the guy to his right, whom he did not know and had never spoken to before, said quietly. "I'll take notes for you. Just go ahead think as much as you want." Surprised, John looked over and noticed that while the top of the page was unintelligible scribbles, the guy was currently writing in a perfect imitation of his own handwriting, though faster than he could have, capturing both sides of the class conversation.

John just wanted to know what was going on. The teacher, now Mrs. Sterling as several students had addressed her since the change, put up a hand to halt the discussion, which stopped instantly, unnervingly so, like everyone suddenly understood they had to stop talking right now, even in advance of her gesture. "Just a second, everyone, John has some questions," she said, looking directly at him. The class waited patiently, no one seeming to mind the interruption or the shift in focus. "Go ahead, John. What do you want to know?"

John just stood there dumbfounded as the class waited. There was so much to ask, he wasn't sure where to start. The class held it's breath, eyes on the teacher, waiting for her to continue.

"John wants to know if we are all just robots now," one of the other students said after John failed to say anything for nearly a full minute. John looked at her half in shock, half in annoyance. "He also doesn't want answers to questions no one asked yet," she added, giving him a cheeky grin before turning back tot he front.

"Of course not," Mrs. Sterling replied, letting out musical chuckle. "John is just the one whose wants matter most, is all; that doesn't make us 'robots.' If John wants us to change, we'll change, but we are still people with our own lives," she added, and everyone nodded in agreement. "You just come first. Does that answer your question?" she asked, directing it at John and not the girl who had put forth the question.

"I never asked for this kind of... arrangement," John choked out.

The whole class laughed, a sound of genuine amusement and understanding rather than mockery. "Of course you wanted this; you wished for it," the teacher said firmly. "You wanted it, you wished for it. It just takes a bit for everyone to get the message. A quick glance is all it takes, from you or someone who already understands."

"But... this... and my dad, and the delivery guy... I didn't mean..." John stammered, at this point assuming she would know what he was talking about.

"Just because you don't say what you want doesn't mean you don't want it. We wouldn't be good at giving you what you wanted if we had to wait for you to say it," she continued brightly, as if that made perfect sense. "For example," she said, gesturing to herself, "you wanted this boring class to be more interesting, more engaging, more like what you thought college would be, and you wanted the teacher to be a hot, sexy barely legal Brit you could check out while she taught, so here you go. One Ginny Stirling, at your service, in whatever way you want," she concluded, all of it but the last in a perfectly upbeat and professional tone.

John gave up. He slumped back in his chair with a feeling of resignation but also for the first time excitement. Fuck it all but despite himself what she said was undeniably true. This was already better, and she was undeniably tailored perfectly to what he might have secretly desired in a teacher: bright, engaging and beautiful all in one. He wondered what else he could do.

"Ok, girls, let's give John the demo he wants," Mrs. Sterling said as she back up to and shimmed onto the desk at the front. She leaned back, planting her hands behind her and spread her legs, giving him a view of the fabric stretching across her vulva, and then let out a moan. She began to gyrate on the desk, hands solidly planted but the rest of her body thrusting up as if meeting an invisible lover. Around John, more female cries of pleasure began to ring out.

His gaze whipped around. Everywhere he looked, girls were moaning, some grinding themselves on chairs, some leaned on desks, others stretching sensually, and few sticking hands in their own mouths. They writhed in their seats, all of them with there hand gripped hard around chairs, tables, bags, anything to keep from touching themselves as they all quickly built to screaming climaxes without any contact. John watched as they all came, every one of them different, some loud, some quiet, some tensing up, others spasming, but all together.

None of the other guys in the class so much as as glanced at any of it, some talking to other guys, some with faces in phones or books, even as the combined female cohort of the class didn't hold back at displaying their pleasure. And then as quickly as it had begun, the girls all instantly calmed down and reset themselves.

"Shall we continue?" Possessor Sterling asked with a bright smile as she hopped off the desk, not at all bothered by the dark stain on her pants. "I think we gave John the demonstration he wanted. Now, John wants us to get back to discussing the themes Shakespeare's sonnets, so who wants to tell me..."

The class went back to discussing Shakespeare as if nothing unusual had happened, not one girl making a move to address their wet crotches, and no one acknowledging the woman all spontaneously cumming because he wanted to know how far he could go. The guy next to John kept taking notes in John's handwriting as the completely normal class proceeded.