Young Girls Should Not be Taught Physics

9. Sexual Theory of Relativity

Lettie groused, " Gweurful , it's just not fair. All the grades have seen a pokey now except ours. Why couldn't Miss Kim change the rule before our grade 9 class started?"

I answer, "We still have the rest of the year to go, be patient. Have to admit though; I'm dying to know what a pokey looks like too. We'll just have to wait until tomorrow." The idea of using nylons on his pokey head this morning did make pokey throw up as planned. I really wanted to get pokey alone to see what other tricks I could make him do. I certainly never had a chance at my old school in Wales. Toronto schools were far more modern. It wasn't like Wales where girls were told their place and woe to a girl who didn't behave. The male teachers in particular were very quick with the strap. The memories of those spankings were still humiliating. I've often fantasized what I would do to those Male Welsh teachers if the tables ever turned.

I wander down the hall ready for lunch when Miss Kim calls me into her office. "Gweurful, I'm very busy right now. Could you do me a favor and pick up Mr. Jefferson from his class and let him eat lunch with your Grade 9 class? I've promised him some breast views if he stays hard till the end of school hours. He will be very disappointed if you let him down."

What luck I think, "No problem Miss Kim, I wouldn't let him down. I'll also make sure Mr. Jefferson is well stuffed before the end of lunch hour." I pop into the washroom, check my hair, brush my teeth and with a touch of lipstick survey myself. A budding five foot five oval figure stares back at me. "When my breasts grow just a bit more I'll be perfect", I grin inside. Satisfied my image will keep Mr. Jefferson hard, I saunter down the corridor and into his classroom ready to entice.

A scene from heaven greets my eyes. Mr. Jefferson, legs tied below his head, has his bum waving in the air far above the table and a leafless branch swaying in the breeze. In a polite voice, I ask, "Mr. Jefferson, why is your pokey wilting. I thought you were supposed to keep him hard?"

His eyes snap open and with a lovely growing blush says, "Gweurful, please leave. You are far too young to see me this way. Miss Kim will be here shortly. I suggest you leave forthwith.

I gently contradict him, "Miss Kim sent me to help you get some lunch. She also asked me to help you hard. Would you like me to help you Mr. Jefferson."? His branch is starting to look like a weeping willow. It took all my will not to touch him then and there. Mr. Jefferson reddens further when with swaying breasts I croon, "Don't you want to see breasts, Mr. Jefferson"?

His young face transforms into a dirty old man. He looks just like one of my old Welsh teachers. He dreams, "I've never seen a breast before, Gweurfel. If you could just untie me, I'll be able to manage myself." His weeping willow cries a bit more.

I widen my eyes knowing how innocent it makes me look. Staring into his breast lust I worry, "I'm not sure there is time Mr. Jefferson, he will be soft long before I can figure out the knots. What would you like me to do?"

Young and dirty faces battle it out. The dirty face punts, "Maybe if you could just give him a couple of quick strokes and then untie me?"

"No Mr. Jefferson, I'll have to do this my way if you want me to help. Now quickly, he's almost soft, yes or no."

His tension grows at one end while diminishing at the other. My tension grows at both ends. His face, now a deep red, concedes defeat and the mouth opens, "Gweurful please keep me hard however you see fit."

Pussy spasms victoriously. This is a better answer than yes. "Don't worry Mr. Jefferson, I'm good at solving hard probleMiss" I stand on the table between his two arms and sit myself down comfortably on his face. Leaning over, I survey the problem. Absently listening to his muffled protests, I decide the best strategy is to work the area around the target. Perhaps softening that up will transfer hardness elsewhere. I slap him between the thighs until a crispy donut pink shines throughout. The willow has only a few tears left to shed. I slap the plump balls. His moaning face writhes into my pussy. The willow is seconds away from soft. Time to target where it matters I decide. I give the willow a hard slap. It swings three or four circles and settles down a little higher from the floor. Another slap, more circles and the willow is a little bit higher again. Worrying about the time, lunch hour had begun; I slap his branch with alternating hands ten times. The willow is now a fern. Encouraged, I clap my hands much harder than I ever did for Shakespeare. Twenty earnest claps later, an oak tree is born in my Allstate hands. The screams in my pussy feel so good. Mission accomplished, I still carry on clapping, grinding my pussy on his face in perfect time to his screaMiss He runs out of air and faints. It's no fun without the screams, so I get up and untie Mr. Jefferson, laying his creaking legs back to where they belong by his oak tree.

Making sure my breasts would be the first things he sees, I prod Mr. Jefferson, "It's time for lunch, Mr. Jefferson." His eyes flutter open and seeing my breasts, the dirty old man rushes into his face room. I take his oak tree and lead a dirty old man to the lunchroom.

