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3. Newton's three laws of motion
I can't believe it. Twice within an hour I'm being made to wear this stupid head of lettuce. Who else looks back in their life and remember their salad days this way? Looking up, I freeze when I see the 20 girls in my grade 10 class watching me with mouths open.
"Girls, pay attention please", Miss Kali commands. All eyes turn to her. "Mr. Jefferson was busy playing with himself so we didn't have time to get him into his tube. As you know, the male anatomy is not to be exposed during school hours, higher grades excluded. His covering, will fall off unless his prostrate gland is pushed like so". Miss Kali's nail scores my gland and the lettuce jumps. "For me to let this class continue, I need volunteers to make sure that there is always a finger on this button, until the end of the class. Do I have your co-operation?"
To my dismay, every hand shoots up. "Thank you girls, please arrange three minute shifts." The first girl in the first row saunters up and after Miss Kali removes her finger, jams her own in intensely.
Miss Kali pauses. She shoves her finger in my mouth. "Girls, don't forget to clean your finger when you have finished." I just stand there, mouth open, tasting something I really don't want to taste. A sharp stab in my bum hole sets me to work. I queasily clean her finger until Miss Kali is satisfied. "Bye girls, learn your lesson well and make sure the lettuce doesn't fall off."
I wonder how I will be able to teach knowing that every girl in this class is going to have her finger up my ass for three minutes. The girl behind me gives me a sharp jab. I start my job.
"Girls, today we are going to learn Newton's three laws of motion", I begin. I see all eyes fixate on the head of lettuce. A pretty 16-year-old girl starts to snigger. I know it is time to take control. "You, stand up. So you are sniggering at Newton's laws of motion are you? Tell me your name and state what the first law is?"
Flushed, she replies, "My name is Lisa and the first law of motion is." Lisa stops for a moment and heatedly says, "Excuse me Mr. Jefferson it's my turn for the chore. I'll answer as soon as I'm in position." She marches to the front of the room. Yanking out the girl's finger behind me, she puts it in my mouth and rams two fingers deep into my bum hole. My knees buckle, the lettuce jumps higher and just as I'm about to remove the repulsive finger from my mouth Lisa states;
Every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external force is applied to it."
I am impressed but can't say anything as the first girl moves her finger deeper into my clean-up mouth. Lisa asks the class for a volunteer to help prove this principle. Another girl who has been sitting at the back of the class beside her rushes up to help.
"OK", she said. "Let's start with an internal force to create a uniform motion". She starts to saw two fingers in my bum hole back and forth. The lettuce started bobbing to her fingers rhythm.
Lisa smilingly says, "Sally, you're going to be the external force. Give one spank to Mr. Jefferson's balls. Class observe the effect of this external force on his uniform motion."
This was getting out of hand. Spitting out the finger, I move to grab Sally when I feel Lisa's fingers grip my prostrate. "Put that finger back in", Lisa warns, "and do a proper job". Contrite, I reinsert an all too willing finger and suck avidly until I feel fingers reduce the pressure on my button.
Sally raises her hand and gives my balls a hard swipe. Through the pain, I see the lettuce swirl around crazily with no resemblance to its previous motion. The class is so impressed that they line up to repeat the experiment. Lisa pulls her soiled fingers from my bum and presents them to me for cleaning while Sally inserts her two fingers and begins sawing. Another girl slaps my balls, and this rotational activity goes on and on until the 12 th girl hits my balls. I blissfully faint.
I awake to a dash of cold water. The 14 th girl (God, only six more to go) has two fingers in my bum. Shaking, she helps me up with these claws demanding to know the second law. I see the class neatly assembled, notebooks ready for the lesson's continuation. I have no doubt they will remember the first law of motion. I tell them the second law.
The relationship between an object's mass m , its acceleration a, and the applied force F is F = ma .
