Young Girls Should Not be Taught Physics

Young Girls should not be taught Physics

Authors Note:

I've never written a story before. It sure is fun. Let me know if you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

The physical structure is:

Day 1: Classical Physics

Day 2: Relativity

Day 3: Quantum Mechanics

Day 4: String Theory

Day 5: Unified Theory

Each day Mr. Jefferson teaches one lesson to each of his high school grades. If you are a teacher, you won't be surprised to learn his first week is the hardest.

Thanx All

annexintoronto@yahoo.com

Day One: Classical Physics

1. Arrival

It was brutal but worth it. 4 years of hard slogging give me the qualifications I need to teach smart boys advanced physics at the school of my choice. The only catch was that I have to spend one year teaching at some dumb girl's school, selected by my Mother, in return for the financial support she provided while I was studying in University.

I argue that this is a waste of my talents but she insists that I need to understand the world through female eyes as well as Einstein's if I ever expect to develop something novel in my chosen field. Knowing that there is no point being logical when my Mother is being illogical, I acquiesce and email a teacher application form to the "Toronto Advanced Education Academy for Females".

The reply reads "Thank you for your interest in our academy. You appear somewhat overqualified for the position but we are willing to overlook this if you guarantee, by signing the attached, that you will stay within the education facility for the full year and not attempt to communicate, with any individuals outside of the school. Failure to abide by this rule entitles us to invoke disciplinary actions in a manner of our own choosing."

My Mother points out that this will allow me to focus on physics and after some heated argument; I sign and fax the attachment. The next day I pack as many theoretical books on quantum and relativity as I can carry, along with my few possessions and journey to the Academy four blocks from where I live in the Annex.

The red brick building was huge with a playground surrounded by a ten-foot fence. Bemused that a fence needed to be more than three feet high, I confidently march up the granite steps, and wandering through the corridors, dodge strangely arrogant female children, and find the principle's office. A large woman glances up and beams, "You must be Mr. Jefferson, I'm Miss Pringle. The principle will be ready to see you in 20 minutes and has asked me to show you to your quarters in the interim."

I follow her waddling behind to the basement and enter what will be my new home for the next year. Not exactly extravagant, stonewalls, a sink and toilet out in the open, a mat, and a low table and chair. Even odder, hooks had been drilled into the walls creating a pattern that had no mathematical reasoning. Indicating that I think it is unsuitable, Miss Pringle crisply informs me that I will find it suitable soon enough. Mulling over that cryptic remark, I drop my bags and follow her back to the principle's office.

She is a stunning Irish woman, red hair, 6 feet tall, curves everywhere and clothed in a simple white blouse and skirt. Embarrassingly, I can't prevent myself from going hard. "Mr. Jefferson, so nice to meet you, I'm Miss Kali", she says, and then looking down, her face morphs from friendly to angry. "How dare you get stiff in a children's school, please make it behave or I will make it behave for you". Mortified, I stammer out an apology that doesn't deflate the situation. Furiously rummaging through her desk Miss Kali pulls out an odd contraption composed of leather strings attached to a steel tube around 3 inches long.

"Put this on now before the whole school sees that" she fumigates. Confused, I just stare blankly at her until the nickel drops. "You want me to wear that here?" I say looking down at the offending assemble.

"Immediately, Miss Pringle hold his clothes".

Live to fight another day is my motto, and I turn to leave. I find my way blocked by the very fat Miss Pringle. "Mr. Jefferson did you agree to work here for a year?" Miss Kali demands.

"Yes, but…" I said trying to find a train of thought with traction.

"Do you think I can let you in front of our young girls like that?" she barks.

"No, but…" I squeak.

"Now" she says sternly.

Red-faced, I remove my socks and shoes, and when pleads fail to move her, unhitch my trousers and lower them to the ground. Seeing no way out, I pull down my underwear. To my shame, this set my penis bobbing up and down. With a grin, Miss Pringle takes my clothes and leaves the office. Miss Kali impatiently hands me the tube and watches me smugly. Struggling to insert the tube on my raging penis, I realize that the tube is simply too small. Miss Pringle returns with a bag of ice, and roughly grabbing my penis, rams it in. Whoosh, 6 inches becomes 2 inches and Miss Kali wryly tells me to try now. I start to put it in when I feel a prick on the side of the tube and quickly disengage. Looking inside, I can see 1/8th inch steel pins spaced one inch apart inside angled 30 degrees towards the base. Miss Kali grabs the tube and quickly shoves my penis inside causing me to screech with pain as the pins slide along my penis. She ties the leather strings tightly around my balls and threads them through an iron lock and click, there I was - penis crammed into a steel tube with sharp pins, heavy lock stretching my ball sack to twice its normal length.

"Now, with that little problem taken care of, let me show you your duties," she states in a business like manner. Grabbing the lock, she pulls me out into the corridor. My mind couldn't keep up with what was happening. When I find myself naked waist down, penis and balls compromised, in the corridor full of young females, I do the only logical thing, I faint.

Coming to, I can hear Miss Kali telling the girls not to worry. First day stress, excitement of a new school and so on. A massage is required to make me as good as new. Squeals of laughter meet this pronouncement and a giggle of 15-18 yr old girls surround me.

Fingers tickle my feet. Hands pull me hair. Claws pinch my nipples. Palms mold my bottom. Nails squeeze my balls. A fist enters my mouth. Thumbs pull on my lock. My penis starts to rise and meet the dastardly pins.

"Arrrrrrggggghhhhhh", I painfully moan.

All action blissfully terminates. "Thank you girls, Mr. Jefferson seem better now. Please go to your next class. Miss Pringle and I will take care of Mr. Jefferson". With curious looks, the mob of girls chatter excitedly as they reluctantly leave for their classrooMiss

Primly, Miss Kali remarks; "Now aren't you glad we had you covered Mr. Jefferson. Imagine our embarrassment if you weren't. Perhaps we should give you some time alone in your room to reflect on what almost happened before your duties are explained?"

Never have I felt so humiliated. Almost naked, no, worse than naked with this thing on me, I suffer being pawed by many young girls. Especially in front of the principle and the fat lady. I wanted to leave this place and go to a boy's school where these happenings don't occur.

Through the haze I hear Miss Kali say "Miss Pringle, could you help Mr. Jefferson up and take him to his room. He does look like he needs some special time ". Miss Pringle grabs the lock, and with a heave, encourages me to rise to my feet. She hauls me to my basement room, tittering on about suitability, men and other things I couldn't focus on at the moment. Entering stone, she deposits me on the mat with one clean downward stroke. I hear through her belly the words "let me know if I can help you with anything" and walruses out of the room.

Quiet, more quiet, and then my brain finally kicked in. First emotion – anger; second – disbelief, third – fear and finally my scientific training engages. What the hell just happened? I come to a school to teach some young kids and end up in a stone room almost naked – does getting a hard on really merit this type of treatment? I decide it doesn't, so I proceed to determine the key questions?

Why did my mother want me in this school in particular?

Why is Miss Kali so concerned that her pupils don't ever see a guy hard?

Why were the girls in the corridor cooperative instead of horrified?

Why was I given this job in the first place since I was clearly overqualified?

How can I be an effective teacher when all my pupils have seen me in the buff?

What the hell is my job?

I review this list and then decide that the only real question is "how do I get out of the mess I'm in". No, that's a strategic question – the tactical question is how can I get this thing off of me. I try pulling it off, but the pins drag intolerably and I give up. I realize I'm mentally rambling – focus I told myself – focus.

Seconds after hearing the clip clip of heels, Miss Kali enters. "Are you recovered enough now to have a chat regarding your duties and responsibilities?" she asks.

Gathering my wits, I angrily respond, "Yes, as long as we can also have a chat regarding what constitutes civilized behavior". With a frown, she sits on the chair by the table and politely asks if I think having a hard-on in a female school constitutes civilized behavior? I retort that two wrongs don't make a right and to humiliate a teacher in front of his pupils is neither civilized nor decent. Miss Kali, considering, agrees her response was perhaps over the top and says there was no need for me to wear the tube in the privacy of my own room. She will facilitate its removal if that will help us discuss my duties for the next year.

Mulling this over (sub seconds only, didn't want her to think I would take just any deal), I answer that this would be an acceptable first step, but I'm not very happy with how things are starting out in this job. She picks up her cell phone and asks Miss Pringle to bring the ice cube bag. Miss Pringle arrives, rips the bag in half, and asks me to lie back on the table. Apprehensively I do so. Miss Pringle takes my "penis in a tube" and roughly forces it into the middle of the ice bag with the lock just hanging over the edge. A total frostbite down there hits my brain and as I prepare to leverage her fat hands/arms away, she smoothly pulls the tube from my penis leaving it dangling below the lock on my balls.

"Thank Miss Pringle, Mr. Jefferson", Miss Kali whispers while looking directly in my eyes. Ah hell, it felt so great that it was off. "Thank you Miss Pringle" I ping.

"Now are we square?" she asks, "Can we get down to talking about your duties now? Or do we have to suffer even more nonsense?"

"Well, can you take the lock off my balls, they are used to being a bit freer than this", I point out with just a hint of "get on with it babes and make your apology complete".

"No, Mr. Jefferson, that tube must go on whenever you are outside of this room. You clearly can't control yourself in front of our young ladies and I do have some responsibility", she points out.

"This is ridiculous, I'm a scientist and have no difficulty in normal circumstances controlling myself. Release me right now if you don't want to hear from the authorities!"

Miss Kali stares at pokey. Betraying me, he hardens immediately. Miss Kali laughs and asks if I have passed any science course where the truth was an objective. Flushing I reply that she wasn't applying "normal circumstances". It's about special relativity she suggests, I am just reacting in the wrong frame of reference. Around all these girls, it is only prudent I wear the tube.

I huffily point out that special relativity, is about a constant velocity, where different observers conclude different results depending on their relative motion. Laughing she points at my pokey and says she has concludes a relative motion and politely requests what my frame of reference is telling me. "Grrrrrrrrrrrrr – ok your point is taken". "At least let me wear trousers?"

"Well, I don't have a problem with that. But you must promise to abide by all the rules this school. We need to make sure our young ladies contribute to the maximum of their potential for society" Miss Kali demurely comments. "Trousers you can have with the tube, happy now?"

"Ok, glad we got that straight. Now what are my teaching priorities?" feeling somewhat appeased. I figure that now, was not the time, to point out that all the main contributors to society were male.

Miss Kali proceeds to describe a breathtaking vision of advanced teaching. She outlines a curriculum stressing teaching pupils about fundamental realities. She wants her charges grounded in a unified theory encompassing all physical and emotional postulates. My particular challenge is to enlighten them in Classical Physics followed by relativity, quantum mechanics and string theory. Emotional postulates are taken care of by other teachers but I will be expected to conduct some "unified theories" in conjunction with them. In particular, it is important that I relate these theories to something experimental verifiable, so it will, in her words, "run in their blood".

All my instincts awaken to this vision. The challenge of explaining the universe to formative minds, in a way that would profoundly affect their life view, and their children's life view is irresistible. It is a shame that she wastes such a vision on mere girls. Suddenly self-conscious, I remember I am naked. "Trousers please" I puff. She passes me my trousers and soon I am closeted in respectability.

"Ok, Mr. Science – your first class is at 8 tomorrow in room 3C teaching the essence of time mechanics to our grade 9 class. I expect a good report, sleep tight." With that, Miss Kali removes my entire clothes luggage, and leaves along with Miss Pringle.

I puzzle the lock around my balls for a while before falling into a fitful sleep. I wake with one hand on a raging pokey and the other, strangely enough, on the tube. "Odd", I think, "Why did I do that?" Shrugging it off, I perform my morning ablutions. I hunt for my shirt, socks and shoes until I remember that Miss Kali had taken all my clothes the evening before. "Now how am I going to be able to teach with only trousers on", I think crossly.

"Good Morning Mr. Jefferson" a voice entering the room bellows. Turning, I see Miss Pringle with a big smile holding the requisite bag of ice. "Are we all ready for our first day of teaching? The girls are very excited about having their first male teacher."

"I'm looking forward to teaching them Miss Pringle. Here let me take that bag of ice. I'm sure I can manage putting the tube on myself" I say reaching out my hand.

"I'm sorry Mr. Jefferson, but Miss Kali gave me strict instructions that I was to perform this chore. Can't take a chance on any cock-ups. Don't worry you wouldn't feel a thing. Let's get the show on the road. Drop your pants please and lie on the table", she menaces me with no hint of appeasement.

Frustrated, I expose a very flaccid penis (fat women do not turn me on at all). Remarking that the cold would be too much of a shock unless it is warmed up a bit, she grabs my pokey root with her left hand and proceeds to flick its head with the middle finger of her right hand.

"Ouch, stop that" I whine, as my affronted pokey stares her down with his one eye. She immediately rams him into the bag of ice. Pokey retreats. The tube registers occupied. Glad this part of my morning routine is over; I put on my pants and ask for the rest of my clothes.

"Don't know anything about that. Miss Kali gave me no instructions. You look fine, let's go", she says flouncing out of the room.

2. Measuring Time

I hurry after her, trying to explain that there must be some misunderstanding. Miss Kali surely would not want a partially dressed male teaching her children. Miss Pringle promises me she will take up the matter with Miss Kali. Right now, however, the students were waiting and there is no time to redress the situation. What else is new around here, I mutter, walking up the cold stairs, with the annoying lock tugging my balls. I stare down the smirks of some dumb females in the corridor and enter my grade nine class.

Their eyes widen when they see my attire (or lack thereof). What starts out as a giggle here and there, turns into wholesale mirth? Knowing the importance of classroom control, I hold my head high, go to the front, pick up a meter ruler and slam it down on the desk. "Children, I appreciate you find it funny that some of my clothes have been misplaced. I expect you to respect my situation and not reference it again for the remainder of this class. I am here to fill your heads with knowledge and I have no time to waste with your silly 15 year old girlish giggles. Do I make myself clear?" I blunt.

The laughter threatens to resume when a front row, tomboyish figure, stands up and stridently addresses the other 19 girls in the room "Anyone who doesn't respect Mr. Jefferson wishes will have to deal with me". The whole room goes quiet.

Nodding with satisfaction, I proceed to outline what they will learn today. "Time girls, is a fundamental concept that has only recently been understood. Through the course of this year, you will learn that it both malleable and directional. Today's lesson will be about how it is measured".

At that moment, the door opens and an angry Miss Kali enters holding a large green garbage bag. "Mr. Jefferson, the clothes we were going to wash for you are infected with lice. Your trousers must be full of them. Put them in this bag at once. Move very slowly. I don't want any pupils infected." With that mind-boggling statement, she walks to the front of the class, and at arms length, head averted, holds open the garbage bag in front of me.

Appalled at what is happening, I take a step towards the door when Miss Kali shrieks, "I said minimize your movements. I don't want any more lice in this room. Put your trousers in the bag immediately"

Bewildered and concerned for the safety of the students I drop my trousers. I completely forget that instead of wearing underwear, I'm wearing a tube and a heavy iron lock. Depositing the offending trousers into the green bag, my mind starts to catch up to events.

Before I can bring my emotional intelligence to bear, the tomboyish girl stands up again. "Remember what Mr. Jefferson said girls. You are not to comment or react to his attire in any manner". All the girls compose themselves and attentively wait for what will transpire next.

I start to make for the door. Miss Kali demands to know where I am going. "I can't teach wearing only a tube, it's disgraceful!" I cringe.

Miss Kali looks at the composed class, turns to me, and kindheartedly remarks, "I'm impressed that you can manage a class of young females in a situation like this. There is no need to be that embarrassed since you are covered up where it matters. Let the girls decide if they feel they have enough self-control to carry on learning. Girls, hands up those who feel comfortable with the lesson continuing".

To a man, I mean woman, 20 hands went into the air. "Thank you for your vote of confidence in Mr. Jefferson. Please Mr. Jefferson, carry on". Miss Kali sits down on my chair and looked up at me expectantly.

For the first time in my life I feel what a rabbit feels like in front of a fox. I 'm paralyzed. By any measurement of acceptable behavior, a teacher doesn't carry on in this state of affairs. Ok, I decided, I can get through this. After all they're only girls. Behind the desk, I would have the most embarrassing aspects hidden anyway. Shit, Miss Kali was in my chair. Hands, I could deploy my hands. My hands moved to cover myself as the thought was forming and I continue my lecture.

"OK, measuring time, how do we do that?" I challenge the class. Animation follows. Clocks they say. But how do clocks do it? The tomboy says gears, weights and stuff like that. "Very good, and what is your name girl?" I ask.

"Sophie, Mr. Jefferson. My dad is a clockmaker so I know all about time", she says pompously. Yup, I thought, this girl is Danish.

"That's great Sophie, but how does a clock know what a second is?" leading into a subject I couldn't expect any of these 15yr olds to know.

My attire defender pauses, turns red, and with a hint of betrayal, says, "I never thought about that question before Mr. Jefferson, I don't know the answer."

A lithesome girl beside her mutters, "Don't know everything do you Sophie" and faster than a cobra, Sophie turns with a glare, "So what's the answer then Lettie?"

Long pause. Lettie tentatively advances that it has something to do with penduluMiss

"Excellent Lettie", I cry, "that goes exactly to the heart of the question. Let me explain why". Sophie, aghast hardens her face visibly as the class sniggers. Feeling a bit guilty at annoying someone who defends me, I resolve to make it up to her. But for now, teaching is my focus.

At this point Miss Kali stands up and says it appears I have things well in hand. "Girls, Mr. Jefferson is one of the ablest scientists this academy has ever deployed. He has promised to visually emphasize any key underlying concepts. I leave it in your hands to make sure he delivers." And with that she departs.

Eureka, the chair is mine, embarrassment over. In mid stride Sophie pops the question, "Where are you going? I want to know what a second is and what a pendulum has to do with it."

Chastity or science? Heck, I'm a scientist – I can go to the chair after answering the question. My hands were doing a great job at hiding the tube/lock. Turning back to face the class, I explain that Galileo determined that a pendulum swings back and forth at a constant frequency. This frequency is a function of the length of the string and is independent from the weight of the pendulum. As such, a second only required figuring out how long the string had to be and no other factors matter. That is how simple measuring time in classical space is.

A lot of disbelieving faces take this in. Sophie pipes up "I don't believe you, and think I can prove you wrong?" Lettie bounces back with, "I do believe him and can prove him right".

Perfect, I have the whole class engaged now. What a joy it is to educate young minds. "OK, Sophie and Lettie, you can both arrange any experiment you wish to prove Galileo right or wrong. Lettie you go first".

Wrinkling her face, Lettie thinks for a moment and then asks for a string that her classmates promptly provide her. Tying the string to her left shoe, she advances to the front of the class.

"Mr. Jefferson, will you please sit on the desk for my experiment?" Bemused I do as she requests, being careful to keep my tube and lock covered with my hands. "Class, if Galileo is right, then no matter what angle I release the pendulum from, it will swing back and forth with the same frequency. Please take out your watches and time the next two sequences". Then she turns, brushes away my hands and ties the first string to the lock and swings the shoe from a 30-degree angle. Now you may think a teenage shoe doesn't weight much, but when an iron lock already stretches your balls, believe me, they notice an additional swinging shoe. I rapidly move my hands to stop the experiment but am blocked by Lettie.

"Mr. Jefferson, it's just two sequences – let me prove your point". Agonizing, I delay just long enough for the first sequence to be timed. "Right", Lettie said, "now lets drop the shoe from a 90 degree angle". Pow, the pull on my balls is excruciating – it lends a whole new meaning to "when the other shoe drops". With the tube wildly gyrating (and the pins reacting to my pokeys' awakening) the pendulum began to trace its arc. Not wanting to disrupt the experiment, I sit in painful immobility watching the pendulum swing back and forth observing the tube playing a miniature counterpoint. "Stop watches" commands Lettie. "Ok, class, compare number of swings per minutes". Furious activity followed by awe. The swings per second are exactly the same.

Taking back control of the situation "So you see class, a pendulum can track the time and all that matters is the length of the string, so now let's move onto what that means".

"Just a second Mr. Jefferson, I haven't had the opportunity to disprove your supposition. Can I perform my experiment now?" I had forgotten that Sophie wanted to challenge Galileo and didn't have the heart to tell her that she would only embarrass herself trying.

"Ok Sophie, perform your experiment". Grinning she takes both of her shoes off and ties them onto the shoe already connected to my ball lock.

"You said that the same timing is the same regardless of the angle the pendulum starts from. That I agree Lettie has proven. What is not proven is that the weight of the pendulum has no effect on the frequency. Class, please time this sequence". With that instruction, Sophie holds up the three shoes high above my head and swings them like she's serving tennis. My balls explode in pain. Sophie, anticipating, snatches my wrists in mid air and exclaims, "Don't interfere, this is being timed".

Quivering while the class calculates the resulting frequency, they conclude that the frequency is as Galileo predicted. The end of class bell mercifully rings whereupon a disappointed Sophie grabs her shoes and marches out of the class. Yanked off my desk by this action I holler that she hasn't untied her shoes from the lock. It wasn't until we were in the corridor that she realizes her error and commences correction, with the words "Sorry Mr. Jefferson, I forgot you were connected". Concerned, she starts to untie the knot and notices that my balls have gone a funny blue color. "Oh dear, are you ok? Girls, Mr. Jefferson's balls are blue. I need help over here."

Female density increases an order of magnitude and a chaotic set of opinions drowns my rapidly receding sanity. Lettie muscles in and accurately diagnoses the issue. "It's lack of oxygen, they need to be stimulated quickly or they could lose their referential integrity". Ten hands promptly cup, massage, pinch, stretch, knead and squeeze my balls until a healthy red color is restored.

Miss Pringle bustles through the crowd, takes in the situation and shoos the girls away. "My, my Mr. Jefferson, it seems it takes quite a few of us to take proper care of you. I think it's time that you learn how to do that for yourself. Come with me." Her hand encapsulates my package and starts to dig. I discover this fat lady has long nails. Driving them ever deeper she creeps, "Is Mr. Jefferson ready for a lesson in control?" The pain in my scrotum increases exponentially until I squeak, "Yes, yes, I'm ready".

Keeping her nails imbedded, she pulls me into the principal's office, marches me to her desk and pushes my head down on Miss Kali's desk. Wearily, I look up and see Miss Kali's two ballooning pillows. My pokey immediately goes hard and the pins score deeply, melding into the pain of Miss Pringle's nails. The miasma started to clear as I hear Miss Pringle describe the state she rescued me from. Miss Kali listens attentively and makes her decision. Picking up the phone, "Miss Waters, Mr. Jefferson will be unable to attend his 9:00 gym class, can you cover? … No, no, he'll be ok, I'm sure he'll be fine for his 10:00 class. Thanks, and yes I'll sure he'll be happy to help you with your class tomorrow afternoon, bye dear".

Miss Kali looks at me, and then directing her attention to Miss Pringle sighs, "It looks like Mr. Jefferson needs a break. Can you take him to his room and remove his constraint. I'm disappointed Mr. Jefferson, you've just started and already there is a problem. No matter, we'll have things straightened out sooner or later."

Miss Pringle curved nails direct me to the school kitchen where four old ladies are busy preparing the school lunch. "Get me an ice bag. I need to remove his "protect our girls" equipment." The old biddies react, but not understanding the requirements, each return with an ice bag. Not wanting to diminish their self-confidence, Miss Pringle lays me on the meat counter and assigns each biddy a different quadrant. "OK, press hard now. Four ice bags compress; I lose all sensation and worryingly wonder if pokey frostbite is treatable. Miss Pringle easily slides off the tube and exclaims, "Oh dear, it's almost shrunk away. Quickly dears, warm it up while it still has memory".

4 gnarled palms, return to their respective quadrants and begin to vigorously rub and squeeze my pokey between them. Rapidly gaining heat, my pokey reconnects to my nervous system sending cold/hot flashes at a perplexing rate.

"Stop it, please stop it, I'm fine. It's not cold," I whine as the chaffing causes my lower signal system to switch from flashes to aches. It's too late. My pokey swells and swells.

"That's enough ladies, it looks like his memory is fully restored". Then perplexed, Miss Pringle asks, "But how can I take him down to his room in this condition? We need something to cover him up with while we're in the corridor." Spying a head of iceberg lettuce, she brightens, picks it up, and asks the ladies to hold me tight at the base of my pokey. Without any warning, she slams the lettuce down hard.

My pokey shoots through the lettuce like papier-Mâché. It is enveloped to the root. Helping me to my feet, Miss Pringle evaluates my new clothing. "What do you think ladies, will this work?" pointing to the bobbing head of lettuce.

"Hmmm," the ugliest biddy cackles, "If he goes soft, it will fall off. You'll need to keep him hard in the corridor if you want to maintain the innocence of our young ladies."

My relief, that they couldn't proceed without clothing me decently, reverses direction when the oldest biddy opines, "I read that when a males prostrate gland is stimulated, he remains hard."

"Ideal observation", Miss Pringle crinkles. Laying me on my stomach, she asks two of the old ladies to hold my cheeks apart. The other two hold the tube on one side and the lock on the other.

I struggle to rise when an entangled signal pulls the lock and the tube away from each other. Intense pain flares, as my balls flattens into their new two-dimensional home.

"Calm down, Mr. Jefferson" Miss Pringle quiets me. "We'll make sure that you wouldn't accidentally expose yourself to the girls." She dips her fat thumb deeply into a tub of lard. Surveying her one-inch target she instructs the two biddies holding my cheeks to stretch them with all their strength. Satisfied with a two-inch target, she presses her greasy thick thumb on my most private entrance, and leveraging her 300 pounds, slowly enters the target zone.

It feels like I'm shitting backwards. A quick tube/lock yank convinces me to lie in petrified stillness. The room goes quiet as Miss Pringles thumb inserts;

One inch "the rim of my anus groans"

Two inches "my insides heave to expel her"

Three inches "the pressure becomes intense"

Four inches "I beg her to stop"

Five inches – She hits my prostate gland and the lettuce under the table goes from a 180-degree angle to a 270-degree angle.

"OK ladies, mission accomplish. Let's test the results", says Miss Pringle with a satisfied air. Using her thumb like a joystick, she turns me to face the old biddies. "Let's see if you can make him soft."

A garlic mouth biddy grabs my head and starts to French kiss me. Sickened, my pokey starts to deflate. Miss Pringle scratches my prostate with her thumbnail. My pokey inflates with the lettuce magnifying the effect ten-fold.

Each remaining biddy spends five minutes French kissing me, with the lettuce bobbing away, from my alternating waves of disgust and prostrate action.

Confidently Miss Pringle states that she believes the lettuce is now secure and asks me to thank the old biddies for their help. About to protest, I feel the joystick control and mumble a thank you. The old biddies smile and bustle back to preparing the school lunch.

As the 10:00 bell rings to signal a change of class, Miss Pringle's gives me a thumbs up into the corridor. There I am, surrounded by the shocked faces of young females, wearing a head of lettuce with a tube and lock dragging down my balls, being anally directed by a fat lady's greasy thumb.

I want to die. Noticing that the lettuce is starting to droop, the joystick prods. Up went the lettuce, down went the lettuce, and up went the lettuce. I realize I better concentrate on staying hard if I don't want to be bobbing about all day. The girls crowd around and one shouts, "It's a variation of bob the apple, let's see who can make it bob the highest number of times." With enthusiasm, she slaps the lettuce horizontally for 3 bobs worth. Pokey bawls with the sting. All the girls want a go. They line up in an orderly fashion and are allowed one swipe each by Miss Pringle. The highest number of bobs is 6, when Sophie the Dane, squeezes the lettuce between her hands as hard as she can (tightening the spring way too much). "This time you better let me win", she says with a stern glare. With her right hand she slaps the lettuce as hard as she can, vertically .

I'm ripped in half!

Miss Pringle counts, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, Sophia is the winner. Well done. Ok Girls, off to your class Mr. Jefferson needs to veg out." Joystick reactivates. I march through the girls who whisper admiringly in reference to Miss Pringle's man-ual control system.

Arriving at my abode Miss Pringle says, "Here we are Mr. Jefferson, home sweet home". Slopping her thumb from my ass and sluicing off the lettuce from my pokey she inquires, "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"

I 'm aching downstairs everywhere. My bum hole feels raw, my stretched balls ache, and my pokey feels like it had been used as a corkscrew for a whole vintage farm worth of wine. "Can you remove my tube and lock? I really twinge down there."

"Well, it's against the rules but maybe just this one time", Miss Pringle sympathizes. She unlocks me, unwinds the leather strings, peels of the whole assemble (including the dreaded tube) and strides out of the room.

Head spiraling, I collapse on the mat Looking down I say, "It's you who is causing all these problems". Inspiration hits. If I'm soft I wouldn't need ice bags and lettuce. They can't attach! Setting my idea into motion, I empty my mind of all that has happened and spotlight on what it would be like to meet a lady who can understand the physics of love.

.

"Darling, please hold my breasts, those relativity equations you worked out are making me feel weak inside" she pants. I reach over and as I approach my moment of triumph I'm interrupted with a "MR. JEFFERSON, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

I snap out of my fantasy to see Miss Kali and pokey looking eyes to eye. I promptly drop what I am doing.

"Uh, Uh, I just thought if I made him soft, you wouldn't feel the need to use ice bags any more", I stammer.

Reaching down, she grabs pokey with myself following reluctantly. She forces me to my knees as she puts pokey on the chair and sits on top of him. Hand in air she slaps his legs in time to her voice, "I'm not interested in your disgusting pokey, I'm here to make sure you teach our young girls physics ." Writhing in agony I splutter apologies.

Dialing her mobile she wryly spits, "Miss Pringle, Mr. Jefferson has clearly recovered. Please bring back everything you have taken from Mr. Jefferson's room. We need to get him ready to teach his grade 10 class at 11 o'clock. Miss Pringle arrives carrying the tube, lock and lettuce.

"Where is the ice bag Miss Pringle?" Miss Kali asks. "Look at that." Miss Kali worryingly points to my writhing pokey. "How are we ever going to get that into the tube without the ice bag? Class starts in 5 minutes and there is no time to get it now. What are we going to do?"

Miss Pringle throws me an angry look for making her look bad, and then explains the lettuce/prostrate trick. "First-rate Miss Pringle, I'll take it from here. You may return to your duties". Miss Kali slaps my pokey a few more times to make it harder and then grinds the lettuce on, not noticing the hole Miss Pringle has already created. My pokey eye feels like it's going blind. I'm mercifully fully sheltered within seconds. Not allowing any respite, Miss Kali devastatingly rams her right forefinger deep into my bum hole and finds my prostrate. I buckle at the intrusion. Making sure that her finger movements correlate to lettuce bobbing, she manipulates me upstairs and into the front of my next class.

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.

4. The Three Laws of Thermodynamics

Hearing them chuckle at my chastity belt didn't phase me. I just strode to the front of these predatory creatures and proclaimed, "Girls, today we are going to study the three laws of Thermodynamics. You will be expected to determine how these laws can be proven. Failure to do so will result in this whole class being detained." I was in a mean mood, quite happy to be malicious to any and every female in this room.

Concerned faces stared at each other. The leader of this pack, a buxom 17 yr old Swedish girl stood up and complained, "Mr. Jefferson, my name is Olga and on behalf of this class, I want to protest such a high handed action".

"I'm not interested in your protest Olga", I yelled. "I'm the male and you are the female. Sit down and shut up." It struck me that as a teacher I was being a bit unfair. But given the events of the day, it made me feel great to dominate the weaker race. So I just let it flow, "So, can anyone tell me the first law of thermodynamics?"

"The conservation of energy" a French Canadian girl sitting at the side of the class ventures.

"Well done. State your name and describe what this means in terms of heat and energy." I encourage."

"Francis", she says reddening, "ahhh, heat=energy" she guesses.

"Only a girl would make such a dumb guess," I say scornfully. "Come on class, don't any of you have a brain? Tell you what, if any of you can get the answer, you can run the rest of this class. If no one can, then this class will be all lectures. I'll expect you all to work during your detention and this evening writing an 4000 word essay on it." I pause watching a bunch of empty female faces, and in triumph, state, "Ok, no one has the answer. Get out your pens and paper and engage those silly brains of yours for a change." I smugly carried on. I had this class on the run and wasn't going to remove my iron glove for a second.

"Excuse me Mr. Jefferson", Olga said putting her hand up.

"Yes" I said impatiently, ready to bite her head off.

The first law of thermodynamics. "If the state of a system is changed by applying heat, then the change in energy in the system must equal the energy applied", she confidently asserts.

I was stunned; a seventeen-year-old girl is simply not smart enough to know a male subject like thermodynamics. "Correct Olga" I mutter.

The Swede advances to the front of the class. She takes my desk chair and places it center stage. Smirking, Olga pats her knees, "You said whoever answered the question was in charge. Now quickly, lie over my lap. We need to prove the first law of thermodynamics." Thanking god I had protection, I shuffle over and lay across her lap wondering how that could prove the first law.

The French Canadian caught on to what Olga was thinking before me. Francis standing up excitingly says, "I get it. The collary of the first law must be that if you apply energy to the state of a system, then the additional heat absorbed must equal the amount of energy applied." Getting excited she carried on. "So if you apply enough energy the state of a system should go red hot. This would prove the first law of thermodynamics." she concludes proudly.

"Well done Frankie. My reasoning exactly. Girls, unless we want detention, we'll have to somehow get the state of the system on my lap red hot." Olga smilingly says patting my bottom to make sure everyone got her point. It clicks what state of matter they are talking about. I struggle to rise, Olga holding tight to the chastity belt. "Quick girls, support Mr. Jefferson's' part in the experiments. Four girls grasp my arms and legs and pull them to the floor. My bum, my God, my unprotected bum, rose prominently above Olga's' lap. Sharpening her nails on my quivering cheeks she merrily instructs, "Ten smacks per silly girl should prove the first law. Want to go first Frankie?"

