I didn't go to university
because I like school. I've always hated school, to be perfectly honest. I hate
just sitting there and doing boring stuff. I want to be out and moving! I love
moving! I love dancing, the faster the better! Sitting in a chair for hours
bores the living shit out of me!
But at the same time I have
the same desire for money as anyone else. I had pondered, as the end of high
school loomed large, what I was going to do once I had to actually go get a
job. I already had a closer acquaintance with boring-as-shit jobs than I really
wanted. I'd worked in restaurants and as a receptionist and as a cashier.
Not only boring but really
And it seemed to me that
the only way to get a better job was to go to university. There were two
problems with that. The first was that I didn't really want to go to university
and sit in boring classes listening to boring lectures about boring stuff I had
no interest in. The second was that I had held the same attitude through high
school, so didn't exactly have great marks.
The first thing I had to do
was figure out what I wanted to do. Become a lawyer? Ugh! Too boring! A doctor?
Ugh! Too gory! A nurse? And deal with bleeding people!? No thanks! A vet? I saw
a documentary on a vet once where he had to shove his hand up a cow's ass. No
A scientist? Well, there
were a lot of different kinds, but frankly, they all seemed boring to me. And I
didn't think I was that smart anyway. Become a teacher and put up with stupid
sulky brats like me? Nu uh! If there was a way to make money dancing I'd do
that, but the only way I could think of was to become a stripper.
Now I didn't have anything
morally against being a stripper. But while I wasn't exactly a virgin the
thought of taking my clothes off and spreading my legs in front of rooms filled
with men did not exactly appeal to me except on a fantasy level. I mean, I'm
not shy, and I have a lot of confidence in my body and looks, but come on!
I leafed through the
college and university catalogs trying to get inspired, trying to find
something that would pay decently and not bore me out of my mind. What I
eventually settled on was Physical Therapy. I could get a well-paying job then
where I hardly ever had to sit at a desk and work on a computer. That sounded
cool! And unlike others it didn't require I have super high grades in math or
I thought I had a decent
chance of qualifying to get into the four year course.
The problem was I had to submit stuff like volunteer experience and a
submission letter about why I wanted to be a physical therapist. Which was a
pain. I wanted to do it because it sounded like I'd kind of like it and would
make a lot of money. What more did they want?
So I cheated. I do that a
lot at school. Big deal. The courses are easy anyway. I zip through the books
in nothing flat. Sticking around and listening to the boring lectures and then
doing the boring homework takes time away from dancing and other stuff, like
guys. Doing homework is usually easier if some friendly guy lets you copy his –
and most guys are pretty friendly to me.
So I made my submission,
which included a submission letter largely made up of stuff I'd found on the
internet, and some imagined volunteer experience, and I got accepted. I felt
pretty good about that! And everything was working fine until June when Mr.
Connors, the Vice Principle, called me into his office.
He and I had a bit of a
history. He was always yelling at me for skipping school, or being caught doing
things I wasn't supposed to be doing and being places I wasn't supposed to be.
I'd been given detention any number of times, along with extra homework I
usually got some guy to do.
Have I mentioned I'm pretty
good looking? I am. I have a really nice body, too. Put those together and
boys, I had discovered, pretty much always did whatever I hinted I wanted them
to do. The trick is to give them a little, so they're always wanting more.
For doing a homework
assignment I could usually get away with giving a guy a hand job. If it was
really complicated or time-consuming I might have to do a blow job, but those
were easy. I have a knack, and not much gag reflex, if you take my meaning. And
it's fun to see guys turn into gurgling rubber when I play with their little
Mr. Connors had accused me
of having guys do my homework a number of times, but he couldn't prove it. I
did read the books, at least, and I have a really good memory, so I could
usually answer the questions he challenged me with. I figured this was
Whenever I had to see Mr.
Connors I wore my hair in a pony tail, because I had heard through the
grapevine he had a thing for pony tails. I don't know whether it's true or not
but I never miss a chance to get an advantage.
Besides, I like flirting.
Especially dangerous flirting. You had to be real subtle if you were flirting
with a teacher, especially one of those stern, no-nonsense types like Connors.
I mostly do it with guys like him to taunt them, to tease them, and to see if I
can get any kind of reaction.
I mean, they sure couldn't
show one! Not if they wanted to keep their jobs! So I knew he would ignore
whatever I did, or try to. But I liked the feeling that even while he was
glaring at me he was thinking I was hot. And I was pretty sure that had an
influence on his punishments too.
Anyway, I liked it and it
didn't cost anything, so why not? He was even a kind of attractive guy in a
weird way. I mean, he was tall, thick chested, and had broad shoulders, all of
which I like. He wasn't bad looking and had decent hair. He was also more than
twice my age, and very much a stern kind of guy, too, which made the very
thought of teasing him deliciously dangerous.
Okay, it was bratty too.
So? You know there used to be a thing called bear baiting? People would taunt
bears that were in cages, poke them with sticks and stuff, just to hear them
roar. Of course, they never did that if the bears weren't in the cages! But Mr.