Lisa shoots her hand up. I warily acknowledge her. She stands up and says, "Mr. Jefferson, does that mean that if a force is applied on two objects, one half the mass of the other, then the acceleration of the smaller object is twice as fast?"
Sally, not to be outdone. "Sir, will you let me prove this to the class".
Not wanting to go through another experiment, I begin to respond in the negative when the girl behind me inserts a third finger, reaches in, and takes solid hold of my button.
Changing my mind I quaver, "Certainly Sally, now let me just give a few rules". Before I could try to set any ground rules the 14 th girl roughly pulls her three fingers out of my butt and stuffs them in my face. "MMMMMMMMM" I tried to talk around them, but am forced to go back to my filthy cleaning duties. After the 15 th girl starts her sawing (happily with only one finger), Sally comes to the front of the class.
She makes me stand at an angle, asks one of the girls to turn out the lights and shines a flashlight on the lettuce projecting its shadow on the whiteboard. Bending the lettuce until I think she is going to break pokey, she has Lisa mark that stop on the whiteboard. She pauses to let the 15 th girl start her finger cleaning while the 16 th girl started her chore (rats, 2 fingers this time). "Girls, take out your gym stopwatches and when I say start, click them on, and when you see the shadow on the whiteboard in line with the spot Lisa has marked, click the stopwatch off". Picking up my ruler, Lisa says, "start". She whacks the lettuce as hard as she can with both hands. My mind explodes. My pokey implodes. A shadow falls over the spot. The flashlight and stopwatches blink off and the lights go on.
She lets me recover while collecting the various times from the class. Calculating the averages during a shift change (the 17 th girl started to painfully saw my bum hole with three fingers and I discover that that 16 th girl has two very dirty fingernails), she announces .8 seconds.
"Now class, we have to halve the mass of the lettuce. Does anyone know how to do that?" Sally queries.
A young Girl Scout type boils up from the floor. "I do, I do". God, I hope the next shift has tiny fingers. The three finger sawing going on behind me was seriously scratchy.
"OK, Martha, show us how it's done" Sally encourages.
I can't believe it when Martha takes out a Scout knife and approaches the lettuce. Panicked by the knife, I try to protest around the finger in my mouth just as girl 17 pops out her three fingers and stuffs them deep into my mouth. Further distracting me, I discern girl 17's long fingernails. I feel two nails gouging deeper and deeper. Forget the tiny finger theory, I'll take the three thick ones over what these two stainless steel stilettos. The nails keep sliding down until they pinch my prostate with cadenced pincer movements.
For the first time, I experience fear. What if she pinches it off? Keeping my body as still as possible, smelly three fingers tells me to work harder. Sucking hard, I warily watch Martha and her knife with my bottom frozen in dread.
"This is what I figure Sally. The lettuce is a sphere, so its volume is pi r squared." She gives the lettuce a big squeeze. Pokey flares, old hard nails behind me "deep pinches" me quiet. "It feels like this lettuce's density is evenly distributed within this sphere. So, if we reduce the radius by one quarter it will halve the weight", she said proudly in a distinct Brooklyn accent. She takes a ruler, determines the new radius and cuts off the excess lettuce. I anguish over losing half my clothing.
With this accomplished, Sally calls for a shift change thanking the nail girl for keeping me still. The relief at not having my prostate continuously pinched is immense. Two nail fingers enter my mouth and start behaving like dental picks that don't know where gums are. The stabs prompt me to close my mouth on these irritants. The tiny 18 th girl, bunches four fingers, and tries to get them into my bum hole. Successfully resisting, I lose it when sharp nails trap my tongue. Four tiny knuckles begin sawing back and forth.
Seeing the chores well in hand (well 4/5ths of a hand anyway), Sally turns the flashlight on, calls for the room lights to be turned off and taking the ruler yells "Start" and with both hands, hits the lettuce full force.