The French Canadian comes up. Calculates the trajectory and with the strength of a lumberjack, wallops my bum. "Wow, you can even see her handprint" Olga says in awe. "This thermodynamic thing just might work." Frankie carries on her chore with enthusiasm. My ass weaves and bobs to no avail. Every wallop finds its target with unerring accuracy.

Hand upraised the second girl exclaims "Look it's starting to get a little pink" Ten determined spanks ring through the air, followed by ten little gasps. The third girl comments that it's definitely getting pink but is a long way from red. With studied care, she hyperventilates between each spank to maximize the piston power of her right arm. My bum communicates its increasing discomfort by swaying even when not being spanked. Six spanks in, girl four complains that her hand hurts. Francis advices her to pretend her arm is a whip with her fingers the whip end. She curls her arm and whips me with her fingers hard. The pain goes concentrated. My moans get louder. Girls five through nine all decide to have a finger whipping time. Finger spots abound. Girl ten, from Bangladesh, inventively takes off her sneaker and gives my bum ten hard rubber bounces. Girls 11 through 14 decide to sneak in their blows the same way. My bottom cheeks bounce away, forty times. Girls 15, takes off her wide leather belt, and splats down a whistling ten. The red splotches look like a painter gone mad I wish they would stick to one method. Girls 16 and 17 try out their belts. The thin one hurt the most. Girl eighteen takes off her high heels, and gives me the flats for seven goes. She reverses her grip. I learn why dogs learn to heel for the next three drilling turns. My bum is a quivering mass of jelly.

Girl 19, a small Chinese girl steps up and exclaims, "It's red now, but not bright red. I'm not that strong and don't want to be the reason this experiment fails." She stands there with an inscrutable face. It becomes all too scrutable when it spies my long wooden ruler. Reverently, she slowly picks it up with her right hand. She lays the end on my writhing bottom softly saying "Don't worry Mr. Jefferson, I'll make sure the experiment is a success". Lifting the ruler up to the ceiling, her short 2-foot arm transformed into a 5-foot appendage, starts its journey from the arcs' apex. The ruler moves faster. Sound waves give advance warning. The sound waves increase in whistle frequency. Blinding speed hits canvas. A pure red stripe is added. I can't help myself. I begin to cry. The Chinese girl says, "Don't despair Mr. Jefferson, I think this might work". Focusing intently, she neatly draws five more red iron bars beside the first one. Not caring what the girls think, I start to blubber. God, there are still three more. The Chinese girl pauses and kneeling down sing songs "Mr. Jefferson, please be a bit quieter. You're ruining my concentration". She then examines my bottom closely. "But it's only pink between the red bars. I need to do something to even things out," she murmurs to herself. She turns the ruler 90 degrees. It looks like a knife. It screams down and I feel my bum scream up. I yell for her to stop. I can't take it. "Mr. Jefferson, please stop interrupting the experiment," she says cuttingly. Chop, Chop. I sob my eyes out. "There, There Mr. Jefferson," the Chinese girl consoles "It's done now, you were very good"

Olga, caressing my bum soothingly, says in a congratulatory voice, "Well done Kim, you've got the state of matter to a darkish red. But if the law of thermodynamics is to be proved, it must be bright red". The girls worriedly look at each other. Olga is the 20 th and last girl. "I don't know if I'll be able to do it girls, but I'll give it my best shot".

What happened next, was either because of the additional leverage Olga had, holding me over her lap, or, some gene that gave Swedish women strong right arm. Her first spank, on my dark red bum sent a pulse through my neural network. I throw all the girls holding me, flat on their backs. "Two girls per arm and leg" Olga orders flexing her arm athletically. Eight girls thread my appendages through the bottom of the chair. My hands and feet switch positions. My bum is geometrically changed to a large red rubber ball. The skin stretches to accommodate the increased surface area. Olga calculating her newly shaped target says, "That's better girls, now its like playing volleyball". Five hard serves bounce my ball higher and higher. The girls clap out the time. I'm beside myself. The heat is starting to saturate the chastity belt. My pokey and balls feel like they are in an oven. Four more spanks remain. I struggle to escape but eight girls are too many. They pull until satisfied my bum is perfectly round. Olga blows on her hand, raises it as high as she can and brings it down with the power of a jackhammer. My bum briefly flickers and then goes out.

"Did you see that?" the girls excitedly said. "We have a chance". After the next jackhammer blow, my bum flickers a bit longer. On the ninth blow, it flickers for over five seconds. The suspense was killing the girls. "Please Olga", they beg, "We have only one more chance to turn it on". Olga draws deep into her maniac reserves. With a Viking cry, she spanks my bum with the strength of Hercules. An enormous amount of heat dissipates all Blood-Bum electrical resistance. Superconductivity kicks in. My bum commences a state change. It flickers, glimmers, shimmers, twinkles and sparkles. Transition change completes. A bright red glow shines from my bottom. One of the girls turned out the lights while others pull the blinds. "She did it. She really did it". They kneel in the dark, in worship, watching my bum glow, like a red beacon lighting the way to nirvana.

Heat rapidly escapes from the system. The beacon stutters, splutters and finally falters. Eyes adjusting to the dark, they solemnly approach their failed item of worship. The animals go marching two by two. They knead, massage, and pinch my bum, hoping to turn the light back on. To no avail, electrical resistance was back. They open the blinds and turn the light back on. Olga grabs my hair and pulling my head back, looks me in the eyes and asks, "Are you satisfied we silly girls have proved the first law of thermodynamics, Mr. Jefferson?"

Figuring that a bit of groveling would be a good plan; I humbly reply "Very satisfied on both counts. You proved the first law and you proved you are not silly girls. Now let me up and I'll carry on the lesson." I make moves to escape from my Swedish prison.

The warden tightens her grip, "Now Mr. Jefferson, you know we've agreed I'm in charge for the duration of this class. Make yourself comfortable and tell us the second law of thermodynamics."

Comfortable? How the heck am I supposed to make myself comfortable? Twenty girls, staring as my red beach ball bum recoils high in the air, does not make me comfortable. I blandly answer her question.

The second law of thermodynamics states, "all systems have a tendency to equilibrium." Specifically, it is impossible to move heat by a cyclical process, from something at a lower temperature to something at a higher temperature unless work is added to the system.

That's got these stupid girls stumped I thought. No way will they be able to prove this. I really want these girls in detention.

Kim, the Chinese girl spoke up, "So we spank Mr. Jefferson, just as hard as before, but this time through crushed ice. The cold in the ice could not move heat to his bum according to the second law of thermodynamics. So the law is proved if after 200 spanks, his red light doesn't go on."

"That's it Kim, that would prove it", Olga said. "But our hands are so sore, I don't know if we can apply the same force again."

Let me take care of things Kim asserts. She gets a bucket, cuts the bottom off, and snuggly fits it to my abused bottom. Another girl gets five bags of crushed ice. Don't they every run out of ice? I thought. The dreaded Chinese girl takes two ping-pong paddles out of her bag.

"Well done Kim", Olga exalts. "Ok girls, let's do this two by two. The left line takes one cheek and the right the other." Eight girls hold my appendages anew. The beach ball rises.

Crushed ice is liberally added. Two paddles hurtle down. "Crunch, Crunch". The ice squashes into my bum. Nine more paddle duets of crunching action transpire. My behind loses its red color completely as the chastity belt starts to freeze. The second set of paddles descends. My behind starts takes on an icy sheen as my balls start to seriously contract. The third pair of paddles squeal with zeal. I can feel an icy sheen on my bum. More crushed ice is added. The fourth pair strikes their ten with ferocity. I feel half Eskimo.

"His behind looks all white now. There is clearly no heat exchanged in spite of all the energy we've provide. There is no way his bum will light red again." Kim observes.

"Yes," I cry, "Your point is proven. It's entropy in action. That's part of the second law. All systems tend towards increased entropy or disorder.

Olga feels my bottom and then comments icily, "What do you think, stupid girls? It does feel more disordered as we clearly haven't added any heat to this systems' state." Overruling the objections of the six pairs of girls who hadn't yet had a turn, Olga asks, "and what is the third law of thermodynamics Mr. Jefferson?"

With relief, I relay the required information.

As the temperature in a systems state approaches a lower limit, entropy approaches zero.

The girls were flummoxed. What could this mean? My hopes rose. Maybe they'll figure it out during detention.

That bloody French Canadian girl ventures, "That implies that if one lowers the temperature of a state of matter to its lowest possible point, then entropy goes to zero. So the state of matter should emit a frequency from the lowest band of the visible frequency."

The girls pondered what Francis said. Kim, maddingly, took it to the logical next step. "So if we take the temperature of Mr. Jefferson's bottom to its lowest point, it should turn blue." All the girls were relieved. They found an experiment that gave them a chance to avoid detention.

"Ok girls, this is the home stretch." Olga encourages. Turning to the remaining paddle line-up girls, she instructs, "It's all up to you girls. If you can remove all the heat from Mr. Jefferson's bottom, it will turn blue and we'll have proven the third law of thermodynamics. Kim make sure Mr. Jefferson's bottom stays steeped with crushed ice. We have a lot of heat to take out of this." Olga says giving my bottom a pat.

The proceeding begins anew. With vigor, the sixth pair of paddles drives sparkling cold into my behind. Frozen with pain, heaving huge gasps of air, I feel Olga checking the results of their paddle work. "Not bad girls, but we're a long way from blue. With only four paddle sets to go, I'm not sure we'll be able to do it."

"We need to use something with better leverage", Francis says and gets two long and very greasy lab spatulas. She hands them to the pair seven solemnly saying, "Good luck, you'll need all your strength to make this work." Each girl places a spatula on the closest cheek. Like synchronized swimmers, they mimed striking my bottom in slow motion. Satisfied, they correctly position themselves in all three dimensions. They smoothly raise their arms. Two accelerating greasy spatulas harshly compress wide areas of crushed ice deep into my bum. It feels like thousands of tiny icicles magically forming in my bum. Arms moving like pinwheels, they spatch in nine more groups of icicles.

The girls holding my now dangling arms and legs crowd around to view the result. "Look", one says pressing a finger on my lower right cheek, "It's light blue here." Hope soars as team eight steps up to the plate.

The suspense palatably thickens, as they make sure they have the maximum leverage position. The pinwheel spins. I feel my bum disconnecting from the rest of my body. I learn what blue balls really mean. Again they crowd around. "Light blue everywhere", Olga states. "We're getting there. Team nine, get that hiney."

Team nine comes out of the batter's box and after a couple of warm-up swings pound the greasy spatulas deep into the ice minefield. Each molecular icicle was driven in deeper while new icicles form for next greasy strike pounding.

Olga, brushing all the ice away, inspects the results closely. She concludes, "Girls, we have almost got all the parts of this state of matter its requisite color, but look here." Widening my ass cheeks (the chastity belt happily hiding my stretching bum hole) she points inside the crease. "It's only a very light blue here. His bum cheeks are not letting us drive in the ice in a uniform distribution pattern. Unless we resolve this, it will not be possible to get his bum into the lowest possible state of entropy."

The class hums, so close and yet so far. Francis pipes in "Rolling pins with enough leverage should be able to penetrate there."

Kim gets two rolling pins giving one to Olga and keeping the other for herself. Meet team ten I mentally groan. Pouring a whole bag of crushed ice on top of my bum, they prepare the field. "Help me keep him open." Olga orders. Four hands on each side pull my bum cheeks as hard as they can. Crushed ice fills the ravine. "Two girls per rolling pin. Use all your weight." Olga commands.

Two rolling pins and four girls weight later I feel the ice crystals super compact within my widely separated bum cheeks. Tinkerbell skating on this frozen canal wouldn't have found an imperfection anywhere. "OK, lots more ice now." Olga says looking at Kim. When my behind could no longer be seen, Olga picks up one rolling pin directing Kim to pick up the other.

Kim raises the heavy wooden rolling pin and lands a hard blow all along my bum crease. Tinkerbell dies and the canal moves closer to sea level. Olga's strong Swedish right arm drives the canal down another ten percent. Back and forth, Kim and Olga attack the frozen river. I'm barely conscious wondering how bums survive the winter. On the nineteenth stroke a blue light flickers through the ice.

Eyes glinting, knowing this was the last chance, Olga raises her rolling pin for the last authorized time. The girls and I all hold our breath. Hearing her warrior cry as the rolling pin whistled down scares me to death. The living daylights were knocked out of my bum.

A blue flicker, more flickers and then the ice shone a steady blue. Olga brushed all the ice away and the girls huddled their faces together around my bum. My bum glows and glows. "A blue moon" they whisper in awe. Then the cheers went up for Olga for the second time.

"Are you satisfied that we have proved the third law of thermodynamics Mr. Jefferson?" Olga inquires.

I contritely agree and beg her to unfreeze my bottom, worried about long-term damage. Olga thinks and slowly says, "If we do, will you apologize for calling us stupid girls?" Feeling very blue, I readily agree hoping they have some warm water. Olga looks at Frankie and says, "Grab his hair and make sure his eyes don't shift while he's apologing. Kim, give Mr. Jefferson's behind some heat."

Kneeling, Francis pulls up my hair until our eyes are level. "I'm sorry I called you stupid Francis," I wincingly say as Kim wallops my behind. Eighteen apologies later, my bottom is thoroughly warmed up. "That's enough girls", I'm fine now, "Thank you".

"Oh no," Olga corrects, "You still need to apologize to two more girls:

Kim takes my hair signaling a heavyset Ukrainian girl to commence. "I'm sorry I called you stupid Kim" feeling the brute force of a Ukrainian hand on my behind. "Hit him harder Elsa, his eyes are shifting." The whams increase in both strength and frequency.

I blubber, "I'm sorry Miss Kim, I'm really really sorry."

"Miss Kim," I like that. "The Chinese like respect. In future you will address all the girls in this class as Miss. Is that understood?"

"My shocking pink bottom prompts me urgently, "Yes Miss Kim."

Only Olga was left. "I'm sorry Miss Olga for calling you stupid."

The Swede, grinning from ear to ear, says, "I accept your apology and just to make sure you don't forget…" She raises that sturdy Scandinavian arm and begins to whack me off. After the first five, my bum went red. After nine it started to flicker. With that now familiar warrior cry the tenth whack speeds down. The light in my brain goes out as the light in my bums turns on. "Thank you Mr. Jefferson, that was a great class," she says as the bell rings.

Olga deposits my limp body, radiant bum in air, onto the floor, and exits with the other girls. Miss Pringle breezes in. Piggy eyes enamored by the red light, she manages to choke out "Sleeping on the job Mr. Jefferson? Let's take you to your room. Your next class isn't for an hour."

I creak to my feet wondering when this day would be over. I follow Miss Pringle through the crowded corridors to the ooos and ahhhs of girls admiring my well-lit bottom. I enter my only sanctuary in this hellhole of feminists. All the water activity has given me an urgent washroom chore. Miss Pringle unfastens the chastity belt and flops down into my chair staring at my pee proud tomato pokey. "Miss Pringle, I'm fine now" I say dismissively, "You may go."

Settling herself even more firmly into the chair she retorts, "Miss Kali has asked me to supervise you. She doesn't want you to play with yourself during school hours."

Fed up, I turn on her and shout "Listen you fat tub of female lard, I have to use the facilities. Understand? Get out now!"

Face flushing angrily, the mountain stands and comes to Mohammed. She grips my balls and starts to squeeze. "What did you call me?" she asks furious.

"Ah, I", she squeezes my balls harder, "I mean I need some lard to sooth my sore bum" I say desperately hoping she's as stupid as she looks. Somewhat mollified, she switches her grip to pokey, and with a brutal yank, hauls me to the toilet and points pokey at the middle of the bowl. "Go", she says squeezing him tightly.

"I can't" I moan, "You're holding him too tight". She slaps my bladder with her other hand. A hole in the dike opens and I painfully flood through the tightly gripped channel.

Miss Pringle has great fun varying the constriction to the tune of row, row, row your boat. It sure didn't go gently down the lane but she obviously thought life was but a game.

Shaking off the last drops of juice from my now deflated pokey she moves him to the sink and starts to hand wash my red tomato soup clothes away.

"Ouch, you're bathing him too hard" I protest. Ignoring me, she picks up the scrub brush and vigorously scrubs him horizontally, vertically, and diagonally. I thought there would be no skin left. She starts to scrub my pee hole. I grab her hand. She grabs my balls. I let go of her hand and the pee hole is excruciatingly cleaned.

"Hmmm" Miss Pringle notes, "not much color here." She smacks pokey until he turns red. "There you go Mr. Jefferson, spanking clean. Now let's see to your bum." Holding pokey securely, she sits down and tugs me across her lap. "Well I guess I'm the only lard around, so here goes," she says sardonically. Miss Pringle lifts up her shirt and bounces a one hundred and fifty pound fat belly on my bum for the next five minutes. Strangely enough, the blubbering lard did the trick. A warm soothing tingling suffused my bum.

Miss Kali comes into being. "Thank Miss Pringle for her help Mr. Jefferson. You need to get ready for your grade 12 class now" she comments, handing me a pair of trousers.

I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. With heartfelt gratitude, I gush, "Thank you Miss Pringle and thank you Miss Kali for letting me wear trousers. I'm surprised though. I thought that you were afraid of the girls seeing a stiff pokey."

"That restriction doesn't apply to the Grade 12 class. 18 year old girls need to be educated in such things if they are to face the world, in a confident manner, upon graduation" she replies somewhat mysteriously.

Going for a bit of insurance I casually mention "It might be useful, given these girls are at such a precocious age, if you tell them not to remove my trousers."

Miss Kali, surprised, says "I will tell everyone in the class the sort of control I expect". Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, I concur and follow Miss Kali to my next class, smirking at the disappointed looks the corridor girls threw when they saw no entertainment.

5. Maxwell's equations

Miss Kali and I stride to the front of the physics lab. I eye the class judiciously, careful not to provoke them in any way.

Miss Kali informs, "Girls, this is your new physics teacher. I know that you will learn a great deal from him if control is excised. I have assured Mr. Jefferson that you will respect his privacy as much as he respects yours. Train well girls, good luck." Miss Kali gives me a reassuring nod and leaves.

I launch into my lecture. "Girls, today you will figure out experiments which prove that electricity and magnetism are two parts of the same coin". One of Maxwell's equations is:

An Electric current is generated by a magnetic field.

At that moment a Toronto girl drops the pencils in her pencil case. She stands up, turns around, and bends over to pick them up. Her short skirt rides up just below one of the most beautiful apples my eyes have every beheld. Pokey stirs. "Now, who here knows a method to generate electricity using magnetism? I can't take my eyes off her bottom. My pokey tries to look over the trouser parapet.

An Austrian girl in the front row sees my trousers move. She connects the dots from my eyes, to the Toronto girl's bum, to the trouser movement. "Laura, Mr. Jefferson is getting a hard-on looking at your bottom!" I shift my eyes rapidly as Laura swings around, beside herself with embarrassment.

She strides to the front of the class, and taking the proof in hand enquires, "Mr. Jefferson. Were you looking at my bottom?"

"It was an accident", I cringe, as she squeezes the proof in anger.

"You've just invaded my privacy. Miss Kali said we are to respect your privacy the same way you respect ours. Take off those trousers right now". Well I wasn't going to obey this slip of a girl. Her hand grabs my balls through the trousers. Well, maybe this once I'll do as this girl says, but when she lets go of my balls, then things will change pronto. I slide my trousers down. Her other hand grabs my born free pokey. "Step out of them now and put your hands on your head so we can start the experiment" Laura demands, ensuring compliance with a two handed clutch on my balls and pokey. I step out of my trousers and put my hands on my head. "You heard Miss Kali girls, she expects us to learn control." Laura grins and looking at the Austrian tattletale says, "Katy, can you please take off your shoelaces and tie Mr. Jefferson up?" Now that puzzled me. I'm a pretty big guy. Two shoelaces weren't going to hold me, I thought, grinning inwardly.

Katy takes off her shoelaces and stands in front of me thinking. Sitting down, she wraps a shoelace tightly around one of my balls in a slipknot tightening until she had pure marble. She does the same with the second shoelace and says, "Ok, Laura, let him go. I think this will work". Laura lets me go. I move to grab my balls. Two strings go taut in opposite directions. I almost lose my marbles. Torn, I move my hands back on top of my head.

Katy absently starts to pull down on the strings. My pokey goes down. She raises her hand. My pokey goes up. "This puppet is fun" she says, and mischievously starts bouncing my fully erect pokey up and down in front of the all the eighteen-year old girls. My shame was intense. The laughter just went on and on.

Finally Laura said "Ok, anyone have any idea how to make electricity with magnetism?"

A girl in a Calgary cowboy hat stands saying, "Magnets moving through a copper coil generate electricity I think. Here let me show you. Katy get me a stool?" She goes to the back of the lab and returns carrying a number of ring magnets, a copper coil and a blue lamp. Delicately lifting my pokey with finger and thumb, she threads it through the magnets. She places the copper coil on the stool Katy brings, and hooks the copper wire to the lamp. Taking the shoelaces from the puppet master, the Calgarian pulls me behind the stool so I face the class. She drops one shoelace into the large coil and pulling one of my balls, steers an objecting pokey carefully through the coil with her other hand. My pokey eye stares obscenely through the copper coil at the girls. The cowboy grabs the pokey side lasso. After directing Laura to hold the lasso behind me, she says "Ok Laura, we need to get the magnets moving through the copper coil to get the light bulb to burn. Katy can you set the tempo please."

Katy spanks my bum as the cowboy pulls one ball's slipknot. Pokey goes forward. Laura pulls the other ball. Pokey goes backwards. Spank, forward, backward. Spank, forward, backward. Katy sets a slow tempo making sure the co-ordination is fluid. The sight of pokey's head sluicing in and out of the coil draws chuckles from the class. Katy ups the tempo. My balls lose the rhythm. Deep pain until I properly synchronize. I focus on the spanks to anticipate the pulls. The pulls reduce.

"Still no light Susan", Laura observes looking at the cowboy pulling the other string.

Susan thinks for a moment. "If we gradually increase the tempo, the light should go on." Seeing Katy favor her hand, she asks all the girls to line up and spank my bum twenty times. Each girl is to spank slightly quicker than the girl before them. They line up and Girl 2 increases the tempo. I smoothly detect the speed and increase pokey's thrusts. No ball pulls occur but my bum is starting to feel a little warm. A hundred drumbeats later, my pokey strokes the coil at 90 beats per minutes. My bum feels hot. I almost lost a ball when Girl Seven increased that beat more than expected. I focus hard on matching the beat. Susan and Laura have trouble pulling the strings at the new speed. They realize I'm only focusing on the drumbeat. They tentatively drop the strings.

I think I have it licked now. I'm humping the coil at just the right velocity. My balls aren't tugging anymore. Susan and Laura happily grin at each. After another hundred drumbeats, pokey screws the coil at 150 beats per minute. Bum flaming, Girl 12 needs to alternate hands to maintain the beat.

"Faster, Harder", Susan encourages. "The light is still not on". Girl 13 focuses intently. Machine gun spanks fill the air. Come Girl 18, I was being spanked so quickly that the sound of one spank to the next blurred. My magnetic pokey rocketed back and forth at 200 beats per minute. The light begins to flash. Hope ignites on the girls' faces. Girl 19 was Susan. She must have played bongos all her life. She thrashes me to 220 beats per minute. The light started to steady. Laura, the last girl takes two rulers. Sitting on the floor in front of my gyrating red moon, she positions herself like a drummer. God, she is a drummer. Her pounding drum roll moves me to 250 beats per minute. The blue light bursts into radiance as I intercourse with the copper coil. Then my bum lights up. Through an eerie light of red and blue, the girls watch me fuck the coil faster than a dog. Laura, not caring about her twenty-spank limit readies for the finale. She goes roll max and my pokey hoses the coil at 300 beats per minute. Both lights shine even brighter. Pokey's eye is wide open. The girls stare him down. God, I think I'm going to come. This is impossible; pokey is just humping air. Then it happens. He shoots --- The girls watch a white arc climb the sky. They watch the white arc fall from the sky --- He scores. Susan's cowboy hat looks like it is covered in pigeon droppings.

The drum roll stops. The lights go out. I fall on my bum, pokey leaking sperm and magnets. The girls give me a standing ovation.

Susan looks at her hat with horror. Lowering it to my mouth she orders "Get that filthy goo off my hat". When I protest she grabs the shoelaces and yanks. Trying hard not to throw up, I urgently clean the slime until she stops her incessant tugging. "Thank you Mr. Jefferson". What are you teaching us next?" Susan solicits amiably.

I shakily stand up and resume my teacher role. Another Maxwell equation is:

An electric current creates a Magnetic field

I look around for my trousers, as the girls buzz trying to figure out an experiment that would prove this equation. I see them on the desk and start to walk nonchalantly in that direction. Toronto girls are not that easily taken in. Laura seizes the shoelaces and yanks me back onto the stool irritably telling me, "Just stand still Mr. Jefferson, you haven't earned your right to privacy yet."

A girl with a soft Vancouver accent articulates, "Well we know the human body works on electricity, so it follows that a body with a lot of electricity moving through it, would magnetize a metal such as iron. Clearly, a pulsating body carries the highest voltage as we saw a moment ago." The girls all look at pokey. Pokey stares banefully back.

"Now hold on a second", I said cutting her off. Laura jerks the chain hissing, "Let Rebecca finish".

Rebecca carries on with her idea. "If we surround Mr. Jefferson's frontal appendage with iron and excite it to a sufficient degree, then the iron should magnetize. This would prove Maxwell's second equation. Katy, lay Mr. Jefferson back on the stool. Susan, get one of the desks that has a hole for an inkpot. I'll be right back."

Katy curves me backwards on the stool until my head and feet are touching the floor. My back feels an unnatural stretching, but Laura, with a few tugs, reminds me of the alternative. Susan places the table over me threading my seeping pokey and balls through the inkpot hole. The table sets firmly on the floor with my pokey and balls pokey sitting on the top obsequiously. Rebecca returns with two small iron slabs and two light fixtures with overhanging 100-watt bulbs. She forms an iron teepee, to the left and right of my pokey, using electric tape to seal the top. She hangs a 25 cents coin from each bulb. She places the light fixtures on each side the teepee so the quarters were close to their respective iron slab. She says, "Now, if we can generate enough electricity through this appendage, the iron will magnetize and the quarters will swing across and stick to the iron slabs."

"Brilliant Rebecca", Laura says, wiping pokey erect with a washcloth. "But we can't keep referring to the subject under discussion as an appendage. Does anyone have any ideas?"

The puppet master chimes, "I know, let's call him the little man". Katy fetches a green marker and paints a smiley face on pokey's head with little arms and legs along his trunk. Switching on the 100-watt surgical lights, she gleefully continues, "There, now he looks like a proper little man".

Susan troublingly points out, "We're still a long way from generating electricity in that body. He looks like an old man with that slouch. We need to map the contours for sensitivity. Laura shapes some long hair into her hand. Rebecca draw a little man and score the result".

Laura trembles hair at the little man's head. Pokey is ticklish. Pokey rears his head. "10 degree movement", announces Vancouver's protractor. The Toronto girl tickles the little man under the front of his neck. Pokey sensitizes. "15 degrees", Rebecca makes known.

Susan suggests that we need more than just gene data. We need to know the effect of genes working together. Laura tickles the little mans head and neck with two hands of black hair. Vancouver measures 20 degrees.

An ominous voice is the background grunted, "Susan has figured it out. We need to construct a matrix of outcomes. Only then will we be able to figure out how to configure the experiment." My physics brain is impressed. 18-year olds are much smarter than 17 year olds.

Katy extrapolates, "So Janice, we need to agree the number of matrix dimensions. Can I suggest we label two axis for location and one for degree of movement?"

"Almost Katy, but we'll map another idea of mine later. We need to tickle hair on the dark side as well. We'll capture an extra dimension that way. Katy duplicate Laura's front office operations in the back office", Janice's boding evil voice says. I pray she is not from California.

A flurry of hairy measurements later, pokey has grown to his full six inches. No one would dare call him a droopy old man now. The girls run the math. There are two combinations that create favorable degrees of movement. Janice intones, "Before we try these combinations, let's make sure that the little man's circulation system is working at maximum throughput. Elsa, start with his feet."

Elsa, making a circle around his feet with thumb and forefinger, and shrinks the radius. Pokey's chest bulges. She increases the radius. His chest returns to normal. She speeds up the rhythm. The little man heaves faster. Elsa adds another thumb and forefinger as the girls root her on. The little man starts to pant. She stops and then tightens the circle as hard as she can. The little man stops breathing, chest at attention. Thirty seconds of suffocation later Elsa hands a little man with red feet to the next girl.

Palms up, she karate chops the little man at the knees repeatedly. Kneecapped, the little man falls over. The next girl attacks the thighs with her nails. She passes the half red naked man to the next girl. This nasty creature holds his head and finger punches his stomach. Girl Five tickles his tummy incessantly. Girl Six, finger snaps his chest, until it's a bright red. Seven chokes him around the neck until he's gasping. Eight pinches his mouth wide open and feeds him a fingernail. Nine blindfolds his eyes tightly; opening the hole in his head opens wide. Ten places her palm on this hole and rotates it on his baldhead until it shines.

Janice laughs, "Looks like we have a little Indian on our hands. Let's give him a body massage to make sure his system is completely connected".

Girls Eleven, Twelve and Thirteen all pancake the Indian between their rubbing palMiss By the end, the resulting light red war paint was evenly applied.

Girls Fourteen through Eighteen smack around the warrior all around his teepee until he was deep red with fury.

Janice examines the bright pole and satisfied says "Ok, the little man looks prepped. It's time to get to the meat of this experiment. Laura get some motor oil. We need things well lubricated for this next step."

The Toronto girl pours motor oil on the Indian. A black man was born. On Janice's instruction she puts on a pair of coarse lab gloves and starts giving the Negro a sandpaper body massage. Laura squeezes harder. She moves her hand, up and down, faster and faster. He starts to throb to the beat.

Janice and Katy move in for the climax. Janice takes the black man below the waist and jerks up, relaxes, jerks up, relaxes. Katy counterpoints. She takes the black man waist up and jerks down, relaxes, jerks down, relaxes. The black man pulses to a boil. Just before he explodes, Katy and Janice victory V their fingers, and from opposite sides, scissor the circulation off at his root. The black man is ready to come, but has no place to go. Raging, he shoots lightening bolt after lightening bolt inside his teepee. The teepee magnetizes. The quarters lock on. Maxwell's second law is confirmed. The girls applaud. Pokey blacks out.

Pokey and I regain consciousness to a shock of turpentine. Cleaning up the motor oil, Toronto smiles brightly and says, "That was great Mr. Jefferson. Time is almost up. Can we do the other two Maxwell equations tomorrow?" It took me a moment to answer. So close to coming and then denied. I was shaking with frustration. I quiver agreement.

They lift the table off pokey, help me up solicitously, hand me my trousers, giggle and leave.

Miss Kali enters carry a new lettuce. "Mr. Jefferson, if you don't want to wear your trousers then what is the point of me giving them to you?" she says and takes them from my hand. "I've had good reports from all the girls. You are a very effective teacher. Pity about that though", she says gazing at my thwarted rigid pokey. She unties the shoelaces letting my balls return to marble heaven. Pokey is thrown into his new lettuce home. A driving backdoor finger makes the point, "Let's get you to your room and discuss this further." My injected behind obeys dejectedly. 80 girls crease. Pokey and I turn red. We stumble before Miss Kali to my asylum. God, I need some relief down my up there.

Miss Kali intones, "Mr. Jefferson. Since you were playing with yourself during school hours I have to punish you by not letting you play with yourself after hours." With that astonishing statement, she plops out her finger, rips the lettuce across the room, ties my hands behind my back and lays me on the bed. Hooking a chain from the ceiling, she ties the shoelace securely. A stretched pokey points to the sky. "Now get some sleep Mr. Jefferson. You have an extra class to teach tomorrow." Miss Kali leaves. I fall asleep trying to come in the air. Of course, that is impossible.

Day 2 – Relativity

6. Special Theory of Relativity

I kept thinking about the previous days class with Mr. Jefferson as I rummage through my locker looking for my two digital cameras. "He has the most amazing little man. Its energy is unlike anything I've seen. I wonder where all the vigor comes from?" Toronto has never been more interesting I grin to myself.

Miss Kali's voice penetrates my fog with "Girls, please make sure Mr. Jefferson is ready for his 9:00 class. Will you help him get ready? Thank you."

My friend Janice grins, "What do you think Laura, shall we go help Mr. Jefferson?"

"Sure Janice", I reply, "Bet he knows better than to look at my bum this time." We wander down to Mr. Jefferson's room and enter. There lay a sleeping Mr. Jefferson with his little man tied straight up to the ceiling. We could hear him talking in his sleep. We creep to each side of his little man.

"Yes, I accept this Nobel prize for my work on negative energy. This is a great day for me." Boy, Walter Mitty has nothing on this guy. Unable to resist, I wet my finger and softly ran it down the little mans' front. I see a shiver of excitement pulse through the little man. Mr. Jefferson's mutterings increase a pitch with "I believe this breakthrough will allow us to defy gravity." The little man certainly looks like he is defying gravity. Janice wets her finger and starts stroking the little mans' back. In no time flat we were dealing with a fat little man. Mr. Jefferson's voice trembles "This discovery will allow man to explore the galaxy." Hmmm, no mention of women I irritably noted. The little man tries to rock up and down but the string holds him fast. Mr. Jefferson's voice, tinged with frustration, says, "and the technology improvements mean we wouldn't need women anymore." I couldn't help myself. How dare this sexist pig think he can automate females away. I spank his little man hard. With the string holding him fast, he had nowhere to run. All the energy of the blow turns him pink. Mr. Jefferson's Nobel Prize evaporates as he wakes with a scream, "AAAghhhhhhhhhh". Spying us, his face turns a delightful red an he sputters, "Laura, Janice, you shouldn't be in here. This is most improper."

