Offerings

My life had become a mess of drama so perverse and incomprehensible that I do not expect anyone to believe it. The truth is, if it wasn't completely unbelievable, it never could have worked. I will focus on key events for clarity sake. Of note...my grades that semester.

I pulled the envelope out of the mailbox and placed my other hand over my forehead. I knew the news would not be good. Suffice it to say, the girls were a severe distraction from course work. I tore open the end and pulled out the report card. I did not hesitate to look, anticipating the full bite of reality to tear me to shreds.

What I saw was incredible.

All As and one B. It was impossible. I hadn't even returned several of my English Literature projects. My calculus test scores were abysmal. I figured there had been some mistake. My first instinct was to approach the professors. Then, I noticed another envelope. It looked familiar, with red kisses all over it, like the photos and medical records...

I tore it open and peeked inside. Pictures. I instantly noticed they were not appropriate for a public audience. The mail area was crowded with people. I escaped to the music building next door and slipped into a practice room. I pulled out the sheets of paper, they were printed with a color printer.

What I saw was terrifying. There was Dr. Warner, my Literature professor, laying on his desk naked. (I am changing the names to protect the, um, guilty). It was in his office, which I had visited many times. Above him, straddling his head, was Stacy. She hovered above him in a 69 position with most of his shaft down her throat. I flipped to the next picture. Ann was now straddling his waist kissing Stacy. The images were vivid and disturbing. The quality hinted at a camera phone, but the resolution was high enough to leave no doubt about the participants. I flipped again.

Next, my Calculus professor, Dr. Simons, was standing at the front of his classroom, fully clothed. The photo would have been ordinary if Jen wasn't pressed against him in nothing but thong underwear. In the next shot she was sucking on his trouser snake. I noticed one of his hands was handcuffed to the desk. Creepy.

The next set of images featured Monsieur Adams, my French professor. These started out far more disturbing, and I need not repaint the images. He was a recently divorced bachelor, and his participation appeared much more voluntary...especially the ones that involved him behind one of the five women he was graphically pictured having intercourse with. These appeared to be taken in his apartment.

I got an A in French class that semester. My poor performance could not be underestimated.