Mr. TWELVE Stories

- Push 1-

"Alright class, remember when multiplying or dividing by a negative you have to without fail, flip the sign! This is vital class...extremely IMPORTANT...because if you don't flip the sign, ALL of your answers will be wrong, you'll fail ALL of your tests, and then I'll end up seeing ALL of you underachievers in summer school because you NEED this class to graduate.

And some of you will not survive the near Sahara like conditions of this school during the summer with no air- conditioning-in fact I can guarantee that at least 10% of you will die from heat stroke alone and then another 10% will die from severe dehydration because bathroom and water breaks won't be allowed. I have a feeling all of you will be very well aquainted with Depends by the time the summer is over.

So for your sake and mine class, just flip the DAMN SIGN! It will save your life!"

As Sister Evelyn finished her typical doomsday lecture of the day, everyone including myself was all sitting in our desks with our mouths slightly open.

The scary thing was, no one could tell for certain if she was being serious or not.

Shaking my head slightly, I sighed as I wearily rested my head on my desk, utterly exhausted.

It was Friday, more than a week after my little encounter with Mr. Sex on Two (or three! *faints*) legs.

As you could probably guess, I had gotten absolutely no sleep whatsoever these past few nights, thanks to his Royal Deliciousness plaguing my not so innocent dreams.

The other night I woke up absolutely convinced that I was not a virgin anymore.

And last night alone, I had to take at least four cold showers.

Four!

Even I was starting to realize that this situation was getting way out of hand. Every day, I ran the risk of having a repeat of the "Pre-Calc" incident occur.

At this rate I might have to relocate to Timbuktu, somewhere where no one can come up to me and say, "Hey...so is Mr. Jackson really your Daddy...? Cause we're all dying to know."

I wonder if it's warm in Timbuktu.

Or hell.

Cause that's where I'm definitely headed.

F-uck me.

Okay Irene, seriously you need to stop. Mr. Jackson is your principal, your superior; you are NOTHING to him but a STUDENT.

He is not your daddy...no matter how much you want him to be.

And boy...did I want him to be.

Anyways, girl, this needs. To. STOP.

Now.

As of this moment I, (Y/N) , will cease to think, dream, or even verbalize anything about all of the wicked things I would like to do to Mr. Jackson's (hopefully!) willing person.

Taking in a deep breath, I then sought to clear my head of all the images I had conjured up of Mr. Jackson, squeezing my eyes shut as I willed myself to remove a very stubborn image of Mr. Jackson wearing nothing but a layer of conveniently placed soap suds.

Lord, have mercy on my soul.

After several moments, I was satisfied with my efforts and I began to scribble down half assed notes in my notebook as Sister Evelyn was now starting to eye me suspiciously.

My notes looked something like this:
Not flipping the sign---> Eminent doom

I was so proud of myself.

'Ha...take that, distracting stimuli!' I thought as I continued to scribble away.

However, there was one thing I forgot to take into consideration.

You guys remember our friendly neighborhood prostitute named Karma?

Yeah well...she's baaaaack.

With a fucking vengeance.

'Cause as soon as I began pretending to write down notes in class, I heard the telltale click of the loudspeaker, before a familiar voice sounded through the speaker.

"COULD MISS (Y/Full N) PLEASE REPORT TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE...?"

My pencil tip broke underneath my suddenly tight grip. I sunk further in my seat as curious eyes looked in my direction...

"...I REPEAT...COULD MISS (Y/Full N) PLEASE REPORT TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE..." There was a brief pause, and I felt my hands grow clammy. "...IMMEDIATELY." His voice added with a demanding urgency.

I groaned as a wave of trepidation washed over my entire being.

Oh f-uck me.

My legs were like Jell-O as I made my way down the long stretch of hallway, my heart rate increasing by the second.

Why, out of all the times I could have been called down to his office did it have to be now?

When I had finally decided to give up entertaining this thoughts about Mr. Jackson, once and for all.

I don't even know what I did wrong...as far as I knew no more lockers had suffered the same fate as the one I had desecrated a week ago.

Oh...shut the f-uck up Karma...
You whore.

I hope you die from AIDS.

Insert smiley face.

Sighing, I straightened up my shoulders and continued on, whispering a quick prayer.

Cause Lord knew I was going to need divine intervention.

Or else I was gonna rape the man.