A thrill of excitement rush between my legs as I savor his humiliation. Kneeling, I take his face in my hands, "Don't worry Mr. Jefferson. Miss Kali asked us to give you a hand getting ready for your classes." It was lovely, the way he lowers his eyes, and refuses to look at me. "Mr. Jefferson, there is no reason to be shy. Janice and I are grown girls. Now look at me please." Janice resumes stroking the fat little man. Mr. Jefferson cringes, reddens some more and closes his eyes. "Mr. Jefferson, I expect you to respect my requests." I stand, eye the fat little target and slap him as hard as I can. Mr. Jefferson almost dislocates his pokey on a string. Kneeling, I take back his face. His eyes, tears streaming, open, and regard me with fear. "That's better Mr. Jefferson", I cooed. God, this was fantastic. Making a grown man cry. "Now, let's get you shaved."

Thinking release, hope jumps into his eyes. I dash that quickly enough with "Janice, get his shaving materials and some cold water. We can shave him right here".

"No, please let me up", he begs me. Annoyed, I grab the string and with a yank, ask, "What did you say to me, Mr. Jefferson?" The fat little man becomes a long skinny man.

He tensely agrees, "Yes Laura, please shave me here." I relax the string and apply water and soap to his face. "Now don't move Mr. Jefferson, we don't want any accidents." I take the razor and remove the stubble until the nice clean face of a young man emerges. I softly run my hands all over his face. He averts his eyes. I pull the string. His eyes drown in mine again.

Janice, caressing the fat little man says, "Looks like this needs a shave too Laura." Janice gives the little man's bush a sharp tug. "Mr. Jefferson seems to have neglected this area for months."

Mr. Jefferson's eyes widen with dismay, "No, you can't, that's part of being a man. It's natural."

This sexist pig clearly hasn't got it yet. I stand and start to spank the fat man. The power I feel inside me is exhilarating. Mr. Jefferson starts to cry but I don't care. I can't stop. Nipples hardening, I can feel my pussy juicing as I spank him bright red. Janice takes my arm and whispers, "Easy girl, we don't want him to faint."

I move to his head and when his eyes lock back onto mine, I smear his gorgeous rolling tears and tut, "Did you want to rephrase what you just said, Mr. Jefferson?"

My physics teacher quivers "Please shave me down there Laura". His legs tightly press together, absurdly trying to protect his bush.

Stroking his clean-shaven face I murmur "Of course, Mr. Jefferson, Janice and I will make you nice and clean down there. Now if you can just move your legs apart to give us some working space, we can clean up that nasty mess." It was obviously the last thing in the world he wanted to do. I found it delightful watching him reluctantly separating his legs a tiny bit. "It will have to be much more than that Mr. Jefferson. Perhaps you want to feel the palm of my hand again?" Now even his chest starts blushing. He widely splays his legs. "Good boy Mr. Jefferson, good boy." God, his eyes look happier when I praise him. This dominating stuff is a real buzz. Janice starts to soap his balls and bush. I straddle my physics teacher's chest, razor in hand. The little man suddenly gets a lot fatter. I look back and see Mr. Jefferson's eyes glued on my bottom. I can't believe where he is looking. Angrily I slap that rascally fat little man. "Don't you dare look at my bottom, Mr. Jefferson." I slap the fat man one more time. "Down boy" I hiss. Mr. Jefferson closes his eyes, the fat man loses weight and I inspect the soapy battlefield. Janice has done a good job. His balls look like they are having a lovely bubble bath. I position the razor and carefully begin to scrape around the edges. "Can you lift his balls for me Janice?" Janice takes the heavy testicles and covers the little man. I scrape and scrape until I've given my physics teacher that little boy look. "Hmmm, there is hair sticking out of his balls, how gross. Not sure how we can use the razor on such a wrinkly field." I take one of his wiry hairs and yank it out. Mr. Jefferson writhes and pulls up his knees to cover his balls. I grab them from Janice and start to give them a good squeeze. I notice marbles running around in them and give them special attention. "I can keep this up all day Mr. Jefferson. Put down your knees when you're ready", I clinically observe. His knees slide down slowly. Taking one testicle at a time, I methodically rip out each and every hair. His muffled groans were music to my ears. "Wipe him Janice. Let's see how we've done." Janice towels him dry and I brush virgin territory with my fingertips. "Look how sensitive he is now. The blood rises wherever my finger touches", I show Janice. She joins me and we tickle the cleaned area until the fat man is back. I untie the noose from the fat man letting the shoelace dangle from the ceiling. "There you go Mr. Jefferson, all done. You look great."

He gets up warily, hands still tied behind his back, and looks down. My clitoris pulses with the horror on his face. "Are you thirsty Mr. Jefferson?" He nods his head and Janice fetches a pitcher of water and a glass. I ignore the glass, pinch his nose, and pour the water down his throat. He gulps protests but I make sure he drinks the whole pitcher. I laugh with Janice as we watch him squeeze his legs together. The thighs do their best to contain the beginning of a pee pride. His urgency to go increases. His pokey is fully erect.

I take his pokey, crank it down 180 degrees, and shove it painfully into the now empty pitcher. "Looks like you want to put the water back, Mr. Jefferson. Please, feel free." His anguished look made me feels complete. Nipples like diamonds, I stare into his eyes, "No rush Mr. Jefferson, we still have to brush your teeth." I turn on the water, set up the toothbrush and tap back to a physics teacher desperately trying to hold his stream. "Open up", I gaily say and start to brush his teeth. We listen to the running water. He grunts with heroic effort. Its no use, more running water sounds fill the room. The pitcher starts to fill; Mr. Jefferson cowers in indignity. Curious, I grasp the floodgates. The current is amazingly strong. My physics teacher is beside himself. "Look me in the eyes, Mr. Jefferson. I'm not going to tell you again" I warn with a firm pokey squeeze. His deploring eyes struggle to meet mine but can't tear themselves away from watching my fireman hand hosing down the pitcher. I can't believe he doesn't obey me. I harshly turn off his tap. His pleading eyes rivet onto mine. I turn the tap back on watching his pupils dilate wider and wider. I turn the tap off and on in tempo to my throbbing insides. The dam feels like it's emptying right into my pussy. Shaking the drops off, I pass the little man to Janice's towel. "All done Mr. Jefferson? Good, teaching time, we need to cover you up for the Grade 9 class. Especially since you've lost all your natural cover." I look around the room and seeing nothing rummage through my purse. Rats, don't have anything except two digital cameras. But they are long enough to cover everything except the little mans' head. Close enough I figure, Miss Kali wouldn't mind a small exposure. I wrap the holders around the camera sandwich. The cameras' unblinking eyes surround the little mans' slanted eye. Janice and I each take an arm and escort him from the room. Curious corridor pupils watch Mr. Jefferson's three upright eyes and two downcast eyes as we lead him to his Grade 9 class.

Lettie nudges me, "Sophie, Mr. Jefferson seems to be taking his time. Think he's learned his lesson and will be nicer to us this class?"

Knowing full well she thought our physics teacher favored her over me, I replied, "I fully intend to make sure he doesn't forget his manners." Turning my head I see a most unbelievable sight. Mr. Jefferson shaved like a little boy wearing only two cameras in his "I'm not allowed to see" location.

I watch as two girls from the senior class deposit him at the front of the class. The Toronto lady reinforces a school rule, "Remember girls, you must make sure he stays covered." We all promise and the seniors leave

"Hey Mr. Jefferson" I move forward just beating Lettie to him, "What are you teaching us today?" He was obviously struggling with his composure so I try and calm him down with an "Easy Mr. Jefferson, we're your Grade 9 class. We're all your friends." I couldn't stop myself. I start to feel his smooth shave. Stroking him softly I whisper, "You better start the class, or the girls will wonder if you're really a teacher". Lettie starts to stroke beside the other camera. Marvelously, the cameras start to rise.

Mr. Jefferson flashes out of his dream world and angrily responds "Am I a Teacher? Am I a Teacher?, Girls, settle down, today I'm going to teach you something incredible. Relativity has changed the whole way we view the world." Lettie and I keep clawing shaved flesh encouragingly, as Mr. Jefferson winds up in more ways than one. This is making me hot. Mr. Jefferson, back in charge, pompously states, "Einstein's first postulate is;"

The laws of physics are the same in all reference frames

Mr. Jefferson looks around hoping that a glimmer of light shows on at least one girls face. He sighs, obviously thinking we're not very bright, and elucidates, "So no matter what the uniform speed of a state is, the laws of physics will be the same within that state even though they can look different outside of that state.

It slowly starts to dawn on me what he is talking about when bloody Lettie interjects, "So if one dropped a load standing still it would go straight down. Likewise if one dropped a load when in motion, to the state in motion it would still look like it is going straight down even though so someone outside the state it would curve down."

"Brilliant Lettie", my disloyal teacher praises her, "That's exactly the implication. Now can you prove that a dropped load will look like it goes straight down to a person in motion?"

The penny drops, I understand the first postulate and even better know how to prove it. "I can prove it Mr. Jefferson", I cry smugly looking at an annoyed Lettie from the corner of my eye. "Lettie, turn over a round table with an inkpot holder. Girls get the four chains holding up the plant pots at the back of the class. Attach one end to the swivel hook up on the ceiling and the other to one of the table legs." Everyone swings into action with a confused Mr. Jefferson watching an upside-down table being hoisted until level with his chest. "Hop on Mr. Jefferson, you look tired. I promise you that you wouldn't have to do a thing." He hesitates. Lettie and I push the cameras together. Mr. Jefferson lies on the table and we thread his Photoshop through the inkpot hole at the side of the desk. Flush with confidence, I detail the experiment. "If we can get this little man to drop a load while he is in a state of motion, we will see the load drop as a curve but the cameras on the little man should show the load dropping straight down."

Lettie, forever the spoiler, demurs, "I see how we are going to get the little man in motion. I see we can set the cameras to take continuous pictures. But I don't see how we can get the little man to drop a load."

Shit, I forgot about that problem. Facing failure, I start to instruct the girls to let the table and Mr. Jefferson down when Gweurfel, a red headed Welsh lass saves the day. "All we need to do is stimulate the little mans head while he is in a state of motion. If we can stimulate him enough, he should drop his load. Girls, take off your nylons and make a circle whose radius is equal to the length between the center of the desk and the little mans head."

Sixteen pairs of crisscrossed nylons were soon stretched into an almost perfect circle with the little man's head, poking out of his camera clothes, snugly resting at 12 o'clock.

"Perfect Gweurfel. I turn the cameras on. Ok, one girl per leg and arm, its time to do a maypole dance." At this point Mr. Jefferson realizes what's up and struggles to rise. I and three other girls extend his appendages over the kneeling nylon-holding girls. His bum flattens, his pokey completely thrusts through the hole. We start to walk in a circle, swivel hook turning, the little mans' head sliding smoothly on his nylon Hula Hoop. The digital cameras click furiously. The little man grows longer so the girls drop the Hula Hoop down an inch. We start to walk faster. Mr. Jefferson's big and little heads get brighter. We start to run. His heads turn red. The Hula Hoop goes down another inch. I start to worry, still nothing dropping. I desperately cry, "OK girls, run as fast as you can. We speed up faster and faster. His heads turn purple with dizziness and nylon chafing. Just when we thought we could run no faster, the miracle happens. A milky explosion makes a perfect circle on the floor. We stop and catch our breath. Mr. Jefferson's heads retreat within themselves. "Well done girls, now let's find out if the first postulate is correct. Clearly we saw his load drop in a perfect curve." The girls, all staring at the faultless circle of white, concur.

I hook up two PCs to the external ports on the cameras and load all the pictures. We start the machines flipping the pictures on both monitors. The tension was palpable. This better work or I'll never hear the end of it from Lettie. The cameras show the little man getting a swelled head with a spinning floor underneath. His head gets bigger and bigger and then it bursts. We all watch in awe seeing the milk fall down in a straight line. The first postulate is proved!

My chest puffs up as my cheering classmates, Lettie excluded, hoist me into the air. In triumph I raise my fists in the air and shout "Relativity is true, Mr. Jefferson, you are brilliant."

Mr. Jefferson, though dizzy, smiles wanly at the flattery but cautions, "That was only the first postulate Sophia, we haven't proven special relativity yet. The second postulate states:"

T he speed of light through a vacuum is constant as observed by any observer, moving or statio nary

I hear Gweurfel say, "Mr. Jefferson, that sounds impossible. That's saying that if there is a moving skier and a stationary skier watching a light avalanche come towards them, they will both be buried at the same time."

I pick up on her thread, "So the only way that it could be the same time for both skiers, since the distance the light avalanche has to go is further for the moving skier, is if time slows down for the moving skier."

Lettie follows up with, "So the faster a state moves, the more a clock in that state slows down

Looking very pleased with Lettie, Mr. Jefferson expands, "Yes, and if a state moves at the speed of light, time stops all together."

Excitingly I say, "So if we repeat the last experiment and move the little man very fast, then the cameras attached to the little man will think he has dropped his load after a stationary camera thinks he has."

"Girls, I think we've had enough experiments for the day", Mr. Jefferson commences to say.

I hate it when we've figured out an experiment and some uptight adult wouldn't let us perform it. It's even worse when it's your own physics teacher. "Mr. Jefferson, we really need to see if this is true. Now be a helpful chap and behave." With that I stuff his mouth with chalk. Over his dry muffled protests, I instruct, "Reset the nylon Hula Hoop and fold his appendages onto the table. We're going to really have to get the table spinning to prove the second postulate."

The girls hogtie his feet and arms behind him. No little man's head pokes out between the cameras. Oh where, oh where, has the little man gone? Damn, what a time for Mr. Jefferson to shrivel up on me. Then I remember Miss Pringles control system. I walk behind him and ogle the one-inch target. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I spear two fingers into the bull's-eye as fast and as hard as I can. I almost break my fingers to the sound of spitting chalk. I feel his bum tighten delightfully around my fingers. I savor his squeezing pulses, pleased that he is caressing me. Time to get the show on the road, I remind myself, this is no time to be indolent. With that, I ferociously saw back and forth with all the heartiness I can muster.

The Welsh girl exclaims, "I can see half the head now, keep it up". I add a finger, hear a yelp, and carry on with total determination. "It's come out to play now. You're astounding Sophia", Gweurfel praises. The girls position the nylon Hula Hoop accordingly.

I pull my fingers out with a loud pop and take my position around the table. We simultaneously turn on the little man's and Letties' cameras. Four girls above the kneeling sixteen girls spin the table hand over hand. The table whirls so fast that I can see Mr. Jefferson's chalky face once per second. The little mans' head is moving around the nylon circle so swiftly I can hear it screech. At two chalks per second, his pokey head is purple. At three, green. Beautiful color I think, hands shuffling faster than a deck of cards. At ten chalks per second, cameras snapping like mad, glorious pasty spurts second-coat the circle on the floor.

We load the camera images to three PCs, turn out the lights and make sure that the first frame of all three videos start exactly at the same time. Once again, we watch the little mans' head swell up against a kaleidoscope swirling floor. The stationary camera shows the explosion and a split second later the cameras in motion show the same explosion. The moving camera's time was slower. Time does move slower when a state is moving quickly. I can't believe this is true. But the evidence is right in front of my eyes. I take the chalk out of Mr. Jefferson's mouth and take pleasure in the way he starts to automatically clean my fetid fingers. I wonder where he got that reflex.

.

We help an overcome Mr. Jefferson down from his tabular frame of reference. I gush, "Mr. Jefferson, you have taught us something today we will remember for the rest of our lives." You are an tremendous teacher."

Mr. Jefferson seems at a loss for words and then remembers his job. He pulls himself together and says,

T he net result of these two postulates mean that as one approaches the speed of light, mass increases and size decreases to an outside observer

Gweurfel finds the frames just before pokey denotation. They count the pixels. They stare at each other. The little man is smaller and fatter on the stationary camera.

"Awesome", I exalt, "it's a perfect example of getting more for less". My box drips understanding the implication of making out with a light speed little man. The bell rings as Miss Pringle comes in to take charge of Mr. Jefferson. I can't wait for tomorrow's class.

7. General Theory of Relativity

Miss Kali was very specific with me. "Miss Pringle, Mr. Jefferson is imbibing a sense of physics in our girls without parallel. You know we've not won any competitions in this field in all the years we've been open. If we can win a prestigious award, we'll be able to double our tuition fees. I expect you to do whatever it takes to ensure his cooperation and total enthusiasm. This will directly impact your bonus and salary. I expect total focus from you. Now get out there and win."

I listen to this vision. Miss Kim can be so unpractical. It's one thing to be starry eyed but a whole other thing to make strategies fit operational realities. "You must realize Miss Kim, that Mr. Jefferson doesn't really like women. There is evidence that he would much prefer working at a boys school."

"I know", Miss Kim concerns, "and we'll just have to figure out a way to convince him otherwise. Remember, I'm counting on you here. Maybe it's time I had a talk with him. Can you pick him up after his Grade 9 class and bring him to me?"

Hey Miss Kali is the boss, so I said, "Sure, will do". I stride down to the class and enter a sight that does not bode well for Miss Kali's strategy. Mr. Jefferson is standing nude except for two cameras totally hiding his pokey. His eyes are downcast, his posture is bent, he looks like a man totally defeated. Shit, this is just a Grade 9 class, how could they possibly intimidate him so? Thinking bonus, I brightly say, "Mr. Jefferson, you look like you would like to teach a lesson to some people in this class. Your wish is this school's command."

I'm amazed; Mr. Jefferson always behaves so definite. Now he hesitates, colors, and acts like a wimp doing nothing. I think to myself, he's in trauma, what's the best way to rectify? Inspiration talks, "Mr. Jefferson, you have total authority to do anything you want to anyone in this class after hours today." He doesn't bite; he stays dejected. Desperate, I volunteer, "Mr. Jefferson, tell me what you want and so it shall be".

Slowly, incredibly slowly, my power offer sinks in and he, at a snail's pace, creeps, "All my clothes back. All my dignity back. All who I am back."

I struggle with this. He thinks I'm just a fat tub of lard. I have a thyroid problem, it's not like I want to be a fat tub of lard. His demands strike me as pedantic so I reply, "that will be up to Miss Kali, Mr. Jefferson. She'd like to see you now". I gently hold a fragile Mr. Jefferson around the waist and lead him through the corridors with his cameras bouncing to Miss Kali's office.

Survival, that's all that matters I grimly concentrate. I am Miss Kali, and I always win. I've uttered and lived that mantra for all of my 28 years. I run an 80 pupil private school and am barely holding my head above water, but if I can grow the pupil base to 120 I'm on easy street. Right now though, I'm barely covering the fixed overheads. I need to up the reputation of this school fast if I don't want to get taken out of the game prematurely. I've lucked out knowing Mrs. Jefferson. I just need to figure out how to deploy her son's incredible brilliance. This 21-year-old male has no idea how talented he is. His university profs clearly mark him as a future star. But how to make money out of it, is what I need to ponder. I have a bunch of bright kids and a guy with a first class brain. It's about management; I just need to figure out a way to put it together.

A considerate Miss Pringle ushers Mr. Jefferson to the front of my desk. "Thank you Miss Pringle, Mr. Jefferson and I need to have a private chat. You may go." Miss Pringle, strangely estranged leaves. I stare at a totally dishonored male. Ouch, I don't know what happened but I didn't want this to happen. I remove his degrading cameras letting him live totally naturally. No gratitude at all I note, this is going to be difficult. "Mr. Jefferson, I appreciate that you are less than happy, but please be assured that I'm very pleased with your performance to date." His head stays down, not even a sparkle of life detectable. I worry internally, have I over sweated my asset base? "Mr. Jefferson, please look at me." His head rises and I see nothing but pain staring at me vacantly. Too far, too fast I realize. I need to snap him back to whom he was when he arrived. "Mr. Jefferson, do you believe we have any girls here who are smart enough to be taught by you?"

That was the right question. Many emotions crossed his face in seconds, but he stayed quiet. "Let me lay it on the line Mr. Jefferson", thinking a bit of truth is ok even in management, "The girls are very hungry for knowledge and sometimes they let their enthusiasm get carried away. I know it's hard for you to understand preadolescent drives, but do you think they have potential?"

He finally cracks normality, "They do catch onto certain concepts extremely quickly" he opines from somewhere deep inside himself.

Got you. I Cheshire "And are you smart enough to teach this level of cleverness?"

His intellectual arrogance finally reasserts itself, "Seriously, they are girls, albeit very smart girls, but they are not guys. I can educate this crew with my hands tied behind my back."

Not pointing out that he was more likely to be tied than not, I drew him out with the statement, "So you are not giving up on this job? You think you can handle it?" Oops, bad negative, he retreats back into his shell. I try again with, "Mr. Jefferson, I believe you have the potential to be a good teacher, but you're way too sensitive. I'm willing to overlook this because I believe in you. The question is do you believe in me." For emphasis, I breathe in deeply and project my 38C cups straight into his line of sight. I'm rewarded with a pokey surge.

Oblivious to his physical reaction he still gives me an appropriate mental one, "Miss Kali, I am willing to teach but I feel that I'm not getting the respect a teacher is due. The way I have to wear weird things downstairs is abhorrent to me in every way, shape and form."

In management there is a time to ignore and there is a time to act. Knowing that I was making a major procedure change without due consideration, I nevertheless hit the PA button and announced to the school, "Girls, I'm in conference with Mr. Jefferson. He has brought to my attention that the school policy of not letting early grades see a pokey is humiliating to him. As of now, this rule is revoked." I shut off the PA and look for a sign of gratitude from Mr. Jefferson. For all my troubles, I get nothing but a shocked look. He looks like a forlorn little boy with his head downcast and shaved pokey upcast. I stand and move beside his chair, by breasts almost touching his face. I smile as I see him sneaking peeks. "Mr. Jefferson, have you ever seen a woman's breasts?" He realizes that I caught him looking and reddening, looks down at the floor while shaking his head. A virgin, amazing, I thought. "You've spent too much time with books Mr. Jefferson. If you do something for me I'll arrange for you to see a womans' breasts at the end of the school day. Would you like that?" A struggle between his devil and angel erupts. I softly brush his pokey with the back of my hand trying to influence the winner.

The devil in him won. He shyly asks, "What do you want me to do for you?"

I take it the next step; "Just keep your pokey hard for me until after school hours. Can you do that for me?"

His pokey, rubbing itself like a kitten on the back of my hand, spoke for him, "Yes Miss Jefferson, will you really show me breasts?" His face turns and feasts on the clothed cannons inches from his face. His eyes and pokey get wider.

I turn my hand and pet the kittens' head. I hear Mr. Jefferson purr. This is by far the easiest way I thought. Leverage his sexual energy to motivate him. I need to raise his sexual energy has high as possible, I muse. I require all the leverage I can get with this shy boy. I molest the kitten's back. The purring gets louder. I softly whisper, "Mr. Jefferson, you have to promise me not to go soft no matter what." The kittens' heart slows down. "After school, breasts Mr. Jefferson, breasts." The kittens' heart speeds up. I fondle the kitten from head to toes. The kitten jumps up into the air, heart palpitating. "That's all you have to do. I know your word is your bond. Do you promise me Mr. Jefferson?"

Mr. Jefferson's brain focuses mightily. I hear, "Yes Miss Kali, I'm physically incapable of breaking my word. I know how to engage my entire intellect. It will control pokey to the point of burnout".

I give the kitten a tummy rub. Mr. Jefferson mews with pleasure. "Then promise me Mr. Jefferson. Promise me you will faint before you let pokey come." I give the kitten a full body rub.

Mr. Jefferson meows, "I promise Miss Kali. I'll do what ever it takes."

I rub and squeeze the kitten with vitality. I watch the devil leave Mr. Jefferson's face and the angel arrive to do battle. The kitten grows two months older. I'm impressed; he does have a strong angel. I slow down my strokes to a tickle. The younger kitten returns as a tired angel lets the devil back in.

"Don't think about the upcoming breast festival too much. You do have a number of classes to teach still." Holding a playful kitten in hand, I lead Mr. Jefferson to his Grade 10 class.

Sally can't contain her excitement. "Lisa, we can see pokeys. We wouldn't have to wait two years. I can't believe it. At sixteen we're going to see our first little man naked."

I felt equally thrilled but no way was I going to admit I've never seen a pokey before either. "I don't see the big deal, Sally. What's the difference between a little man and my finger?" Miss Kali enters with Mr. Jefferson. I stare down, brain frames open, to write a permanent memory of my first pokey. Miss Kali has her hand covering him. I close down my write heads and feel the suspense building in me. I look around; every girl's eye is glued on Miss Kali's hand. Miss Kali glides a serene looking Mr. Jefferson to the front of the class. Mr. Jefferson eyes were in the back of his head. Even stranger were the mewing sounds coming from his slightly parted lips.

"Class, may I present Mr. Jefferson's kitten." Miss Kali theatrically unveils the picture. My brain frames open, the write heads engage, Recording Status - operational. He was beautiful. Slim no make that elegant. Good muscle tone. I like the way he keeps his back straight. His head was cleanly shaven and I could just glimpse his mouth on top. "Class, I have promised Mr. Jefferson than he can see some breasts after school today. The only condition I have is that he stays hard and doesn't go soft on us. He has promised me that he won't, but can you please help him if it looks like he needs it. Thank you, have a good lesson." Miss Kali hugs her kitten goodbye and takes her leave.

Well I certainly wasn't going to let the kitten down. I tore to the front of the class not wanting Sally or Martha to beat me to the punch. Mr. Jefferson face took on an element of confusion. I lightly touch the kitten with one finger. Relieved, I see his hypnotic state return. Signaling the rest of the class to whisper only, they quietly gather until a sea of faces surround the kitten. Not everyone can see, "Sally", I whisper, "clear the desk." I murmur into Mr. Jefferson's' ear, "Mr. Jefferson, it's wonderful to see you so relaxed. Here, lets lie you down". He obediently lets me lay him on the desk. This perversely has the effect of making his little man stand up. Four face walls form. I tickle the pickle. "What are you teaching us today Mr. Jefferson."

He languishes, "The General Theory of Relativity. It's about how space itself can be warped." Warmth radiates my hand. It feels smooth, almost silky even though there is not a hair in sight. Not like girls at all, we have hair down there. "Tell us more, Mr. Jefferson."

He dreamily smiles and says, "It all started when Einstein saw a man fixing a roof fall down. He realized, while the man was falling to his death, he wasn't feeling the gravitational force." Only a pure physics nerd would think about something so existential when watching death live.

Seeing another physics weirdo spread open before me, I warily query, "How does that make space warp?" Hefting his pokey, I murmur to the other girls, "His kitten feels like it's going to drop more kittens."

Sally, forever the curious one says, "Let's see if the kitten changes its weight over time." She gently lifts his balls and pokey onto a scale. We watch the scale needle move steadily clockwise. What was going on? The little man's density was slowly but surely increasing. Fascinated, my hand transforms a lightweight into a middleweight.

Mr. Jefferson purrs, "Einstein established the principle of equivalence from this realization. It is",

We shall therefore assume the complete physical equivalence of a gravitational field and the corresponding acceleration of the reference frame. This assumption extends the principle of relativity to the case of uniformly accelerated motion of the reference frame.

Martha interpolates, "So you are saying that since the falling roofer was weightless, then gravity and the force of acceleration must be two sides of the same coin." Martha, in spite of the evil look I give her, starts to tickle the little man's back. The needle rises faster.

I see her point though, "So the principle of equivalence means that gravity is just another form of acceleration."

Sally joining the tickle parade reflects, "But the only place where mass can accelerate is space itself. So space must be curved, like a bowl where a marble either rolls around the rim or falls to the bottom of the bowl." Her eyes gleam as she adds another finger to tickle the little mans head. Mr. Jefferson's hips buckle.

Sweat starts to drip from Mr. Jefferson's head as he states, "Very good. Mass and energy bend space like a bowl. Our sun makes a huge bowl out of space so that all the planets can roll around the rims. Earth makes a smaller bowl that we fall into. Gravity is just the curved space we accelerate in.

Martha muses, "So if space is bent by the presence of mass and energy and light follows space, then it follows that light will bend in the presence of a very dense object." She looks at pokey. The other girls look at pokey and then at the scale needle showing the little man getting denser and denser."

"Feathers girls, we need lots of feathers." Each girl returns with a long quill pen. One girl hands some to Martha, Sally and I. Twenty hands extend feather tips towards the little man. A pillowed pokey doubles his weight in a minute. It doubles again. Mr. Jefferson's eyes widen and I see angels dance in.

He seems to be fighting something and starts muttering, "I promised, I promised, I promised." We girls looked at each other. What was he worried about? He wasn't soft at all. In fact the little man weighed ten times more than his pre-scale mass. We go back to feathering his nest.

Sally brightens, "Laser pointers, that's all we need to prove the General Theory of Relativity." She tapes a green laser pointer to the desk on the little mans left side. The red I tape to his right. We both click on the lasers, angle each beam 8 inches from each side of the little man, and adjust them until a red dot was right beside a green dot on the ceiling. Sally, explaining in case any girl in the room was too dense to understand, pontificates, "If we can get his pokey density high enough, then his pokey will bend the space around it. The red and green beams will curve through his pokey bowl and merge into a yellow dot on the ceiling."

I, along with the rest of the class, feverishly feather the solid object under consideration. Mr. Jefferson turns cow-eyed. A choir of angels enter and get to work. Sure wish I knew what they were doing. Mr. Jefferson's chanting takes on a heartbreaking pleading note, "I promised, I promised, I promised." His dripping face turns white with effort. Mystified by his behavior we decide he's busy with something else. The scale needle registers its maximum weight of three hundred pounds. Straining, three of us lift Mr. Pokey off so we can slide the now useless scale away from the experiment. Like a synchronized swimming team, we swirl and twirl Mr. Pokey from the top to bottom. The little man turns red. Five minutes later, we get a state change; he's white hot. The dots on the ceiling waver. The angels were so busy they push Mr. Jefferson's pupils out of the way. "Promise, Promise, Promise", Mr. Jefferson pants. Doesn't seem anything will distract him from whatever he is thinking about. We spin our feathers until the little man looks set to fly. He turns semi-transparent. Our eyes look up. The feathers ignite. Red and green did meet. A yellow dot star was born. The general theory of relativity was proved.

A scream breaks our reverie. The feathers were burning the little man! No time for water, I spit at the little man. The rest of the girls, natural nurses all, spit with me until dry mouthed, the fire goes out. The newborn star dies and a singed little man, dripping with our saliva starts to droop.

Sally panics, "We promised Mr. Jefferson and Miss Kim to help Mr. Pokey stay hard. We can't let down our end."

With honed lifeguard instincts, I realize artificial respiration is our only hope. Overruling my distaste for saliva, I latch my mouth onto the little mans lips and try to breathe new life into him. It droops even faster. I suck in air for another go. The little man stops drooping. That's odd. Do I have to suck his air out to breathe in existence? I give the head a hard suck. Yes, he's straightening out. Physics is so strange. I suck his head avidly. I suck his neck. He slowly recovers. That's my pokey I thought. I devour his whole body with the suction of an industrial Hoover. My cheeks ache as I drag my mouth off with a pop. Relieved, I see the little man is clearly out of danger and is respiring normally.

All the girls stare at me like I'm some sort of vampire. The questions gush on top of each another. "What was that like Lisa? "How did it taste." "How did it feel?" "Did you use your tongue?" "Did you use your teeth?" "Did it hurt?" "Was it hot?"

I think back a minute. Unlike Einstein, I don't think about myself when a life is threatened. "Your saliva was pretty gruesome and the burnt skin made him taste a bit overcooked. Later, it was pleasant. Like devouring a hot lollipop. It was way better than sucking a thumb. I'd have to say that I probably would have enjoyed it a lot more if the emergency hadn't been so pressing." I bend over and slurp the pokey in for a more considered appraisal. Now I can feel the lollipop throb. I bite. It recoils in horror as Mr. Jefferson's hips thrust up. Guess Mr. Pokey doesn't like that. I swirl my tongue. Pokey throbs faster. I lick his lips. They open. I French kiss deep into his tiny mouth. His pokey regains its bounce. I take my mouth off and turn to the girls. "This lollipop likes tongue and kisses but he doesn't like teeth." I neglect to mention that it feels very squishy between my legs for some reason. I can investigate that phenomenon by myself after the class is over.

The little man starts to droop again. Martha takes over. "Let's do this in shifts girls, Mr. Jefferson needs us." Surprisingly, she doesn't just copy me. Martha always has to do things her own way I sigh. She starts to lick him. "A lollipop is to be savored not just gulped down. We need to treat Mr. Pokey like a fine wine. That is the best way to keep him fit." She flattens her tongue and gives the lollipop long sweeping swipes. Pokey stops slouching.

The next girl states, "Clearly a house is only as good as its foundation." She sucks in one of Mr. Jefferson's balls. Pokey jerks to attentions. She spits it out and sucks in the other, pokey hovers anxiously. "There's candy in these here hills, like blackballs."

Two lines form. The first repair his foundation. By the time the fifth girl finishes munching his balls, they were nice and tight. Nothing sloppy down there anymore, I note approvingly. The second line lick and suck the little man enthusiastically. When the sixth girl finishes we see Mr. Pokeys enormous mass start to come back. His angels return and the chanting starts again, "Promise, Promise, Promise".