"Where the heck is Gweurful", I ask Sophia. "Lunch started ten minutes ago. She never is late when we have our own private buffet lunches."

Sophia turns to me and says, "I was wondering the same thing Lettie. I wanted her to gripe with us the way the whole school got to play with Mr. Jefferson's pokey today. Only we in the Grade 9 class were excluded. It's so unfair."

I hear a commotion, and turning see Gweurful leading in a very red faced Mr. Jefferson to our table by his pokey. "Make some room on the table for Mr. Jefferson", Gweurfel says being careful that none of us get a good look at our first pokey.

I grab the entire table cutlery in the middle of the table and put them on another table. Gweurful sits Mr. Jefferson in ex-cutlery space. 38 eyes watch as she slowly takes her hand away. In a forest of green peppers, lettuce, carrots and tomatoes a pokey reveals. I can't take my eyes off it. At least two inches thick and over six inches long, it rises majestically above the greens and salad dips. Gweurful clearly enjoying her moment of glory informs, "Miss Kim says we have to help keep it hard and we're also to make sure that Mr. Jefferson is stuffed."

Sophia, ever the rascal says, "We know he likes carrots." She gets the girls to widen his legs and inserts a large carrot into Mr. Jefferson's bum. He moans begging Sophia to take it out. "Ok, Mr. Jefferson, it was just to warm it up for you." She pulls it out and presents it to Mr. Jefferson's mouth. "Eat Mr. Jefferson, Miss Kim wants you to keep your strength up." He turns his head in abject horror. Gweurful grabs his hair and looks him in the eyes saying nothing. His lips tremble open and Sophia starts to fuck his face with the carrot saying, "Chew Mr. Jefferson or it might go down your throat." His jaws move reluctantly as I insert, his next course carrot, into the bum-warming hole.

"But how are we going to eat", Gweurful complains, "There is no cutlery."

Tired of looking passive in the middle of so many creativenesses, I instinctively ram a fat juicy tomato onto the fat pokey skewer. Signaling Gweurful, we both take a bite from opposite sides. We take a bite. Then another. We both go for the middle of the tomato at the same time. A confusion of teeth, tomato and soft flesh battle it out. Mr. Jefferson squeals. The tomato loses and disappears down our gullets. The girls all stare at the woodpecker scars. Sophia starts to screw Mr. Jefferson's mouth with the second carrot. A third carrot is put into its bum oven. Another girl plops on a tomato. Two more girls race to finish the tomato. More squeals, more woodpecker marks. Ten tomatoes and ten carrots later the skewer is skewered all over and starts to lose its tensile strength. Seeing the problem but also still being hungry I take the now thin skewer and scoops out a mound of salad dressing. With some trepidation, I enfold the pokey dressing with my mouth. All activity stops. The girls stare, have I made a mistake? No, not all activity has stopped. The skewer is getting fatter. I suck the salad dressing from the skewer taking no heed of calories. It was delicious. Warmed up throbbing salad dressing flows through my taste buds. I lift my head, white spittle at the corner of my mouth, "It's good to the last drop girls." They line up and one by one, dip the skewer into the dressing and suck it avidly clean. By the eleventh girl, Sophia was unable to get him to chew any more carrots. He starts muttering, "I promise, I promise, I promise." Three bowls of salad until his skewer was too fat for a tomato. His hips quiver, his legs tense, and his whole body starts to shiver. "I promise, I promise, I can't, I can't". At that moment, it dawns on me what the problem was. I pour a pitcher of cold water on the skewer. Steam clouds the results for a second but he goes back to, "I promise, I promise."

The smoke clears and there is the skewer, still hard but obviously out of the danger zone.

"No more salad dressing and I'm still hungry' moans one the girls. She takes a piece of bread, grabs the skewer, and inventively pushes it into a jam jar. Taking the dripping red skewer, she then fully applies the jam to a piece of bread, cleans the skewer in her mouth, and starts munching the bread contentedly. The rest of the girls get the idea. The skewer is now a knife and butters at least two loafs of bread with all manner of ingredients. Each girl is careful to clean the knife for the next girl. I make sure none of them clean the knife for longer than one "I can't". To make sure, I dash one glass of ice water per "I can't". It steams every time. Those carrots sure sharpen Mr. Jefferson's knife-edge.

I have always wondered how cavewomen ate without utensils. Now I understand. They had caveman skewers. An interactive skewer and knife combo discovered by enough women would kill cutlery sales. Must tell my dad to short cutlery firms if this idea ever gets out. But I'm starting to run out of water and we still have ten minutes before the lunch hour is over. I hold the knife willing it into an ice cream scoop. I scrape some frozen chocolate. The scoop starts to shrink. I gulp quickly, accidentally gulping down the scoop. The scoop grows as I cough it out. "Ice cream only now girls, but you have to gulp or the scoop shrinks. That would be unfair to the next girl, so make sure you swallow the scoop."