The root of my pokey feels dislocated and a scarlet haze washes over me. Coming too, I note with dismay that girl 18 took advantage of my painful distraction to push her four fingers up to knuckles two. See, saw, see, saw. I feel full. Sharp nails starts digging into my tongue again as Sally tallies the numbers.
Her victory is complete. Sally speaks the magic numbers, "The result is .37 seconds which is only .03 seconds away from what Newton's second law tells us".
A cheer goes up. Lisa, not wanting Sally to get a big head, says, "But why is there a .03 second difference?" The class puzzles over this. The Girl Scout says, "Wait, I don't know the density of what Mr. Jefferson has inside the lettuce. Just a moment", and madly calculating "Whatever it is, it's much denser than lettuce and weighs around 105 grams. That would account for the .03-second delay.
I have to admire, purely as a physicist, the intelligence of this Grade 10 class. I just wish their experimental approach wasn't so personal.
The cheers go up again. 4 tiny fingers went through my lips, as girl 19, to my relief, inserted a "thin, three finger no nail, job.
The third law Mr. Jefferson, what is Newton's third law the now very animated class demands?
I quickly cleaned each finger on girl 18 who sits with the rest of the class.
Girl 19 pushes three long fingers in as far as they could go. "The third law is:"
For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.
The class goes still. I can see they are all madly trying to figure out how to prove this law. A hand goes up. "Yes, state your name and question please". I'm beginning to suspect that courtesy is a good idea with this class.
"Mr. Jefferson, my name is Brandy and I think I can prove this. Would you mind if we put your lettuce in a bucket of water?"
"No way" I retort. At this moment girl 19 slips in her fourth finger and drives it to the bottom to join the other three. An earthquake erupts in me as I tried to accommodate this new intruder.
Girl 19 speaks in my ear and demurely injects, "If you don't want the thumb I would suggest you help Brady".
"That's fine Brady, get your bucket of water." While trying to stop my bottom from wavering in its attempt to make room for a new tenant, Brady collects a two foot diameter bucket of water and places it on the ground.
"Ok Mr. Jefferson, put it in". Girl 19 's fingers drive me to my knees and my balls and the lettuce are immersed in ice water. I attempt to rise. Fingers drive my balls back in.
I sure hope this experiment is over quickly noting how my balls contract painfully. Girl 19, seeing me acquiesce, drags her four fingers out of my bum hole and rolling them into a fist push them into my mouth. She grabs my tongue and starts using it like a dishrag. The taste is appalling. Girl 20, a slim Vietnamese girl, inserts a thumb and two fingers and grasps my button. The cold, deflating my pokey, was no match for that ingrain feeling. It rises again just before the threat of the lettuce rolling off materializes.
"Right" says Brady brightly and takes out the rubber staple gun from my table. Grabbing a scale she reports it weights 50 grams. She lifts one of my balls out of the water and plops it on. "10 grams" she reports. Brady then calculates. "Ok, if Newton's third law of motion is correct then when I float this stapler on the water and fire a staple at one of Mr. Jefferson's balls, the stapler should move only 1/5 th the distance that his ball moves".
Although I admire her logic I certainly wasn't about to allow Brady to fire a staple at one of my balls. Anticipating the problem, Vietnam takes out her thumb and two fingers. Bunching her whole hand into a point, she drives half her hand into my butt hole. "Stay still, or I'll put the rest in". Shuttering, I watch Brady float the rubber stapler a foot from my balls while the girls gather around with their rulers. Soon, the whole bucket is criss-crossed with rulers, my balls serenely floating beneath. Not for long. "Fire" Brady cries as she presses the button. The pain in my left ball is indescribable. I forcefully move my ass away from the bucket. Girl 19 drives her whole hand inside me. Action equals reaction; my balls float according to Brady's plan.
The stapler moves ¼ inch Mr. Jefferson's ball moved 1 1/4 inches. "It worked" Brady cries – his ball is five times lighter and moved five times as far." Both the fist in my mouth and the fist in my bum pound out a victory dance. Even the class bell joins the cheering girls.