After pair seven, he's blazing again. After pair nine, white fire. The girl from pair nine couldn't last long. "It's just too hot." Sally signals me to be part of her pair ten. I force feed both balls into my mouth. They feel enchanting. I roll the sacs around my tongue. I nip a marble. A yelp breaks Mr. Jefferson's monotone. I nip him more frequently preferring high-pitched promises. I hear Sally gargling with ice water until she feels her mouth freeze. She slowly lowers her frozen mouth between the laser lights onto the white-hot pokey. Sizzling all the way to the bottom, she suctions until she gets close to pure vacuum. Sally bobs her head up and down, faster and faster. I see Mr. Pokey go semi-translucent again. Using my teeth to drag a mouthful of balls along for the ride, I turn my head to the dots on the ceiling.

"Prom, Prom, Prom", Mr. Jefferson shrilly peeps. The yellow sun is born anew. This time, without the feathers burning, we all revel in Einstein's General Theory of Relativity. I chomp contentedly watching space bend with the rest of the girls. The bell rings.

An exhausted Sally drags her head off the bender. "Now that is some lollipop. Not like your finger, Lisa." We all laugh thinking thoughts most private. We file out, panty stains on every girl. The sun's generator keeps running.

8. Modern Theory of Relativity

I really must get Mr. Jefferson to his 11 o'clock class I think. I hope he's still hard. I need him in an extreme state of sexual frustration if I expect my plans for him to move forward. I pass his grade 10-class talking excitingly about the General Theory of Relativity. What a teacher. 17-year-old girls understanding relativity is unheard of. With grim determination I decide I will do anything to bring my Mr. Jefferson plans to fruition.

I walk into the classroom and meet an astonishing sight. Mr. Jefferson was lying on the table with a huge pokey somehow bending two laser beams onto the ceiling. I walk up and seeing his sweating face start to towel it, "It's Miss Kali Mr. Jefferson, just stay relaxed. I'll take care of you."

An agonized voice whispers, "I kept my promise Miss Kali, I didn't go soft. Can I see the breasts now?"

"Not yet Mr. Jefferson, hold him hard for two more classes and then breast ecstasy is yours." He certainly is a tit man. Wondering how I was going to get him to the next class with him pinned to the table by his heavy pokey, I decide that it would be better if his Grade 11 class came to him. Picking up the phone I ring Miss Pringle and ask her to fetch them. Waiting, I curiously hold his pokey. I can't move it. I hold it with both hands and try to crank it. No luck, it feels set in cement. The physics were beyond me. I was about to ask him when the Grade 11 class arrives headed by the usual ringleaders, Olga, Francis and Kim.

I wait and I wait and still no Mr. Jefferson. "Where is he Francis? This isn't fair, we've already lost three minutes of experiment time."

Francis grins at me, "Now Olga, I'm sure he'll be here in a minute. Although I'm not sure how much he's looking forward to meeting you again."

I grin back, "I hope he's the forgiving type. My hand still hurts from spanking his thermodynamic bum. Imagine though, we'll see our first pokey. I wonder what tricks it can do?" Life was never this good in Sweden. Girls in that country although liberated never have control over male Swedes.

Miss Pringle enters and goes to the front of the class.

"Mr. Jefferson is feeling a bit tired and would like you to join him in his Grade 10 classroom. Hurry girls, Mr. Jefferson is waiting." Miss Pringle orders.

Mystified, I lead the class upstairs listening to the 17-year-girls chattering about who has seen a pokey before. Turns out not a single girl have ever seen one. We enter the Grade 10 classroom and see Miss Kali covering the object of our curiosity. She was trying to move it without luck. I crowd around my first pokey with the rest of the girls.

Miss Kali addresses us fervor, "Girls, Mr. Jefferson has promised not to get soft. What I'm about to show you is the result." With that she removes her hand. You can almost see through it. It's a pokey God. Pulsing with white light, wearing bent green and red laser beams as clothes, he stands like a proud oak tree. Watching the awe on the girls' faces, Miss Kali smiles and says, "Now I expect you all to help Mr. Jefferson keep it hard, although it doesn't look like he'll need it." She pats Mr. Jefferson on his cheek, "You can start you lesson now, remember, two more classes and then the breasts." She exits.

I tear my gaze from the face of a hairless God. Looking Mr. Jefferson in the eyes ask, "What are we learning today Mr. Jefferson?"

He doesn't seem completely there. I take hold of his balls and give them a little squeeze. That gets his attention. "Modern Theory of Relativity, Olga" he gasps.

I squeeze him hard asking, "What did you call me Mr. Jefferson."

Confusion runs through his face until he finally remembers. "Miss Olga, today we are going to learn the modern theory of relativity." I relax his balls encouragingly. "It relates to how one can get around the speed of light problem raised in the Special Theory of Relativity. To exceed the speed of light we use a mathematical approach called metric engineering.

The vacuum of space is actually filled with fields and virtual particles. The vacuum has a nonzero energy density even though vacuum is usually taken to be the zero point for energy density. Metric engineering considers polarizing the vacuum so that some of the energy from one spot is moved to another spot. Now we have one spot that has a positive energy density relative to the zero point and another spot with a negative energy density relative to the zero point. This second spot is called a hole.

Now the positive energy density will have the properties of a mass. It will attract all things toward itself, including the hole. On the other hand, the hole would have the properties of a negative mass. It would repel all things from it including the positive mass. As a result the positive mass accelerates in the direction away from the hole and the hole is drawn by the positive mass to chase it. The natural state of this system is a state of acceleration instead of a state of constant velocity.

Francis ponders, "So to prove this, we need a positive energy density, a zero point, and negative energy in a hole."

Kim eyes pokey, "Well I think we've found something with positive energy density." We all laugh. "But we also need a hole to create negative energy in."

I get it, "There is a hole right under Mr. Pokey. Francis, Kim grab a leg." They bend Mr. Jefferson's legs until his feet pass his head. I consider the results, "His bum hole is not close enough to his GOD, bend him more." I hear his legs creak until his feet are a good two feet below the edge of the desk. I take out a ruler, "4 inches between them, perfect". The tension on Mr. Jefferson's face was quite the sight. It turns ashen. His legs finally adjust to the strain as the girls tie him off. I put my finger on his gaping bum hole, "Girls, this is obviously the zero spot. Now all we need to do is figure out a way to get negative energy down the hole and we will see if the modern theory of relativity is true."

We all think hard. No one gets it. I go back to Mr. Jefferson's eyes, "We need help sir, how is negative energy created?" He just shutters and closes his mouth grimly. I slap his balls smartly. His lockjaw unlocks. "Behave young man, I asked you a question."

He reluctantly educates;

The Casimir effect is how it's usually done. Two mirrors placed face-to-face trap a slab of quantum vacuum between them. While mirrors reflect real photons of light, they also reflect ghostly virtual photons too. According to quantum theory, every photon is associated with an electromagnetic wave whose wavelength corresponds to the photon's energy. Electromagnetic waves sandwiched between Casimir mirrors form patterns of standing waves, which are restricted to certain values-in the same way that plucked guitar strings play only certain notes. Because of this, many virtual photons that would exist in unbounded empty space cannot be trapped between the mirrors because their wavelengths don't fit. The energy associated with all these missing' photons is absent from the region between the plates, and the total energy of the quantum vacuum is lower there than in unbounded empty space. In other words, a static negative energy state exists between the plates.

"That's it," I shout, "all we need to do is pack some mirrors close to each other in his hole and accelerate them like mad. That will create negative energy."

Kim takes out her compact mirror. Smashes it into tiny pieces. She then takes two 1/4 inch pieces, yanks out a hair to separate them and tapes the ends to the nub of one of thin quill pens lying on the floor (Grade 10 girls are so messy). She inserts the quantum probe through the zero spot. Ignoring Mr. Jefferson's moan, she starts to accelerate the mirrors back and forth. Nothing happens. Kim says, "This isn't working, we need more quantum collectors." We all construct our own personal probes using the rest of the shattered compact mirror. "Ok, shifts of five mirrors should be enough." Four more negative energy scoops are penned into Mr. Jefferson's bum. "Now together girls", Kim instructs. Their pens become a blur.

God starts going translucent. Mr. Jefferson shouts, "Stop, you're making me lose control." Angels take over his eyes; he goes into a hypnotic state. "Promise, Promise, Promise." This is weird; he's not soft at all. Young men can be so silly, always worrying about the wrong thing.

Three shifts and 30 minutes later an eerie purple light emits from the zero spot. We see God waver towards the hole. I join the fourth and last shift knowing it was all up to us.

We stare at each other grimly and slowly insert our five mirrors into the purple field. We start to piston. We increase our speed. Five minutes later we are going like jackrabbits. The other girls lend their strength. Twenty hands, operating like one, pound the negative energy collectors deep in Mr. Jefferson's bum hole. The purple light gets stronger, pokey wavers, we throw all our energy into the hole, and the purple light is pure. The laser beams suddenly bend into the hole. Pokey is coming. We pull out the quantum probes. Pokey drives through the zero spot and into the purple hole. We watch in wonder as we see Mr. Jefferson's glowing white pokey moving in and out of his own bum. Amid a haze of purple, green red and white, it accelerates as per metric engineering predictions. Mr. Jefferson is corn holing himself more hastily than our negative energy collectors ever could. He keeps accelerating faster and faster. And then the magic moment occurs.

Mr. Jefferson screws himself faster than the speed of light. A Wormhole is born. It is a little tornado. We all cheer. We prove the modern theory of relativity. The wormhole swirls in everything close. We watch as a quill pen half flies in, then another. Soon, ten pens are stuck around his bore. The porcupine quills quiver as he keeps saying, "Promise, promise, promise" and then with a wail cries, "I can't, I just can't, forgive me Miss Kim". His worm implodes. The porcupine turns white. He faints; pokey, sperm and pens ooze out.

God is going soft. Heaven to Bessie, what are we to do? We promised Miss Kali we would help keep it hard. "Quick girls", I cry, "we need to stimulate his prostrate."

Kim, ever on the ball, punches her fist past the sperm and slams his prostrate hard. His pokey rears and then starts to flop again. She slams down again, wrist disappearing. He rears and flops. Kim is not a quitter. She pounds that ass with passion. Pokey hesitates and then starts to rise. Our spirits rise with him.

Mr. Jefferson comes out of his stupor at the same time as pokey. Kim seeing success, signals me to keep the action going. I struggle a bit since my fist is a bit larger than Kim's but manage to lodge it into its slimy home. As I pump the gripping walls, Kim goes to Mr. Jefferson and holds his head, "Don't worry Mr. Jefferson, we saved it. It's not soft."

Hope lights Mr. Jefferson's face. "Thank you, oh thank you, Miss Kim." She puts her fist in his mouth for washing. Mr. Jefferson is so grateful he even cleans Kim's fingernails.

His pokey looks fine now. I put my fist in his mouth loving the way he slurps between each and every finger. "Thank you, Mr. Jefferson, we'll see you tomorrow. Girls let's do a little pokey maintenance before we leave." Each girl gives Mr. Jefferson's elevated winking bum hole a hard finger-flicking spank. The zero spot is ragged by the 20 th flick. The bell rings and we leave a proud pokey behind. "So remember what it means if we tell a guy to go fuck himself", I giggle to Kim and Francis as we exit. We laugh, a trio of happy teenage girls. The whole class understands how hairless pokey boys work.

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.

Day 3 – Quantum Mechanics

10. Planck's Constant

All night I toss and turn as much as my pokey string allows. Monster breasts are suffocating me. I wake gasping. I feel feverish. I'm losing my mind. I cringe seeing my tied pokey. It's not a dream. I start to spiral into madness. I reach rock bottom and find my soul. It chides me, "The great physicist, look at you, reduced to a puddle by a bunch of teenage girls." I anger. I begin to rage. I climb back into reality. I snap into myself, my brush with insanity gone.

I turn my formidable intellect on. Where was my brain yesterday? I was played like an object, just a thing for female amusement. It was my stupid fantasies. I let them take me over. The thought of seeing real breasts triggered something in me that I didn't know existed. All my life I've hit the books with an insatiable urge to know everything. I never had time for girls. Or so I thought. Obviously, at some level, a festering was occurring that didn't rear its head until yesterday. I thought about the sexual theory of relativity. Am I really programmed so I can't resist a woman's breast? At 21 I suppose the programming would reach its peak. Miss Waters might understand what is happening to me. I resolved to discuss it with her as soon as possible. Meanwhile the first order of business is to try and figure out a way to get out of this place. I need a telephone. Mom would know what to do.

At that moment Miss Waters comes into the room. "Good Morning Mr. Jefferson, I trust you slept well?" I close my eyes hating a woman my own age seeing me in this position. "Don't worry Mr. Jefferson, Miss Kali has asked me to look after you this morning to ensure nothing untoward occurs. Here let's untie you." She removes the string and unties my hands. I'm grateful that she doesn't touch pokey in the process. He's seen more than enough action in the last little while. Much to her amusement, I cover him from her prying eyes.

Her mobile phone rings. I hear Miss Kali say, "Miss Waters you are needed in the office for an emergency. Please drop everything and come right away." She drops the phone and rushes out.

My chance has come. I pick up the phone and dial my Mom. I get her on the second ring. "Mom, this Toronto school for girls is a nightmare. I'm forced to teach nude and am constantly humiliated by both the staff and pupils. Get me out of here. I'm desperate."

A long pause at the other end, then, Mom whose head must be spinning with my news, says, "On it son, I'll do what's best for you right away". With that encouraging statement she hangs up. I quickly put the phone back smug in the knowledge that I'm going to be saved. When I go to the criminal courts on this matter the whole school is going to jail. I am full of glee. Revenge will be mine. Those smug women and girls are going to have the book thrown at them I think while I perform my toiletries. Finishing, I try to cover myself with the shoelace wrapping my exposed flesh as best I can. No more pokey for these hyenas.

Miss Kali and Miss Waters walk into the room wearing severe looks. Miss Kali spits, "Mr. Jefferson, what were you told about outside communications?"

I stumble mentally. How could they know already? They're bluffing. Miss Waters must have realized that she left her phone behind and this was a trick to get me to confess. Well, I'm too smart for that. "Why Miss Kali, I signed a contract saying that I wouldn't, why do you think I have?"

Miss Kali frowns and then enquires, "and do you remember the penalty in the contract?"

It was my turn to frown. She couldn't possibly know. Mobile phones cannot be monitored without the most sophisticated equipment. Equipment a high school certainly wouldn't have. "I agreed to submit to a discipline of your own choosing." I cautiously said.

She sharply says, "Do you honor your contract Mr. Jefferson."

I didn't like the direction this was going but when in a hole one either digs deeper or gets out of the hole. I dug deeper. "Of course I honor my contract Miss Kali, why would you think otherwise?"

She springs her trap, "Your mother just phoned me quite concerned that you spoke with her and broke your contract. She's very distressed that a child from her own loins has dishonored her family. She has asked me to punish you severely. I promised her that you will rue this action and will never consider a like deception again. Now come along, I've called a special assembly of the whole school to discuss the matter."

My own mother betrayed me. Were all females alike? Have they been so suppressed through the ages? Give them a tiny bit of power and all the generations of male injustice have to be redressed at the first opportunity? Well, I'm a man and I'm not going to take it anymore. I move menacingly towards Miss Kali, fury directing my actions. Focusing on leveraging my superior strength, I turn my back on Miss Waters. Big mistake. She reaches between my legs and grabs my balls in a grip that brooks no nonsense.

Miss Waters heatedly said, "Mr. Jefferson, if you ever approach a woman in anger in this school again, I will personally slice this off." She compresses my balls until I see scarlet.

"You will do exactly as you are told until your punishment is over. Is that understood?" she commands squeezing now with both hands.

"Yes Miss Waters, Yes Miss Kim, I will accept my punishment. I'm sorry, I truly am", I squeak in spite of all resolve to the contrary. It's so painful and they have a point, I did sign.

Miss Waters fumigates, "Is that an attempt to hide your pokey?" she says looking at the shoelace. "I think this thing is not going to be hidden at all today". She unwraps the shoelace exposing a wilting pokey and reties it with one hard knot in the middle making it bulge top and bottom. Miss Kali takes one end of the shoelace, Miss Waters the other and I follow their incessant tugging into the auditorium.

80 girls go quiet while I'm led to the front. I'm made to face them, pokey obscenely hoisted by the ends of the shoelace. My chagrin at having so many females stare at pokey is colossal. I quickly cover my pokey with both hands. Miss Kim addresses the pupils. "Girls, one of the conditions in Mr. Jefferson's contract is that he does not attempt to communicate with the outside world during the school year. I'm sorry to say he has broken that condition. The contract states that should any condition be broken, Mr. Jefferson will subject to a discipline of our own choosing. All you girls will be the jury on this matter. He has agreed that this is fair and has come forward to ask you what discipline you feel is required. My only stipulations are a) he must teach his classes today and b) no physical damage will be tolerated. Mr. Jefferson, please address the jury."

I'm stunned. I have to ask for my own punishment from 80 girls? I press my hands protectively around pokey determined not to participate in this charade. Miss Kali and Miss Waters pull each end of the shoelace tightening the knot around the middle of my pokey making the bulges grotesque. Miss Waters instructs with a pull, "Mr. Jefferson, please remove your hands and petition the jury."

The lace girdle is suffocating pokey. I remove my hands and the girls laugh at my two frankfurters. I decide my only hope is to throw myself at the mercy of the court. "Girls, I know we have had our differences in the last two days but I'm willing to forgive everything you have done to me. I hope you can also forgive if you feel I've slighted you in any way and express such agreement by letting me cover my pokey."

A buzz of conversations builds from the jury. I see the leaders of each class huddle, arms waving as they make their points for and against. Brady leaves the room. Finally, Laura speaks, "Mr. Jefferson, the consensus opinion is that you have denigrated us solely because we are females and now although you have done wrong, you expect us to let you off the hook. We have decided that since you are so concerned about us seeing your pokey we will cover him, but not in a fashion which will hide him from us." Brady returns, carrying the schools' new electron microscope. Shaped like a large crystal ball, this microscope can magnify and project anything enclosed a trillion-fold. Brady unties the shoelace and inserts the microscope over my cock. She adjusts the lens and suddenly my deflated pokey looks 12 inches long and 3 inches fat. The girls laugh at my degradation as I blench with ignominy. Laura continues, "Each class will decide what punishment you have earned and mete out justice accordingly. You will address every girl in this school as Miss and refuse no orders either during or between classes. Is that understood?"

This jury was a hanging jury but knowing that any protest would just accentuate the problem I humbly reply, "Yes Miss Laura, I understand. I will do as requested." I look down at my boa constrictor thinking at least he's safe in his crystal ball. "Remember Miss Kali's restrictions though, you must allow me to teach", thinking that if I could get them busy learning they would have no time to come up with creative punishments. Way down deep I decide I don't like Toronto girls even though I'm a Toronto guy.

Satisfied, Laura sits down and Miss Kali asks Sophia to direct me to my grade 9 class. She comes to the stage, grabs my balls and drags me to my class followed by all her fellow classmates.

Sophia deposits my boa constrictor and I to the front of the class. "What's the lesson today?" she asks pertly.

With a sigh of relief, given I really didn't want to think about punishments, I launch into a world of unpredictability, "Quantum Mechanics Miss Sophia. And it all starts with a very innocent question. Is energy continuous or discrete? Does energy come in packets or is it infinitely dividable?

The girls think hard. Sophia absently squeezes my balls making me jerk back and forth for her amusement. My pokey reacts. The crystal ball magnifies a million fold. The snake matures into a dragon. It looks like I'm about to poke the whole room. The girls stare at my red dragon eye with trepidation. Lettie stumbles on a solution, "Girls, Mr. Jefferson's dragon reacts to the warmth of Sophia's hand. If we heat his balls very slowly, and energy is indivisible, then the dragon will grow slowly. Otherwise, the dragon will grow in leaps and bounds."

I'm shocked. "Girls, my balls are not a toy for your amusement and they certainly don't like the idea of being any part of some mad kitchen experiment. I absolutely forbid you to consider this line of action." For added effect, my dragon puffs his chest and glares menacingly at my Grade 9 class. The girls move back clearly intimidated. Flush with success, I press my luck, "As you can clearly see, a mans' equipment is not to be trifled with, please take this off me and I'll agree to forget this whole incident." My dragon magnifies waves of masculine power at the class of dumb teenage girls.

I forgot about Sweden. Gweurfel strides to the front and adjusts the microscope until the dragon turns into a worm. The girls stop cowering and begin to irritably mutter among themselves. Gweurfel cries, "He tried to trick us after he agreed to do whatever we asked. We need to teach him respect." On mass, twenty angry fifteen-year-old girls start to circle me.

Dragon God gone, I try to placate the fuming mob. "Girls, girls, I was just kidding. Of course I meant to obey you in everything. Come on, can't you guys take a joke?" If anything, this just seems to make them even more furious. Desperate I fling out a, "I'm sorry, I'm very sorry. It wouldn't happen again." Their hands are like claws, flexing their nails like tigers before a meal. I make one more attempt, "Girls, I accept punishment but please don't hurt me."

Gweurfel sternly orders, "Girls, Mr. Jefferson was going to have an easy experiment but I see no reason to make it comfortable for him now. Get the plant holder chains and attach them to the swivel above the desk. Two girls get the chains and standing on the desk attaches one end through the swivel and the other to each of my wrists. Three girls pull each chain. I slowly rise in the air until my feet are three feet from the floor. Gweurfel positions two tables two feet from each side of my legs. "Girls, hold each foot on one of the tables while we lower the chains. Let's see if Mr. Jefferson can do the splits the way we girls can."

Delicate hands position my feet widely apart on each desk and the chains start to lower. My muscles go tense at 45 degrees. I beg them, "Men aren't built the same way as you girls; you will break my legs if you go any further."

Gweurfel, dear all heart Gweurfel, reassures me, "Don't worry Mr. Jefferson, I wouldn't let that happen. Girls massage his thighs." Three girls on each side massage the knots and as the tension eases the other girls lower the chain bringing back the agony. Alternating agony and massages get me to an 80-degree split. Sweat is blinding my eyes. One of the girls wipes me dry cooing that it will be over soon. Five more minutes of massaging gets me to 90 degrees. I'm demolished. I don't think I'll ever be able to walk again. Gweurfel cups my face in her hands. She gently soothes my brow. "There Mr. Jefferson, I knew you could do it. Now we can set up the experiment."

Gweurfel pushes a low table under my balls. She places a hot plate on the table and after plugging it in places a bowl of water on top. She slides the dastardly setup towards my balls. I twist frantically in the wind. Sophie steadies me by slotting her thumb into my widely splayed bum hole. Gweurfel plops my balls into the warm water and turns the microscope back on to high magnification. The phoenix rises. Gweurfel, in her most scientific voice proclaims, "We need to make sure the water is heating as slowly as possible to make sure that only very small increments of heat are added to Mr. Jefferson's balls."

My balls start to sweat and the phoenix smoothly starts to plume. "Too fast", Gweurfel observes and turns down the heat so that the incremental is barely noticeable. She turns up the magnification again. My pokey image fills half the room. My balls feel on fire but any movement is stopped by Sophia's' thumb. I doubt if I've ever eaten a meatball as hot as my downstairs. The girls watch intently and then they see it. Pokey is growing in little jumps. They measure the jumps. Every jump is exactly the same. Gweurfel triumphantly proclaims, "Energy is discrete, we've proven energy is discrete". The girls cheer as my balls bake. I've almost lost consciousness. Gweurfel demands "Are we right Mr. Jefferson, is energy discrete as we've just shown?"

I acknowledge their success;

For energy the theory is called Quantification Theory and was discovered by Max Planks. Energy has the same characteristic as mass of being quantized or existing as separate particles.

I succumb to darkness as a ghostly pokey image consumes the room.

11. Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle

Lucifer and I are reviewing the fine print of the contract where I agree to sell my soul if he disappears every teenage girl on the planet when I hear Miss Waters concerned voice, "Mr. Jefferson, are you all right?" I reluctantly open my eyes, great contract lost and see Miss Waters taking the steam out of pokeys' balls. The blushing orbs radiate enough heat to cause the air around them to waver. The curvaceous 20-year-old scrutinizes the problem. After a moment of hesitation she leans over, opens her mouth wide enough to make room for both balls, and slurps them in.

The cooling respite is overwhelming. All thoughts of hell incarnate are driven from my mind as I luxuriate in her ballroom. My spheres dance with her tongue in happy bounces until the reality of my pose hits home. A girl my own age is licking my balls. I remonstrate, "Miss Waters, what are you doing? Are you a tramp? Stop it immediately." The cooling caresses desist, but instead of leaving, the ballroom suddenly gets a lot smaller. Cutting walls clamp down, removing all the dancers bounce. A gnawing starts to form, that would scare even the "Big Apple". I modify my approach, "Miss Waters, I'm sorry I didn't mean to call you a tramp. It's just so hard to think straight when I'm in such pain." The crunch slows, pauses and reverses. The caresses return, the dancer returns, the bounces return, and my shame escalates.

Pokey in cheek, Miss Waters slurs, "Will you be civil now and thank me for cooling your balls."

The bite taken out of me, I answer, "Thanks Miss Waters, they were uncomfortably hot. You were very kind to help. Please don't sink your teeth into them."

Miss Waters spits out my balls, turns to me with a grin and jokes, "You are in no danger Mr. Jefferson, I never bite off more than I can chew. Now I just popped over to see if you need anything before your grade 10 class starts. Anything I can help you with?"

How she graduated University boggles my mind. Here I am naked, split 90 degrees, with a microscope/projector attached to my pokey and she wants to know if she can help.

My thighs are contorted impossibly, every muscle on strike action. I appeal to her humanity; "My legs are feeling very numb Miss Waters, could you perhaps lever my legs to the floor?"

Fat chance. Do females have humanity? Miss Waters drink in my eyes and softly comments, "You've agreed to take your punishments Mr. Jefferson. It will be up to your Grade 10 class to decide if you should be given succor." I tremble at the thought of my next jury. My imagination brings tears to my eyes. Miss Waters, observing closely, queries, "Why do you fight us Mr. Jefferson? We are just asking you to teach physics to our young charges. Why is it so important for you to continuously belittle us?"

Through tears I pour out my heart, "Because women hate nerds. So nerds hate women". Shit, what did I just say? This woman is a psychologist; any data I give her about my feelings will be used against me. Must throw her off the track quickly, I amend, "Witness how important it is for everyone in this school to humiliate me. I'm always naked but none of you are." If I can get her to think my position is about fairness then some of my deeper feelings will stay covered, where they belong.

Miss Waters studiously analyses what I've said. Has my misdirection worked? I cheer inside when I hear her say, "I think I understand your point, let me talk this over with Miss Kali and get back to you." My grade ten class starts to quietly shuffle in. Miss Waters, trying to be encouraging, says, "Your punishment is only for one day. Try to be a man about it. Have a good class Mr. Jefferson." I falter at her implication as she takes her leave.

New York Martha gets the ball rolling with, "The class have discussed your misdemeanor. We are all disappointed and agree that you need to be taken down a peg or two. In fact, 20 pegs is our decision. Do we have your cooperation or not?"

Taken down from these chains is exactly what I want, and the more pegs worth the better. I respond, "Yes Miss Martha, I will so submit." I realized my error when each girl came forward holding a clothes peg. Quickly I reverse direction, "Ah, I didn't understand what you meant by pegs, I've changed my mind." Martha, the first in line, pays no heed and attaches a peg to one of my nipples sending shoots of pain into my overdosed brain. The next peg attaches to my other nipple. My brain balances the pain. My testicles are the next targets. 7 pegs later one scrunched scrotum screams. 15 pegs later one ragged rear rages. 17 pegs later one aerated anus annihilates. 19 pegs later two checked cheeks cry. 20 pegs later one nipped nose nauseas. I whimper, "No more, please no more."

Martha takes my nose peg and tilting my head down until I'm looking at her says, "We're done now Mr. Jefferson. There will be no more if you behave. Now what is the lesson for today?"

How can I possibly teach these evil female children like this? My anus pegs pull up and out. More fresh air than is healthy hits the scene. I can begin the lesson. "Ok, ok, stop pulling, I'll start." The hole closes and I commence, "Is it possible to measure the position and speed of a particle with perfect precision?" Finally I find a safe subject. I see no way they can heap any more indignity on me figuring out an experiment for this.

Lettie thinks up an idea, reconsiders and lapses into silence. Martha looks glum, even boy scouts don't know everything. Margarida fails to do Little Portugal proud. Debbie then shows why Vietnam won the war. She states, "If we shine a very tight laser beam into the microscope while a particle has momentum we can measure its position and momentum perfectly. Margarida get the laser." The laser is switched on. The microscope/projector is switched on. Pokey jumps into the room with the laser light shining in front of his eye like the sword of Damascus. Debbie continues, "Now we know the distance between the eye and the laser so we can calculate the momentum when a particle leaves the eye by timing the event with our stopwatches. The laser defines the exact position so we will know both the position and momentum exactly. But how do we get the gun to shoot into the high energy laser beam?" All the girls worried that over fully remembering that nothing fired during their general theory of relativity class.

Margarida, not one to forget a grudge says, "This fat cow thinks that all we have to do is ask Mr. Jefferson to shoot. After all, he did say he would cooperate." The girls sigh with relief and look at me expectantly.

Now what am I supposed to do? I certainly have no intention of "coming out" in front of twenty 16-year-olds. Never mind pointing out to these dummies that a guy doesn't come just by ordering his pokey around. Especially when his pokey is in a crystal ball. "I'm sorry girls, but what you are asking me to do is physically impossible. It can't be done."

Margarida furiously disagrees, "Sally told me you shot in her grade 12 class and there was only a magnet around you. You're a liar."

Lisa takes my nose peg ominously, "Is this true Mr. Jefferson. Did you shoot in the air without touching anything?"

I have no intelligent response. How can I explain what happened was impossible. I try gamely, "That was a special situation. I was overwrought. I can't do it again."

Lisa gives me a wicked look and with a malicious grin pronounces my doom. "Girls, Mr. Jefferson has just informed us that he can shoot if he is overwrought. I want each of you to man your peg station and work on making Mr. Jefferson overwrought. I'll time the shoot." My God, she thinks she has me pegged but misunderstands it all completely.

They start with my nipples, twisting and pulling until they are three times their normal width and length. Testicle action would have floored me if it weren't for the chains. My bum pegs pull me wide open and then shut me tightly. They open and close me until my backside is enflamed. My bum hole pegs started winking me on and off. Cheeks and nose pegging morph my face hideously. The agony changes pokey to a shadow of his normal flaccid state. Vietnam grits into my ear, "We can keep this up until the end of the class. I would advise you to shoot."

I'm desperate. I have to shoot. I need to fantasize like I've never fantasized before. My brain commands my pain centers to become pleasure centers. I dream the ultimate fantasy. She unbuttons the top button of her blouse making me promise that I'll be gentle. The next button and I see the gentle swell of her breasts forming. On the third button I can see her lacy red bra. She tells me she wants to save herself until she is married. But she finds my brain irresistible. She tears off the last two buttons exposing two beautiful bulges encased in red surrounded by white creamy skin. She reaches behind her to take off her bra. The dragon fills half the room and the girls, believing he is the result of their peg work redouble their twisting/pulling efforts until the dragon lords it over the whole room. My pegged body converts to pain/pleasure principles as she cups her bra, straps dangling down her sides. Pokey starts to hump the room furiously. She begins to lift the cups from her golden breasts and just before I see glory, the dragon belches white fire. Screaming girls snap me out of the fantasy. "No, no, I'm not finished. I didn't see her breasts." Confused, I gape at the action around me.

Lisa stares at her calculations and with sudden understanding said, "When I perfectly measured the position of a white particle it shot off in another direction with an unknown speed. I wanted to measure the position accurately, which is why I chose a very narrow laser frequency. However, the energy of the laser was so strong that it completely changed the momentum of the particle. This can only mean that the more accurate one measures the position, then the more unknown the momentum. I can only conclude that it is not possible to know both the position and momentum of a particle simultaneously."

All peg action stops. Debbie extrapolates, "But the opposite then must also be true. The more accurately we know the momentum, then the less we know about its position. In fact if we know it's momentum to 34 decimal places then the particle could be anywhere in the universe. Mr. Jefferson, have we got this right?"

Skewered with pegs doing a perfect 90-degree split chained to the ceiling gives me the right not to congratulate them. Anal peg warnings are communicated. I change my mind. "Yes Debbie, that is a quantum reality. Specifically Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle proves that ;

The degree of uncertainty in momentum times the degree of uncertainty in position = Planks constant / ( 2 x pi )

So, for example, if we know the momentum exactly, the uncertainty in position must be infinite in order to keep the product constant. Hence the particle can be anywhere in the universe.

This uncertainty leads to many strange things. In a Quantum Mechanical world, you cannot predict where a particle will be with 100 % certainty. You can only speak in terms of probabilities. If we say that an atom will be at some location with a 99 % probability, then there is a 1 % probability it will be somewhere else (in fact, there will be a small but finite probability that it will be found across the Universe). This is strange. We do not know if this indeterminism is actually the way the Universe works because the theory of Quantum Mechanics is probably incomplete. We do not know if the Universe actually behaves in a probabilistic manner (there are many possible paths a particle can follow and the observed path is chosen probabilistically) or if the Universe is deterministic in the sense that you can predict the path a particle will follow with 100 % certainty. A consequence of the Quantum Mechanical nature of the world is that particles can appear in places where they have no right to be.

Margarida face runs through a gauntlet of emotions. She whispers, "Mr. Jefferson, are you saying a particle in the white shower we just saw could have ended up anywhere?"