19 girls now scrape, shrink, suck, gulp and grow the scoop their way through dessert. Need to short the scoop firms too. The versatility of a man's instrument for a woman's convenience is incredible. Much more exploration is required. I know why older women like these things so much. Never understood that before. It's great growing up and finding out the whys and wherefores of the world. The bell rings signaling the end of lunch hour and the arrival of Miss Pringle.

I wonder if I've accepted an assignment that's even possible. When Miss Kim outlined her vision to create a unified theory between all emotional and physical postulates I didn't really think through how it could be achieved. She closed me with the line, "Miss Waters, you were the highest scoring graduate in practical psychology at the University of Toronto last year. You did that by the time you were 20-years-old. Your partner is the highest scoring physics graduate and he did it by the age 21. I believe the reality is there and you and he, as a team, will find it."

So here I was, knowing how well he taught the girls about relativity today, about to try to teach a Grade 12 class with him. How could I parallel the amount of excitement he's already generated? All the girls were talking about special, general and modern theories of relativity. "Get a grip", I told myself, "Psychology is just as important as physics. Remembering the overbearing nature of the male professors at University of Toronto, I knew that the trick would be to get the upper hand as quickly as possible. I needed an angle that would get Mr. Jefferson to respect psychology and I. I discussed this with Miss Kim and we both agreed that sexual relativity, although not a subject ever explored before, would interest him more than something as straightforward as sex education.

Calming my nervousness, I body language power as my Grade 12 class files in. Miss Pringle leads my competition/team member in after they are all seated. He is nude and fully erect! What type of teacher allows this? I'm horrified, "Miss Pringle, What is the meaning of this. How dare you bring in a stiff nude male into my class"?

Miss Pringle colors. I can't tell if it's from embarrassment or anger. Huffing, she says, "Miss Waters, Mr. Jefferson had asked Miss Kim if he could see a woman's breast. She felt that some latitude given his brilliance was called for. Her condition, however, was that he must stay hard till the end of your class. Unless he stays naked, we have no way to determine if he is keeping his word."

A storm of analysis fires my brain cylinders. This nude male is my competition. He looks fully degraded. He is willing to give up all sense of propriety for the sake of seeing a breast? Impossible, something deeper is working here. I dig into my trained catalogue on everything I know about nerds. They are shy in front of females; yes he's looking at the ground. They fantasize continuously; yes, if he's never seen a breast but has been dreaming about it since puberty it could overrule his better judgment. They tend to be sexually over wrought; yes, given the space nature endowed him with, twice the expected blood flow is coursing through his power base. 19 girls and Miss Pringle look at me. I need to decide quickly. I can handle it. In my most polished voice I say, "Thank you Miss Pringle, you may leave now. Mr. Jefferson come here." Miss Pringle leaves, Mr. Jefferson doesn't move. Realizing he isn't happy with being an exhibitionist, my last panic vestige evaporates. "Mr. Jefferson, we don't have all day, please come to the front of the class now." He shuffles forward like a prisoner going to the chair. His embarrassment at meeting someone close to his own age in his condition is tearing him apart. His cock is shrinking. Do I care about this silly thing so he can see a breast at the end of the day? I can always let it get soft later if I think that's best. I take his prick and give it some yeast treatment. It rises into the safety zone.

"Girls, today Mr. Jefferson and I are going to teach you about sexual relativity. In essence;

Males and females have a difference frame of reference when they see the same situation. This type of relativity affects logic, the sense of right and wrong, and human nature itself .

Now can any of your girls think of an example where this might occur"? Several girls put up their hands. "Yes Rebecca, what is your idea."?

The Vancouver girl puffs up her chest and accusingly states, "Miss Waters, I read a book called the Selfish Gene. It argues that males are programmed to spread their genes far and wide while females are programmed for child rearing. It causes an essential conflict which society has been trying to resolve every since Adam and Eve."

I'm impressed, "Well done Rebecca, as a matter of fact, some will argue that this is why society formed in the first place. If women let a Willy wander about Willy Nilly, they would have minimum support and protection when raising children. Females had to develop stratagems that countered this natural male impulse. Mr. Jefferson, what do you think"? I stroke him encouragingly liking the idea of keeping him on edge.

I see his eyes focus, narrow and then observe, "You talk about men as if they were programmed devices. We are no longer cavemen. We work on important issues. A woman's manufacturing plant, while important so the human race maintains critical mass, means little compared to figuring out the creation of the universe. To impute that such a program is still active in men implies that women have a long way to go before they understand anything outside of their own gender. I suggest it would be best that they stick to their knitting and let us men get on with solving important things."