The fists are removed as I stare dully at my stapled balls floating in the water along with lettuce leaves.
Miss Kali enters and quizzes the girls on Newton's laws. She is pleased with their understanding and comes over to congratulate me. Looking down, she covers her mouth in disgust and says, "Mr. Jefferson, your lettuce is 90% gone. You are only just covered. Quick girls, get elastic bands and attach them to the remaining leafs before they fall off." My pokey stiffens angrily at the thought of such an imposition. I was about to convey this when she reaches down, grabs pokey and tries to make sure no more lettuce leaves fall off. In defense, pokey fights back and grows larger. A full 7 inches. Larger than I think is possible.
20 girls snatch up their elastic bands bags and rush over to save the remaining leafs. The first few look like they will do the job but Miss Kali is in no mood to take chances. Double them up girls, we need many more. It feels like hundreds of tiny boa constrictors. Soon, there were so many rubber bands that only pokeys' lettuce top could be seen. With the blood flow cut off, there was no way to bring down my 7-inch ramrod.
"Whew, that was close. Ok everybody, lunch time." The girls file out and Miss Kali looks at me austerely. "How many times have I told you the importance of keeping covered? Don't let this happen again. Now, you're scheduled to help serve in the lunchroom. You can grab a bite at the end." Grabbing the rubber she directs me into the cafeteria. Entering the kitchen, I groan to see I'm back with the four old biddies. She hands my rubber band encased pokey to the one with the garlic breath. "Granny, please show him his serving duties and make sure he gets a bite to eat before his grade 11 class at 2." Taking a tight grip on the baton passed, Granny assures Miss Kali that she will fully familiarize me with my serving duties. Miss Kali smiles wanly and walks away.
Holding tightly onto the baton, Granny enthuses "Ladies, our server has finally arrive. Mr. Jefferson will set the tables. Ethel, get the plates, Meredith, get a tray of glasses and Julia; you get the cutlery bucket and two napkin dispensers.
Ethel, an aged skinny Romanian, loads twenty plates in my left hand. Julie, an old fat black woman, loads a tray of twenty glasses in my right hand. Meredith, an old but well formed Scot, holds a cutlery bucket and two napkin dispensers in hand. She puzzles seeing my hands full. Brightening, she puts down her stuff. She goes into the refrigerated room and returns with three large meat hooks. Carefully slipping two rubber bands from my pokey (making sure she doesn't rip any lettuce), she triple loops them and attaches them to each of my balls.
"Oww, that hurts" I cry, feeling my balls constricting into two hard chestnuts. She smiles and then inserts a meat hook into each ball band and slip the third meat hook through several of the blue rubber bands at the top of pokey. Trust those common sense Scots.
My arms, tiring from holding the places and glass tray, almost buckle when she hooks the cutlery bucket to the pokey meat hook. Bang, my pokey goes from a 1:00 o'clock to a 6:00 o'clock position in a millisecond. She attaches each napkin dispenser to one the ball hooks and proclaims, "OK, Mr. Jefferson, please start setting the tables."
My pokey feels like it is about to be uprooted from the weight of the cutlery bucket and having my scrotum stretch to four times its normal length isn't pleasant either.
"Don't worry Mr. Jefferson. The sooner you serve the tables, the sooner you'll be able to get some weight relief", Granny encouraged and pulling on the bucket leads me into the lunchroom.
80 girls stop what they are doing as I stand there in total humiliation. "Move along Mr. Jefferson. The girls are hungry", Granny says.
I shuffle along in baby steps towards the first table of twenty trying to minimize the downstairs swing effect. It was my grade 9 class. Lettie and Sophie, sitting at the ends of the table give me welcoming smiles and say, "Start here Mr. Jefferson". I choose to go to Lettie remembering how Sally had won the "bob the apple" contest. Sally frowns as Lettie takes a plate and glass. My balls swing when she pulls out a napkin. My pokey swings when she retrieves a set of cutlery from the bucket. I hurry around the table to relieve my underlying tension as rapidly as possible. Halfway through serving, with pokey now in the 4:00 o'clock position, it was Sophie's turn.
