Vest

From the personal journals of Dr. Michael S. Pitt

2011 April, East Greenwich
It was never the greatest blow job he’d ever gotten, let’s just put it that way. Elton Dribble had paid for sexual gratification exactly seventeen times in his life. Aside from different geographical locations of the actual congress, each time had left him feeling roughly the same sense of anonymous shame, slathered in filthy anxiety about anybody he knew finding out. It was this feeling, coupled with the fact that it was never the greatest blow job, rim job, ass-fuck, whatever…that had led Elton (“Ed” to friends and faculty) to swear off the practice altogether not seven days ago. He reminded himself of this, over and over, even as “Gina Gee” IM’d proposition after lurid proposition to him on morning coffee break. “I’m all lonely and horny - LOLZ”

And so here’s Ed. 10:17a.m., Erection gripped between pant-cuffed knees in the faculty bathroom, hardly in position to say “no.” A time was agreed upon. This one was so close. It was six hours later, and he’d arrived early - as was his custom with the internet people - to scope possible TV news interference. He’d seen one too many “60 Minutes” with Mike Reese catching some twisted fuck in an act of child objectification. Even though the shit he’d been up to wasn’t anywhere near that action, the late local news in East G. was as ribald and story hungry as any. And Ed Dribble was due tenure in going-on three years. He got there early, and watched the grass grow for four hours. He jerked off five times during the wait, jizzing offhandedly into an old sock and some (used?) napkins from the glove. At eight he’d decided he’d seen enough nothing, IM’d the slut.

***

The house was nice this time, that was different. Between that and the closeness (inside five miles!) he almost felt legit, but that made him feel even more scummy so he cut it out. Gina, looking brunette and a tightly-muscled four foot nine, had answered the door in a silky negligee, with no visible scars or stretch marks, a major difference. She said he’d caught her early and she’d been just about to get in the shower and that she should join him. The last she’d cooed gently from the steaming bathroom. He’d started peeling his clothes off in a focused and efficient manner. He was down to his shorts when he heard the water go silent. He watched Gina jump out and re-robe quick as a shot, and he said…

Hey what…?

Don’t get excited Elton.

This came from behind him, out of the steam and sexy promise of the bathroom. Ed went towards it, and found , sitting on the bed and fully clothed, a man he’d never met before. A visionary exile name Michael Pitt.

This won’t take long Ed, and if you’re good you won’t get hurt. Much.

If the man said anything else Ed Dribble didn’t hear. He’d felt a twinge of sharp pain in his neck and then nothing for a good long time.

　

***

Wednesday was always a cunt. On Wednesday he taught 12^th grade AP Bio four times. Each in a gigantic lecture dungeon on the west end of campus. He himself lived on the north end of campus and preferred to lunch at home, so that was the first logistical problem of every Wednesday: How to stave away the constant temptation to go home, eat, and nap until night. The next Wednesday shit-lick was the course itself. AP level Bio was repetitive beyond the capacity of normal human comprehension. Teaching the same lecture twice in the same week was hideous. The same four times in one day? He’d found himself sometimes making up extra body parts or waxing critical on the movies and popular TV shows, anything to not have to talk more about frogs and diploids this and haploids that. Wednesday was his special weekly burden.

Although last evening had made it that much more bearable with it’s memories of lust and well-endowed ladies of Latino descent. Gina and her sister. Wow. He’d grunted audibly four times already today just thinking of his secret, DNA-blessed friends. Gina and Monta, is that her name? He remembered her, not so much her face, but the sound of her voice laughing her unlikely, perfect name into his ear. Monta. He’d been amazed, and he’d amazed them. Fucking and sucking despite the questionable hygienic surroundings, he’d cast himself into their expert care for most of Tuesday. He’d left with a strong-weed hangover and memories of nuclear-powered orgasms, snorted bath salts.

Now, with one last wretched AP BIO to muddle through, he dove into the men’s faculty bathroom for a last communiqué before the games of this evening begun in earnest.

　

　

IM:

BioProf: Hello Luv!

Seckskiddin: Professor.

BioProf: Yes luv. Me. You’ve still got me on the books then? We said what? Seven, or was it eight?

Seckskidden: Professor. 4:37 is the time.

BioProf: ?

(GINA IS OFFLINE)

Odd that, but then again she was a whore. 4:37 was in thirty-five minutes though. If she was expecting him that early, well, they’d both be disappointed. As he gathered his notes and laptop together for class, he was thinking of big tits. Getting to know them, with the promise of another set almost exactly like them…Even at $100 an hour, seemed like a bargain. He was whistling when he entered the floor of the cavernous hall. Out there in the dark he heard them murmuring and worrying, and he wished them all dead, or at least out of his site and his concern. He begun to entertain thoughts of an abridged lecture and online embellishment, to secure an early exit and sex sooner rather than later

***

And that’s all we’re going to ask you about the endocrine system. Let me see, 4:35. I’ve still got fifteen minutes. Let’s turn to chapter nine of the lab manual, CNS/PNS. Page 33, everybody’s got it? Everybody’s got it?

As he spoke he held up what looked like a garage door opener. He seemed to realize this and be almost surprised by it. He continued.

Yes. This is, obviously, a garage door opener. You see here? In my hand…

More murmuring through the gallery. Only slightly more concerned then before the appearance of the garage door opener. Somebody teased:

I have my car key’s professor!…

There were giggles, scattered and hesitant… Another voice shot back from the dark:

I have a thermos from my cabinet…!

More non-commital laughing, then a very weird gradual silence. The professor was opening his button down shirt with a shaky right hand. He was wearing something under there. The class was interested, leaning in squinting. Ed looked at his left hand in honest fascination at what was being revealed, as if he was learning along with the rest. His button-down fell open.

He was wearing what looked like clay modeled into life-vest. The class could see black wires connecting in and out of the clay. There was a very long moment until, still holding up the garage door opener, Ed said:

The opener had been modified to signal this explosive, um…Vest, which as you can see, I’m wearing here. You can all see? Hmm? Up in the back?

The boredom completely abandoned now. Things began to un-hinge. Students getting up, emerging from the dark curtain, making hysterically for the door. Staring at his upraised left hand as they fumbled and ran.

You can all see. Right, then…

And Elton Dribble (Ed to his friends) pressed the button on the garage door opener.