My skirt was too short and my blouse was too revealing. Standing in front of the class in this outfit was downright humiliating. The worst part is that I couldn't remember for the life of me why I chose to wear it.
As I stood there feeling like a deer in headlights, I began to notice that I wasn't actually doing anything. I mean, standing in front of the class is one thing. I've had to do it before to give oral reports, but that was the reason I was standing in front of the class. I also remember not wearing such skimpy clothing while performing like a trained monkey.
The sudden draft startles me and a round of giggles emanates from the audience. At once the audience is comprised of girls who are all prettier than I can ever hope to be, and also entirely of guys who are leering at my nakedness, the reason for the sudden draft.
When I awoke, the feeling of terror from that horrible moment instantly abated. A lingering remnant persisted while I lay on my back listening to the morning show of the local radio station. One DJ was making fun of the other and punctuating the jokes with a laugh track of giggling girls.
I sighed without knowing why and finally opened my eyes. I looked over at the green glowing 7:02 AM, no longer as bright with the morning light streaming in through the window. I could feel my face frown.
"Of course we're going to have a re-match!" Vinnie groaned audibly as Joe delivered the punch line. "This time it'll just be Vinnie on an all girl's team!" The giggly laugh track played and I had apparently had enough because I slapped the alarm clock a bit harder to hit the button than was really neccessary. I thought it was funny though. I've seen Vinnie and Joe and Vinnie could stand in for Olive Oyl.
As if reading my mind, my body sat up quickly and I shook my head a couple times. The jiggly feeling on my chest was weird. I must have thought so as well because I first put my hands on my breasts to settle them, and then looked down at them. Encased in the flimsy pajama top made them even sexier than when I looked at them in the bathroom the night before. The almost familiar feeling of morning wood started to creep in and I thought nothing unusual.
Until I threw my head down, face first in Karyn's very, very soft pillow and screamed. I screamed for a good five or six seconds and then just laid there, breathing through the pillow. For certain, any arousal I felt was completely gone. I had forgotten about it entirely and was now wondering what the hell the scream was all about. I felt drained physically now, but it was sort of cathartic.
I finally lifted my head and sat up again. This time I looked at one of the posters on Karyn's wall. It was Eminem sitting on the floor against a black background, a black skull-cap with a white swoosh on his head, a black wife-beater with an Air Jordan logo, baggy white pants and white sneakers. He had an expression of vague malice I guess, and his body language was sort of "I don't give a fuck, I'm just chillin'". My eyes scanned the curves of his muscles, his shoulders and arms being thicker than my own. I focused on the tattoos on his shoulders now, one a short sleeve of a skull design, the other a picture of a little girl. A gold chain hung down with the bottom of the pendant (a crucifix?) hidden behind the folds of his baggy pants.
My eyes fixed on the fold that hid the bottom of the crucifix for far longer than I was comfortable with. All unbidden I started to feel arousal again.
Oh. Hell. No.
My body however was in complete disagreement with me. This wasn't right. I wasn't a girl (well, not really). The hormones raced through my body and I could feel a vague ache. If I hadn't been staring at Slim Shady's crotch I think it would have felt... well... 'nice' I guess.
To punctuate the situation, I felt my face split into a grin and I moaned a little. If I had been myself in a room with Karyn, and she made that noise toward me, I'd be the fuckin man. Instead, I was a teenage girl turning herself on while looking at a crappy white rapper (who admittedly is at least better than Vanilla Ice, but still!).
And then I spoke the words that would haunt my memory for all time (or at least until I got to the bathroom and got naked).
"Yep. I still like me some cock."
There was a twinge of desire laced in with those words, and as soon as I finished speaking them I felt a slight flush. I looked quickly at my, er, Karyn's bedroom door and then stole a final glance at Eminem before standing up and doing some stretching.
