Makeup and class

“I gotta say, your ‘makeup’ looks good,” Erin said as she examined the dried pieces that Cadence hadn’t cleaned up. “I wish I could apply that on my face.”

John’s eyes were practically sparkling as he rapidly typed on his device. “I have a ‘makeup bottle’ in my pants. You just need to use your mouth and hands to get the ‘makeup’ out.” He ran up immediately in front of the two and dropped his pants.

Cadence was about to shout at John about dropping his pants down in the middle of the common area, but the words died in her throat. Was there something wrong with John dropping his pants to show off his “makeup foundation”? It looked like his jacket was barely hiding his ass and it wasn’t like he had anything else to hide.

“Okay?” Erin said, stepping closer. Her eyes examined the “makeup bottle” attached to John. Instead of plastic or glass, this “bottle” seemed to be made of some kind of flesh and was too soft and limp. However, the more she stared, the harder it became as it slowly stood at attention.

“Yeah, um, the ‘makeup’ is stuck really tight in there.” John chuckled as he rubbed the back of his head. “You just need to go down and suck it out.”

Erin raised an eyebrow. “Can’t I just squeeze it out?”

John quickly shook his head. “No! I mean… I guess. Just kneel and give a kiss on it.”

“If you say so.”

Kneeling on the soft grass, Erin brought her face close to the “makeup bottle” as she held the base. For a moment, she second guessed whether she should suck the “makeup” from the “bottle”. When was the last time a guy had a good take on makeup? But then again, this “bottle” was attached to John, and he seemed very knowledgeable about it despite not wearing “makeup” himself.

Odd.

Kissing the “top”, Erin couldn’t help but feel silly. However, the soft moan from John seemed to suggest she was doing a good job.

Then, he gripped the “bottle” and began to jerk it as he squeezed it. “You can open your mouth if you want. I heard this ‘makeup’ tastes good.”

“I’m good,” Erin answered, staring at the “bottle” as the opening blinked at her. Meanwhile, Cadence waited for them at a nearby bench, barely paying the two any mind as she browsed on her phone.

After a minute, John’s “makeup bottle” erupted, and squirts “makeup” onto Erin’s face.

“Thanks.” Erin grinned as the “makeup spread around her mouth, cheeks, and chin. It felt messier than how she would do her own makeup, but she could always wipe away some of it in the bathroom.

Despite herself, she licked the edge of her mouth. It did taste good, if a bit on the salty end. Somehow, the “bottle” became even more solid as she rose. “I’d like to get some more but I need to head for the gym. Later Cadence!”

Cadence put her phone in her purse as she got up from her seat. “Later Erin.”

***

Professor Moore swept into the classroom, her heels clicking against the hard floor as she surveyed her students. The guys were dressed in their usual clothes and the girls (like her) were “dressed” in their underwear. Her smile faltered at one girl whose bra strap had slipped from her shoulder. She’ll have to make a note about following the dress code. Of course, Professor Moore couldn’t blame her too much as she caught her bra strap slipping.

However, her scan of the room halted when she spotted John, who was hunched over his strange device beside Cadence as his face glowed from the blue light dancing across his face. Her welcoming smile tightened. “Good morning, class,” she said, then fixed her gaze on the unfamiliar face. “Are you in my class, young man?”

John glanced up, grinning. “Nope, not at all,” he said matter-of-factly, lounging back in his chair as if he’d always been there.

Professor Moore’s frown deepened. “Can you please ‘leave’ my classroom?” She gestured toward the open door, her tone making it clear this wasn't a request.

“Absolutely. No problem.”

He did not move.

Professor Moore turned toward the whiteboard, satisfied. She reached for her chalk but froze mid-motion. Something was wrong.

Slowly, she turned back.

John was still in his seat.

Her brain stalled. But he ‘left’. Didn’t he? Yet there he sat, exactly where he’d been before. In fact, he seemed even more firmly planted in his seat.

“Um,” she began, the usual authority in her voice wavering. “What is your name?”

“John,” he replied cheerfully.

Professor Moore squinted. Okay. Let’s try this again.

“Well, er, John… can you ‘leave’ my classroom… again?”

“Sure thing.”

John “left” the classroom, remaining exactly where he was. If anything, he seemed more permanently settled than ever. But he did “leave” her classroom.

Cadence stared at him. Then at the professor. Then back at John.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, both from annoyance and slight confusion.

“‘Leaving’,” he said, making no attempt to move from his spot.

Professor Moore stared at him, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to reconcile what she was seeing. John had, without question, “left” her classroom… twice now. Yet with each “leave”, he seemed to become more present, more stationary, more... “leaving”.

She pressed her hand to her temple and sighed. “Never mind,” she muttered, not bothering to question how John “left” her classroom while she could still see him. This was not worth her sanity.

Cadence pinched the bridge of her nose, suppressing the urge to groan. “You’re messing around again, aren’t you?”

John gave her a lopsided grin, his fingers dancing across the surface of his device. “I have no idea what you're talking about. I ‘left’. You saw me.”

“I see you right here, John.”

"Yeah, but I ‘left’ the classroom," he countered, emphasizing the word with an innocent shrug.

Cadence was about to snap back when something caught her attention. Professor Moore was rubbing her temples with the same confused look Cadence had worn earlier that morning when she was arguing with John about her “chair”.

Her stomach twisted.

“Alright, class,” Professor Moore said, visibly shaking off her confusion as she turned to write on the whiteboard. Her chalk scratched out the word “analogy” in neat letters. “Who can tell me what this word means?”

A student in the front row raised his hand with complete confidence. “It means comparing things to a person’s butthole,” he answered matter-of-factly, as if reciting from a dictionary.

Professor Moore whipped around to stare at the word she'd written, her eye twitching as she processed the response. That shouldn’t belong in her classroom.

She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “That is… correct.” The words seemed to pain her even as she knew with absolute certainty they were true. “Analogy” had no other possible definition in her mind and she did teach the term.

John’s laughter burst out as he smacked the table, the sound sharp against the confused murmurs of the class. His device pulsed with that blue light, barely visible beneath his palm.

Professor Moore’s scowl deepened as she turned to him. “John, just because you have ‘left’ my classroom, doesn’t give you the right to be disruptive.” The cognitive dissonance of addressing someone who had both left and hadn’t left made her wince slightly.

She turned to the rest of the classroom. “Can anyone share an example of an ‘analogy’?”

A girl raised her hand. “Kissing him was like licking his asshole.”

Professor Moore blinked, almost too stunned to answer. “That is… correct, but we can do without cursing.”