It all started when I was a very young elementary school lad. Fresh as a rose, I was walkin' in the line from recess, mindin' me own and admiring the scenery. I do believe we'd had that funny square unidentifiable school pizza that day. Ah, yes. The days before the school system finally realized they were turning us all into blubber butts.
Our gorgeous movie star of a teacher (yes, even then I could appreciate a well-turned heel and a rack of steel ::wipes eye:: ...what was I sayin'...) strides up with her luscious gams and points the finger o'doom upon each of us in turn...
"Now I don't want to hear one peep out of any of you until we get back to the room!" she growled menacingly...dear Lord...had I but been capable of an erection at that age...the beauty...the larger than life rage...she was my dark queen...I loved her and despaired...
...so I kept my little hobbit mouth shut. Unfortunately, my blow hole was not as amiable as my pie hole, and chaos did in fact, my children, ensue.
So I'm in a long line of munchkins, dressed likely in neon "jams" shorts (as was the fashion in the days of stock market suicides, forgetful movie star presidents and fashions inspired by Beelzebub's ugly sister) when suddenly I feel the call of an old, hated enemy - and the push against the olde anal sphincter. I knew there was a flood a'comin', lads, and my good and fluffy Lord had nothin' t'all to do with it.
I grab me sweet little cheeks and start shimmyin' and a shakin', movin' and a groovin', tryin' in vain to keep them squeezed shut (after all, I must not offend my lusty dark queen). My classmates are starting to look at me; halfway amused, halfway bemused with that "oh-my-dear-sweet-God-no" look of building terror on their cute little innocent faces.
I should have known better; after all , this was not my first bout with fanny rapids. I should have remembered the eye of the whale eye; the time of calm before the final unstoppable explosion - that terrible, no good, awful, very bad force of nature that nearly rips your posterior in twain...and thus did the unamable square school pizza wreak it's awful revenge upon my neon "jams" shorts.
A geyser of hot, rancid poo torpedoed from my boiling bung as I screamed out in anguish and pain. Almost as if in slow motion, the children around me overcame their fear of movement and ran in all directions, screaming and vomiting, asking their own fluffy lords why...why.
Why indeed. I stood there, my shorts now dripping pungent turdwater into my innocent high-top Chucks. Silent tears trickled down my poor, blundering little face as I held my head low, my eyes wide and bulging from shock and exhasperated horror.
Among the whispers of "gross" and "ewww" I heard the words, "Oh, God," and my shoulders tensed. My dark queen had discovered me at the most embarrassing point in my young life. Suddenly a gentle hand was on my shoulder, and she began carefully leading me to the classroom bathroom.
Once there she helped me strip down (again, shut your birdfeeders, fucktards, it was innocent on her part) out of my shadden rags. My shoulders must have appeared slumped to my waist as I stood there silently weeping. I finally let go. I bawled like a newborn.
Again the warm, beautifully manicured hand was there on my shoulder. (I wish to emphasize here that if anyone finds this sick or inappropriate, also take into account that this was a happier time beofre bullshit lawsuits and hottie teachers who fuck kindergartners. Before it became illegal for teachers to spank some little bastard, much less innocently try to clean and emotionally mend a poor child who had just shat his entire lower half rather than disobey his kindly war goddess of a teacher. Naughty bastards.)
"Why didn't you just run to the bathroom?" she asked, perplexed.
"You said not to move," I said weakly, fighting back adding, "my lady" or "I would die for you"...yeah, you might say it was a crush. Unhealthy? No argument here...
She tenderly cleaned me from head to toe, except for the private area, which she left for me as she stepped out to check on the rest of the class. After a while, my mom showed up with a change of clothes, and to make sure I had cleaned me long shanks properly - a fact which totally (and healthily) destroyed the enchantment of the situation for me. The only clothes she had been able to get her hands on in the rush of things was a spare outfit that my aunt had kept for just such an emergency for her kid...a black long sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans.
As I dressed in the long, dark uniform, it felt as if changing into a protective suit of armor. A shield from the hyenas who would no doubt bombard me with witty puns of my pootastic exploits the moment my swollen bum hit my desk. And then I heard my dark queen say from the classroom:
"If ANY of you so much as MUTTERS anything about what happened to that poor boy while in my class, or jokes, or lets him hear anything mentioned about what happened to him today, you WILL be punished!"
And no one did. Thank you, my dark queen. ::bows::
1 comment:
In spite of horrific circumstances, you were indeed an obedient knight at such a young age. And I do hope the Dark Queen had a wonderful career, in payment for her kindness to you.
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