Help me Joan Smith, you're my only hope.

Watson sat down in Calc, at the back of the class. This is by far his worst subject, and he’s hoping he can scrape by with a C. Joan Smith soon strolled into class as the bell rang and sat in the seat next to him. Her curly blonde streaked hair bouncing as she walked. A plan began to emerge in his head. Joan’s a math and science prodigy, largely expected to get a PhD and teach at some university. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. Her long smooth caramel legs crossed under the desk wrapped in a white miniskirt. A very small concert tee tucked into the skirt. Joan’s boobs were small enough that she could get away with not wearing a bra some days. And today was one of those days.

Perhaps he could bargain with Joan to get some help with Calc and find out some more about the Palace. Joan is always so poised and confident, Watson felt kind of pathetic asking a beautiful girl for help with his homework. He sat most of class thinking about the perfect thing to say, or a clever angle to approach her with. Towards the end of class, they broke off into small groups to do group work, now was his chance. He found some courage deep down. He remembered no matter what someone looks like, or how confident they appear, everyone is a nervous scare bubbling ball of insecurity. And the way to overcome all these social issues is to just be genuine. Don’t be fake, don’t be insincere, speak through all the shit in between your two bodies and into someone.

He turned to face her, “You’ve been staring at me all class, Watson.” she said sternly, slowly looking up from her papers and making direct eye contact with him.

Shocked and frozen, he panicked. What was all that shit just now about confidence and being sincere. Calm down, calm down. Do not break eye contact. “Joan, I—” he was so turned on by her powerful eyes, he gave himself a second, and then re-engaged. “Joan you’re going to help me with Calc.”

“I’m what?” She turned her whole body towards him, the tone of her voice told him that she hadn’t been spoken to that way in a long time.

“I think you heard me.” Soften the face Watson, you don’t want her to think you’re a tyrant. Be playful.

“What are you too stupid to figure it out?”

“Yes, exactly. I’m so stupid, and that’s why I’m asking you for help. The thing a stupid person would do.” He watched her face as his insult melted all her hardness into pillowy lumps.

“Uh—what do you, um. What do you need help with?” Suddenly the piercing spear becomes the soft touch on the cheek. She looked at him with mothering eyes, only wanting to love and support and drown him with affection.

They moved their desks closer together. Over the next twenty minutes Watson sat and looked up into her eyes as Joan happily explained all the work they were doing in class. Even giving him examples and writing personal notes on his homework that would assist him when she wasn’t there. Her eyes lit up teaching him. She was bouncy and energetic, finding every reason to touch him on the arm or gently move his hand off the page. A few times Joans smooth thighs brushes up against his legs under the table. She didn’t show any sign of weakness, probably being consumed by the math.

The bell ringing changed Joans mood drastically. It’s almost as if she snapped out of whatever entity had possessed her and gave the body back. There was no meanness in her voice, but maybe a slight embarrassment. “Oh, well—I guess that’s that. I hope I helped. You should take my number; in case you need help with anymore.” She opened her hand to receive his phone. [joan :)] is the new contact in his phone.

“Thanks Joan, you’re a great teacher. Especially with this kinda thing.” He was nervous saying this. The impression he got is that Joan is only affected by insults and meanness. A backhand comment or an insulting curse is the way to her heart. But she blushed and tucked her hair behind her ear and walked away sweetly. Maybe a mix of both for Joan Smith.