inside out disgust

Looking back on it, I think it was pretty clear that Mrs. B was sending me signals. At the time, I just thought I was imagining things, why would she be sending me signs? I was just a dumb kid. Sure, I was tall, not bad looking with a muscular body for the time. I got some attention from the cute girls but I was just a dumb kid with a stupid grin who was always hanging around stealing glances at her tits or her lovely legs and ass.

If you want my judgment, here it is: let your guilt be your penance. Bear it, suffer under it, burn in it. Work even harder now, so that you can help more people than Bella hurt. That is how you pay for your sins, by making a difference, not by sitting in a dungeon. Sophia Rosege, I hereby sentence you to a lifetime of hard labor, bringing mankind into the next age. That is the punishment I bestow upon you. Just make sure you don’t neglect Alexis or anyone else.”

Mrs. B. was a great teacher for 10th grade English. Funny, engaging, personable—and a bit flirty. She was in her late-20s, just a couple years out of The University of Michigan, cute, nice body and flaming red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She knew the boys all lusted after her and she did nothing to discourage our interest. Students even gave her a nickname, “Bubbles.” The administration was not pleased, but Mrs. B. didn’t seem to mind. She liked the attention. Oh, and I think that we actually learned a lot of English Lit between the horsing around.