Jack Hill is the editor of Crossed Out Magazine, an online fiction magazine (www.crossedoutmagazine.org), and lives in Northern California.
From the last row of geography class I move my leg back and stare at the back sides of all the girls, the bra straps and underwear elastic, a side of their breast or ass crack as they fidget in their seats. The professor talks and I move my left leg from side to side feeling the static. I want to come in my underwear.
The rubbing noise could be set to a metronome.
The professor talks high pitched about urban patterns and I watch a girl with her hair in a bun take binder paper out of her three ring notebook and she leans forward and I see her ass crack climb out of the waist of her jeans and I continue to move my leg and my balls tense up and I want to come.
I stop moving. I have to wear these jeans tonight at work.
I yawn and the clock says it’s 8:35 pm – a hour til night school is over – and the professor will make us stay until the end – until 9:25 pm.
After class, the over night drive-thru shift at Taco Bell starts.
I watch the girl with the bun showing the ass crack. She slouches in her seat and the ass crack expands. I move my leg again, side to side, feeling the cotton against my skin.
The shift lead will ask me why I wasn’t wearing black slacks and I will say it doesn’t matter because nobody came into the store – they would only see me in the drive thru window – I could work without pants. I will say I didn’t have time to change after night school and she will tell me to wear slacks to night school next time. The shift lead would scoff, tell us to have a safe night, clock out and leave. I will have this conversation three times a week, forever.
I keep moving my leg. The girl sits forward, ass crack disappearing. I look toward the row closest to the door at an Indian girl with D cups. I can see the shape of the sides of her breasts through the white shirt she is wearing. She has the side profile of a finch.
Hopefully Sara would work with me tonight. I saw her name on the schedule. She fucked me last week after at like three in the morning and told me not to tell anyone and complained about her kids for a while and fucked me again and let me come on her tits just before the morning shift took over.
I shake my leg, thinking about Sarah and her black dark skin, and I look over to the girl with the bun and her ass crack is showing again and I imagine her riding me like a praying mantis, her slim body and triangular head over me, her pipe-cleaner arms and legs bent and framing up her body as she bounces.
Come spreads over my crotch and the wetness in underwear is cold as I watch a different girl, a Mexican girl, lean over and I can see the tops of her breasts. I shake my legs until the orgasm ends and I sit for a minute until my cock shrinks into the stickiness and the professor lectures about the challenges suburbs face – annexation – the city grows by annexation he says – and goes on to talk about the differences between Sacramento and other cities.
I stand up and exit the class for the bathroom, hoping nothing has pushed through the black jean fabric. The sides of the desks line my path and I keep my eyes to the floor, to the industrial carpet, and occasionally a hand or foot scrolls by. I keep my eyes away from the faces of the girls.
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