By Niena and Cecil
contd. from Not a Dot (Part II)
She asks, ‘How old are you?’ Before I can hit my memory bank for my default answer, she interrupts this process and goes on, ‘Are you feeling hot?’ while she unhooks two of her top buttons on her sky blue blouse which goes well with her black skirt. ‘The top surface of her boobs and the left strap of her blue bra are really getting ventilated,’ I tell myself. At this point, I am wondering why she asked for my age. I know she can easily look it up in the student records. Besides, I turned 17 and a half not long ago.
She goes behind her swivel chair to lower the curtains to shut the main source of light in the room and begins walking towards me. Half way through her journey she says, ‘Your essay caught me off guard.’
I think to myself again, ‘’So are you right now.’
She goes on, ‘Do you truly believe…’She does the quote hand gesture ‘… women can help improve our standards of living if they get very involved in politics like they own the kitchen?’
I stutter, ’I-I-think that it’s-ss-possible, b …’
She jumps in, ‘but … they are waiting to be handed the platform.’ She picks up my essay and starts to read a portion she has highlighted in green as she tries sitting completely on the portion of her desk which is close to me, with her legs not so close. I have a rare view of her cocoa butter oiled thighs and Darth Vader black underpants. Before I can take my eyes off that view she has already finished reading and is staring at me. I wonder how long I was hypnotized. In embarrassment, I apologize. She shakes her head and takes off her Ray-ban frames, drops it on her desk and starts to fix her braids into a ponytail. In the middle of tying the ponytail she rhetorically asks, ‘You believe in equality, fairness and justice?’ I nod to affirm. She continues, ‘You also think gender doesn’t affect the ability to do anything, huh?’ She ends this statement with her index finger tapping her small nose. She squats, slowly crawls her hands to my hip. She starts moving her hand towards my belt buckle and cautions, ‘If you happen to feel uncomfortable, let me know.’ Just like that. You would think “let me know” is the pass phrase to getting my flaccid at attention. When she sees the sudden rise of “Sparta”, I am ashamed, but I am relieved when her face grows a smirk. She slowly alters her words as she unbuckles my belt ‘To… urrmmm… help change or adjust the view of a person or a community, theories… and abstracts don’t always cut it. Sometimes experiences can make a sharp deep contribution to enlightenment.’ She finally drops her knees on the carpet, locks eyes with me for some seconds and then, attempts to pull my shorts towards my knees. I have to elevate a little bit because obeying the moment is my only option even though I am mad confused about what is happening.
After my shorts go past my knees, she marches her index and middle finger on my attentive soldier making her way towards the opening in my briefs. Out of nowhere I whisper, ‘I am going to pee, I am going to pee …’ My voice gets louder. She quickly gets up and covers my mouth with her right hand. Like that is going to stop me from peeing. I feel weird sensations for some time and a thicker fluid than usual stain my briefs in weird explosions from my comrade. When I return to reality after that quick trip, she is leaning on her desk with her bum, looking at me curiously. ‘Do you want to be excused?’ She asks politely with her right eyebrow raised.
I feel so rock bottom that I don’t care anymore. I reply, ‘Yes.’ I get up, pull my shorts up and buckle it tight. I make my way to the door. At this point, I feel some form of fear creeping up. I swiftly unlock the door without looking back. I step out and rush to the nearest washroom to dry this pee off. Lord! It smells funny.
Hmmm, what a day!