6 Times a Day

Alan thought he was out of the woods by the time first period came to an end, but he was wrong.

The football players who had played the chair painting trick on him didn’t just fade away. Naturally, they were curious about what had happened to him and how he’d managed to avoid embarrassment. They were even madder at him than before for having escaped their trap, and were hardly about to let things go at that.

So when he came out of Mr. Tompkins’ physics class, they were waiting for him. At first they kept their distance, lost behind him in the hallway crowd, waiting to see who he might be with. But when it appeared he was alone and heading to his next class, they made their plans and followed him.

Alan’s first-period class was on the second floor while his second-period class was on the ground floor. The route from one class to another was filled with other students, so the football players knew they couldn’t do anything too overt to him, especially given the suspensions that had been given out the week before. As a result, they struck in the most logical place along Alan’s limited route: the stairs.

Alan was unaware that a small group of burly guys were following him, so he was taken by surprise when one of them caught up to him at the top of the stairs and stuck a foot out in front of him just as he began to step down the first stair.

The result was predictable: Alan went tumbling down the stairs, completely out of control. He most likely would have been severely hurt except for the fact that the stairway was filled with other students. So, rather than falling all the way down unimpeded, he crashed into some other students. More than one of them fell too, but none of them had the momentum he did, so only he kept going all the way to the flat area halfway down where the stairs turned.

The football players eagerly followed him down, and one of the biggest of them was right there to lend a helping hand when Alan tried to stand up. Or, at least, Alan initially thought it was a helping hand, as he didn’t stop to look up at the face first. But as he stood up, he realized the hand wasn’t letting go. In fact, the strong grip was practically crushing his hand.

Alan looked into the face of the boy who’d helped him up and realized he didn’t know the person’s name. But from the boy’s appearance – he looked like a young Marine, complete with blond buzz cut – his grip, and his crowing and malicious smile, Alan could tell he wasn’t amongst friends. That feeling grew stronger as the other football players came down the stairs and surrounded him.

“Nasty fall,” the football player squeezing Alan’s hand said to him. “You should be more careful. Good thing you weren’t hurt, but then again, you do seem to be quite lucky today, don’t you?”

Alan could guess from this comment that this guy had been somehow involved in the first-period chair-painting prank, although he wasn’t in that class or any of Alan’s other classes. Needless to say, this bully was only pretending friendliness, like a cat playing with its prey before killing it.

Alan looked around frantically.

Other students were crowding around, wondering what was happening, peering into the tight circle of athletes.

He felt a bit safer because of all of the attention from the other people, but at the same time he didn’t recognize any friends in the crowd, much less any authority figures. Worse, people were already starting to drift away as the sight of two guys shaking hands was hardly interesting. They didn’t realize Alan’s hand was being crushed by a much stronger vise-grip hand.

Alan was strong and muscular, though lanky, but he was no match for this monstrously oversized high schooler opposing him and he knew there was no way he could free his hand on his own. So he said in a very loud voice, “Owww! Let go of my hand. You’re hurting me!” He hoped to keep bystanders watching, and he was partly successful with that.

“Oooh, poor baby,” the tall and very muscular athlete still squeezing Alan’s hand replied sarcastically, applying even more pressure as he said this. From his huge build, he was likely a lineman. He taunted, “What are you going to do now that you don’t have any of your teachers to help you? What did you do to Mr. Tompkins to get him to protect you like that, anyways? How many times did you kiss his ass? Or suck his cock?”

Alan was recovering his wits, and went on a verbal offensive, though it didn’t seem that way at first. He said in a proud and loud voice, “Yes. I am gay. I’m a flaming homosexual. Here, let me suck your cock, too. Why don’t you whip it out?” He reached for the boy’s groin with his free hand.

Alan guessed correctly that his attacker was as sexually immature, insecure, and homophobic as the typical dumb jock stereotype, and luckily he was right.

The football player immediately let go of Alan’s hand as if Alan had contagious homosexual “cooties” and backed away a few steps, pushing a couple of his flunkies aside in his hasty retreat.

Alan laughed with derision, pretending much more confidence than he actually felt. He knew from previous experience with bullies that the key thing was to not show any weakness, as most bullies only preyed on the weak. He considered making some kind of homosexual taunt, but decided he shouldn’t push his luck. Instead, he said in a seemingly sincere voice, “Thanks for the help getting up,” and then hurried down the stairs.

He heard one cry of “Fag!” but otherwise the football players didn’t say anything or pursue him. While strong, none of them were particularly bright, and Alan’s unexpected approach had left them confused. They were only slowly figuring out that Alan’s “I’m a flaming homosexual” comment was a form of subtle sarcasm that would more or less render him immune to further homosexual taunts, their preferred insult of choice.

One hour later, Alan entered Glory’s classroom with a scraped knee, scraped elbow, and a very sore hand. Needless to say, he was very much preoccupied by his setbacks and hardly paid any attention to Glory or what was happening in her class. He knew that while in one sense he may have foiled his attackers, in another sense his “victory” was actually a defeat because he’d only succeeded in making his enemies madder at him. The only good news was that no one had followed him between second and third periods. He figured they were probably regrouping and trying to figure out how to best get back at him.