"Mr. Jefferson, how nice to finally be served by you", she says frowning. While taking her plate and glass, her elbow knocks a heavy book bag right into the cutlery bucket. 6:00 o'clock was followed by uncontaminated pain. "Oops, sorry Mr. Jefferson", she says and reaching down to remove the heavy book bag, she changes her mind and grabs each napkin dispenser and raises them to her eyes. My balls follow and soon I was on my tiptoes. Stretching the dispensers as wide as they would go made my package look like a wind sail. Selecting a napkin from the right dispenser she drops both dispensers. The elastic bands tighten around my tormented balls, loosen, and tighten and so on until the dispensers finally stop their bobbing. "Thank you Mr. Jefferson", Sophia says retrieving her book bag.
The rest of the table thought this was great fun. For the next 10 servings all manner of items were accidentally dropped into the cutlery bucket and each girl forced me ever higher on my toes before forever deciding which napkin dispenser to use. They kept dropping the dispensers from a higher and higher level. The last girl, threw the dispensers down so hard, that they bounced back above their original location.
In a fog, with a lot of the weight removed, pokey returns to a 2:00 o'clock position. I stumble back into the kitchen, empty bucket and dispensers trailing.
"You certainly took your time Mr. Jefferson", Granny said removing my meat hooks, bucket and dispensers, "We've already set the other three tables. Please serve the soup at the second table. Ethel, Julie, get him the soup bowl. Meredith gets him the large soup ladle." Ethel and Julie approach me, struggling as they carry a large vat of steaming tomato soup. I take it by the side handles, being careful to keep the hot iron away from my bare chest. Meredith holds the two-foot soup ladle in front of me thinking. She drops on her knees and then starts snapping 10-15 elastic bands over the wooden handle until it was firmly attached along the entire length of my lettuce covered pokey. I couldn't see this activity with the large vat of tomato soup obstructing my view. I could, however, feel how the increased constriction of the ladle handle pushed my already unnatural 7-inch pokey into an 8-inch pokey. "Off you go then Mr. Jefferson" Granny says, helping me into the lunchroom by pulling on the soup ladle.
The room roars with laughter as I carefully carry the heavy soup, with the two-foot ladle bizarrely sticking straight out in front of me. Approaching the table, I cringe when I realize that it's my grade 10 class. How will I be able to teach them the next day I wondered? I look for a place to put the large vat but the table is full and every chair is occupied. I bend over to put it on the floor when Sally stops me, gripping the ladle.
"Hold it Mr. Jefferson, that hot vat would ruin the floor varnish. Martha, go fetch a mop." Sally orders. Martha gets a kitchen mop. Threads it between my legs and puts one end on lowest strut supporting Sally's chair and the other on her own. "Great Martha, you get the idea. Now there is at least 2-inches between where the vat is going and the floor varnish. That should be safe enough." Lifting the ladle out of the way, Sally continues, "Ok Mr. Jefferson, balance the vat on that pole". I lean forward and balance the vat precariously on the pole with both hands. Back hurting, I have to spread my feet wide apart to be comfortable not realizing the front row bum hole view I was giving Martha. Sally plops the 2-foot ladle into the soup and announces to the rest of the table "Soup's on guys, let's get organized. Each girl will pour the soup for the girl in front of her" she says holding out her bowl. Lisa jumps to pour.
I almost tip the soup when I felt a hand on the bottom of my pokey. "Lisa, hold the ladle lower down", I whisper embarrassingly.