"Yes Margarida, those particles are quite large but there is a finite chance they could have ended up anywhere", I answer, not sure what she is getting at.

"Immaculate conception", she breathes. The girls kneel in obeisance. The dragon pulses with pride.

Chapter 12 – Wave/Particle Duality of Light

I ache for my legs back as I watch the ringing bell chase my Grade 10 class from the room. "Un-peg me at least", I howl. Not one head even turns. I twist and turn trying to get my legs off the tables. All the pegs hurt but the two clipped to my bum hole rim are particularity distracting. The room is cloudy from the white mist clouding the microscope projector. My Grade 11 class isn't for another hour. How I can survive this position for the duration is beyond my imagination. I retreat to my fantasy, real world discouraged. Her red bra cups resurrect in my mind. She stares and quietly asks, "Are you ready"? My pokey stirs. She starts to move the cups out and away. My pokey jerks. I see the edges of her breasts come into focus. I hump crystal ball air. Only her nipples are now unexposed. My fast moving pokey is about to heaven. Eyes closed, picture sharp, her nipples are almost uncovered. Sperm pumps from my balls into my pokey. Everything is perfectly timed.

"Mr. Jefferson, how dare you". Breasts disappear as my eyes snap open to observe Miss Kali furiously staring at my swinging crystal ball. She unlatches the microscope/projector exposing the meat of the experiment. "It is apparent that we need exceptional measures for a man who can't control a pokey even when we try to help by tying him up and distract him with pegs." Miss Kali unclips the pegs, lowers the chains and helps me stand. My legs buckle until circulation is restored. Miss Kali decides, "Perhaps the error is punishing the man instead of the pokey. Come with me." I don't move. Her reasoning is deeply flawed.

Fingernails imbed themselves into Pokey. "Argggggggg! Stop, I'm coming, I'm coming". She cruelly sets a brisk pace to the kitchen, nails jerking me along. Inside she grabs a jar of honey and without missing a step swings out a side door almost making me lose pokey in the process. Out we march to the playground where the school is assembled for sports activities.

The girls, seeing Miss Kali's fury, know something is up and follow her to the end of the field. She is the pied piper and pokey is the flute. She stops, drops the honey jar, and starts to play the flute two handed. All the notes are quarter notes. It feels like my pokey is in a shredder. Without missing a beat she shouts, "Girls, this pokey was trying to satisfy itself on Mr. Jefferson's punishment day. You will now witness how a pokey is tamed." She drops to her knees taking pokey and the rest of me down with a bump on a large mound of dirt. "Girls, hold his arms and legs". My bum resting on the mound of dirt is the highest point of my body as the girls stretch my limbs into a figure X. Shredded pokey wavers like a bundle of wheat trying to stay above the fray. Miss Kali pours the jar of honey onto the shredded wheat. It drips until my balls are also covered. Talk about a sticky wicket. With satisfaction, Miss Kali steps away and says, "Mr. Jefferson, you will stay in this position until you can convince the girls and I that pokey will not be self-indulgent again without permission."

Miss Kali must be off her rocker. This punishment isn't even close to what I've already been through today. In fact, the honey is rather soothing finding all the little rips that Miss Kali's nails caused and lubricating them back whole. I feel a tickling where my bum rests on the ground. Something is crawling up my crack towards my balls. Two tiny some things follow. A pyramid of tiny feet is right behind these leaders. Mystified, I raise my head as the leader comes into view; a green ant, a green biting ant. This isn't an ordinary mound of dirt. It's an anthill, a biting anthill. I shout, "Miss Kali, pokey will behave. He will never come again without your ok. Please Miss Kali stop this now."

It was too late; the leader tears a chunk of honey along with a bit of my balls. The two fellows behind dig into the honey ball. The rest of the pyramid catches up and my honey ball turns green. Serious gorging ensues. My ball earthscape is landscaped to a cratered moonscape. I whimper with agony. They swarm to the honey coated shredded wheat. Hundreds of bites per second munch pokey honey. Green ants find a reservoir of honey in pokey's eye. They drown in happiness biting deeply into his corona. Honey drips into my bum hole. The hoard dutifully follows. My interior is set alight. The greening of pokey continues. Half mad, I drive out all knowledge that women have breasts and choke, "Miss Kali, Girls, pokey is yours."

Miss Kali pours alcohol over the green stalk. Biting pain transfers to searing pain as the ants de-metabolize. "Girls, this will ensure our pokey doesn't get infected. Remember, with ownership, comes responsibility." Miss Kali lightly touches pokey with her fingertip. He winces in pain. "Girls, for the rest of the day don't play with our new friend here. He needs a day of rest. Come along Mr. Jefferson, it's time for your next class."

Hands and legs free, the girls help my overcome mind into higher space. Broken, pokey and I follow.

Deep inside something starts to grow. It's ugly. It's black. Hatred. I latch on. Even black is better than nothing. I might not own pokey anymore but I haven't given up my mind. There will come a day when I turn the tables at this school and on that day I'll get pokey back. Nursing this core, I straighten my shoulders no longer ashamed of who or what I am. My turn will come. It will come.

I stand at the front with Miss Kali as my Grade 11 class silently files in with worried faces. I wish they were happy. Revenge is sweeter against unadulterated evil. Miss Kali observes my wooden face and soothingly says, "It's over now, Mr. Jefferson. Just behave and we'll have no more of this sort of trouble."

She will find out the meaning of trouble soon enough. Once I decide to plan something, nothing on earth can stop me. "You may go Miss Kali, I have a class to teach." Shocked, she takes her leave.

I initiate, "Let's get this over with. What punishment has your twisted brains dreamt up for me." Let them do as they wish; my body is not in my control so why even try. My brain waves they can't scratch.

Olga takes command, "Mr. Jefferson, I can understand your resentment given what just happened. The punishment that Miss Kali dealt out was her decision and her decision alone. I for one do not agree with the severity." The other girls murmur their agreement. "In this class, Mr. Jefferson, your pokey belongs to you. We give it back. We'll let you come as often as you want."

Tears come to my eyes. My hatred melts a little bit. Not all females are evil. I must remember to be a little bit gentler with this class come revenge time. My hand unconsciously starts to soothe a traumatized pokey. "Thank you Miss Olga, I appreciate the courtesy. Today I want this class to determine whether a photon of light is a particle or a wave." My pokey cries at finding a friend.

The girls melt seeing pokey return home. Olga comes up to me and says, "We all want to help pokey Mr. Jefferson, just climb up on the desk on your hands and knees and we'll keep him happy for you during the lesson." I gratefully get up on the desk ass waving at the girls as Olga takes over pokey duties gently tickling him under the neck. French Canada comes up front and tickles the other side of his neck. Pokey luxuriates in sensation. This sure beats ants in the pants.

Kim, pondering the problem, strikes lucky. "If a photon is a wave then if we send it through two slits it should create an interference pattern where the crests and troughs cancel each other out." She carefully cuts two slits in a piece of cardboard and places it on the desk in front of a happy swaying bum. Ordering the lights off, a photon emitter hits the slits with photon after photon building alternating bands of light and dark on my bum. "Obviously, light is a wave", Kim observes.

Francis, signaling another girl to take over her stroking says, "That's strange, if one fires a gun the bullet can only go through one slit or the other. Let's put a photon detector in front of each slit and see if we can see a bullet. If we can, then light is a particle." Photon detectors are placed in front of each slit. The photon emitter fires single photons again. This time only two bands of light show, one from each slit. The girls are confused. Without the detector photons are a wave but with the detector photons are particles.

I'm having trouble concentrating on the experiment; pokey is feeling great. He is electrifying my brain with pure pleasure. Olga smiles, "Come for me Mr. Jefferson. It's ok, we said you are allowed to in this class." She detaches her hand and goes to the back of the desk. She slides her lips over pokey and gives him a contented suck. "Come for me Mr. Jefferson. Miss Kali will never know." That's all it took. I had an opportunity to spite Miss Kali and make Pokey happy? No contest. I explode in Olga's mouth. She laps it up hungrily. The girls crowd around. What was it like? How did it taste? Did you like it? Olga looks up, eyes bright. It was a bit salty, but quite tasty. Francis wasn't going to let this experience go. She latches her lips around pokey and starts to slurp noisily.

Olga returns to business. "Well, if we don't measure where the photon goes it's a wave, but if we do measure where it goes then it's a particle. A wave collapses to a particle when it's measured? What can this mean?" I try to answer but pokey stimulation distracts me mightily. I detonate into Francis's greedily sucking mouth happily thinking about Miss Kali's fury when she finds out. A third girl decides she would like a taste. Olga postulates, "Well, let's see what happens if we put another photon detector behind the first one, but upside down. So when the first detector spots it, the second one will wipe out the signal before it hits the slit. That way, the slit won't know we detected a photon approaching it." Pokey takes a bit longer to rise to the occasion with the third girl but with avid determination she gets her tasty mouthful. The fourth girl latches on.

The detectors and the detector wipers are applied to the slits. The fourth girl milks her share and is replaced by the fifth. The photon emitter is turned on. Alternating bands of light and dark reappear on my bum. The girls are confounded as a slowing pokey deposits another load. As the sixth girl applies herself, Kim says, "So when we first measured where the photon was, the wave collapsed and became a particle and the photon only went through one slit instead of two. But as soon as we told the particle we didn't know where it was, the wave came back. This is weird." Pokey, although aching, gamely fires pokey juice into the sixth girl's wet mouth. Girl seven tries to get him hard and when he fails to respond, swallows him with disappointment. The tightness of her throat brings him rearing back. Girl seven deep throats him with pride. My pride mingles with her pride. Girl eight, a fast learner, swallows him right away and squeezes out four thimblfuls. Girl nine gets three and ten only one after tightening her throat as hard as she can. Pokey feels drained. Girl eleven feels him explode but the explosion is dry. A dull pain spreads through pokey as Girl twelve swallows her treat.

Francis says, "Let's put the detector wiper behind the slit. We'll know which slit the photon went through so the photon can't trick us this time."

A dry blast punches Girl twelve's throat. Backwash lightning hits my balls making me gasp in pain. "I've come enough girls, thank you, that will do." Girl thirteen must be deaf with eagerness. She consumes pokey like she hasn't eaten for days. The detector wipers are put behind the slits. Alternating bands of light and dark appear on my bum. Another dry discharge, another lightning bolt. "Please girls, pokey can't take any more. He's milked dry." Girl fourteen fastens on. She can't get him hard. I'm saved. She whips a finger into my bum hole not realizing it might interfere with the experiment. My prostrate is pressed. Pokey jumps back into action.

Olga shakes her head in disgust, "What is this light thing. Even when we know it went through one slit and not the other all we have to do is pretend we don't know and it partially goes through the other slit as well." Girl sixteen gets her buckle and passes flaccidville to Girl seventeen who needs two fingers to get the same effect. Eighteen takes 3 fingers and girl 19 has to use four fingers for over 3 minutes before action. The lightning bolts keep increasing in magnitude. My balls shrivel to peanut size. My bum hole grows to lemon size.

Francis knows when she needs help. "Let's ask Mr. Jefferson". Chinatown takes a hand in things. Kim, the 20 th and last girl punches her fist deep into my bum hole while drinking in pokey to the root. She moves her fist in time to her gulping throat. My final dry discharge backlashes the mother of all wars. The girls stare as waves of energy bulge down my pokey to my balls. They fry as I eke out, according to quantum mechanics,

Every probability wave extends throughout all of space, throughout the entire universe. Even if a particle's probability wave drops very close to zero outside some small region, that wave somewhere in any galaxy still has a nonzero value so there is still a non zero chance that the particle can be found there.

The girls stare at each other. Olga concludes, "Everything, even particles, start out as probability waves. Information collapses the wave causing the particle to form." The girls all look at pokey. "That's right", Olga whispers, "The opposite is also true, when the particle information disappears the waves come back."

The girls crowd around me telling me pokey is welcome to come in this class anytime, no matter what Miss Kali says. I don't have the heart to tell them my tiny inch-worm just wants to find some hole to crawl into where he can hibernate for a decade or two. Ten particle girls smack their lips as they leave. The wave ten girls resolve to be first in line tomorrow. I wonder why the girls have strange lumps on their chests. Dismissing it as some sort of teenage female prank, my dark side plots. How am I going to grow these seeds of Miss Kali mutiny? I tell my devil to wake up.

Day One: Classical Physics

1. Arrival

It was brutal but worth it. 4 years of hard slogging give me the qualifications I need to teach smart boys advanced physics at the school of my choice. The only catch was that I have to spend one year teaching at some dumb girl's school, selected by my Mother, in return for the financial support she provided while I was studying in University.

I argue that this is a waste of my talents but she insists that I need to understand the world through female eyes as well as Einstein's if I ever expect to develop something novel in my chosen field. Knowing that there is no point being logical when my Mother is being illogical, I acquiesce and email a teacher application form to the "Toronto Advanced Education Academy for Females".

The reply reads "Thank you for your interest in our academy. You appear somewhat overqualified for the position but we are willing to overlook this if you guarantee, by signing the attached, that you will stay within the education facility for the full year and not attempt to communicate, with any individuals outside of the school. Failure to abide by this rule entitles us to invoke disciplinary actions in a manner of our own choosing."

My Mother points out that this will allow me to focus on physics and after some heated argument; I sign and fax the attachment. The next day I pack as many theoretical books on quantum and relativity as I can carry, along with my few possessions and journey to the Academy four blocks from where I live in the Annex.

The red brick building was huge with a playground surrounded by a ten-foot fence. Bemused that a fence needed to be more than three feet high, I confidently march up the granite steps, and wandering through the corridors, dodge strangely arrogant female children, and find the principle's office. A large woman glances up and beams, "You must be Mr. Jefferson, I'm Miss Pringle. The principle will be ready to see you in 20 minutes and has asked me to show you to your quarters in the interim."

I follow her waddling behind to the basement and enter what will be my new home for the next year. Not exactly extravagant, stonewalls, a sink and toilet out in the open, a mat, and a low table and chair. Even odder, hooks had been drilled into the walls creating a pattern that had no mathematical reasoning. Indicating that I think it is unsuitable, Miss Pringle crisply informs me that I will find it suitable soon enough. Mulling over that cryptic remark, I drop my bags and follow her back to the principle's office.

She is a stunning Irish woman, red hair, 6 feet tall, curves everywhere and clothed in a simple white blouse and skirt. Embarrassingly, I can't prevent myself from going hard. "Mr. Jefferson, so nice to meet you, I'm Miss Kali", she says, and then looking down, her face morphs from friendly to angry. "How dare you get stiff in a children's school, please make it behave or I will make it behave for you". Mortified, I stammer out an apology that doesn't deflate the situation. Furiously rummaging through her desk Miss Kali pulls out an odd contraption composed of leather strings attached to a steel tube around 3 inches long.

"Put this on now before the whole school sees that" she fumigates. Confused, I just stare blankly at her until the nickel drops. "You want me to wear that here?" I say looking down at the offending assemble.

"Immediately, Miss Pringle hold his clothes".

Live to fight another day is my motto, and I turn to leave. I find my way blocked by the very fat Miss Pringle. "Mr. Jefferson did you agree to work here for a year?" Miss Kali demands.

"Yes, but…" I said trying to find a train of thought with traction.

"Do you think I can let you in front of our young girls like that?" she barks.

"No, but…" I squeak.

"Now" she says sternly.

Red-faced, I remove my socks and shoes, and when pleads fail to move her, unhitch my trousers and lower them to the ground. Seeing no way out, I pull down my underwear. To my shame, this set my penis bobbing up and down. With a grin, Miss Pringle takes my clothes and leaves the office. Miss Kali impatiently hands me the tube and watches me smugly. Struggling to insert the tube on my raging penis, I realize that the tube is simply too small. Miss Pringle returns with a bag of ice, and roughly grabbing my penis, rams it in. Whoosh, 6 inches becomes 2 inches and Miss Kali wryly tells me to try now. I start to put it in when I feel a prick on the side of the tube and quickly disengage. Looking inside, I can see 1/8th inch steel pins spaced one inch apart inside angled 30 degrees towards the base. Miss Kali grabs the tube and quickly shoves my penis inside causing me to screech with pain as the pins slide along my penis. She ties the leather strings tightly around my balls and threads them through an iron lock and click, there I was - penis crammed into a steel tube with sharp pins, heavy lock stretching my ball sack to twice its normal length.

"Now, with that little problem taken care of, let me show you your duties," she states in a business like manner. Grabbing the lock, she pulls me out into the corridor. My mind couldn't keep up with what was happening. When I find myself naked waist down, penis and balls compromised, in the corridor full of young females, I do the only logical thing, I faint.

Coming to, I can hear Miss Kali telling the girls not to worry. First day stress, excitement of a new school and so on. A massage is required to make me as good as new. Squeals of laughter meet this pronouncement and a giggle of 15-18 yr old girls surround me.

Fingers tickle my feet. Hands pull me hair. Claws pinch my nipples. Palms mold my bottom. Nails squeeze my balls. A fist enters my mouth. Thumbs pull on my lock. My penis starts to rise and meet the dastardly pins.

"Arrrrrrggggghhhhhh", I painfully moan.

All action blissfully terminates. "Thank you girls, Mr. Jefferson seem better now. Please go to your next class. Miss Pringle and I will take care of Mr. Jefferson". With curious looks, the mob of girls chatter excitedly as they reluctantly leave for their classrooMiss

Primly, Miss Kali remarks; "Now aren't you glad we had you covered Mr. Jefferson. Imagine our embarrassment if you weren't. Perhaps we should give you some time alone in your room to reflect on what almost happened before your duties are explained?"

Never have I felt so humiliated. Almost naked, no, worse than naked with this thing on me, I suffer being pawed by many young girls. Especially in front of the principle and the fat lady. I wanted to leave this place and go to a boy's school where these happenings don't occur.

Through the haze I hear Miss Kali say "Miss Pringle, could you help Mr. Jefferson up and take him to his room. He does look like he needs some special time ". Miss Pringle grabs the lock, and with a heave, encourages me to rise to my feet. She hauls me to my basement room, tittering on about suitability, men and other things I couldn't focus on at the moment. Entering stone, she deposits me on the mat with one clean downward stroke. I hear through her belly the words "let me know if I can help you with anything" and walruses out of the room.

Quiet, more quiet, and then my brain finally kicked in. First emotion – anger; second – disbelief, third – fear and finally my scientific training engages. What the hell just happened? I come to a school to teach some young kids and end up in a stone room almost naked – does getting a hard on really merit this type of treatment? I decide it doesn't, so I proceed to determine the key questions?

Why did my mother want me in this school in particular?

Why is Miss Kali so concerned that her pupils don't ever see a guy hard?

Why were the girls in the corridor cooperative instead of horrified?

Why was I given this job in the first place since I was clearly overqualified?

How can I be an effective teacher when all my pupils have seen me in the buff?

What the hell is my job?

I review this list and then decide that the only real question is "how do I get out of the mess I'm in". No, that's a strategic question – the tactical question is how can I get this thing off of me. I try pulling it off, but the pins drag intolerably and I give up. I realize I'm mentally rambling – focus I told myself – focus.

Seconds after hearing the clip clip of heels, Miss Kali enters. "Are you recovered enough now to have a chat regarding your duties and responsibilities?" she asks.

Gathering my wits, I angrily respond, "Yes, as long as we can also have a chat regarding what constitutes civilized behavior". With a frown, she sits on the chair by the table and politely asks if I think having a hard-on in a female school constitutes civilized behavior? I retort that two wrongs don't make a right and to humiliate a teacher in front of his pupils is neither civilized nor decent. Miss Kali, considering, agrees her response was perhaps over the top and says there was no need for me to wear the tube in the privacy of my own room. She will facilitate its removal if that will help us discuss my duties for the next year.

Mulling this over (sub seconds only, didn't want her to think I would take just any deal), I answer that this would be an acceptable first step, but I'm not very happy with how things are starting out in this job. She picks up her cell phone and asks Miss Pringle to bring the ice cube bag. Miss Pringle arrives, rips the bag in half, and asks me to lie back on the table. Apprehensively I do so. Miss Pringle takes my "penis in a tube" and roughly forces it into the middle of the ice bag with the lock just hanging over the edge. A total frostbite down there hits my brain and as I prepare to leverage her fat hands/arms away, she smoothly pulls the tube from my penis leaving it dangling below the lock on my balls.

"Thank Miss Pringle, Mr. Jefferson", Miss Kali whispers while looking directly in my eyes. Ah hell, it felt so great that it was off. "Thank you Miss Pringle" I ping.

"Now are we square?" she asks, "Can we get down to talking about your duties now? Or do we have to suffer even more nonsense?"

"Well, can you take the lock off my balls, they are used to being a bit freer than this", I point out with just a hint of "get on with it babes and make your apology complete".

"No, Mr. Jefferson, that tube must go on whenever you are outside of this room. You clearly can't control yourself in front of our young ladies and I do have some responsibility", she points out.

"This is ridiculous, I'm a scientist and have no difficulty in normal circumstances controlling myself. Release me right now if you don't want to hear from the authorities!"

Miss Kali stares at pokey. Betraying me, he hardens immediately. Miss Kali laughs and asks if I have passed any science course where the truth was an objective. Flushing I reply that she wasn't applying "normal circumstances". It's about special relativity she suggests, I am just reacting in the wrong frame of reference. Around all these girls, it is only prudent I wear the tube.

I huffily point out that special relativity, is about a constant velocity, where different observers conclude different results depending on their relative motion. Laughing she points at my pokey and says she has concludes a relative motion and politely requests what my frame of reference is telling me. "Grrrrrrrrrrrrr – ok your point is taken". "At least let me wear trousers?"

"Well, I don't have a problem with that. But you must promise to abide by all the rules this school. We need to make sure our young ladies contribute to the maximum of their potential for society" Miss Kali demurely comments. "Trousers you can have with the tube, happy now?"

"Ok, glad we got that straight. Now what are my teaching priorities?" feeling somewhat appeased. I figure that now, was not the time, to point out that all the main contributors to society were male.

Miss Kali proceeds to describe a breathtaking vision of advanced teaching. She outlines a curriculum stressing teaching pupils about fundamental realities. She wants her charges grounded in a unified theory encompassing all physical and emotional postulates. My particular challenge is to enlighten them in Classical Physics followed by relativity, quantum mechanics and string theory. Emotional postulates are taken care of by other teachers but I will be expected to conduct some "unified theories" in conjunction with them. In particular, it is important that I relate these theories to something experimental verifiable, so it will, in her words, "run in their blood".

All my instincts awaken to this vision. The challenge of explaining the universe to formative minds, in a way that would profoundly affect their life view, and their children's life view is irresistible. It is a shame that she wastes such a vision on mere girls. Suddenly self-conscious, I remember I am naked. "Trousers please" I puff. She passes me my trousers and soon I am closeted in respectability.

"Ok, Mr. Science – your first class is at 8 tomorrow in room 3C teaching the essence of time mechanics to our grade 9 class. I expect a good report, sleep tight." With that, Miss Kali removes my entire clothes luggage, and leaves along with Miss Pringle.

I puzzle the lock around my balls for a while before falling into a fitful sleep. I wake with one hand on a raging pokey and the other, strangely enough, on the tube. "Odd", I think, "Why did I do that?" Shrugging it off, I perform my morning ablutions. I hunt for my shirt, socks and shoes until I remember that Miss Kali had taken all my clothes the evening before. "Now how am I going to be able to teach with only trousers on", I think crossly.

"Good Morning Mr. Jefferson" a voice entering the room bellows. Turning, I see Miss Pringle with a big smile holding the requisite bag of ice. "Are we all ready for our first day of teaching? The girls are very excited about having their first male teacher."

"I'm looking forward to teaching them Miss Pringle. Here let me take that bag of ice. I'm sure I can manage putting the tube on myself" I say reaching out my hand.

"I'm sorry Mr. Jefferson, but Miss Kali gave me strict instructions that I was to perform this chore. Can't take a chance on any cock-ups. Don't worry you wouldn't feel a thing. Let's get the show on the road. Drop your pants please and lie on the table", she menaces me with no hint of appeasement.

Frustrated, I expose a very flaccid penis (fat women do not turn me on at all). Remarking that the cold would be too much of a shock unless it is warmed up a bit, she grabs my pokey root with her left hand and proceeds to flick its head with the middle finger of her right hand.

"Ouch, stop that" I whine, as my affronted pokey stares her down with his one eye. She immediately rams him into the bag of ice. Pokey retreats. The tube registers occupied. Glad this part of my morning routine is over; I put on my pants and ask for the rest of my clothes.

"Don't know anything about that. Miss Kali gave me no instructions. You look fine, let's go", she says flouncing out of the room.

2. Measuring Time

I hurry after her, trying to explain that there must be some misunderstanding. Miss Kali surely would not want a partially dressed male teaching her children. Miss Pringle promises me she will take up the matter with Miss Kali. Right now, however, the students were waiting and there is no time to redress the situation. What else is new around here, I mutter, walking up the cold stairs, with the annoying lock tugging my balls. I stare down the smirks of some dumb females in the corridor and enter my grade nine class.

Their eyes widen when they see my attire (or lack thereof). What starts out as a giggle here and there, turns into wholesale mirth? Knowing the importance of classroom control, I hold my head high, go to the front, pick up a meter ruler and slam it down on the desk. "Children, I appreciate you find it funny that some of my clothes have been misplaced. I expect you to respect my situation and not reference it again for the remainder of this class. I am here to fill your heads with knowledge and I have no time to waste with your silly 15 year old girlish giggles. Do I make myself clear?" I blunt.

The laughter threatens to resume when a front row, tomboyish figure, stands up and stridently addresses the other 19 girls in the room "Anyone who doesn't respect Mr. Jefferson wishes will have to deal with me". The whole room goes quiet.

Nodding with satisfaction, I proceed to outline what they will learn today. "Time girls, is a fundamental concept that has only recently been understood. Through the course of this year, you will learn that it both malleable and directional. Today's lesson will be about how it is measured".

At that moment, the door opens and an angry Miss Kali enters holding a large green garbage bag. "Mr. Jefferson, the clothes we were going to wash for you are infected with lice. Your trousers must be full of them. Put them in this bag at once. Move very slowly. I don't want any pupils infected." With that mind-boggling statement, she walks to the front of the class, and at arms length, head averted, holds open the garbage bag in front of me.

Appalled at what is happening, I take a step towards the door when Miss Kali shrieks, "I said minimize your movements. I don't want any more lice in this room. Put your trousers in the bag immediately"

Bewildered and concerned for the safety of the students I drop my trousers. I completely forget that instead of wearing underwear, I'm wearing a tube and a heavy iron lock. Depositing the offending trousers into the green bag, my mind starts to catch up to events.

Before I can bring my emotional intelligence to bear, the tomboyish girl stands up again. "Remember what Mr. Jefferson said girls. You are not to comment or react to his attire in any manner". All the girls compose themselves and attentively wait for what will transpire next.

I start to make for the door. Miss Kali demands to know where I am going. "I can't teach wearing only a tube, it's disgraceful!" I cringe.

Miss Kali looks at the composed class, turns to me, and kindheartedly remarks, "I'm impressed that you can manage a class of young females in a situation like this. There is no need to be that embarrassed since you are covered up where it matters. Let the girls decide if they feel they have enough self-control to carry on learning. Girls, hands up those who feel comfortable with the lesson continuing".

To a man, I mean woman, 20 hands went into the air. "Thank you for your vote of confidence in Mr. Jefferson. Please Mr. Jefferson, carry on". Miss Kali sits down on my chair and looked up at me expectantly.

For the first time in my life I feel what a rabbit feels like in front of a fox. I 'm paralyzed. By any measurement of acceptable behavior, a teacher doesn't carry on in this state of affairs. Ok, I decided, I can get through this. After all they're only girls. Behind the desk, I would have the most embarrassing aspects hidden anyway. Shit, Miss Kali was in my chair. Hands, I could deploy my hands. My hands moved to cover myself as the thought was forming and I continue my lecture.

"OK, measuring time, how do we do that?" I challenge the class. Animation follows. Clocks they say. But how do clocks do it? The tomboy says gears, weights and stuff like that. "Very good, and what is your name girl?" I ask.

"Sophie, Mr. Jefferson. My dad is a clockmaker so I know all about time", she says pompously. Yup, I thought, this girl is Danish.

"That's great Sophie, but how does a clock know what a second is?" leading into a subject I couldn't expect any of these 15yr olds to know.

My attire defender pauses, turns red, and with a hint of betrayal, says, "I never thought about that question before Mr. Jefferson, I don't know the answer."

A lithesome girl beside her mutters, "Don't know everything do you Sophie" and faster than a cobra, Sophie turns with a glare, "So what's the answer then Lettie?"

Long pause. Lettie tentatively advances that it has something to do with penduluMiss

"Excellent Lettie", I cry, "that goes exactly to the heart of the question. Let me explain why". Sophie, aghast hardens her face visibly as the class sniggers. Feeling a bit guilty at annoying someone who defends me, I resolve to make it up to her. But for now, teaching is my focus.

At this point Miss Kali stands up and says it appears I have things well in hand. "Girls, Mr. Jefferson is one of the ablest scientists this academy has ever deployed. He has promised to visually emphasize any key underlying concepts. I leave it in your hands to make sure he delivers." And with that she departs.

Eureka, the chair is mine, embarrassment over. In mid stride Sophie pops the question, "Where are you going? I want to know what a second is and what a pendulum has to do with it."

Chastity or science? Heck, I'm a scientist – I can go to the chair after answering the question. My hands were doing a great job at hiding the tube/lock. Turning back to face the class, I explain that Galileo determined that a pendulum swings back and forth at a constant frequency. This frequency is a function of the length of the string and is independent from the weight of the pendulum. As such, a second only required figuring out how long the string had to be and no other factors matter. That is how simple measuring time in classical space is.

A lot of disbelieving faces take this in. Sophie pipes up "I don't believe you, and think I can prove you wrong?" Lettie bounces back with, "I do believe him and can prove him right".

Perfect, I have the whole class engaged now. What a joy it is to educate young minds. "OK, Sophie and Lettie, you can both arrange any experiment you wish to prove Galileo right or wrong. Lettie you go first".

Wrinkling her face, Lettie thinks for a moment and then asks for a string that her classmates promptly provide her. Tying the string to her left shoe, she advances to the front of the class.

"Mr. Jefferson, will you please sit on the desk for my experiment?" Bemused I do as she requests, being careful to keep my tube and lock covered with my hands. "Class, if Galileo is right, then no matter what angle I release the pendulum from, it will swing back and forth with the same frequency. Please take out your watches and time the next two sequences". Then she turns, brushes away my hands and ties the first string to the lock and swings the shoe from a 30-degree angle. Now you may think a teenage shoe doesn't weight much, but when an iron lock already stretches your balls, believe me, they notice an additional swinging shoe. I rapidly move my hands to stop the experiment but am blocked by Lettie.

"Mr. Jefferson, it's just two sequences – let me prove your point". Agonizing, I delay just long enough for the first sequence to be timed. "Right", Lettie said, "now lets drop the shoe from a 90 degree angle". Pow, the pull on my balls is excruciating – it lends a whole new meaning to "when the other shoe drops". With the tube wildly gyrating (and the pins reacting to my pokeys' awakening) the pendulum began to trace its arc. Not wanting to disrupt the experiment, I sit in painful immobility watching the pendulum swing back and forth observing the tube playing a miniature counterpoint. "Stop watches" commands Lettie. "Ok, class, compare number of swings per minutes". Furious activity followed by awe. The swings per second are exactly the same.

Taking back control of the situation "So you see class, a pendulum can track the time and all that matters is the length of the string, so now let's move onto what that means".

"Just a second Mr. Jefferson, I haven't had the opportunity to disprove your supposition. Can I perform my experiment now?" I had forgotten that Sophie wanted to challenge Galileo and didn't have the heart to tell her that she would only embarrass herself trying.

"Ok Sophie, perform your experiment". Grinning she takes both of her shoes off and ties them onto the shoe already connected to my ball lock.

"You said that the same timing is the same regardless of the angle the pendulum starts from. That I agree Lettie has proven. What is not proven is that the weight of the pendulum has no effect on the frequency. Class, please time this sequence". With that instruction, Sophie holds up the three shoes high above my head and swings them like she's serving tennis. My balls explode in pain. Sophie, anticipating, snatches my wrists in mid air and exclaims, "Don't interfere, this is being timed".

Quivering while the class calculates the resulting frequency, they conclude that the frequency is as Galileo predicted. The end of class bell mercifully rings whereupon a disappointed Sophie grabs her shoes and marches out of the class. Yanked off my desk by this action I holler that she hasn't untied her shoes from the lock. It wasn't until we were in the corridor that she realizes her error and commences correction, with the words "Sorry Mr. Jefferson, I forgot you were connected". Concerned, she starts to untie the knot and notices that my balls have gone a funny blue color. "Oh dear, are you ok? Girls, Mr. Jefferson's balls are blue. I need help over here."

Female density increases an order of magnitude and a chaotic set of opinions drowns my rapidly receding sanity. Lettie muscles in and accurately diagnoses the issue. "It's lack of oxygen, they need to be stimulated quickly or they could lose their referential integrity". Ten hands promptly cup, massage, pinch, stretch, knead and squeeze my balls until a healthy red color is restored.

Miss Pringle bustles through the crowd, takes in the situation and shoos the girls away. "My, my Mr. Jefferson, it seems it takes quite a few of us to take proper care of you. I think it's time that you learn how to do that for yourself. Come with me." Her hand encapsulates my package and starts to dig. I discover this fat lady has long nails. Driving them ever deeper she creeps, "Is Mr. Jefferson ready for a lesson in control?" The pain in my scrotum increases exponentially until I squeak, "Yes, yes, I'm ready".

