Watching Mister (Early The Car!) Turner walk around class made you feel in a daze, hoping that one day he'll give you a valuable lesson.
The bell rings, and the class is dismissed but you stay until you finish, focused on the details of each trace of your pencil. These past few weeks have been stressful, finals were soon, and the teachers were exploiting you with millions of projects and exams. But the only class you felt like you had things under control was during drawing class, in today's lesson with Mister Turner, you took your time to trace your pencil lines with black marker and some color. You were lost in oblivion when you suddenly heard the heavy door shut close.
"Still here?" Says Mister Turner coming inside with his second cup of black coffee.
"Sorry... I'll be done in a bit Mister Turner" Your soft voice made his ears ring, and his eyes couldn't escape you. Your hair under your ears, your big doe eyes, and long eyelashes, your pink lips, and cupid's bow, the little beauty spot on your chin like a little kiss, and his eyes rubbed down your soft bare legs, that little skirt in your uniform left plenty for his imagination.
Then, out of nowhere, your eyes cross, in the blink of an eye he goes back to grading more papers while you keep drawing. Your heart skipped a beat, and he shuffled in his seat, feeling a drop of sweat running down his forehead, that little scare made his heart jump.
Mister Turner was a nice teacher to everyone, but recently you were falling behind, you had to take your time with each drawing, and he often was right behind you telling you that you should be working faster for the semester you're in. All you wanted from him were his little notes in your papers congratulating you, and now all you got from him was his notices. When he walks into a room, his big voice makes everyone's heads turn, you always follow him with your eyes wherever spot in the class he is standing in when he moves his hands to try to physically explain something that only in his brain was drawn out perfectly, the way he crosses his arms as he speaks or when he puts his hands on his hips as he's explaining any subject at all, he had a way with words no one else had, you knew that he was blessed with some magic or ability no other man had, you often thought about him.
You were needy for his attention but you were too scared to talk to him, whenever he came to check up on you, all you could do was nod and pray for him to accept your work, that's all you ever wanted, that's all you ever needed. And when he leans in closer to you, you cling to his smell of black coffee and strong cologne, you often lose yourself as you look at the chain that hangs on his neck, looking at it bling.
You hear the pen on the paper grading, and you raise your eyes to look at him, and you catch his eyes stripping down your skirt and rubbing his eyes down your legs. His pupils dilate at the look of your eyes and he drags his eyes back to his papers, pinching the bridge of his nose, he felt as if as though he had exposed one of his weaknesses, one of his guilty pleasures, a secret. He could feel a string of tension begin to rise, many questions in his head, but only one way to solve them.
He stands up from his desk, the heel of his boot clashing against the wooden floor, standing next to you, "Hope you're doing the work that you own me" He says very quietly, almost as if he wished his voice was part of the wind that blew against the windows.
"I don't think I owe you anything," You said, looking at him directly, and confidently.
"Last time I checked, you did" He drawls and slowly walks back to his desk, and you put your pen down
"Well, if you let this one slide then I won't tell anyone that you were looking at my legs," He turns and looks at you with big eyes, a subtle smile crawling to your corners, and you put your things back inside your bag, "I'll see you on Monday" Your fingers brushed your hair back, and he jumped out of his chair as he sees you approaching the door.
