mark h brooke

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.

“Oh, just a little something to help you relax, so I could bring you here,” she smiled impishly, slowly stalking closer until she was even with my hip, her sexy, four-inch heels clicking on the floor. She was seductively licking her full, pouty lips, and began to trail her pointed, lacquered red fingernails up and down the back of my thigh. “And another little something, to make sure you'd be in the proper mood for what I have planned. But I'm not talking about when we met tonight, at the party. You and I have met before. Don't you remember, Brian?”

He went at it again, sprinting towards Reiss. An air blast was launched towards him, but he raised his sword and cut through it, shattering the spell like a pane of glass. Reiss continued hurling blasts, with Abner slashing his way through each one. He got in close, dodging another kick from Reiss, and finally landed a cut on Reiss’s shoulder. Reiss hissed in pain, but gathered his strength and grabbed Abner by the throat, holding him off the ground. For the wound Abner landed, Reiss paid him back with several punches to the gut, the last punch accentuated with an air blast that launched Abner like a champagne cork. Abner hit the ground rolling, though not by design, and left behind several blood drops before stopping.“You’re going to die today, boy.”