Keeping her nails imbedded, she pulls me into the principal's office, marches me to her desk and pushes my head down on Miss Kali's desk. Wearily, I look up and see Miss Kali's two ballooning pillows. My pokey immediately goes hard and the pins score deeply, melding into the pain of Miss Pringle's nails. The miasma started to clear as I hear Miss Pringle describe the state she rescued me from. Miss Kali listens attentively and makes her decision. Picking up the phone, "Miss Waters, Mr. Jefferson will be unable to attend his 9:00 gym class, can you cover? … No, no, he'll be ok, I'm sure he'll be fine for his 10:00 class. Thanks, and yes I'll sure he'll be happy to help you with your class tomorrow afternoon, bye dear".

Miss Kali looks at me, and then directing her attention to Miss Pringle sighs, "It looks like Mr. Jefferson needs a break. Can you take him to his room and remove his constraint. I'm disappointed Mr. Jefferson, you've just started and already there is a problem. No matter, we'll have things straightened out sooner or later."

Miss Pringle curved nails direct me to the school kitchen where four old ladies are busy preparing the school lunch. "Get me an ice bag. I need to remove his "protect our girls" equipment." The old biddies react, but not understanding the requirements, each return with an ice bag. Not wanting to diminish their self-confidence, Miss Pringle lays me on the meat counter and assigns each biddy a different quadrant. "OK, press hard now. Four ice bags compress; I lose all sensation and worryingly wonder if pokey frostbite is treatable. Miss Pringle easily slides off the tube and exclaims, "Oh dear, it's almost shrunk away. Quickly dears, warm it up while it still has memory".

4 gnarled palms, return to their respective quadrants and begin to vigorously rub and squeeze my pokey between them. Rapidly gaining heat, my pokey reconnects to my nervous system sending cold/hot flashes at a perplexing rate.

"Stop it, please stop it, I'm fine. It's not cold," I whine as the chaffing causes my lower signal system to switch from flashes to aches. It's too late. My pokey swells and swells.

"That's enough ladies, it looks like his memory is fully restored". Then perplexed, Miss Pringle asks, "But how can I take him down to his room in this condition? We need something to cover him up with while we're in the corridor." Spying a head of iceberg lettuce, she brightens, picks it up, and asks the ladies to hold me tight at the base of my pokey. Without any warning, she slams the lettuce down hard.

My pokey shoots through the lettuce like papier-Mâché. It is enveloped to the root. Helping me to my feet, Miss Pringle evaluates my new clothing. "What do you think ladies, will this work?" pointing to the bobbing head of lettuce.

"Hmmm," the ugliest biddy cackles, "If he goes soft, it will fall off. You'll need to keep him hard in the corridor if you want to maintain the innocence of our young ladies."

My relief, that they couldn't proceed without clothing me decently, reverses direction when the oldest biddy opines, "I read that when a males prostrate gland is stimulated, he remains hard."

"Ideal observation", Miss Pringle crinkles. Laying me on my stomach, she asks two of the old ladies to hold my cheeks apart. The other two hold the tube on one side and the lock on the other.

I struggle to rise when an entangled signal pulls the lock and the tube away from each other. Intense pain flares, as my balls flattens into their new two-dimensional home.

"Calm down, Mr. Jefferson" Miss Pringle quiets me. "We'll make sure that you wouldn't accidentally expose yourself to the girls." She dips her fat thumb deeply into a tub of lard. Surveying her one-inch target she instructs the two biddies holding my cheeks to stretch them with all their strength. Satisfied with a two-inch target, she presses her greasy thick thumb on my most private entrance, and leveraging her 300 pounds, slowly enters the target zone.

It feels like I'm shitting backwards. A quick tube/lock yank convinces me to lie in petrified stillness. The room goes quiet as Miss Pringles thumb inserts;

One inch "the rim of my anus groans"

Two inches "my insides heave to expel her"

Three inches "the pressure becomes intense"

Four inches "I beg her to stop"

Five inches – She hits my prostate gland and the lettuce under the table goes from a 180-degree angle to a 270-degree angle.

"OK ladies, mission accomplish. Let's test the results", says Miss Pringle with a satisfied air. Using her thumb like a joystick, she turns me to face the old biddies. "Let's see if you can make him soft."

A garlic mouth biddy grabs my head and starts to French kiss me. Sickened, my pokey starts to deflate. Miss Pringle scratches my prostate with her thumbnail. My pokey inflates with the lettuce magnifying the effect ten-fold.

Each remaining biddy spends five minutes French kissing me, with the lettuce bobbing away, from my alternating waves of disgust and prostrate action.

Confidently Miss Pringle states that she believes the lettuce is now secure and asks me to thank the old biddies for their help. About to protest, I feel the joystick control and mumble a thank you. The old biddies smile and bustle back to preparing the school lunch.

As the 10:00 bell rings to signal a change of class, Miss Pringle's gives me a thumbs up into the corridor. There I am, surrounded by the shocked faces of young females, wearing a head of lettuce with a tube and lock dragging down my balls, being anally directed by a fat lady's greasy thumb.

I want to die. Noticing that the lettuce is starting to droop, the joystick prods. Up went the lettuce, down went the lettuce, and up went the lettuce. I realize I better concentrate on staying hard if I don't want to be bobbing about all day. The girls crowd around and one shouts, "It's a variation of bob the apple, let's see who can make it bob the highest number of times." With enthusiasm, she slaps the lettuce horizontally for 3 bobs worth. Pokey bawls with the sting. All the girls want a go. They line up in an orderly fashion and are allowed one swipe each by Miss Pringle. The highest number of bobs is 6, when Sophie the Dane, squeezes the lettuce between her hands as hard as she can (tightening the spring way too much). "This time you better let me win", she says with a stern glare. With her right hand she slaps the lettuce as hard as she can, vertically .

I'm ripped in half!

Miss Pringle counts, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, Sophia is the winner. Well done. Ok Girls, off to your class Mr. Jefferson needs to veg out." Joystick reactivates. I march through the girls who whisper admiringly in reference to Miss Pringle's man-ual control system.

Arriving at my abode Miss Pringle says, "Here we are Mr. Jefferson, home sweet home". Slopping her thumb from my ass and sluicing off the lettuce from my pokey she inquires, "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"

I 'm aching downstairs everywhere. My bum hole feels raw, my stretched balls ache, and my pokey feels like it had been used as a corkscrew for a whole vintage farm worth of wine. "Can you remove my tube and lock? I really twinge down there."

"Well, it's against the rules but maybe just this one time", Miss Pringle sympathizes. She unlocks me, unwinds the leather strings, peels of the whole assemble (including the dreaded tube) and strides out of the room.

Head spiraling, I collapse on the mat Looking down I say, "It's you who is causing all these problems". Inspiration hits. If I'm soft I wouldn't need ice bags and lettuce. They can't attach! Setting my idea into motion, I empty my mind of all that has happened and spotlight on what it would be like to meet a lady who can understand the physics of love.

.

"Darling, please hold my breasts, those relativity equations you worked out are making me feel weak inside" she pants. I reach over and as I approach my moment of triumph I'm interrupted with a "MR. JEFFERSON, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

I snap out of my fantasy to see Miss Kali and pokey looking eyes to eye. I promptly drop what I am doing.

"Uh, Uh, I just thought if I made him soft, you wouldn't feel the need to use ice bags any more", I stammer.

Reaching down, she grabs pokey with myself following reluctantly. She forces me to my knees as she puts pokey on the chair and sits on top of him. Hand in air she slaps his legs in time to her voice, "I'm not interested in your disgusting pokey, I'm here to make sure you teach our young girls physics ." Writhing in agony I splutter apologies.

Dialing her mobile she wryly spits, "Miss Pringle, Mr. Jefferson has clearly recovered. Please bring back everything you have taken from Mr. Jefferson's room. We need to get him ready to teach his grade 10 class at 11 o'clock. Miss Pringle arrives carrying the tube, lock and lettuce.

"Where is the ice bag Miss Pringle?" Miss Kali asks. "Look at that." Miss Kali worryingly points to my writhing pokey. "How are we ever going to get that into the tube without the ice bag? Class starts in 5 minutes and there is no time to get it now. What are we going to do?"

Miss Pringle throws me an angry look for making her look bad, and then explains the lettuce/prostrate trick. "First-rate Miss Pringle, I'll take it from here. You may return to your duties". Miss Kali slaps my pokey a few more times to make it harder and then grinds the lettuce on, not noticing the hole Miss Pringle has already created. My pokey eye feels like it's going blind. I'm mercifully fully sheltered within seconds. Not allowing any respite, Miss Kali devastatingly rams her right forefinger deep into my bum hole and finds my prostrate. I buckle at the intrusion. Making sure that her finger movements correlate to lettuce bobbing, she manipulates me upstairs and into the front of my next class.

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.

4. The Three Laws of Thermodynamics

Hearing them chuckle at my chastity belt didn't phase me. I just strode to the front of these predatory creatures and proclaimed, "Girls, today we are going to study the three laws of Thermodynamics. You will be expected to determine how these laws can be proven. Failure to do so will result in this whole class being detained." I was in a mean mood, quite happy to be malicious to any and every female in this room.

Concerned faces stared at each other. The leader of this pack, a buxom 17 yr old Swedish girl stood up and complained, "Mr. Jefferson, my name is Olga and on behalf of this class, I want to protest such a high handed action".

"I'm not interested in your protest Olga", I yelled. "I'm the male and you are the female. Sit down and shut up." It struck me that as a teacher I was being a bit unfair. But given the events of the day, it made me feel great to dominate the weaker race. So I just let it flow, "So, can anyone tell me the first law of thermodynamics?"

"The conservation of energy" a French Canadian girl sitting at the side of the class ventures.

"Well done. State your name and describe what this means in terms of heat and energy." I encourage."

"Francis", she says reddening, "ahhh, heat=energy" she guesses.

"Only a girl would make such a dumb guess," I say scornfully. "Come on class, don't any of you have a brain? Tell you what, if any of you can get the answer, you can run the rest of this class. If no one can, then this class will be all lectures. I'll expect you all to work during your detention and this evening writing an 4000 word essay on it." I pause watching a bunch of empty female faces, and in triumph, state, "Ok, no one has the answer. Get out your pens and paper and engage those silly brains of yours for a change." I smugly carried on. I had this class on the run and wasn't going to remove my iron glove for a second.

"Excuse me Mr. Jefferson", Olga said putting her hand up.

"Yes" I said impatiently, ready to bite her head off.

The first law of thermodynamics. "If the state of a system is changed by applying heat, then the change in energy in the system must equal the energy applied", she confidently asserts.

I was stunned; a seventeen-year-old girl is simply not smart enough to know a male subject like thermodynamics. "Correct Olga" I mutter.

The Swede advances to the front of the class. She takes my desk chair and places it center stage. Smirking, Olga pats her knees, "You said whoever answered the question was in charge. Now quickly, lie over my lap. We need to prove the first law of thermodynamics." Thanking god I had protection, I shuffle over and lay across her lap wondering how that could prove the first law.

The French Canadian caught on to what Olga was thinking before me. Francis standing up excitingly says, "I get it. The collary of the first law must be that if you apply energy to the state of a system, then the additional heat absorbed must equal the amount of energy applied." Getting excited she carried on. "So if you apply enough energy the state of a system should go red hot. This would prove the first law of thermodynamics." she concludes proudly.

"Well done Frankie. My reasoning exactly. Girls, unless we want detention, we'll have to somehow get the state of the system on my lap red hot." Olga smilingly says patting my bottom to make sure everyone got her point. It clicks what state of matter they are talking about. I struggle to rise, Olga holding tight to the chastity belt. "Quick girls, support Mr. Jefferson's' part in the experiments. Four girls grasp my arms and legs and pull them to the floor. My bum, my God, my unprotected bum, rose prominently above Olga's' lap. Sharpening her nails on my quivering cheeks she merrily instructs, "Ten smacks per silly girl should prove the first law. Want to go first Frankie?"

The French Canadian comes up. Calculates the trajectory and with the strength of a lumberjack, wallops my bum. "Wow, you can even see her handprint" Olga says in awe. "This thermodynamic thing just might work." Frankie carries on her chore with enthusiasm. My ass weaves and bobs to no avail. Every wallop finds its target with unerring accuracy.

Hand upraised the second girl exclaims "Look it's starting to get a little pink" Ten determined spanks ring through the air, followed by ten little gasps. The third girl comments that it's definitely getting pink but is a long way from red. With studied care, she hyperventilates between each spank to maximize the piston power of her right arm. My bum communicates its increasing discomfort by swaying even when not being spanked. Six spanks in, girl four complains that her hand hurts. Francis advices her to pretend her arm is a whip with her fingers the whip end. She curls her arm and whips me with her fingers hard. The pain goes concentrated. My moans get louder. Girls five through nine all decide to have a finger whipping time. Finger spots abound. Girl ten, from Bangladesh, inventively takes off her sneaker and gives my bum ten hard rubber bounces. Girls 11 through 14 decide to sneak in their blows the same way. My bottom cheeks bounce away, forty times. Girls 15, takes off her wide leather belt, and splats down a whistling ten. The red splotches look like a painter gone mad I wish they would stick to one method. Girls 16 and 17 try out their belts. The thin one hurt the most. Girl eighteen takes off her high heels, and gives me the flats for seven goes. She reverses her grip. I learn why dogs learn to heel for the next three drilling turns. My bum is a quivering mass of jelly.

Girl 19, a small Chinese girl steps up and exclaims, "It's red now, but not bright red. I'm not that strong and don't want to be the reason this experiment fails." She stands there with an inscrutable face. It becomes all too scrutable when it spies my long wooden ruler. Reverently, she slowly picks it up with her right hand. She lays the end on my writhing bottom softly saying "Don't worry Mr. Jefferson, I'll make sure the experiment is a success". Lifting the ruler up to the ceiling, her short 2-foot arm transformed into a 5-foot appendage, starts its journey from the arcs' apex. The ruler moves faster. Sound waves give advance warning. The sound waves increase in whistle frequency. Blinding speed hits canvas. A pure red stripe is added. I can't help myself. I begin to cry. The Chinese girl says, "Don't despair Mr. Jefferson, I think this might work". Focusing intently, she neatly draws five more red iron bars beside the first one. Not caring what the girls think, I start to blubber. God, there are still three more. The Chinese girl pauses and kneeling down sing songs "Mr. Jefferson, please be a bit quieter. You're ruining my concentration". She then examines my bottom closely. "But it's only pink between the red bars. I need to do something to even things out," she murmurs to herself. She turns the ruler 90 degrees. It looks like a knife. It screams down and I feel my bum scream up. I yell for her to stop. I can't take it. "Mr. Jefferson, please stop interrupting the experiment," she says cuttingly. Chop, Chop. I sob my eyes out. "There, There Mr. Jefferson," the Chinese girl consoles "It's done now, you were very good"

Olga, caressing my bum soothingly, says in a congratulatory voice, "Well done Kim, you've got the state of matter to a darkish red. But if the law of thermodynamics is to be proved, it must be bright red". The girls worriedly look at each other. Olga is the 20 th and last girl. "I don't know if I'll be able to do it girls, but I'll give it my best shot".

What happened next, was either because of the additional leverage Olga had, holding me over her lap, or, some gene that gave Swedish women strong right arm. Her first spank, on my dark red bum sent a pulse through my neural network. I throw all the girls holding me, flat on their backs. "Two girls per arm and leg" Olga orders flexing her arm athletically. Eight girls thread my appendages through the bottom of the chair. My hands and feet switch positions. My bum is geometrically changed to a large red rubber ball. The skin stretches to accommodate the increased surface area. Olga calculating her newly shaped target says, "That's better girls, now its like playing volleyball". Five hard serves bounce my ball higher and higher. The girls clap out the time. I'm beside myself. The heat is starting to saturate the chastity belt. My pokey and balls feel like they are in an oven. Four more spanks remain. I struggle to escape but eight girls are too many. They pull until satisfied my bum is perfectly round. Olga blows on her hand, raises it as high as she can and brings it down with the power of a jackhammer. My bum briefly flickers and then goes out.

"Did you see that?" the girls excitedly said. "We have a chance". After the next jackhammer blow, my bum flickers a bit longer. On the ninth blow, it flickers for over five seconds. The suspense was killing the girls. "Please Olga", they beg, "We have only one more chance to turn it on". Olga draws deep into her maniac reserves. With a Viking cry, she spanks my bum with the strength of Hercules. An enormous amount of heat dissipates all Blood-Bum electrical resistance. Superconductivity kicks in. My bum commences a state change. It flickers, glimmers, shimmers, twinkles and sparkles. Transition change completes. A bright red glow shines from my bottom. One of the girls turned out the lights while others pull the blinds. "She did it. She really did it". They kneel in the dark, in worship, watching my bum glow, like a red beacon lighting the way to nirvana.

Heat rapidly escapes from the system. The beacon stutters, splutters and finally falters. Eyes adjusting to the dark, they solemnly approach their failed item of worship. The animals go marching two by two. They knead, massage, and pinch my bum, hoping to turn the light back on. To no avail, electrical resistance was back. They open the blinds and turn the light back on. Olga grabs my hair and pulling my head back, looks me in the eyes and asks, "Are you satisfied we silly girls have proved the first law of thermodynamics, Mr. Jefferson?"

Figuring that a bit of groveling would be a good plan; I humbly reply "Very satisfied on both counts. You proved the first law and you proved you are not silly girls. Now let me up and I'll carry on the lesson." I make moves to escape from my Swedish prison.

The warden tightens her grip, "Now Mr. Jefferson, you know we've agreed I'm in charge for the duration of this class. Make yourself comfortable and tell us the second law of thermodynamics."

Comfortable? How the heck am I supposed to make myself comfortable? Twenty girls, staring as my red beach ball bum recoils high in the air, does not make me comfortable. I blandly answer her question.

The second law of thermodynamics states, "all systems have a tendency to equilibrium." Specifically, it is impossible to move heat by a cyclical process, from something at a lower temperature to something at a higher temperature unless work is added to the system.

That's got these stupid girls stumped I thought. No way will they be able to prove this. I really want these girls in detention.

Kim, the Chinese girl spoke up, "So we spank Mr. Jefferson, just as hard as before, but this time through crushed ice. The cold in the ice could not move heat to his bum according to the second law of thermodynamics. So the law is proved if after 200 spanks, his red light doesn't go on."

"That's it Kim, that would prove it", Olga said. "But our hands are so sore, I don't know if we can apply the same force again."

Let me take care of things Kim asserts. She gets a bucket, cuts the bottom off, and snuggly fits it to my abused bottom. Another girl gets five bags of crushed ice. Don't they every run out of ice? I thought. The dreaded Chinese girl takes two ping-pong paddles out of her bag.

"Well done Kim", Olga exalts. "Ok girls, let's do this two by two. The left line takes one cheek and the right the other." Eight girls hold my appendages anew. The beach ball rises.

Crushed ice is liberally added. Two paddles hurtle down. "Crunch, Crunch". The ice squashes into my bum. Nine more paddle duets of crunching action transpire. My behind loses its red color completely as the chastity belt starts to freeze. The second set of paddles descends. My behind starts takes on an icy sheen as my balls start to seriously contract. The third pair of paddles squeal with zeal. I can feel an icy sheen on my bum. More crushed ice is added. The fourth pair strikes their ten with ferocity. I feel half Eskimo.

"His behind looks all white now. There is clearly no heat exchanged in spite of all the energy we've provide. There is no way his bum will light red again." Kim observes.

"Yes," I cry, "Your point is proven. It's entropy in action. That's part of the second law. All systems tend towards increased entropy or disorder.

Olga feels my bottom and then comments icily, "What do you think, stupid girls? It does feel more disordered as we clearly haven't added any heat to this systems' state." Overruling the objections of the six pairs of girls who hadn't yet had a turn, Olga asks, "and what is the third law of thermodynamics Mr. Jefferson?"

With relief, I relay the required information.

As the temperature in a systems state approaches a lower limit, entropy approaches zero.

The girls were flummoxed. What could this mean? My hopes rose. Maybe they'll figure it out during detention.

That bloody French Canadian girl ventures, "That implies that if one lowers the temperature of a state of matter to its lowest possible point, then entropy goes to zero. So the state of matter should emit a frequency from the lowest band of the visible frequency."

The girls pondered what Francis said. Kim, maddingly, took it to the logical next step. "So if we take the temperature of Mr. Jefferson's bottom to its lowest point, it should turn blue." All the girls were relieved. They found an experiment that gave them a chance to avoid detention.

"Ok girls, this is the home stretch." Olga encourages. Turning to the remaining paddle line-up girls, she instructs, "It's all up to you girls. If you can remove all the heat from Mr. Jefferson's bottom, it will turn blue and we'll have proven the third law of thermodynamics. Kim make sure Mr. Jefferson's bottom stays steeped with crushed ice. We have a lot of heat to take out of this." Olga says giving my bottom a pat.

The proceeding begins anew. With vigor, the sixth pair of paddles drives sparkling cold into my behind. Frozen with pain, heaving huge gasps of air, I feel Olga checking the results of their paddle work. "Not bad girls, but we're a long way from blue. With only four paddle sets to go, I'm not sure we'll be able to do it."

"We need to use something with better leverage", Francis says and gets two long and very greasy lab spatulas. She hands them to the pair seven solemnly saying, "Good luck, you'll need all your strength to make this work." Each girl places a spatula on the closest cheek. Like synchronized swimmers, they mimed striking my bottom in slow motion. Satisfied, they correctly position themselves in all three dimensions. They smoothly raise their arms. Two accelerating greasy spatulas harshly compress wide areas of crushed ice deep into my bum. It feels like thousands of tiny icicles magically forming in my bum. Arms moving like pinwheels, they spatch in nine more groups of icicles.

The girls holding my now dangling arms and legs crowd around to view the result. "Look", one says pressing a finger on my lower right cheek, "It's light blue here." Hope soars as team eight steps up to the plate.

The suspense palatably thickens, as they make sure they have the maximum leverage position. The pinwheel spins. I feel my bum disconnecting from the rest of my body. I learn what blue balls really mean. Again they crowd around. "Light blue everywhere", Olga states. "We're getting there. Team nine, get that hiney."

Team nine comes out of the batter's box and after a couple of warm-up swings pound the greasy spatulas deep into the ice minefield. Each molecular icicle was driven in deeper while new icicles form for next greasy strike pounding.

Olga, brushing all the ice away, inspects the results closely. She concludes, "Girls, we have almost got all the parts of this state of matter its requisite color, but look here." Widening my ass cheeks (the chastity belt happily hiding my stretching bum hole) she points inside the crease. "It's only a very light blue here. His bum cheeks are not letting us drive in the ice in a uniform distribution pattern. Unless we resolve this, it will not be possible to get his bum into the lowest possible state of entropy."

The class hums, so close and yet so far. Francis pipes in "Rolling pins with enough leverage should be able to penetrate there."

Kim gets two rolling pins giving one to Olga and keeping the other for herself. Meet team ten I mentally groan. Pouring a whole bag of crushed ice on top of my bum, they prepare the field. "Help me keep him open." Olga orders. Four hands on each side pull my bum cheeks as hard as they can. Crushed ice fills the ravine. "Two girls per rolling pin. Use all your weight." Olga commands.

Two rolling pins and four girls weight later I feel the ice crystals super compact within my widely separated bum cheeks. Tinkerbell skating on this frozen canal wouldn't have found an imperfection anywhere. "OK, lots more ice now." Olga says looking at Kim. When my behind could no longer be seen, Olga picks up one rolling pin directing Kim to pick up the other.

Kim raises the heavy wooden rolling pin and lands a hard blow all along my bum crease. Tinkerbell dies and the canal moves closer to sea level. Olga's strong Swedish right arm drives the canal down another ten percent. Back and forth, Kim and Olga attack the frozen river. I'm barely conscious wondering how bums survive the winter. On the nineteenth stroke a blue light flickers through the ice.

Eyes glinting, knowing this was the last chance, Olga raises her rolling pin for the last authorized time. The girls and I all hold our breath. Hearing her warrior cry as the rolling pin whistled down scares me to death. The living daylights were knocked out of my bum.

A blue flicker, more flickers and then the ice shone a steady blue. Olga brushed all the ice away and the girls huddled their faces together around my bum. My bum glows and glows. "A blue moon" they whisper in awe. Then the cheers went up for Olga for the second time.

"Are you satisfied that we have proved the third law of thermodynamics Mr. Jefferson?" Olga inquires.

I contritely agree and beg her to unfreeze my bottom, worried about long-term damage. Olga thinks and slowly says, "If we do, will you apologize for calling us stupid girls?" Feeling very blue, I readily agree hoping they have some warm water. Olga looks at Frankie and says, "Grab his hair and make sure his eyes don't shift while he's apologing. Kim, give Mr. Jefferson's behind some heat."

Kneeling, Francis pulls up my hair until our eyes are level. "I'm sorry I called you stupid Francis," I wincingly say as Kim wallops my behind. Eighteen apologies later, my bottom is thoroughly warmed up. "That's enough girls", I'm fine now, "Thank you".

"Oh no," Olga corrects, "You still need to apologize to two more girls:

Kim takes my hair signaling a heavyset Ukrainian girl to commence. "I'm sorry I called you stupid Kim" feeling the brute force of a Ukrainian hand on my behind. "Hit him harder Elsa, his eyes are shifting." The whams increase in both strength and frequency.

I blubber, "I'm sorry Miss Kim, I'm really really sorry."

"Miss Kim," I like that. "The Chinese like respect. In future you will address all the girls in this class as Miss. Is that understood?"

"My shocking pink bottom prompts me urgently, "Yes Miss Kim."

Only Olga was left. "I'm sorry Miss Olga for calling you stupid."

The Swede, grinning from ear to ear, says, "I accept your apology and just to make sure you don't forget…" She raises that sturdy Scandinavian arm and begins to whack me off. After the first five, my bum went red. After nine it started to flicker. With that now familiar warrior cry the tenth whack speeds down. The light in my brain goes out as the light in my bums turns on. "Thank you Mr. Jefferson, that was a great class," she says as the bell rings.

Olga deposits my limp body, radiant bum in air, onto the floor, and exits with the other girls. Miss Pringle breezes in. Piggy eyes enamored by the red light, she manages to choke out "Sleeping on the job Mr. Jefferson? Let's take you to your room. Your next class isn't for an hour."

I creak to my feet wondering when this day would be over. I follow Miss Pringle through the crowded corridors to the ooos and ahhhs of girls admiring my well-lit bottom. I enter my only sanctuary in this hellhole of feminists. All the water activity has given me an urgent washroom chore. Miss Pringle unfastens the chastity belt and flops down into my chair staring at my pee proud tomato pokey. "Miss Pringle, I'm fine now" I say dismissively, "You may go."

Settling herself even more firmly into the chair she retorts, "Miss Kali has asked me to supervise you. She doesn't want you to play with yourself during school hours."

Fed up, I turn on her and shout "Listen you fat tub of female lard, I have to use the facilities. Understand? Get out now!"

Face flushing angrily, the mountain stands and comes to Mohammed. She grips my balls and starts to squeeze. "What did you call me?" she asks furious.

"Ah, I", she squeezes my balls harder, "I mean I need some lard to sooth my sore bum" I say desperately hoping she's as stupid as she looks. Somewhat mollified, she switches her grip to pokey, and with a brutal yank, hauls me to the toilet and points pokey at the middle of the bowl. "Go", she says squeezing him tightly.

"I can't" I moan, "You're holding him too tight". She slaps my bladder with her other hand. A hole in the dike opens and I painfully flood through the tightly gripped channel.

Miss Pringle has great fun varying the constriction to the tune of row, row, row your boat. It sure didn't go gently down the lane but she obviously thought life was but a game.

Shaking off the last drops of juice from my now deflated pokey she moves him to the sink and starts to hand wash my red tomato soup clothes away.

"Ouch, you're bathing him too hard" I protest. Ignoring me, she picks up the scrub brush and vigorously scrubs him horizontally, vertically, and diagonally. I thought there would be no skin left. She starts to scrub my pee hole. I grab her hand. She grabs my balls. I let go of her hand and the pee hole is excruciatingly cleaned.

"Hmmm" Miss Pringle notes, "not much color here." She smacks pokey until he turns red. "There you go Mr. Jefferson, spanking clean. Now let's see to your bum." Holding pokey securely, she sits down and tugs me across her lap. "Well I guess I'm the only lard around, so here goes," she says sardonically. Miss Pringle lifts up her shirt and bounces a one hundred and fifty pound fat belly on my bum for the next five minutes. Strangely enough, the blubbering lard did the trick. A warm soothing tingling suffused my bum.

Miss Kali comes into being. "Thank Miss Pringle for her help Mr. Jefferson. You need to get ready for your grade 12 class now" she comments, handing me a pair of trousers.

I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. With heartfelt gratitude, I gush, "Thank you Miss Pringle and thank you Miss Kali for letting me wear trousers. I'm surprised though. I thought that you were afraid of the girls seeing a stiff pokey."

"That restriction doesn't apply to the Grade 12 class. 18 year old girls need to be educated in such things if they are to face the world, in a confident manner, upon graduation" she replies somewhat mysteriously.

Going for a bit of insurance I casually mention "It might be useful, given these girls are at such a precocious age, if you tell them not to remove my trousers."

Miss Kali, surprised, says "I will tell everyone in the class the sort of control I expect". Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, I concur and follow Miss Kali to my next class, smirking at the disappointed looks the corridor girls threw when they saw no entertainment.

5. Maxwell's equations

Miss Kali and I stride to the front of the physics lab. I eye the class judiciously, careful not to provoke them in any way.

Miss Kali informs, "Girls, this is your new physics teacher. I know that you will learn a great deal from him if control is excised. I have assured Mr. Jefferson that you will respect his privacy as much as he respects yours. Train well girls, good luck." Miss Kali gives me a reassuring nod and leaves.

I launch into my lecture. "Girls, today you will figure out experiments which prove that electricity and magnetism are two parts of the same coin". One of Maxwell's equations is:

An Electric current is generated by a magnetic field.

At that moment a Toronto girl drops the pencils in her pencil case. She stands up, turns around, and bends over to pick them up. Her short skirt rides up just below one of the most beautiful apples my eyes have every beheld. Pokey stirs. "Now, who here knows a method to generate electricity using magnetism? I can't take my eyes off her bottom. My pokey tries to look over the trouser parapet.

An Austrian girl in the front row sees my trousers move. She connects the dots from my eyes, to the Toronto girl's bum, to the trouser movement. "Laura, Mr. Jefferson is getting a hard-on looking at your bottom!" I shift my eyes rapidly as Laura swings around, beside herself with embarrassment.

She strides to the front of the class, and taking the proof in hand enquires, "Mr. Jefferson. Were you looking at my bottom?"

"It was an accident", I cringe, as she squeezes the proof in anger.

"You've just invaded my privacy. Miss Kali said we are to respect your privacy the same way you respect ours. Take off those trousers right now". Well I wasn't going to obey this slip of a girl. Her hand grabs my balls through the trousers. Well, maybe this once I'll do as this girl says, but when she lets go of my balls, then things will change pronto. I slide my trousers down. Her other hand grabs my born free pokey. "Step out of them now and put your hands on your head so we can start the experiment" Laura demands, ensuring compliance with a two handed clutch on my balls and pokey. I step out of my trousers and put my hands on my head. "You heard Miss Kali girls, she expects us to learn control." Laura grins and looking at the Austrian tattletale says, "Katy, can you please take off your shoelaces and tie Mr. Jefferson up?" Now that puzzled me. I'm a pretty big guy. Two shoelaces weren't going to hold me, I thought, grinning inwardly.

Katy takes off her shoelaces and stands in front of me thinking. Sitting down, she wraps a shoelace tightly around one of my balls in a slipknot tightening until she had pure marble. She does the same with the second shoelace and says, "Ok, Laura, let him go. I think this will work". Laura lets me go. I move to grab my balls. Two strings go taut in opposite directions. I almost lose my marbles. Torn, I move my hands back on top of my head.

Katy absently starts to pull down on the strings. My pokey goes down. She raises her hand. My pokey goes up. "This puppet is fun" she says, and mischievously starts bouncing my fully erect pokey up and down in front of the all the eighteen-year old girls. My shame was intense. The laughter just went on and on.

Finally Laura said "Ok, anyone have any idea how to make electricity with magnetism?"

A girl in a Calgary cowboy hat stands saying, "Magnets moving through a copper coil generate electricity I think. Here let me show you. Katy get me a stool?" She goes to the back of the lab and returns carrying a number of ring magnets, a copper coil and a blue lamp. Delicately lifting my pokey with finger and thumb, she threads it through the magnets. She places the copper coil on the stool Katy brings, and hooks the copper wire to the lamp. Taking the shoelaces from the puppet master, the Calgarian pulls me behind the stool so I face the class. She drops one shoelace into the large coil and pulling one of my balls, steers an objecting pokey carefully through the coil with her other hand. My pokey eye stares obscenely through the copper coil at the girls. The cowboy grabs the pokey side lasso. After directing Laura to hold the lasso behind me, she says "Ok Laura, we need to get the magnets moving through the copper coil to get the light bulb to burn. Katy can you set the tempo please."

Katy spanks my bum as the cowboy pulls one ball's slipknot. Pokey goes forward. Laura pulls the other ball. Pokey goes backwards. Spank, forward, backward. Spank, forward, backward. Katy sets a slow tempo making sure the co-ordination is fluid. The sight of pokey's head sluicing in and out of the coil draws chuckles from the class. Katy ups the tempo. My balls lose the rhythm. Deep pain until I properly synchronize. I focus on the spanks to anticipate the pulls. The pulls reduce.