"Mr. Jefferson," her voice ringing, "I have to hold the ladle at the top. It's far too hot further down. She firmly wraps her hand around the end of the ladle and my pokey. She starts to lift the soup out of the vat. I thought the rubber bands had suspended all feeling down there. How wrong I was. The ladle weighed at least three pounds, and the soup it contained, another. Archimedes Lever Principle connected. My pokey, subjected to incredible pressure, tried to fight back with the limited blood supply available.
Shrieking, Lisa drops the handle, "The handle is pulsating like mad". The girls were mystified. I certainly wasn't going to clarify things. The Vietnamese girl comes forward. My bum hole cringes remembering "her fist victory dance". "Here Debbie", Lisa says picking me up daintily with two fingers, "all yours".
Debbie lost no time trying to crack the "pulsating mystery". With a firm grasp she questions "Lisa, are you sure the handle was vibrating? It isn't vibrating now."
"It didn't start until I started lifting the soup", Lisa said to a disbelieving crowd.
Debbie lifts the handle one foot. "I feel it." She lifts it two feet. "It's even faster now."
Nadine suggests, "Let's measure the rate of change. Maybe that will give us a clue." Bloody heck. Nadine should know science is not done in a lunchroom.
"Experiment time!" the girls cry, pulling out their rulers and stopwatches.
Nadine carefully raises the ladle to a carefully measured foot. 20 pulses per minute they calculate. Two feet – 30 pulses. Three feet – 40. "I got it", Nadine says excitingly, "The pulses are a function of the weight times the length of the lever. Watch." She places her book bag on the bottom of the ladle.
Debbie announces, "It's pulsating like crazy. Time this girls." My pokeys' beating heart almost seized. "One hundred pulses per minute" Olga enthused. "It feels like a live wire. Great analysis Nadine."
"I want to feel it too", Nadine said grabbing the "handle" from Debbie. I just stood there, helpless. My best friend struggles heroically. He's passed from girl to girl.
A plumpish Portuguese girl, clearly annoyed at being last in line, wondered, "Do you think the grip has an effect?" She curves her claws. Holding the handle with just her fingernails, she sinks them deep in to pokeys' heart. It seizes. "The pulsing stops when you use your nails", Debbie proudly states.
Pokey sends me an urgent message. "Get your nails out of me you stupid Portuguese cow," I said almost tipping the vat of soup. All the girls' faces harden.
Debbie the fist angrily punches through my bum hole, harshly yelling, "Nobody talks to Margarida like that". My anger dissipates. My bum hole reacquaints itself with the Vietnamese girls' 2" fist. "Ok, I have him under control." she smirks.
Without a shred of sympathy, Margarida's nails rise. My pokey rises. The pain was intense. There must have been over 100 lb of pressure per square inch in the nailed areas.
The ladle rises until it is level with Sophie's soup bowl. She removes her nails, re-grips with one hand, and twists the handle. My pokey twists. The ladle twists. The soup starts to fill. At 45 degrees, centrifugal force overtakes my nail pain relief. At 60 degrees, pokey twisted hideously, I cry, "Stop Margarida, Sophie has enough soup".
Disagreeing, Sophie says, "To the top Margarida, we cows need our liquids". With a grin, Margarida take the handle with both hands and twists the FULL 90 degrees.
Something had to give. My pokey screamed through all the rubber bands, shredding lettuce everywhere, until it rested on the side of the handle. Amazingly there was no blood from either the nails or rubber bands drive. 'Thank you, Mr. Jefferson, for helping this fat cow" and with Portuguese strength, Margarida skids pokey back to his basement home.
The next ten minutes taught me the intimate details of every nail in my Grade 10 class. The blunt ones, the sharp ones, the long ones, all of them, nobody wanted pulses.
Each nailing experience was separated with a soup bowl filled pokey twist. When I made a sound, the Vietnam War would start again downstairs. Debbie reluctantly removes her fist and gets her bowl. Martha, the New York girl, takes the handle. My bum hole tries to contract back to its normal size. "My God", Margarida cries, moving behind me, "his bum hole is winking at me".
