Ms. Bridgewater's math class was legendary among the student body. Rumor had it that before becoming a teacher, she'd been an exotic dancer. And the rumors were not wrong. The woman not only moved with a lithe grace, but dressed in precisely-tailored skirt suits and wore impeccable makeup every day. Every inch of what she wore served to accentuate her ample... well, her ample natural beauty, suffice it to say.
And until today, Sarah hadn't had much cause to examine the teacher. On a simple level, she recognized the older woman's style and appreciated the work that had clearly been put in to look nice. But it wasn't like Sarah didn't put in just as much work every morning, herself. She "knew how the sausage was made," so to say.
However, now things were different. Sarah eschewed the numbers and symbols on the whiteboard in favor of a frank and thorough assessment of Ms. Tanya Bridgewater. For the entire class period, Sarah considered how she would approach a woman like this, a woman who was "experienced," who would likely balk at any kind of relationship with a student, and who clearly didn't need a relationship with a student.
It started with finding an excuse to get her alone. Sarah would have to make herself appear vulnerable, enough that Ms. Bridgewater would feel a need to help her but not so much that it ended up as pity. And when the teacher's natural empathy had taken a firm enough hold, Sarah would turn the tables, wresting control of the conversation and taking what she wanted from Ms. Bridgewater.
The scenario played out in Sarah's head again and again throughout the period, each time becoming more and more refined. But the more Sarah thought about it, the more a particular realization became clear: she held no physical attraction for Ms. Bridgewater. Sarah's interest was limited to the hunt. The game of seducing a woman, the challenge of turning her from adversary to conquest.
Then it clicked: that's what Sarah had received from Steve, and nothing more. The game of flirting was what defined Steve as a man, just as the appearance of confidence was what defined Biff. And now those energies had gone from both football players, funneled directly into Sarah. Just like she had wished.
Despite herself, that thought caused a throbbing in Sarah's nether regions that would have been visible if she had not been sitting down. But so what if it was visible? Sarah was untouchable.
That must have been a Biff thought.
But Sarah decided that she needed more of this energy, if for no other reason than to discover how the rest of the male student body defined their own masculinity.
The bell rang and Sarah looked around for a test subject. She'd find the least masculine boy in class, hold him for a moment like she had with Biff and Steve, and absorb from him whatever trait he thought was his manliest.
Alistair Simms.
The boy could generously be described as a "late bloomer," but that presumed that he would eventually bloom. Standing at five-foot-nothing, even most freshman girls were taller than him, and he was skinny as a rake. It wasn't that Alistair was in any way feminine, but you couldn't call him masculine, either. And he happened to share Ms. Bridgewater's math class with Sarah.
And so it was that Sarah approached Alistair while he was packing up his things. She put his hand on his, and he turned to look at her. There was a peculiar expression on his face as the two students locked eyes, but Sarah was unsure what it meant.
