Tammy sighed as she hung up the phone, the receiver clicking into place. Paul had gotten yet another complaint of bullying, and she'd had to phone his mother.

Again.

Now Paul was sitting outside on the  bench, waiting for her to reprimand him for what must have been the thirtieth time. She knew why she'd gotten into this job. She'd believed in the kids, in the raw, untapped potential of their futures, in the possibility that even the troublemakers could be reached if you just found the right angle. She'd been idealistic once, and she didn’t like to curse.

But fuck... maybe some just couldn't be helped.

"Come on in, Paul. We need to talk."

But as he walked past her, something seemed off. There was a strange smell in the air, like ozone. It smelled like the room could be struck by lightning at any moment. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she felt a strange pressure behind her eyes. Like she was in the crosshairs of a predator.

And had Paul gotten... more?

She shook her head. What did that even mean? More what? Taller? He'd always been a big kid: broad-shouldered, thick-necked, the kind of build that made him intimidating in the hallways. But now... now he seemed to fill the doorway differently. 

"Have a seat," she said, sounding distant even to herself and feeling suddenly quite warm.

Tammy found her fingers moving to her waist line, untucking her shirt as she leaned against the front of her desk. Usually she sat in her chair while she disciplined students, but it just… didn’t feel right today. The fabric felt suddenly constricting and too warm against her skin. She couldn't remember deciding to do it, but her hands seemed to be acting of their own accord, pulling the material free from her skirt right there in front of him.

"Paul," she sighed, even his named feeling somehow more potent in her mouth, "how many times have we done this? You're eighteen now. Legally an adult. If you continue to cause trouble, the police are going to have to get involved. Do you understand that? This isn't detention we’re talking about anymore. This isn't even suspension. This is your future we're talking about."

He nodded with seeming understanding, his expression almost sympathetic. She unbuttoned her shirt and noticed  that he didn't seem surprised or put off by her sudden need to uncover. He watched her with the calm attention of someone watching a familiar performance.

Very familiar.

“Mrs. Redmond was very upset," Tammy continued, feeling like each word required tremendous effort. "She said... She said you were harassing Emily Dinny in a utility closet during lunch period. Is that true?"

Paul leaned forward in his chair. "I wasn't harassing her," he said, his voice deeper than she remembered? Maybe? No. Deeper isn’t the word. Resonant? Powerful. He was staring at the principal's exposed skin with an intensity that should have made her uncomfortable. Should have made her stop. But she couldn't. She was so hot. Her fingers moved to the next button, and the next, revealing her bra. Then her stomach. "I was groping her," he continued, matter-of-factly. "But she asked for it!"

Tammy's breath caught as the last button came loose and her shirt fell open. With her fingers now unoccupied, she decided to slip one inside herself, beneath the waistband of her skirt. She didn’t know if she was gasping at his insinuation or at the sensations she was giving herself. She leaned against her desk for support, papers scattering.

"Paul," she managed, her voice cracking slightly, "mmmm, that attitude is not healthy! Women aren't... ah... nnn... asking for anything regardless of the way they dress. You can't just... just touch people because you want to. That's assault. That's... that's..."

She was losing her train of thought. The room felt small and hot. She felt small and hot. Paul felt big… and hot… The ozone smell was stronger now, making her dizzy.

"No, Miss Weathers," Paul interrupted, his voice  almost tender. "You don't understand. She actually asked. She came up to me in the hall, she looked me in the eye, and she told me, 'Squeeze my melons until I cum.' Those were her exact words. She was very specific."

Tammy moaned loudly at that comment, the sound escaping her throat before she could stop it. She was touching herself more deliberately now, her hand working beneath her skirt, her hips rocking against her own fingers. Her other hand had come up to grope at her breast, pushing her bra up and fully exposing her tits to the student. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, like she'd been waiting for permission to do this, and Paul's words had given her that permission.

"I have..." she gasped, her head falling back, her eyes fluttering closed, "ohhhhhhhhhh, trouble believing that. Emily is a… ohhhh… a good girl… good girl… Nothing ever changes with you, Paul. We talk and talk and you promise to be better, and then the next day... the next day you're back at it. What are we going to... oh fuck... oh, what can we try that we haven't already tried?"

She was fully exposed now, her shirt hanging open, her skirt hiked up. The rational part of her mind had gone completely silent.

Paul stood up. He seemed even larger standing, towering over her where she leaned against the desk. But his expression was still that same patient, knowing look. He wasn't aggressive. He wasn't forcing anything. He was simply... offering.

"You could ask me to eat you out," he said softly. "I know you want to. I can smell it on you. You've wanted to since you let me into the room."

"Oh yes," Tammy breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "Please, Paul. I seem to need your... ah... your help. I don't know what's happening to me. I don't know why I can't... why I can't stop..."

Paul nodded, seemingly penitent, as he approached. His hands found her hips as he knelt, his thumbs tracing circles on her skin, and then his mouth was on her, and Tammy let her mind drift away on the pleasure his tongue provided. The world narrowed to the point of contact, to the skilled movements of his mouth against her most sensitive places.

She lost track of time. Minutes could have passed, or hours. And by the time he'd finished her off - by the time she came shuddering against his mouth - she believed his story completely. She could see why Emily would want his attention. She could see why any of them would: the women of the world. There was something about him, something that bypassed logic and reason, something that spoke directly to the body, to the ancient, animal parts of the brain that didn't care about rules or consequences.

Paul stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked satisfied, but not triumphant. There was no smirk on his face, no sense of conquest. Just that same patient knowing. Tammy straightened her clothes, though she couldn't quite bring herself to button her shirt back up. 

"I should tell you, Paul," she said, her voice slow and dreamy. "I've already called your mother and Emily's. They'll be here soon. To discuss... to discuss what happened. To figure out what to do next."

"That's okay," Paul said, settling back into his chair as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just reduced her to a quivering mess on her own desk. "We'll just explain it to them like I just explained it to you. They'll understand. Everyone understands, once they really listen."

"Oh yes..." Tammy sighed, leaning back against her desk, her legs still weak, her mind still floating in that pleasant, hazy aftermath. "I believe everyone will leave satisfied."

She looked at the clock. Mrs. Dinny would be here soon. 

Maybe he was right. Maybe everyone would understand. Maybe this was how things were supposed to be, how they'd always been meant to be, and she was only just now seeing it clearly.

Paul smiled at her.

"Everything's going to be fine, Miss Weathers," he said. "You'll see."

And sitting there in her disheveled office, with her shirt unbuttoned and her mind blissfully empty, Tammy found herself believing him completely.

"Yes, Paul. Everything is going to be fine."