"Still no light Susan", Laura observes looking at the cowboy pulling the other string.

Susan thinks for a moment. "If we gradually increase the tempo, the light should go on." Seeing Katy favor her hand, she asks all the girls to line up and spank my bum twenty times. Each girl is to spank slightly quicker than the girl before them. They line up and Girl 2 increases the tempo. I smoothly detect the speed and increase pokey's thrusts. No ball pulls occur but my bum is starting to feel a little warm. A hundred drumbeats later, my pokey strokes the coil at 90 beats per minutes. My bum feels hot. I almost lost a ball when Girl Seven increased that beat more than expected. I focus hard on matching the beat. Susan and Laura have trouble pulling the strings at the new speed. They realize I'm only focusing on the drumbeat. They tentatively drop the strings.

I think I have it licked now. I'm humping the coil at just the right velocity. My balls aren't tugging anymore. Susan and Laura happily grin at each. After another hundred drumbeats, pokey screws the coil at 150 beats per minute. Bum flaming, Girl 12 needs to alternate hands to maintain the beat.

"Faster, Harder", Susan encourages. "The light is still not on". Girl 13 focuses intently. Machine gun spanks fill the air. Come Girl 18, I was being spanked so quickly that the sound of one spank to the next blurred. My magnetic pokey rocketed back and forth at 200 beats per minute. The light begins to flash. Hope ignites on the girls' faces. Girl 19 was Susan. She must have played bongos all her life. She thrashes me to 220 beats per minute. The light started to steady. Laura, the last girl takes two rulers. Sitting on the floor in front of my gyrating red moon, she positions herself like a drummer. God, she is a drummer. Her pounding drum roll moves me to 250 beats per minute. The blue light bursts into radiance as I intercourse with the copper coil. Then my bum lights up. Through an eerie light of red and blue, the girls watch me fuck the coil faster than a dog. Laura, not caring about her twenty-spank limit readies for the finale. She goes roll max and my pokey hoses the coil at 300 beats per minute. Both lights shine even brighter. Pokey's eye is wide open. The girls stare him down. God, I think I'm going to come. This is impossible; pokey is just humping air. Then it happens. He shoots --- The girls watch a white arc climb the sky. They watch the white arc fall from the sky --- He scores. Susan's cowboy hat looks like it is covered in pigeon droppings.

The drum roll stops. The lights go out. I fall on my bum, pokey leaking sperm and magnets. The girls give me a standing ovation.

Susan looks at her hat with horror. Lowering it to my mouth she orders "Get that filthy goo off my hat". When I protest she grabs the shoelaces and yanks. Trying hard not to throw up, I urgently clean the slime until she stops her incessant tugging. "Thank you Mr. Jefferson". What are you teaching us next?" Susan solicits amiably.

I shakily stand up and resume my teacher role. Another Maxwell equation is:

An electric current creates a Magnetic field

I look around for my trousers, as the girls buzz trying to figure out an experiment that would prove this equation. I see them on the desk and start to walk nonchalantly in that direction. Toronto girls are not that easily taken in. Laura seizes the shoelaces and yanks me back onto the stool irritably telling me, "Just stand still Mr. Jefferson, you haven't earned your right to privacy yet."

A girl with a soft Vancouver accent articulates, "Well we know the human body works on electricity, so it follows that a body with a lot of electricity moving through it, would magnetize a metal such as iron. Clearly, a pulsating body carries the highest voltage as we saw a moment ago." The girls all look at pokey. Pokey stares banefully back.

"Now hold on a second", I said cutting her off. Laura jerks the chain hissing, "Let Rebecca finish".

Rebecca carries on with her idea. "If we surround Mr. Jefferson's frontal appendage with iron and excite it to a sufficient degree, then the iron should magnetize. This would prove Maxwell's second equation. Katy, lay Mr. Jefferson back on the stool. Susan, get one of the desks that has a hole for an inkpot. I'll be right back."

Katy curves me backwards on the stool until my head and feet are touching the floor. My back feels an unnatural stretching, but Laura, with a few tugs, reminds me of the alternative. Susan places the table over me threading my seeping pokey and balls through the inkpot hole. The table sets firmly on the floor with my pokey and balls pokey sitting on the top obsequiously. Rebecca returns with two small iron slabs and two light fixtures with overhanging 100-watt bulbs. She forms an iron teepee, to the left and right of my pokey, using electric tape to seal the top. She hangs a 25 cents coin from each bulb. She places the light fixtures on each side the teepee so the quarters were close to their respective iron slab. She says, "Now, if we can generate enough electricity through this appendage, the iron will magnetize and the quarters will swing across and stick to the iron slabs."

"Brilliant Rebecca", Laura says, wiping pokey erect with a washcloth. "But we can't keep referring to the subject under discussion as an appendage. Does anyone have any ideas?"

The puppet master chimes, "I know, let's call him the little man". Katy fetches a green marker and paints a smiley face on pokey's head with little arms and legs along his trunk. Switching on the 100-watt surgical lights, she gleefully continues, "There, now he looks like a proper little man".

Susan troublingly points out, "We're still a long way from generating electricity in that body. He looks like an old man with that slouch. We need to map the contours for sensitivity. Laura shapes some long hair into her hand. Rebecca draw a little man and score the result".

Laura trembles hair at the little man's head. Pokey is ticklish. Pokey rears his head. "10 degree movement", announces Vancouver's protractor. The Toronto girl tickles the little man under the front of his neck. Pokey sensitizes. "15 degrees", Rebecca makes known.

Susan suggests that we need more than just gene data. We need to know the effect of genes working together. Laura tickles the little mans head and neck with two hands of black hair. Vancouver measures 20 degrees.

An ominous voice is the background grunted, "Susan has figured it out. We need to construct a matrix of outcomes. Only then will we be able to figure out how to configure the experiment." My physics brain is impressed. 18-year olds are much smarter than 17 year olds.

Katy extrapolates, "So Janice, we need to agree the number of matrix dimensions. Can I suggest we label two axis for location and one for degree of movement?"

"Almost Katy, but we'll map another idea of mine later. We need to tickle hair on the dark side as well. We'll capture an extra dimension that way. Katy duplicate Laura's front office operations in the back office", Janice's boding evil voice says. I pray she is not from California.

A flurry of hairy measurements later, pokey has grown to his full six inches. No one would dare call him a droopy old man now. The girls run the math. There are two combinations that create favorable degrees of movement. Janice intones, "Before we try these combinations, let's make sure that the little man's circulation system is working at maximum throughput. Elsa, start with his feet."

Elsa, making a circle around his feet with thumb and forefinger, and shrinks the radius. Pokey's chest bulges. She increases the radius. His chest returns to normal. She speeds up the rhythm. The little man heaves faster. Elsa adds another thumb and forefinger as the girls root her on. The little man starts to pant. She stops and then tightens the circle as hard as she can. The little man stops breathing, chest at attention. Thirty seconds of suffocation later Elsa hands a little man with red feet to the next girl.

Palms up, she karate chops the little man at the knees repeatedly. Kneecapped, the little man falls over. The next girl attacks the thighs with her nails. She passes the half red naked man to the next girl. This nasty creature holds his head and finger punches his stomach. Girl Five tickles his tummy incessantly. Girl Six, finger snaps his chest, until it's a bright red. Seven chokes him around the neck until he's gasping. Eight pinches his mouth wide open and feeds him a fingernail. Nine blindfolds his eyes tightly; opening the hole in his head opens wide. Ten places her palm on this hole and rotates it on his baldhead until it shines.

Janice laughs, "Looks like we have a little Indian on our hands. Let's give him a body massage to make sure his system is completely connected".

Girls Eleven, Twelve and Thirteen all pancake the Indian between their rubbing palMiss By the end, the resulting light red war paint was evenly applied.

Girls Fourteen through Eighteen smack around the warrior all around his teepee until he was deep red with fury.

Janice examines the bright pole and satisfied says "Ok, the little man looks prepped. It's time to get to the meat of this experiment. Laura get some motor oil. We need things well lubricated for this next step."

The Toronto girl pours motor oil on the Indian. A black man was born. On Janice's instruction she puts on a pair of coarse lab gloves and starts giving the Negro a sandpaper body massage. Laura squeezes harder. She moves her hand, up and down, faster and faster. He starts to throb to the beat.

Janice and Katy move in for the climax. Janice takes the black man below the waist and jerks up, relaxes, jerks up, relaxes. Katy counterpoints. She takes the black man waist up and jerks down, relaxes, jerks down, relaxes. The black man pulses to a boil. Just before he explodes, Katy and Janice victory V their fingers, and from opposite sides, scissor the circulation off at his root. The black man is ready to come, but has no place to go. Raging, he shoots lightening bolt after lightening bolt inside his teepee. The teepee magnetizes. The quarters lock on. Maxwell's second law is confirmed. The girls applaud. Pokey blacks out.

Pokey and I regain consciousness to a shock of turpentine. Cleaning up the motor oil, Toronto smiles brightly and says, "That was great Mr. Jefferson. Time is almost up. Can we do the other two Maxwell equations tomorrow?" It took me a moment to answer. So close to coming and then denied. I was shaking with frustration. I quiver agreement.

They lift the table off pokey, help me up solicitously, hand me my trousers, giggle and leave.

Miss Kali enters carry a new lettuce. "Mr. Jefferson, if you don't want to wear your trousers then what is the point of me giving them to you?" she says and takes them from my hand. "I've had good reports from all the girls. You are a very effective teacher. Pity about that though", she says gazing at my thwarted rigid pokey. She unties the shoelaces letting my balls return to marble heaven. Pokey is thrown into his new lettuce home. A driving backdoor finger makes the point, "Let's get you to your room and discuss this further." My injected behind obeys dejectedly. 80 girls crease. Pokey and I turn red. We stumble before Miss Kali to my asylum. God, I need some relief down my up there.

Miss Kali intones, "Mr. Jefferson. Since you were playing with yourself during school hours I have to punish you by not letting you play with yourself after hours." With that astonishing statement, she plops out her finger, rips the lettuce across the room, ties my hands behind my back and lays me on the bed. Hooking a chain from the ceiling, she ties the shoelace securely. A stretched pokey points to the sky. "Now get some sleep Mr. Jefferson. You have an extra class to teach tomorrow." Miss Kali leaves. I fall asleep trying to come in the air. Of course, that is impossible.

Day 2 – Relativity

6. Special Theory of Relativity

I kept thinking about the previous days class with Mr. Jefferson as I rummage through my locker looking for my two digital cameras. "He has the most amazing little man. Its energy is unlike anything I've seen. I wonder where all the vigor comes from?" Toronto has never been more interesting I grin to myself.

Miss Kali's voice penetrates my fog with "Girls, please make sure Mr. Jefferson is ready for his 9:00 class. Will you help him get ready? Thank you."

My friend Janice grins, "What do you think Laura, shall we go help Mr. Jefferson?"

"Sure Janice", I reply, "Bet he knows better than to look at my bum this time." We wander down to Mr. Jefferson's room and enter. There lay a sleeping Mr. Jefferson with his little man tied straight up to the ceiling. We could hear him talking in his sleep. We creep to each side of his little man.

"Yes, I accept this Nobel prize for my work on negative energy. This is a great day for me." Boy, Walter Mitty has nothing on this guy. Unable to resist, I wet my finger and softly ran it down the little mans' front. I see a shiver of excitement pulse through the little man. Mr. Jefferson's mutterings increase a pitch with "I believe this breakthrough will allow us to defy gravity." The little man certainly looks like he is defying gravity. Janice wets her finger and starts stroking the little mans' back. In no time flat we were dealing with a fat little man. Mr. Jefferson's voice trembles "This discovery will allow man to explore the galaxy." Hmmm, no mention of women I irritably noted. The little man tries to rock up and down but the string holds him fast. Mr. Jefferson's voice, tinged with frustration, says, "and the technology improvements mean we wouldn't need women anymore." I couldn't help myself. How dare this sexist pig think he can automate females away. I spank his little man hard. With the string holding him fast, he had nowhere to run. All the energy of the blow turns him pink. Mr. Jefferson's Nobel Prize evaporates as he wakes with a scream, "AAAghhhhhhhhhh". Spying us, his face turns a delightful red an he sputters, "Laura, Janice, you shouldn't be in here. This is most improper."

A thrill of excitement rush between my legs as I savor his humiliation. Kneeling, I take his face in my hands, "Don't worry Mr. Jefferson. Miss Kali asked us to give you a hand getting ready for your classes." It was lovely, the way he lowers his eyes, and refuses to look at me. "Mr. Jefferson, there is no reason to be shy. Janice and I are grown girls. Now look at me please." Janice resumes stroking the fat little man. Mr. Jefferson cringes, reddens some more and closes his eyes. "Mr. Jefferson, I expect you to respect my requests." I stand, eye the fat little target and slap him as hard as I can. Mr. Jefferson almost dislocates his pokey on a string. Kneeling, I take back his face. His eyes, tears streaming, open, and regard me with fear. "That's better Mr. Jefferson", I cooed. God, this was fantastic. Making a grown man cry. "Now, let's get you shaved."

Thinking release, hope jumps into his eyes. I dash that quickly enough with "Janice, get his shaving materials and some cold water. We can shave him right here".

"No, please let me up", he begs me. Annoyed, I grab the string and with a yank, ask, "What did you say to me, Mr. Jefferson?" The fat little man becomes a long skinny man.

He tensely agrees, "Yes Laura, please shave me here." I relax the string and apply water and soap to his face. "Now don't move Mr. Jefferson, we don't want any accidents." I take the razor and remove the stubble until the nice clean face of a young man emerges. I softly run my hands all over his face. He averts his eyes. I pull the string. His eyes drown in mine again.

Janice, caressing the fat little man says, "Looks like this needs a shave too Laura." Janice gives the little man's bush a sharp tug. "Mr. Jefferson seems to have neglected this area for months."

Mr. Jefferson's eyes widen with dismay, "No, you can't, that's part of being a man. It's natural."

This sexist pig clearly hasn't got it yet. I stand and start to spank the fat man. The power I feel inside me is exhilarating. Mr. Jefferson starts to cry but I don't care. I can't stop. Nipples hardening, I can feel my pussy juicing as I spank him bright red. Janice takes my arm and whispers, "Easy girl, we don't want him to faint."

I move to his head and when his eyes lock back onto mine, I smear his gorgeous rolling tears and tut, "Did you want to rephrase what you just said, Mr. Jefferson?"

My physics teacher quivers "Please shave me down there Laura". His legs tightly press together, absurdly trying to protect his bush.

Stroking his clean-shaven face I murmur "Of course, Mr. Jefferson, Janice and I will make you nice and clean down there. Now if you can just move your legs apart to give us some working space, we can clean up that nasty mess." It was obviously the last thing in the world he wanted to do. I found it delightful watching him reluctantly separating his legs a tiny bit. "It will have to be much more than that Mr. Jefferson. Perhaps you want to feel the palm of my hand again?" Now even his chest starts blushing. He widely splays his legs. "Good boy Mr. Jefferson, good boy." God, his eyes look happier when I praise him. This dominating stuff is a real buzz. Janice starts to soap his balls and bush. I straddle my physics teacher's chest, razor in hand. The little man suddenly gets a lot fatter. I look back and see Mr. Jefferson's eyes glued on my bottom. I can't believe where he is looking. Angrily I slap that rascally fat little man. "Don't you dare look at my bottom, Mr. Jefferson." I slap the fat man one more time. "Down boy" I hiss. Mr. Jefferson closes his eyes, the fat man loses weight and I inspect the soapy battlefield. Janice has done a good job. His balls look like they are having a lovely bubble bath. I position the razor and carefully begin to scrape around the edges. "Can you lift his balls for me Janice?" Janice takes the heavy testicles and covers the little man. I scrape and scrape until I've given my physics teacher that little boy look. "Hmmm, there is hair sticking out of his balls, how gross. Not sure how we can use the razor on such a wrinkly field." I take one of his wiry hairs and yank it out. Mr. Jefferson writhes and pulls up his knees to cover his balls. I grab them from Janice and start to give them a good squeeze. I notice marbles running around in them and give them special attention. "I can keep this up all day Mr. Jefferson. Put down your knees when you're ready", I clinically observe. His knees slide down slowly. Taking one testicle at a time, I methodically rip out each and every hair. His muffled groans were music to my ears. "Wipe him Janice. Let's see how we've done." Janice towels him dry and I brush virgin territory with my fingertips. "Look how sensitive he is now. The blood rises wherever my finger touches", I show Janice. She joins me and we tickle the cleaned area until the fat man is back. I untie the noose from the fat man letting the shoelace dangle from the ceiling. "There you go Mr. Jefferson, all done. You look great."

He gets up warily, hands still tied behind his back, and looks down. My clitoris pulses with the horror on his face. "Are you thirsty Mr. Jefferson?" He nods his head and Janice fetches a pitcher of water and a glass. I ignore the glass, pinch his nose, and pour the water down his throat. He gulps protests but I make sure he drinks the whole pitcher. I laugh with Janice as we watch him squeeze his legs together. The thighs do their best to contain the beginning of a pee pride. His urgency to go increases. His pokey is fully erect.

I take his pokey, crank it down 180 degrees, and shove it painfully into the now empty pitcher. "Looks like you want to put the water back, Mr. Jefferson. Please, feel free." His anguished look made me feels complete. Nipples like diamonds, I stare into his eyes, "No rush Mr. Jefferson, we still have to brush your teeth." I turn on the water, set up the toothbrush and tap back to a physics teacher desperately trying to hold his stream. "Open up", I gaily say and start to brush his teeth. We listen to the running water. He grunts with heroic effort. Its no use, more running water sounds fill the room. The pitcher starts to fill; Mr. Jefferson cowers in indignity. Curious, I grasp the floodgates. The current is amazingly strong. My physics teacher is beside himself. "Look me in the eyes, Mr. Jefferson. I'm not going to tell you again" I warn with a firm pokey squeeze. His deploring eyes struggle to meet mine but can't tear themselves away from watching my fireman hand hosing down the pitcher. I can't believe he doesn't obey me. I harshly turn off his tap. His pleading eyes rivet onto mine. I turn the tap back on watching his pupils dilate wider and wider. I turn the tap off and on in tempo to my throbbing insides. The dam feels like it's emptying right into my pussy. Shaking the drops off, I pass the little man to Janice's towel. "All done Mr. Jefferson? Good, teaching time, we need to cover you up for the Grade 9 class. Especially since you've lost all your natural cover." I look around the room and seeing nothing rummage through my purse. Rats, don't have anything except two digital cameras. But they are long enough to cover everything except the little mans' head. Close enough I figure, Miss Kali wouldn't mind a small exposure. I wrap the holders around the camera sandwich. The cameras' unblinking eyes surround the little mans' slanted eye. Janice and I each take an arm and escort him from the room. Curious corridor pupils watch Mr. Jefferson's three upright eyes and two downcast eyes as we lead him to his Grade 9 class.

Lettie nudges me, "Sophie, Mr. Jefferson seems to be taking his time. Think he's learned his lesson and will be nicer to us this class?"

Knowing full well she thought our physics teacher favored her over me, I replied, "I fully intend to make sure he doesn't forget his manners." Turning my head I see a most unbelievable sight. Mr. Jefferson shaved like a little boy wearing only two cameras in his "I'm not allowed to see" location.

I watch as two girls from the senior class deposit him at the front of the class. The Toronto lady reinforces a school rule, "Remember girls, you must make sure he stays covered." We all promise and the seniors leave

"Hey Mr. Jefferson" I move forward just beating Lettie to him, "What are you teaching us today?" He was obviously struggling with his composure so I try and calm him down with an "Easy Mr. Jefferson, we're your Grade 9 class. We're all your friends." I couldn't stop myself. I start to feel his smooth shave. Stroking him softly I whisper, "You better start the class, or the girls will wonder if you're really a teacher". Lettie starts to stroke beside the other camera. Marvelously, the cameras start to rise.

Mr. Jefferson flashes out of his dream world and angrily responds "Am I a Teacher? Am I a Teacher?, Girls, settle down, today I'm going to teach you something incredible. Relativity has changed the whole way we view the world." Lettie and I keep clawing shaved flesh encouragingly, as Mr. Jefferson winds up in more ways than one. This is making me hot. Mr. Jefferson, back in charge, pompously states, "Einstein's first postulate is;"

The laws of physics are the same in all reference frames

Mr. Jefferson looks around hoping that a glimmer of light shows on at least one girls face. He sighs, obviously thinking we're not very bright, and elucidates, "So no matter what the uniform speed of a state is, the laws of physics will be the same within that state even though they can look different outside of that state.

It slowly starts to dawn on me what he is talking about when bloody Lettie interjects, "So if one dropped a load standing still it would go straight down. Likewise if one dropped a load when in motion, to the state in motion it would still look like it is going straight down even though so someone outside the state it would curve down."

"Brilliant Lettie", my disloyal teacher praises her, "That's exactly the implication. Now can you prove that a dropped load will look like it goes straight down to a person in motion?"

The penny drops, I understand the first postulate and even better know how to prove it. "I can prove it Mr. Jefferson", I cry smugly looking at an annoyed Lettie from the corner of my eye. "Lettie, turn over a round table with an inkpot holder. Girls get the four chains holding up the plant pots at the back of the class. Attach one end to the swivel hook up on the ceiling and the other to one of the table legs." Everyone swings into action with a confused Mr. Jefferson watching an upside-down table being hoisted until level with his chest. "Hop on Mr. Jefferson, you look tired. I promise you that you wouldn't have to do a thing." He hesitates. Lettie and I push the cameras together. Mr. Jefferson lies on the table and we thread his Photoshop through the inkpot hole at the side of the desk. Flush with confidence, I detail the experiment. "If we can get this little man to drop a load while he is in a state of motion, we will see the load drop as a curve but the cameras on the little man should show the load dropping straight down."

Lettie, forever the spoiler, demurs, "I see how we are going to get the little man in motion. I see we can set the cameras to take continuous pictures. But I don't see how we can get the little man to drop a load."

Shit, I forgot about that problem. Facing failure, I start to instruct the girls to let the table and Mr. Jefferson down when Gweurfel, a red headed Welsh lass saves the day. "All we need to do is stimulate the little mans head while he is in a state of motion. If we can stimulate him enough, he should drop his load. Girls, take off your nylons and make a circle whose radius is equal to the length between the center of the desk and the little mans head."

Sixteen pairs of crisscrossed nylons were soon stretched into an almost perfect circle with the little man's head, poking out of his camera clothes, snugly resting at 12 o'clock.

"Perfect Gweurfel. I turn the cameras on. Ok, one girl per leg and arm, its time to do a maypole dance." At this point Mr. Jefferson realizes what's up and struggles to rise. I and three other girls extend his appendages over the kneeling nylon-holding girls. His bum flattens, his pokey completely thrusts through the hole. We start to walk in a circle, swivel hook turning, the little mans' head sliding smoothly on his nylon Hula Hoop. The digital cameras click furiously. The little man grows longer so the girls drop the Hula Hoop down an inch. We start to walk faster. Mr. Jefferson's big and little heads get brighter. We start to run. His heads turn red. The Hula Hoop goes down another inch. I start to worry, still nothing dropping. I desperately cry, "OK girls, run as fast as you can. We speed up faster and faster. His heads turn purple with dizziness and nylon chafing. Just when we thought we could run no faster, the miracle happens. A milky explosion makes a perfect circle on the floor. We stop and catch our breath. Mr. Jefferson's heads retreat within themselves. "Well done girls, now let's find out if the first postulate is correct. Clearly we saw his load drop in a perfect curve." The girls, all staring at the faultless circle of white, concur.

I hook up two PCs to the external ports on the cameras and load all the pictures. We start the machines flipping the pictures on both monitors. The tension was palpable. This better work or I'll never hear the end of it from Lettie. The cameras show the little man getting a swelled head with a spinning floor underneath. His head gets bigger and bigger and then it bursts. We all watch in awe seeing the milk fall down in a straight line. The first postulate is proved!

My chest puffs up as my cheering classmates, Lettie excluded, hoist me into the air. In triumph I raise my fists in the air and shout "Relativity is true, Mr. Jefferson, you are brilliant."

Mr. Jefferson, though dizzy, smiles wanly at the flattery but cautions, "That was only the first postulate Sophia, we haven't proven special relativity yet. The second postulate states:"

T he speed of light through a vacuum is constant as observed by any observer, moving or statio nary

I hear Gweurfel say, "Mr. Jefferson, that sounds impossible. That's saying that if there is a moving skier and a stationary skier watching a light avalanche come towards them, they will both be buried at the same time."

I pick up on her thread, "So the only way that it could be the same time for both skiers, since the distance the light avalanche has to go is further for the moving skier, is if time slows down for the moving skier."

Lettie follows up with, "So the faster a state moves, the more a clock in that state slows down

Looking very pleased with Lettie, Mr. Jefferson expands, "Yes, and if a state moves at the speed of light, time stops all together."

Excitingly I say, "So if we repeat the last experiment and move the little man very fast, then the cameras attached to the little man will think he has dropped his load after a stationary camera thinks he has."

"Girls, I think we've had enough experiments for the day", Mr. Jefferson commences to say.

I hate it when we've figured out an experiment and some uptight adult wouldn't let us perform it. It's even worse when it's your own physics teacher. "Mr. Jefferson, we really need to see if this is true. Now be a helpful chap and behave." With that I stuff his mouth with chalk. Over his dry muffled protests, I instruct, "Reset the nylon Hula Hoop and fold his appendages onto the table. We're going to really have to get the table spinning to prove the second postulate."

The girls hogtie his feet and arms behind him. No little man's head pokes out between the cameras. Oh where, oh where, has the little man gone? Damn, what a time for Mr. Jefferson to shrivel up on me. Then I remember Miss Pringles control system. I walk behind him and ogle the one-inch target. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I spear two fingers into the bull's-eye as fast and as hard as I can. I almost break my fingers to the sound of spitting chalk. I feel his bum tighten delightfully around my fingers. I savor his squeezing pulses, pleased that he is caressing me. Time to get the show on the road, I remind myself, this is no time to be indolent. With that, I ferociously saw back and forth with all the heartiness I can muster.

The Welsh girl exclaims, "I can see half the head now, keep it up". I add a finger, hear a yelp, and carry on with total determination. "It's come out to play now. You're astounding Sophia", Gweurfel praises. The girls position the nylon Hula Hoop accordingly.

I pull my fingers out with a loud pop and take my position around the table. We simultaneously turn on the little man's and Letties' cameras. Four girls above the kneeling sixteen girls spin the table hand over hand. The table whirls so fast that I can see Mr. Jefferson's chalky face once per second. The little mans' head is moving around the nylon circle so swiftly I can hear it screech. At two chalks per second, his pokey head is purple. At three, green. Beautiful color I think, hands shuffling faster than a deck of cards. At ten chalks per second, cameras snapping like mad, glorious pasty spurts second-coat the circle on the floor.

We load the camera images to three PCs, turn out the lights and make sure that the first frame of all three videos start exactly at the same time. Once again, we watch the little mans' head swell up against a kaleidoscope swirling floor. The stationary camera shows the explosion and a split second later the cameras in motion show the same explosion. The moving camera's time was slower. Time does move slower when a state is moving quickly. I can't believe this is true. But the evidence is right in front of my eyes. I take the chalk out of Mr. Jefferson's mouth and take pleasure in the way he starts to automatically clean my fetid fingers. I wonder where he got that reflex.

.

We help an overcome Mr. Jefferson down from his tabular frame of reference. I gush, "Mr. Jefferson, you have taught us something today we will remember for the rest of our lives." You are an tremendous teacher."

Mr. Jefferson seems at a loss for words and then remembers his job. He pulls himself together and says,

T he net result of these two postulates mean that as one approaches the speed of light, mass increases and size decreases to an outside observer

Gweurfel finds the frames just before pokey denotation. They count the pixels. They stare at each other. The little man is smaller and fatter on the stationary camera.

"Awesome", I exalt, "it's a perfect example of getting more for less". My box drips understanding the implication of making out with a light speed little man. The bell rings as Miss Pringle comes in to take charge of Mr. Jefferson. I can't wait for tomorrow's class.

7. General Theory of Relativity

Miss Kali was very specific with me. "Miss Pringle, Mr. Jefferson is imbibing a sense of physics in our girls without parallel. You know we've not won any competitions in this field in all the years we've been open. If we can win a prestigious award, we'll be able to double our tuition fees. I expect you to do whatever it takes to ensure his cooperation and total enthusiasm. This will directly impact your bonus and salary. I expect total focus from you. Now get out there and win."

I listen to this vision. Miss Kim can be so unpractical. It's one thing to be starry eyed but a whole other thing to make strategies fit operational realities. "You must realize Miss Kim, that Mr. Jefferson doesn't really like women. There is evidence that he would much prefer working at a boys school."

"I know", Miss Kim concerns, "and we'll just have to figure out a way to convince him otherwise. Remember, I'm counting on you here. Maybe it's time I had a talk with him. Can you pick him up after his Grade 9 class and bring him to me?"

Hey Miss Kali is the boss, so I said, "Sure, will do". I stride down to the class and enter a sight that does not bode well for Miss Kali's strategy. Mr. Jefferson is standing nude except for two cameras totally hiding his pokey. His eyes are downcast, his posture is bent, he looks like a man totally defeated. Shit, this is just a Grade 9 class, how could they possibly intimidate him so? Thinking bonus, I brightly say, "Mr. Jefferson, you look like you would like to teach a lesson to some people in this class. Your wish is this school's command."

I'm amazed; Mr. Jefferson always behaves so definite. Now he hesitates, colors, and acts like a wimp doing nothing. I think to myself, he's in trauma, what's the best way to rectify? Inspiration talks, "Mr. Jefferson, you have total authority to do anything you want to anyone in this class after hours today." He doesn't bite; he stays dejected. Desperate, I volunteer, "Mr. Jefferson, tell me what you want and so it shall be".

Slowly, incredibly slowly, my power offer sinks in and he, at a snail's pace, creeps, "All my clothes back. All my dignity back. All who I am back."

I struggle with this. He thinks I'm just a fat tub of lard. I have a thyroid problem, it's not like I want to be a fat tub of lard. His demands strike me as pedantic so I reply, "that will be up to Miss Kali, Mr. Jefferson. She'd like to see you now". I gently hold a fragile Mr. Jefferson around the waist and lead him through the corridors with his cameras bouncing to Miss Kali's office.

Survival, that's all that matters I grimly concentrate. I am Miss Kali, and I always win. I've uttered and lived that mantra for all of my 28 years. I run an 80 pupil private school and am barely holding my head above water, but if I can grow the pupil base to 120 I'm on easy street. Right now though, I'm barely covering the fixed overheads. I need to up the reputation of this school fast if I don't want to get taken out of the game prematurely. I've lucked out knowing Mrs. Jefferson. I just need to figure out how to deploy her son's incredible brilliance. This 21-year-old male has no idea how talented he is. His university profs clearly mark him as a future star. But how to make money out of it, is what I need to ponder. I have a bunch of bright kids and a guy with a first class brain. It's about management; I just need to figure out a way to put it together.

A considerate Miss Pringle ushers Mr. Jefferson to the front of my desk. "Thank you Miss Pringle, Mr. Jefferson and I need to have a private chat. You may go." Miss Pringle, strangely estranged leaves. I stare at a totally dishonored male. Ouch, I don't know what happened but I didn't want this to happen. I remove his degrading cameras letting him live totally naturally. No gratitude at all I note, this is going to be difficult. "Mr. Jefferson, I appreciate that you are less than happy, but please be assured that I'm very pleased with your performance to date." His head stays down, not even a sparkle of life detectable. I worry internally, have I over sweated my asset base? "Mr. Jefferson, please look at me." His head rises and I see nothing but pain staring at me vacantly. Too far, too fast I realize. I need to snap him back to whom he was when he arrived. "Mr. Jefferson, do you believe we have any girls here who are smart enough to be taught by you?"

That was the right question. Many emotions crossed his face in seconds, but he stayed quiet. "Let me lay it on the line Mr. Jefferson", thinking a bit of truth is ok even in management, "The girls are very hungry for knowledge and sometimes they let their enthusiasm get carried away. I know it's hard for you to understand preadolescent drives, but do you think they have potential?"

He finally cracks normality, "They do catch onto certain concepts extremely quickly" he opines from somewhere deep inside himself.

Got you. I Cheshire "And are you smart enough to teach this level of cleverness?"

His intellectual arrogance finally reasserts itself, "Seriously, they are girls, albeit very smart girls, but they are not guys. I can educate this crew with my hands tied behind my back."

Not pointing out that he was more likely to be tied than not, I drew him out with the statement, "So you are not giving up on this job? You think you can handle it?" Oops, bad negative, he retreats back into his shell. I try again with, "Mr. Jefferson, I believe you have the potential to be a good teacher, but you're way too sensitive. I'm willing to overlook this because I believe in you. The question is do you believe in me." For emphasis, I breathe in deeply and project my 38C cups straight into his line of sight. I'm rewarded with a pokey surge.

Oblivious to his physical reaction he still gives me an appropriate mental one, "Miss Kali, I am willing to teach but I feel that I'm not getting the respect a teacher is due. The way I have to wear weird things downstairs is abhorrent to me in every way, shape and form."

