7th grade waste
Seventh grade was a waste! I had made the drum corps try outs and was very proud, practicing diligently, pretending I was blowing my head off on a bugle, or so I pretended, till I saw sparks before my eyes, my head and lungs aching and hurting.
That year I had Mrs. Buzzi as teacher and the fact that I had made it into the drum corps while her older son didn’t must have caused some resentment from her towards me. Why else would she treat me the way she did? But I didn’t care…the hell with her, I thought, until she stopped me from pretending what our bugles would sound like in a parade and ordered me to follow her to her office -- really a teacher’s lounge that she relaxed in with the other teachers.
Day after day went by while the other kids played and gossiped after lunch I was stuck standing outside of the teacher’s lounge, pacing back and forth. Other teachers walked by, glancing at me curiously, but after they had exited the lounge where they chatted with Mrs. Buzzi, they looked bitterly at me, as if I had done some vicious and wile deed that could only bring about their scorn and abuse.
After about two months of this, I had drifted into the logical psychological role play of being her victim -- quiet, docile and morbid. All interest in anything outside of me was for nothing. I came to class, was laughed at and taunted by the other students, then silently followed Mrs. Buzzi wherever she went….
On the day before Thanksgiving, before we went off for a four day off from school, Mrs. Buzzi told me to return to the teacher’s lounge where she had forgotten her purse; she said this loudly in front of the class that the smirks on the faces of my classmates were clear and evident that they heard; I hated them…and most of all her…
I was red-faced as I returned to the lounge -- nothing much, just a room with magazines and reclining chairs for them to rest and prop their feel up. Her purse was on the floor next to a chair, with a chair-bottom that had dragged and fallen down. I could just imagine her sitting there in that comfortable position and even dozing off as she dreamed her teacher dreams. I stooped down to retrieve her purse when I reached down and ran my fingertips along the puffy bottom of the chair. I don’t know what happened but all of a sudden my dick was hard and out of my pants…maybe two, three, four strokes and I spasmed, shooting the jism out onto the chair bottom.
I instantly felt at peace, very relieved and uncaring, and smiling to myself as I spread my jism around then returned to class holding her purse and swinging it back and forth. The rest of the school year that cunning smile never left my face as other nervous teachers commented on my all of a sudden weird expression….they never learned about it.
And Mrs. Buzzi had nothing to say as she sat in her scum stained reclining chair as I stood outside and smirked to myself as the year went slowly by humming drum corps music in my head.
I knew I would never care anymore and I didn’t….
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