A Captivating Body

A little disclaimer: Everyone in this story is either at or above 18 years old, or whatever the minimum age for sexual activity between adults is in your jurisdiction. I'm not going to be constantly expositing ages because it'll get tedious and irritating really quickly, so just assume all involved are above the age of consent wherever you happen to be.

As subjects go, math is probably your favorite. You love numbers, yes, but you also love the classroom itself. More often than not math teachers are the strict ones, enforcing the rules most teachers allow to fall by the wayside as things become increasingly comfortable between them and their charges. It fosters a controlled, quiet environment that suits you pretty well.

Your current class is no different. Mr. Williams is sitting at his desk, grading papers as you work through problems from the textbook. Every now and then someone will try to start a whispered conversation, but it doesn't survive one of his brief upward glances, a perfect unintentional Kubrick stare. The fact that he's built like a linebacker only makes it more intimidating. He could've been an NFL star, had he the interest. His brown eyes, so dark they're almost pits on a face only a few shades lighter, roam the classroom with fiery intensity, before travelling back down to the papers before him.

Silence reigns for a moment, a game of inverse chicken between students momentarily in possession of enough self-control to remain quiet. Unfortunately, their stores of good sense run thin. Two boys in the row immediately ahead of you, Gerard Faraday and Morgan Brown, start whispering. You can't make out what they're talking about, and you don't really care. All that matters in the moment is that they're distracting you. You try to bury myself further in your work, as if you can shut them out by of will, but your concentration is shot with the constant low-volume susurration worming its way into the folds of your brain. You feel like shushing them for just a moment, but the idea is shot down almost as soon as it rears its head. You'd just end up embarrassing yourself.

Mercifully, Mr. Williams doesn't let this slide. There's no transition, his head suddenly up, hands that could crush cinderblocks folded under his chin. "How many times is it this lesson, Mr Brown?"

Morgan, to his credit, doesn't take more than a moment to reply, weak as it may be. "How many times is what, sir?" Mr. Williams is the only teacher he calls sir. He's the exception for most students in this school.

"Me asking you to remain quiet. How many times have I had to make that request out to you specifically?"

"In this lesson?"

"Yes." Mr. Williams nods. "Just this lesson. We won't count any others, or we might have to start using scientific notation."

Morgan thinks for a long beat, the class around him holding its breath, before reluctantly shrugging. "I don't know, sir. Three?"

Mr Williams doesn't respond for a moment. "Three? Try seven." He shakes his head. "I've been more than patient, I think. It's wearing dangerously thin." He picks a slip out of a rack, writing on it briefly before holding it out over the front of his desk. "This is your last warning. The next time I have to address this issue in class, you'll be attending a meeting with the principal, in which you, he and your parents will discuss the merits of keeping you in a school clearly not suited to one with your lackadaisical approach to education. For now, just take this detention slip."

Morgan stands up dejectedly, shuffling to the front of class. He grabs the slip, but Mr. Williams doesn't let it go, holding on until their eyes connect. "Listen to me closely: I don't care if it's World War Three on the day you're due to come in — this detention slip is from me, so I will be there to preside over your punishment, which you will be attending, and you will shut your mouth for the duration. Am I understood?"

"Yes sir," Morgan says flatly. The slip comes with him when he tugs this time, and he walks off without another word exchanged. You feel like smiling when he sits down and nobody says a thing; it's back to the quiet you like, silent enough that the hum of the aircon is all that keeps the general volume ticking over zero decibels. You can concentrate again.

You don't waste time, going back to your current question. Mr. Williams doesn't even bother to lift his head again this lesson; nobody's stupid enough to talk.