I feel myself freeze. I look at the rest of the class. The anger is palatable. "Perhaps we need to run an experiment Mr. Jefferson. Girls, can any of you think of a way to prove this point one way or another. Is the selfish gene program still active in men?" Mr. Jefferson is turning out to be even worse than I feared. Pure physics, pure man. Working out the principles of unified physical/emotional unified theory is going to be one long campaign with this asshole. The cowgirl throws her hand into the air. "Yes, Susan, you have a suggestion?"

Calgary simmers, "Miss Waters, if Mr. Jefferson believes he can so easily control his own programming then he would have to agree that no matter what this class does, he will not go soft. Throughout the day, Miss Kim has been asking all the classes to help him stay hard. If he is so cocky, he doesn't need our help."

I think it through, "Yes Susan, if Mr. Jefferson is busy thinking about important things, we cannot trigger any programs in him that he doesn't want triggered. It's clear he doesn't want to go soft so I accept this experiment. Mr. Jefferson, do you accept this experiment?"

Blushing furiously, he stammers, "That is not what I am talking about at all. I mean …". I squeeze his balls hard.

I hiss, "Mr. Jefferson, the issue is simple. You argue a modern man is above his primeval nature. Are you willing to prove it"? I squeeze his balls tighter and tighter. I must prove him wrong or the rest of the year will be a disaster.

"Ok, ok, let go", he folds. Perking up, he says, "I can overrule my primitive programming whenever I want. I am a trained male physicist."

Relieved, I start jacking his prick quickly knowing that none of my boyfriends could suppress coming after more than just a couple of minutes of this treatment. I smugly wait for the explosion and subsequent apology. No breasts for this boy today I think. It gets heavy. I wait for the white punch line. I keep waiting. It gets heavier and heavier. Still no outburst. What's going on? No male can hold back when I give him my magic fingers. I focus my talents. I tickle the sweet spot an inch under his head at the front. He ramrods a reaction. There is still no discharge. I pump in only one direction, always guaranteed to work. His legs start to buckle under the weight of his pokey. What the heck is going on? I use all my tandric tricks, palm rotating on head, finger and thumb squeezing just under his neck. Nothing works. He collapses taking me down with him. His pokey must weight over 400 pounds. Shit this physics kid is a challenge.

I'm not proud, "Girls, any ideas"?

Calgary pipes up, "We got to treat him like an ornery steer. Lots of lassoes usually bring them to heel." Matching words to actions, she organizes all the girls to create rope lassoes. 20 girls all rope on. "Right, we need to get the steer to lose his center of balance. Half the girls pull one way, when the steer fights it, we judo it and one side lets go while the other side pulls, and so on".

Ingenious I think. Ten girls pull one way; pokey reluctantly bends their way. They let go just as the other ten pull. He runs the other way. Back and forth. Back and forth. His majesty is starting to look a bit ragged around the edges from all the rope burns. Mr. Jefferson chants, "I can do it, I can do it".

The rodeo lady whips up the troops. "Faster girls, faster." The steer staggers back and forth; his temper starts to get the best of him. Red with rage, he digs his heels in so neither side can move him. Calgary, not to be outsmarted by a steer, orders all the girls to one side. They pull using all their weight. The steer starts to bend. I begin to worry that he might break from his master. He bends a bit and then explodes with anger. White rain colors the room. Mr. Jefferson pales even more. Pokey is totally soft. The girls overcome their exhaustion and celebrate Mr. Jefferson's lack of control.

I rope Mr. Jefferson's face in both my hands and staring intently ask, "You agree your male programming overrides your social behavior?" Big fawn eyes stare at me and with hopelessness he collapses saying, "All this, and now no breast, no breast". He melts into his sperm, just another male floating in a pool of female considerations.

I order the class back to their desks. "Well done Susan. We have proved that sexual relativity is a real and ongoing issue. I expect you all to reflect upon this subject and determine what it means before our next discussion. Class dismissed."

They file out. I return to my fellow team member. Feeling a bit sorry for him, I cuddle his face between my breasts. "Don't worry Mr. Jefferson, I'm sure one day you will see a woman's breast." He shudders and shudders in my arMiss

Miss Kali arrives and seeing his sorry state sympathizes, "I'm sorry Mr. Jefferson, you clearly haven't earned breast heaven today. I'm afraid it's the pokey rope again tonight, come along."

Miss Kali and Mr. Jefferson leave. For reasons that make no sense, I feel that a unified theory might be possible. Silly, but my instincts are good. This is going to be an interesting year indeed.