Glory however, was confused. She’d spent most of the two previous class periods anticipating the moment when she’d be able to see Alan in the flesh again, only to find him quite disinterested in her. It wasn’t that he was consciously trying to avoid her; he simply didn’t seem to have her on his mind in any special way because he was so worried about the football players.

She thought, That’s odd. And it’s doubly odd given that Heather was acting in a very similar way the period before. Instead of glaring at me, as usual, Heather didn’t seem to hear a word I was saying, as if she was simply spaced out and in her own world. Just like how Alan’s acting right now. I wonder if he’s going to be like this the whole class.

But Glory couldn’t think about it for long, as she had a class to teach. However, her thoughts kept returning to thinking about Alan and Heather with every free moment she had, especially since Alan seemed to continue to ignore her, though he eventually did appear to focus on the class material a bit.

After some time, she noticed Alan’s knee. Oh my God! That looks like a bad scrape. If I’m not mistaken, that looks like it’s been bleeding pretty badly. And he hasn’t even put a bandage on it or anything. He didn’t have that at the end of first period, I know that!

Should I send him to the nurse? No. I have to try to stay low profile and not let everyone know how much I’m noticing him. I can’t fawn all over him. But what’s the deal? First Heather’s limping around and now Alan is all scraped up with fresh bruises, and obviously neither of them have had P. E. yet. Did they get in a fight with each other? That would make a lot of sense. Oh no! What if they were having passionate, balls-to-the-wall sex with each other instead? Sex so wild, passionate, and violent that the two of them could barely stand up and walk away. After all, Alan’s much more of a lover than a fighter.

That thought sent a surge of warmth through Glory that she immediately fought to stifle.

Knowing Alan, if he were really angry with Heather, he’d fight her with his weapon of choice: sex. I’m not sure how he’d do it, but I bet he’d find some way to triumph over her sexually, defeating her much more soundly than if he actually pummeled her with his fists. God, imagine that! What if he was angry with me and he wanted to teach me a lesson? Even with all my muscles from surfing, he’s so much bigger than me. I’d never stand a chance! Actually, I would, but once he starts waving that cock of his around, I get weak in the knees and turn to mush. He’d attack me, lord over me, tear my clothes off, push me around, and leave me completely helpless to his overpowering sexual drive!

Then he’d rub that huge cock of his all over my face, forcing me to beg to suck it, making me humiliate myself as he smeared pre-cum all over my cheeks and forehead. And I’d suck it, God knows I would. And I’d LOVE it! But that’s not all. He’d just be getting started. Once he had my face and mouth soaked in his cum, he’d turn his attention to my pussy. God have mercy on my soul, because he’d fuck me within an inch of my life! He’d fuck me until I cried mercy. In fact, he’d fuck me until I was screaming, moaning, and begging for mercy, and then he’d keep fucking me anyway!

Just like what he did with Heather, he’d fuck me so good and hard that I’d have as much trouble walking as she does! Why, I’ll bet that he took her, and threw-

“Ms. Rhymer? Um, hello? Ms. Rhymer?” It was the voice of one of Glory’s students, trying to ask a question.

Glory snapped out of her sexual thoughts and tried to answer the question, but she had trouble concentrating. Her nipples were rock hard and her pussy was throbbing.

As the class went on, it seemed that every line of thought she had led back to Alan, or sex, or even more often, Alan and sex. She still valiantly tried to give a lecture instead of just assigning in-class busy work, but she kept stumbling and spacing out, acting as nervously as if it was her first day teaching.

Some minutes later, she looked at Alan and began spacing out again. Damn that young man! He’s still not looking at me. What do I have to do to get his attention? Maybe it’s these God-damned clothes. Societal rules demand that I have to dress all prissy and conservative as a teacher, but why can’t I express myself like everyone else? Why can’t I look like a slutty tramp like Heather does?

I wanna teach dressed like a HOT TRAMP, God dammit! That would get Alan’s attention and tear his mind away from that evil skank. Hell, it would get everyone’s attention, and isn’t that part of my job as a teacher, keeping their attention? A tight, hot, shiny, black leather short skirt kind of like what Heather is wearing today, an even tighter fire engine red top with my cleavage exposed all the way down-

She stopped herself as she realized she was running her hand over her chest and the student who had been speaking had stopped and was staring at her quizzically.

Damn again! she cursed. I must be losing my mind! The sooner I get Alan out of my system, the better off I’ll be. I just have to get through these next few days and then it’ll get easier. It’s like going cold turkey from a heroin addiction.

She looked down and sadly realized she was still wearing the same old “prissy” clothes she’d put on that morning. With an internal sigh, she resumed her teaching lesson.

Since she was such a good teacher, a number of students noticed her odd behavior, but they generally assumed that even Ms. Rhymer had an off day every now and then.

Alan, though, was still so absorbed in his own problems that he remained oblivious.

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