Connors was in his cage. He was a teacher, and couldn't possibly show any sort
of physical reaction to me, nor even express any thought that I was hot
I pondered what to wear. I
did keep a few extra things in my locker, after all. But then I had a thought
that maybe this was related to my physical trainer thing. The school, of
course, knew about it, as they did about every student's application. They went
over all the applications with you and often sent along recommendations with
So I hurried to the gym and
my locker there (seniors had their own permanent locker) and quickly changed
into my sweat pants and tank top. I would use the excuse that I had been in the
gym exercising! Puurrrfect! And if the sweat pants were kind of low on my hips
– which was certainly the way I wore them, and the tank top revealed a nice
amount of my toned belly – which it did, so much the better!
Then I hurried to the
office and was shown in to see Mr. Connors.
I put my patented innocent
look on my face along with a perky smile like I had no idea I'd done anything
wrong and had a completely free conscience. Of course, as far as I knew I
actually hadn't done anything wrong, recently anyway, so I felt reasonably
“Hi, Mr. Connors,” I said
in my perky voice.
He glowered at me.
“Miss Stewart,” he said.
“I've been going through the college applications.”
“Oh that's all finished,” I
interrupted. “They already accepted me.”
He glowered again. “Lips
closed until I say otherwise,” he said.
I shrugged and made a bit
of a face like “Oookaaaaay!”
“You've got a number of
volunteer jobs listed on your application,” he said, reading it, and then
looking up at me. “But you've turned down every opportunity for volunteer work
which the school has offered you.”
The school thought kids
should get 'life experience' doing all sorts of volunteer shit, most of which
sucked ass, really. Why should I volunteer at some seniors’ center or go feed
icky poor people at a soup kitchen, let alone cut grass for shut-ins?
“Uhm, yeah, I uh, did those
on my own time,” he said.
“Really,” he said in a very
He came around the desk and
then propped his butt on the edge.
“Are you aware, Miss
Stewart, that we have a very sophisticated system for picking up on cheating?”
“Uhm, oh?” I said.
“Yes, it can do some
amazing things. It searches the internet for phrases from submission letters,
for example, looking for plagiarism.”
“Uh huhhhh?” I asked
“Most of your submission
letter was plagiarized, Miss Stewart.”
“It was not!” I said
“It also scans and compares
“This place you volunteered
at – .”
He turned and snatched up a
paper on his desk, then turned back to me.
“St Joseph's summer
children's program,” he said, reading it.
He looked up at me. “The
phone number happens to be that of April Foster, who, by stunning coincidence,
is on your volleyball team.”
“It is!?” I gasped, wide
eyed. “Well, I must have just put down the wrong – .”
“And this one, the Joint
Reaction Health Center, the phone number matches that of Brent Thomas, who is
also a student here and who I've seen you eating lunch with on a number of
“I... know Brent,” I said
“In fact, every phone
number is one of your friends, Miss Stewart. Because you didn't volunteer at
any of these places. You're too selfish to volunteer your time for free.”
“I am not selfish!” I said
“You plagiarized your cover
letter and lied about your references. It's my responsibility to inform the
college of this.”
I stared at him, my jaw
dropping as I suddenly realized the implications. If he told the college they'd
probably take back their acceptance!
“You can't do that!” I
He raised his eyebrows and
folded his arms across his chest.
“I mean... I mean why would
you do that, Mister Connors?” I asked, making my voice sound more, uhm,
“Because it's my job and my
responsibility,” he said, glaring at me.
“But... but... if you do
that they might not take me!”
“Oh there's no if. They
will definitely retract their acceptance and give it to some other applicant
who really did volunteer work and really wrote their own submission letter.
Which would seem quite fair to me.”
I opened my eyes to
protest, but felt a wild rush of emotion and confusion. If that happened... how
would I explain to everyone, including my parents!? What would I do now!? It
was too late to apply anywhere else!
“But... but isn't there
some way I could... make it up!?” I exclaimed.
“By volunteering in all
kinds of things you claim here to have done for the last several years? I don't
think you have several years’ worth of time to build up your reputation as a
nice person, Miss Stewart.”
“I am a nice person!” I
“You,” he said, “Are an
arrogant, selfish, smug, entitled little brat with no respect for anyone but
I stared at him in outrage.
The problem was, there was probably a few kernels of truth in that but shit,
why did I owe my time to some people I'd never even met!? And so maybe I was a
bit... bratty but hey, there are lots worse!
“I'm not smug,” I said
He snorted. “You know
you're a beautiful girl and you use that to get what you want. You presume it
entitles you to be treated differently, to get special treatment and favors you
don't have to pay for.”
He paused. “Although from
what I've heard you do pay for some of those favors.”
I opened my mouth
“Yes, just that way,” he
I was just working out what
I was going to say when he said that. That threw me for a loop because it made
it even more obvious what he meant! Should he be saying that to a student!?
“Come now, Allison, you're
eighteen now. Not a child. You're an adult... well, technically, even if you
act amazingly immature. Adults have responsibilities as well as benefits. And
they get the full weight of punishment. Children might be spanked. Adults go to
prison. You see the difference?”
“People don't spank
children anymore,” I said sullenly.
“Oh sure they do. Maybe not
your progressive liberal parents, but lots still have this old-fashioned notion
that if you don't give your kid a few smacks on the ass now and then it might
become a spoiled brat.”
“I am not a spoiled brat!”
“You're also an adult now.
So, suppose you tell me why I should let you get off scott free?”