Desperate to stop the girls looking at my most private parts I whisper to the Portuguese lady "Margarida, please cover me up. Miss Kali wouldn't approve." Mulling this over, Margarida affirms the decision, and picking up a small carrot with a long stem, fully inserts it into my winking bum hole.
Martha, enthralled by what was going on behind her, lifts the ladle too high and the tomato soup spilled into the ladles' groove. God, lettuce in the front of me. Carrots in the back of me. Down towards the valley of pokey rode the tomato soup. "Martha, watch what you're doing" I anguish. Startled, that dumb Yankee dug her nails in harder and lifted the full ladle even higher. The hot tomato soup cascaded down the ladle funnel like a raging lava stream. At the last possible moment, Martha managed to twist the handle before her hand was burned. Pokey went one way. The tomato soup the other. The twain did meet. Every rubber band ripped piece of lettuce was permutated. Pokey feels on fire! The vat wobbles as my bottom furiously wiggles trying to cool pokey down.
Martha laughs, "Look girls, Mr. Jefferson is playing horsy". The carrot stem flies through space with all the girls leaning forward to watch the action. Their entertainment ceases as pokey finally cools. "Thank you Mr. Jefferson", Martha merrily says, "You can take the vat back to the kitchen now." In front of eighty girls, red stick at 1:00 o'clock, and tail between my legs, I return to the kitchen.
Granny looks up as I slump in, "Hungry" she asks. Pokey and stomach argue with each other.
"Yes" I salivated, "But can you take off these rubber bands off first? I'm running out of oxygen down there."
Granny looks down at my tomato soup encrusted pokey, "I'm sure Miss Kali will agree. Ethel, Meredith, help Mr. Jefferson. Julie make him a snack."
Meredith pulls out the carrot and hands it to Julie. Gently pushing me into a kitchen chair she soothingly, "Everything is fine now, Mr. Jefferson, just close your eyes and relax."
Grateful, I sit back while Ethel and Meredith carefully remove all the rubber bands. I was beginning to like the old biddies. The blood coursing back into my pokey was anguishing but soon over. I was ready for food.
"Open up", Julie said. Luxuriating, eyes closed, I was more than happy to let this old black biddie feed me.
Fantasizing her as a black slave, I mumble "Yes Mamba" and open wide.
Mumbo crams my mouth. It was German salami. "Chew white man, chew" the fat black lady orders working my jaws with her hands. Greasy by greasy slice I chew and chew until every gram is swallowed.
Miss Kali chooses that moment to flurry in. "Right Mr. Jefferson, it's time for your 2:00 o'clock Grade 11 class." Looking down at my long tomato she sighs, "But what am I going to do about you?" He rose defiantly. I really wish she wouldn't talk to pokey as if I wasn't here. "Lettuce? Tube? Nothing is here", she worries.
I interject, "Miss Kali, Your girls are very chaste and have a tendency to damage equipment they don't understand. May I suggest I wear something more robust for my next class?"
Granny hits on an idea. "Miss Kali, we have a sanitized female chastity belt stored in the freezer that might work." Dense Miss Kali agrees it's worth a try not realizing the "package problem". Granny comes back carrying a frosted shoe horned piece of steel, with a flexible steel band at the top. It didn't fit of course. Julie, reaches between my legs with her big fat black hand and jams my entire package into the crack of my bum. Granny tries again and the steel curve seals my packages' fate. Icing my body wherever it touches, Granny tightens the belt and locks it. She meets the approving glances of the others while I stood there trying to warm up the metal enough to stop shivering.
"That will do" Miss Kali declares feeling my new groin "You feel like a girl down there, Mr. Jefferson."
Not dissuaded, I checklist; Pokey – safe. Balls – Safe. Bum Hole – Safe. "This is fine Miss Kali," I say frostily. She beckons me and I follow her to the Grade 11 classroom.
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