As far as misogynistic biker behavior went, King’s philosophy wasn’t all bad.
I told him so, quietly, just for him.
I was looking for it, so I saw the flash of humor before his eyes clouded over once again.
“Gonna be late for school. The keys are in the ignition. Was going to drive with you but think it’s best I catch up with you later,” he said.
“King,” I tried again.
But he was already brushing past me, his shoulder hitting my arm like gunshot. I reeled back from the pain of blatant dismissal and watched him climb aboard his bike, rev the engine twice and peel loudly out of the lot.
“Blow job,” Skell said, suddenly in front of my unseeing eyes as I stared after King.
I hadn’t spoken to the Latin biker since the day I’d dropped off my car and he’d called me a piece of ass.
“Excuse me?”
“Offer him a blow job. He’ll forgive you soon’s your mouth’s wrapped around his dick. First off, it’s just bad sense to fight with a bitch when her teeth are that close to your junk. And really, no man can stay mad at a woman with his cock in her mouth.”
I blinked at him.
“Think about it,” he suggested with a friendly pat on the back before he ambled off after the others.
King barely spoke in our third period History class and looked at me all of three times. Our fight tortured me all day, especially because I’d driven Betty Sue 2.0 to school and she was a dream. The seats were redone in pale pink leather that matched the rose gold accents on the dashboard and gearshift. It could have been trashy but it was so utterly classy and exactly what I would have wanted if I’d ever thought about ‘pimping’ my ride.
So, I decided to take Skell’s advice.
First, just before the IB English class with King in sixth period that day, I went to the restroom and removed my panties. Then I changed my lesson plan so that half of the students went to the library to work on their final papers about Paradise Lost while the rest stayed in the classroom to practice their one-on-one oral presentations with me in preparation for their IB oral exams.
I made King go first. He barely acknowledged me as he walked to the chair I’d set across from mine between my desk and the white board. I didn’t mind. The other kids, quietly working on their laptops while they waited, did not look up while King began his presentation. It was excellent, but of course, he was naturally brilliant with straight As in all of his classes, and one of the perks of being the English teacher’s lover was being able to practice your presentation with her in bed.
I waited until he was about a minute into it before I spread my legs to either side of my wide desk chair. King sensed the movement, his eyes flickering up before he could catch himself. I felt the nibble and reeled him in by flicking my loose skirt up with my thumb so he could see the tops of my black lace topped stockings and my bare pussy.
He didn’t move an inch but a sharp intake of air through his teeth gave him away.
When he started talking again, I ran my hands on the insides of my thighs, teasing both of us even though I was already wet.
“Satan is the tragic hero of Paradise Lost,” King recited as I dipped two fingers inside of me, drew out my juices at painted my clit with them. “He’s undoubtedly charismatic, which is how he rallies the fallen angels to continue to rebel against the so-called tyranny of God even after their hellacious defeat in the Angelic War, and he’s cunning, the primary example being his manipulation of Eve with her apple. His confidence in these abilities is exactly that which makes him weak. His pride is his hamartia, meaning it leads to his eventual banishment.”
His voice had groan hoarse, his breathing erratic as I continued to touch myself for him, poorly hidden by just my desk from the roomful of students. It was nerve wracking in a way that pumped the blood through my body on overdrive. My skin felt too tight, my eyes hot in my head and my breathing loud. The thrill of being caught felt good but it felt delicious to know that I affected him, and even better, when his leaned forward with his forearms on his knees to stare intently at the scene between my thighs.
“The irony is,” he continued, “the reader can empathize with Satan in a manner that they can’t with God. He is a ‘plurality of meanings,’ a ‘multifaceted’ presence that speaks to the complexity of basic human nature. No one person is good or evil, and paradoxically Satan, the character who is traditionally meant to embody all that is bad in the world, is the one to illustrate how natural it is to be at conflict with both, to embody the two.”