In management there is a time to ignore and there is a time to act. Knowing that I was making a major procedure change without due consideration, I nevertheless hit the PA button and announced to the school, "Girls, I'm in conference with Mr. Jefferson. He has brought to my attention that the school policy of not letting early grades see a pokey is humiliating to him. As of now, this rule is revoked." I shut off the PA and look for a sign of gratitude from Mr. Jefferson. For all my troubles, I get nothing but a shocked look. He looks like a forlorn little boy with his head downcast and shaved pokey upcast. I stand and move beside his chair, by breasts almost touching his face. I smile as I see him sneaking peeks. "Mr. Jefferson, have you ever seen a woman's breasts?" He realizes that I caught him looking and reddening, looks down at the floor while shaking his head. A virgin, amazing, I thought. "You've spent too much time with books Mr. Jefferson. If you do something for me I'll arrange for you to see a womans' breasts at the end of the school day. Would you like that?" A struggle between his devil and angel erupts. I softly brush his pokey with the back of my hand trying to influence the winner.

The devil in him won. He shyly asks, "What do you want me to do for you?"

I take it the next step; "Just keep your pokey hard for me until after school hours. Can you do that for me?"

His pokey, rubbing itself like a kitten on the back of my hand, spoke for him, "Yes Miss Jefferson, will you really show me breasts?" His face turns and feasts on the clothed cannons inches from his face. His eyes and pokey get wider.

I turn my hand and pet the kittens' head. I hear Mr. Jefferson purr. This is by far the easiest way I thought. Leverage his sexual energy to motivate him. I need to raise his sexual energy has high as possible, I muse. I require all the leverage I can get with this shy boy. I molest the kitten's back. The purring gets louder. I softly whisper, "Mr. Jefferson, you have to promise me not to go soft no matter what." The kittens' heart slows down. "After school, breasts Mr. Jefferson, breasts." The kittens' heart speeds up. I fondle the kitten from head to toes. The kitten jumps up into the air, heart palpitating. "That's all you have to do. I know your word is your bond. Do you promise me Mr. Jefferson?"

Mr. Jefferson's brain focuses mightily. I hear, "Yes Miss Kali, I'm physically incapable of breaking my word. I know how to engage my entire intellect. It will control pokey to the point of burnout".

I give the kitten a tummy rub. Mr. Jefferson mews with pleasure. "Then promise me Mr. Jefferson. Promise me you will faint before you let pokey come." I give the kitten a full body rub.

Mr. Jefferson meows, "I promise Miss Kali. I'll do what ever it takes."

I rub and squeeze the kitten with vitality. I watch the devil leave Mr. Jefferson's face and the angel arrive to do battle. The kitten grows two months older. I'm impressed; he does have a strong angel. I slow down my strokes to a tickle. The younger kitten returns as a tired angel lets the devil back in.

"Don't think about the upcoming breast festival too much. You do have a number of classes to teach still." Holding a playful kitten in hand, I lead Mr. Jefferson to his Grade 10 class.

Sally can't contain her excitement. "Lisa, we can see pokeys. We wouldn't have to wait two years. I can't believe it. At sixteen we're going to see our first little man naked."

I felt equally thrilled but no way was I going to admit I've never seen a pokey before either. "I don't see the big deal, Sally. What's the difference between a little man and my finger?" Miss Kali enters with Mr. Jefferson. I stare down, brain frames open, to write a permanent memory of my first pokey. Miss Kali has her hand covering him. I close down my write heads and feel the suspense building in me. I look around; every girl's eye is glued on Miss Kali's hand. Miss Kali glides a serene looking Mr. Jefferson to the front of the class. Mr. Jefferson eyes were in the back of his head. Even stranger were the mewing sounds coming from his slightly parted lips.

"Class, may I present Mr. Jefferson's kitten." Miss Kali theatrically unveils the picture. My brain frames open, the write heads engage, Recording Status - operational. He was beautiful. Slim no make that elegant. Good muscle tone. I like the way he keeps his back straight. His head was cleanly shaven and I could just glimpse his mouth on top. "Class, I have promised Mr. Jefferson than he can see some breasts after school today. The only condition I have is that he stays hard and doesn't go soft on us. He has promised me that he won't, but can you please help him if it looks like he needs it. Thank you, have a good lesson." Miss Kali hugs her kitten goodbye and takes her leave.

Well I certainly wasn't going to let the kitten down. I tore to the front of the class not wanting Sally or Martha to beat me to the punch. Mr. Jefferson face took on an element of confusion. I lightly touch the kitten with one finger. Relieved, I see his hypnotic state return. Signaling the rest of the class to whisper only, they quietly gather until a sea of faces surround the kitten. Not everyone can see, "Sally", I whisper, "clear the desk." I murmur into Mr. Jefferson's' ear, "Mr. Jefferson, it's wonderful to see you so relaxed. Here, lets lie you down". He obediently lets me lay him on the desk. This perversely has the effect of making his little man stand up. Four face walls form. I tickle the pickle. "What are you teaching us today Mr. Jefferson."

He languishes, "The General Theory of Relativity. It's about how space itself can be warped." Warmth radiates my hand. It feels smooth, almost silky even though there is not a hair in sight. Not like girls at all, we have hair down there. "Tell us more, Mr. Jefferson."

He dreamily smiles and says, "It all started when Einstein saw a man fixing a roof fall down. He realized, while the man was falling to his death, he wasn't feeling the gravitational force." Only a pure physics nerd would think about something so existential when watching death live.

Seeing another physics weirdo spread open before me, I warily query, "How does that make space warp?" Hefting his pokey, I murmur to the other girls, "His kitten feels like it's going to drop more kittens."

Sally, forever the curious one says, "Let's see if the kitten changes its weight over time." She gently lifts his balls and pokey onto a scale. We watch the scale needle move steadily clockwise. What was going on? The little man's density was slowly but surely increasing. Fascinated, my hand transforms a lightweight into a middleweight.

Mr. Jefferson purrs, "Einstein established the principle of equivalence from this realization. It is",

We shall therefore assume the complete physical equivalence of a gravitational field and the corresponding acceleration of the reference frame. This assumption extends the principle of relativity to the case of uniformly accelerated motion of the reference frame.

Martha interpolates, "So you are saying that since the falling roofer was weightless, then gravity and the force of acceleration must be two sides of the same coin." Martha, in spite of the evil look I give her, starts to tickle the little man's back. The needle rises faster.

I see her point though, "So the principle of equivalence means that gravity is just another form of acceleration."

Sally joining the tickle parade reflects, "But the only place where mass can accelerate is space itself. So space must be curved, like a bowl where a marble either rolls around the rim or falls to the bottom of the bowl." Her eyes gleam as she adds another finger to tickle the little mans head. Mr. Jefferson's hips buckle.

Sweat starts to drip from Mr. Jefferson's head as he states, "Very good. Mass and energy bend space like a bowl. Our sun makes a huge bowl out of space so that all the planets can roll around the rims. Earth makes a smaller bowl that we fall into. Gravity is just the curved space we accelerate in.

Martha muses, "So if space is bent by the presence of mass and energy and light follows space, then it follows that light will bend in the presence of a very dense object." She looks at pokey. The other girls look at pokey and then at the scale needle showing the little man getting denser and denser."

"Feathers girls, we need lots of feathers." Each girl returns with a long quill pen. One girl hands some to Martha, Sally and I. Twenty hands extend feather tips towards the little man. A pillowed pokey doubles his weight in a minute. It doubles again. Mr. Jefferson's eyes widen and I see angels dance in.

He seems to be fighting something and starts muttering, "I promised, I promised, I promised." We girls looked at each other. What was he worried about? He wasn't soft at all. In fact the little man weighed ten times more than his pre-scale mass. We go back to feathering his nest.

Sally brightens, "Laser pointers, that's all we need to prove the General Theory of Relativity." She tapes a green laser pointer to the desk on the little mans left side. The red I tape to his right. We both click on the lasers, angle each beam 8 inches from each side of the little man, and adjust them until a red dot was right beside a green dot on the ceiling. Sally, explaining in case any girl in the room was too dense to understand, pontificates, "If we can get his pokey density high enough, then his pokey will bend the space around it. The red and green beams will curve through his pokey bowl and merge into a yellow dot on the ceiling."

I, along with the rest of the class, feverishly feather the solid object under consideration. Mr. Jefferson turns cow-eyed. A choir of angels enter and get to work. Sure wish I knew what they were doing. Mr. Jefferson's chanting takes on a heartbreaking pleading note, "I promised, I promised, I promised." His dripping face turns white with effort. Mystified by his behavior we decide he's busy with something else. The scale needle registers its maximum weight of three hundred pounds. Straining, three of us lift Mr. Pokey off so we can slide the now useless scale away from the experiment. Like a synchronized swimming team, we swirl and twirl Mr. Pokey from the top to bottom. The little man turns red. Five minutes later, we get a state change; he's white hot. The dots on the ceiling waver. The angels were so busy they push Mr. Jefferson's pupils out of the way. "Promise, Promise, Promise", Mr. Jefferson pants. Doesn't seem anything will distract him from whatever he is thinking about. We spin our feathers until the little man looks set to fly. He turns semi-transparent. Our eyes look up. The feathers ignite. Red and green did meet. A yellow dot star was born. The general theory of relativity was proved.

A scream breaks our reverie. The feathers were burning the little man! No time for water, I spit at the little man. The rest of the girls, natural nurses all, spit with me until dry mouthed, the fire goes out. The newborn star dies and a singed little man, dripping with our saliva starts to droop.

Sally panics, "We promised Mr. Jefferson and Miss Kim to help Mr. Pokey stay hard. We can't let down our end."

With honed lifeguard instincts, I realize artificial respiration is our only hope. Overruling my distaste for saliva, I latch my mouth onto the little mans lips and try to breathe new life into him. It droops even faster. I suck in air for another go. The little man stops drooping. That's odd. Do I have to suck his air out to breathe in existence? I give the head a hard suck. Yes, he's straightening out. Physics is so strange. I suck his head avidly. I suck his neck. He slowly recovers. That's my pokey I thought. I devour his whole body with the suction of an industrial Hoover. My cheeks ache as I drag my mouth off with a pop. Relieved, I see the little man is clearly out of danger and is respiring normally.

All the girls stare at me like I'm some sort of vampire. The questions gush on top of each another. "What was that like Lisa? "How did it taste." "How did it feel?" "Did you use your tongue?" "Did you use your teeth?" "Did it hurt?" "Was it hot?"

I think back a minute. Unlike Einstein, I don't think about myself when a life is threatened. "Your saliva was pretty gruesome and the burnt skin made him taste a bit overcooked. Later, it was pleasant. Like devouring a hot lollipop. It was way better than sucking a thumb. I'd have to say that I probably would have enjoyed it a lot more if the emergency hadn't been so pressing." I bend over and slurp the pokey in for a more considered appraisal. Now I can feel the lollipop throb. I bite. It recoils in horror as Mr. Jefferson's hips thrust up. Guess Mr. Pokey doesn't like that. I swirl my tongue. Pokey throbs faster. I lick his lips. They open. I French kiss deep into his tiny mouth. His pokey regains its bounce. I take my mouth off and turn to the girls. "This lollipop likes tongue and kisses but he doesn't like teeth." I neglect to mention that it feels very squishy between my legs for some reason. I can investigate that phenomenon by myself after the class is over.

The little man starts to droop again. Martha takes over. "Let's do this in shifts girls, Mr. Jefferson needs us." Surprisingly, she doesn't just copy me. Martha always has to do things her own way I sigh. She starts to lick him. "A lollipop is to be savored not just gulped down. We need to treat Mr. Pokey like a fine wine. That is the best way to keep him fit." She flattens her tongue and gives the lollipop long sweeping swipes. Pokey stops slouching.

The next girl states, "Clearly a house is only as good as its foundation." She sucks in one of Mr. Jefferson's balls. Pokey jerks to attentions. She spits it out and sucks in the other, pokey hovers anxiously. "There's candy in these here hills, like blackballs."

Two lines form. The first repair his foundation. By the time the fifth girl finishes munching his balls, they were nice and tight. Nothing sloppy down there anymore, I note approvingly. The second line lick and suck the little man enthusiastically. When the sixth girl finishes we see Mr. Pokeys enormous mass start to come back. His angels return and the chanting starts again, "Promise, Promise, Promise".

After pair seven, he's blazing again. After pair nine, white fire. The girl from pair nine couldn't last long. "It's just too hot." Sally signals me to be part of her pair ten. I force feed both balls into my mouth. They feel enchanting. I roll the sacs around my tongue. I nip a marble. A yelp breaks Mr. Jefferson's monotone. I nip him more frequently preferring high-pitched promises. I hear Sally gargling with ice water until she feels her mouth freeze. She slowly lowers her frozen mouth between the laser lights onto the white-hot pokey. Sizzling all the way to the bottom, she suctions until she gets close to pure vacuum. Sally bobs her head up and down, faster and faster. I see Mr. Pokey go semi-translucent again. Using my teeth to drag a mouthful of balls along for the ride, I turn my head to the dots on the ceiling.

"Prom, Prom, Prom", Mr. Jefferson shrilly peeps. The yellow sun is born anew. This time, without the feathers burning, we all revel in Einstein's General Theory of Relativity. I chomp contentedly watching space bend with the rest of the girls. The bell rings.

An exhausted Sally drags her head off the bender. "Now that is some lollipop. Not like your finger, Lisa." We all laugh thinking thoughts most private. We file out, panty stains on every girl. The sun's generator keeps running.

8. Modern Theory of Relativity

I really must get Mr. Jefferson to his 11 o'clock class I think. I hope he's still hard. I need him in an extreme state of sexual frustration if I expect my plans for him to move forward. I pass his grade 10-class talking excitingly about the General Theory of Relativity. What a teacher. 17-year-old girls understanding relativity is unheard of. With grim determination I decide I will do anything to bring my Mr. Jefferson plans to fruition.

I walk into the classroom and meet an astonishing sight. Mr. Jefferson was lying on the table with a huge pokey somehow bending two laser beams onto the ceiling. I walk up and seeing his sweating face start to towel it, "It's Miss Kali Mr. Jefferson, just stay relaxed. I'll take care of you."

An agonized voice whispers, "I kept my promise Miss Kali, I didn't go soft. Can I see the breasts now?"

"Not yet Mr. Jefferson, hold him hard for two more classes and then breast ecstasy is yours." He certainly is a tit man. Wondering how I was going to get him to the next class with him pinned to the table by his heavy pokey, I decide that it would be better if his Grade 11 class came to him. Picking up the phone I ring Miss Pringle and ask her to fetch them. Waiting, I curiously hold his pokey. I can't move it. I hold it with both hands and try to crank it. No luck, it feels set in cement. The physics were beyond me. I was about to ask him when the Grade 11 class arrives headed by the usual ringleaders, Olga, Francis and Kim.

I wait and I wait and still no Mr. Jefferson. "Where is he Francis? This isn't fair, we've already lost three minutes of experiment time."

Francis grins at me, "Now Olga, I'm sure he'll be here in a minute. Although I'm not sure how much he's looking forward to meeting you again."

I grin back, "I hope he's the forgiving type. My hand still hurts from spanking his thermodynamic bum. Imagine though, we'll see our first pokey. I wonder what tricks it can do?" Life was never this good in Sweden. Girls in that country although liberated never have control over male Swedes.

Miss Pringle enters and goes to the front of the class.

"Mr. Jefferson is feeling a bit tired and would like you to join him in his Grade 10 classroom. Hurry girls, Mr. Jefferson is waiting." Miss Pringle orders.

Mystified, I lead the class upstairs listening to the 17-year-girls chattering about who has seen a pokey before. Turns out not a single girl have ever seen one. We enter the Grade 10 classroom and see Miss Kali covering the object of our curiosity. She was trying to move it without luck. I crowd around my first pokey with the rest of the girls.

Miss Kali addresses us fervor, "Girls, Mr. Jefferson has promised not to get soft. What I'm about to show you is the result." With that she removes her hand. You can almost see through it. It's a pokey God. Pulsing with white light, wearing bent green and red laser beams as clothes, he stands like a proud oak tree. Watching the awe on the girls' faces, Miss Kali smiles and says, "Now I expect you all to help Mr. Jefferson keep it hard, although it doesn't look like he'll need it." She pats Mr. Jefferson on his cheek, "You can start you lesson now, remember, two more classes and then the breasts." She exits.

I tear my gaze from the face of a hairless God. Looking Mr. Jefferson in the eyes ask, "What are we learning today Mr. Jefferson?"

He doesn't seem completely there. I take hold of his balls and give them a little squeeze. That gets his attention. "Modern Theory of Relativity, Olga" he gasps.

I squeeze him hard asking, "What did you call me Mr. Jefferson."

Confusion runs through his face until he finally remembers. "Miss Olga, today we are going to learn the modern theory of relativity." I relax his balls encouragingly. "It relates to how one can get around the speed of light problem raised in the Special Theory of Relativity. To exceed the speed of light we use a mathematical approach called metric engineering.

The vacuum of space is actually filled with fields and virtual particles. The vacuum has a nonzero energy density even though vacuum is usually taken to be the zero point for energy density. Metric engineering considers polarizing the vacuum so that some of the energy from one spot is moved to another spot. Now we have one spot that has a positive energy density relative to the zero point and another spot with a negative energy density relative to the zero point. This second spot is called a hole.

Now the positive energy density will have the properties of a mass. It will attract all things toward itself, including the hole. On the other hand, the hole would have the properties of a negative mass. It would repel all things from it including the positive mass. As a result the positive mass accelerates in the direction away from the hole and the hole is drawn by the positive mass to chase it. The natural state of this system is a state of acceleration instead of a state of constant velocity.

Francis ponders, "So to prove this, we need a positive energy density, a zero point, and negative energy in a hole."

Kim eyes pokey, "Well I think we've found something with positive energy density." We all laugh. "But we also need a hole to create negative energy in."

I get it, "There is a hole right under Mr. Pokey. Francis, Kim grab a leg." They bend Mr. Jefferson's legs until his feet pass his head. I consider the results, "His bum hole is not close enough to his GOD, bend him more." I hear his legs creak until his feet are a good two feet below the edge of the desk. I take out a ruler, "4 inches between them, perfect". The tension on Mr. Jefferson's face was quite the sight. It turns ashen. His legs finally adjust to the strain as the girls tie him off. I put my finger on his gaping bum hole, "Girls, this is obviously the zero spot. Now all we need to do is figure out a way to get negative energy down the hole and we will see if the modern theory of relativity is true."

We all think hard. No one gets it. I go back to Mr. Jefferson's eyes, "We need help sir, how is negative energy created?" He just shutters and closes his mouth grimly. I slap his balls smartly. His lockjaw unlocks. "Behave young man, I asked you a question."

He reluctantly educates;

The Casimir effect is how it's usually done. Two mirrors placed face-to-face trap a slab of quantum vacuum between them. While mirrors reflect real photons of light, they also reflect ghostly virtual photons too. According to quantum theory, every photon is associated with an electromagnetic wave whose wavelength corresponds to the photon's energy. Electromagnetic waves sandwiched between Casimir mirrors form patterns of standing waves, which are restricted to certain values-in the same way that plucked guitar strings play only certain notes. Because of this, many virtual photons that would exist in unbounded empty space cannot be trapped between the mirrors because their wavelengths don't fit. The energy associated with all these missing' photons is absent from the region between the plates, and the total energy of the quantum vacuum is lower there than in unbounded empty space. In other words, a static negative energy state exists between the plates.

"That's it," I shout, "all we need to do is pack some mirrors close to each other in his hole and accelerate them like mad. That will create negative energy."

Kim takes out her compact mirror. Smashes it into tiny pieces. She then takes two 1/4 inch pieces, yanks out a hair to separate them and tapes the ends to the nub of one of thin quill pens lying on the floor (Grade 10 girls are so messy). She inserts the quantum probe through the zero spot. Ignoring Mr. Jefferson's moan, she starts to accelerate the mirrors back and forth. Nothing happens. Kim says, "This isn't working, we need more quantum collectors." We all construct our own personal probes using the rest of the shattered compact mirror. "Ok, shifts of five mirrors should be enough." Four more negative energy scoops are penned into Mr. Jefferson's bum. "Now together girls", Kim instructs. Their pens become a blur.

God starts going translucent. Mr. Jefferson shouts, "Stop, you're making me lose control." Angels take over his eyes; he goes into a hypnotic state. "Promise, Promise, Promise." This is weird; he's not soft at all. Young men can be so silly, always worrying about the wrong thing.

Three shifts and 30 minutes later an eerie purple light emits from the zero spot. We see God waver towards the hole. I join the fourth and last shift knowing it was all up to us.

We stare at each other grimly and slowly insert our five mirrors into the purple field. We start to piston. We increase our speed. Five minutes later we are going like jackrabbits. The other girls lend their strength. Twenty hands, operating like one, pound the negative energy collectors deep in Mr. Jefferson's bum hole. The purple light gets stronger, pokey wavers, we throw all our energy into the hole, and the purple light is pure. The laser beams suddenly bend into the hole. Pokey is coming. We pull out the quantum probes. Pokey drives through the zero spot and into the purple hole. We watch in wonder as we see Mr. Jefferson's glowing white pokey moving in and out of his own bum. Amid a haze of purple, green red and white, it accelerates as per metric engineering predictions. Mr. Jefferson is corn holing himself more hastily than our negative energy collectors ever could. He keeps accelerating faster and faster. And then the magic moment occurs.

Mr. Jefferson screws himself faster than the speed of light. A Wormhole is born. It is a little tornado. We all cheer. We prove the modern theory of relativity. The wormhole swirls in everything close. We watch as a quill pen half flies in, then another. Soon, ten pens are stuck around his bore. The porcupine quills quiver as he keeps saying, "Promise, promise, promise" and then with a wail cries, "I can't, I just can't, forgive me Miss Kim". His worm implodes. The porcupine turns white. He faints; pokey, sperm and pens ooze out.

God is going soft. Heaven to Bessie, what are we to do? We promised Miss Kali we would help keep it hard. "Quick girls", I cry, "we need to stimulate his prostrate."

Kim, ever on the ball, punches her fist past the sperm and slams his prostrate hard. His pokey rears and then starts to flop again. She slams down again, wrist disappearing. He rears and flops. Kim is not a quitter. She pounds that ass with passion. Pokey hesitates and then starts to rise. Our spirits rise with him.

Mr. Jefferson comes out of his stupor at the same time as pokey. Kim seeing success, signals me to keep the action going. I struggle a bit since my fist is a bit larger than Kim's but manage to lodge it into its slimy home. As I pump the gripping walls, Kim goes to Mr. Jefferson and holds his head, "Don't worry Mr. Jefferson, we saved it. It's not soft."

Hope lights Mr. Jefferson's face. "Thank you, oh thank you, Miss Kim." She puts her fist in his mouth for washing. Mr. Jefferson is so grateful he even cleans Kim's fingernails.

His pokey looks fine now. I put my fist in his mouth loving the way he slurps between each and every finger. "Thank you, Mr. Jefferson, we'll see you tomorrow. Girls let's do a little pokey maintenance before we leave." Each girl gives Mr. Jefferson's elevated winking bum hole a hard finger-flicking spank. The zero spot is ragged by the 20 th flick. The bell rings and we leave a proud pokey behind. "So remember what it means if we tell a guy to go fuck himself", I giggle to Kim and Francis as we exit. We laugh, a trio of happy teenage girls. The whole class understands how hairless pokey boys work.

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.

Day 3 – Quantum Mechanics

10. Planck's Constant

All night I toss and turn as much as my pokey string allows. Monster breasts are suffocating me. I wake gasping. I feel feverish. I'm losing my mind. I cringe seeing my tied pokey. It's not a dream. I start to spiral into madness. I reach rock bottom and find my soul. It chides me, "The great physicist, look at you, reduced to a puddle by a bunch of teenage girls." I anger. I begin to rage. I climb back into reality. I snap into myself, my brush with insanity gone.

I turn my formidable intellect on. Where was my brain yesterday? I was played like an object, just a thing for female amusement. It was my stupid fantasies. I let them take me over. The thought of seeing real breasts triggered something in me that I didn't know existed. All my life I've hit the books with an insatiable urge to know everything. I never had time for girls. Or so I thought. Obviously, at some level, a festering was occurring that didn't rear its head until yesterday. I thought about the sexual theory of relativity. Am I really programmed so I can't resist a woman's breast? At 21 I suppose the programming would reach its peak. Miss Waters might understand what is happening to me. I resolved to discuss it with her as soon as possible. Meanwhile the first order of business is to try and figure out a way to get out of this place. I need a telephone. Mom would know what to do.

At that moment Miss Waters comes into the room. "Good Morning Mr. Jefferson, I trust you slept well?" I close my eyes hating a woman my own age seeing me in this position. "Don't worry Mr. Jefferson, Miss Kali has asked me to look after you this morning to ensure nothing untoward occurs. Here let's untie you." She removes the string and unties my hands. I'm grateful that she doesn't touch pokey in the process. He's seen more than enough action in the last little while. Much to her amusement, I cover him from her prying eyes.

Her mobile phone rings. I hear Miss Kali say, "Miss Waters you are needed in the office for an emergency. Please drop everything and come right away." She drops the phone and rushes out.

My chance has come. I pick up the phone and dial my Mom. I get her on the second ring. "Mom, this Toronto school for girls is a nightmare. I'm forced to teach nude and am constantly humiliated by both the staff and pupils. Get me out of here. I'm desperate."

A long pause at the other end, then, Mom whose head must be spinning with my news, says, "On it son, I'll do what's best for you right away". With that encouraging statement she hangs up. I quickly put the phone back smug in the knowledge that I'm going to be saved. When I go to the criminal courts on this matter the whole school is going to jail. I am full of glee. Revenge will be mine. Those smug women and girls are going to have the book thrown at them I think while I perform my toiletries. Finishing, I try to cover myself with the shoelace wrapping my exposed flesh as best I can. No more pokey for these hyenas.

Miss Kali and Miss Waters walk into the room wearing severe looks. Miss Kali spits, "Mr. Jefferson, what were you told about outside communications?"

I stumble mentally. How could they know already? They're bluffing. Miss Waters must have realized that she left her phone behind and this was a trick to get me to confess. Well, I'm too smart for that. "Why Miss Kali, I signed a contract saying that I wouldn't, why do you think I have?"

Miss Kali frowns and then enquires, "and do you remember the penalty in the contract?"

It was my turn to frown. She couldn't possibly know. Mobile phones cannot be monitored without the most sophisticated equipment. Equipment a high school certainly wouldn't have. "I agreed to submit to a discipline of your own choosing." I cautiously said.

She sharply says, "Do you honor your contract Mr. Jefferson."

I didn't like the direction this was going but when in a hole one either digs deeper or gets out of the hole. I dug deeper. "Of course I honor my contract Miss Kali, why would you think otherwise?"

She springs her trap, "Your mother just phoned me quite concerned that you spoke with her and broke your contract. She's very distressed that a child from her own loins has dishonored her family. She has asked me to punish you severely. I promised her that you will rue this action and will never consider a like deception again. Now come along, I've called a special assembly of the whole school to discuss the matter."

My own mother betrayed me. Were all females alike? Have they been so suppressed through the ages? Give them a tiny bit of power and all the generations of male injustice have to be redressed at the first opportunity? Well, I'm a man and I'm not going to take it anymore. I move menacingly towards Miss Kali, fury directing my actions. Focusing on leveraging my superior strength, I turn my back on Miss Waters. Big mistake. She reaches between my legs and grabs my balls in a grip that brooks no nonsense.

Miss Waters heatedly said, "Mr. Jefferson, if you ever approach a woman in anger in this school again, I will personally slice this off." She compresses my balls until I see scarlet.

"You will do exactly as you are told until your punishment is over. Is that understood?" she commands squeezing now with both hands.

"Yes Miss Waters, Yes Miss Kim, I will accept my punishment. I'm sorry, I truly am", I squeak in spite of all resolve to the contrary. It's so painful and they have a point, I did sign.

Miss Waters fumigates, "Is that an attempt to hide your pokey?" she says looking at the shoelace. "I think this thing is not going to be hidden at all today". She unwraps the shoelace exposing a wilting pokey and reties it with one hard knot in the middle making it bulge top and bottom. Miss Kali takes one end of the shoelace, Miss Waters the other and I follow their incessant tugging into the auditorium.

80 girls go quiet while I'm led to the front. I'm made to face them, pokey obscenely hoisted by the ends of the shoelace. My chagrin at having so many females stare at pokey is colossal. I quickly cover my pokey with both hands. Miss Kim addresses the pupils. "Girls, one of the conditions in Mr. Jefferson's contract is that he does not attempt to communicate with the outside world during the school year. I'm sorry to say he has broken that condition. The contract states that should any condition be broken, Mr. Jefferson will subject to a discipline of our own choosing. All you girls will be the jury on this matter. He has agreed that this is fair and has come forward to ask you what discipline you feel is required. My only stipulations are a) he must teach his classes today and b) no physical damage will be tolerated. Mr. Jefferson, please address the jury."

I'm stunned. I have to ask for my own punishment from 80 girls? I press my hands protectively around pokey determined not to participate in this charade. Miss Kali and Miss Waters pull each end of the shoelace tightening the knot around the middle of my pokey making the bulges grotesque. Miss Waters instructs with a pull, "Mr. Jefferson, please remove your hands and petition the jury."

The lace girdle is suffocating pokey. I remove my hands and the girls laugh at my two frankfurters. I decide my only hope is to throw myself at the mercy of the court. "Girls, I know we have had our differences in the last two days but I'm willing to forgive everything you have done to me. I hope you can also forgive if you feel I've slighted you in any way and express such agreement by letting me cover my pokey."

A buzz of conversations builds from the jury. I see the leaders of each class huddle, arms waving as they make their points for and against. Brady leaves the room. Finally, Laura speaks, "Mr. Jefferson, the consensus opinion is that you have denigrated us solely because we are females and now although you have done wrong, you expect us to let you off the hook. We have decided that since you are so concerned about us seeing your pokey we will cover him, but not in a fashion which will hide him from us." Brady returns, carrying the schools' new electron microscope. Shaped like a large crystal ball, this microscope can magnify and project anything enclosed a trillion-fold. Brady unties the shoelace and inserts the microscope over my cock. She adjusts the lens and suddenly my deflated pokey looks 12 inches long and 3 inches fat. The girls laugh at my degradation as I blench with ignominy. Laura continues, "Each class will decide what punishment you have earned and mete out justice accordingly. You will address every girl in this school as Miss and refuse no orders either during or between classes. Is that understood?"

This jury was a hanging jury but knowing that any protest would just accentuate the problem I humbly reply, "Yes Miss Laura, I understand. I will do as requested." I look down at my boa constrictor thinking at least he's safe in his crystal ball. "Remember Miss Kali's restrictions though, you must allow me to teach", thinking that if I could get them busy learning they would have no time to come up with creative punishments. Way down deep I decide I don't like Toronto girls even though I'm a Toronto guy.

Satisfied, Laura sits down and Miss Kali asks Sophia to direct me to my grade 9 class. She comes to the stage, grabs my balls and drags me to my class followed by all her fellow classmates.

Sophia deposits my boa constrictor and I to the front of the class. "What's the lesson today?" she asks pertly.

With a sigh of relief, given I really didn't want to think about punishments, I launch into a world of unpredictability, "Quantum Mechanics Miss Sophia. And it all starts with a very innocent question. Is energy continuous or discrete? Does energy come in packets or is it infinitely dividable?

The girls think hard. Sophia absently squeezes my balls making me jerk back and forth for her amusement. My pokey reacts. The crystal ball magnifies a million fold. The snake matures into a dragon. It looks like I'm about to poke the whole room. The girls stare at my red dragon eye with trepidation. Lettie stumbles on a solution, "Girls, Mr. Jefferson's dragon reacts to the warmth of Sophia's hand. If we heat his balls very slowly, and energy is indivisible, then the dragon will grow slowly. Otherwise, the dragon will grow in leaps and bounds."

I'm shocked. "Girls, my balls are not a toy for your amusement and they certainly don't like the idea of being any part of some mad kitchen experiment. I absolutely forbid you to consider this line of action." For added effect, my dragon puffs his chest and glares menacingly at my Grade 9 class. The girls move back clearly intimidated. Flush with success, I press my luck, "As you can clearly see, a mans' equipment is not to be trifled with, please take this off me and I'll agree to forget this whole incident." My dragon magnifies waves of masculine power at the class of dumb teenage girls.

I forgot about Sweden. Gweurfel strides to the front and adjusts the microscope until the dragon turns into a worm. The girls stop cowering and begin to irritably mutter among themselves. Gweurfel cries, "He tried to trick us after he agreed to do whatever we asked. We need to teach him respect." On mass, twenty angry fifteen-year-old girls start to circle me.

Dragon God gone, I try to placate the fuming mob. "Girls, girls, I was just kidding. Of course I meant to obey you in everything. Come on, can't you guys take a joke?" If anything, this just seems to make them even more furious. Desperate I fling out a, "I'm sorry, I'm very sorry. It wouldn't happen again." Their hands are like claws, flexing their nails like tigers before a meal. I make one more attempt, "Girls, I accept punishment but please don't hurt me."

Gweurfel sternly orders, "Girls, Mr. Jefferson was going to have an easy experiment but I see no reason to make it comfortable for him now. Get the plant holder chains and attach them to the swivel above the desk. Two girls get the chains and standing on the desk attaches one end through the swivel and the other to each of my wrists. Three girls pull each chain. I slowly rise in the air until my feet are three feet from the floor. Gweurfel positions two tables two feet from each side of my legs. "Girls, hold each foot on one of the tables while we lower the chains. Let's see if Mr. Jefferson can do the splits the way we girls can."

Delicate hands position my feet widely apart on each desk and the chains start to lower. My muscles go tense at 45 degrees. I beg them, "Men aren't built the same way as you girls; you will break my legs if you go any further."

Gweurfel, dear all heart Gweurfel, reassures me, "Don't worry Mr. Jefferson, I wouldn't let that happen. Girls massage his thighs." Three girls on each side massage the knots and as the tension eases the other girls lower the chain bringing back the agony. Alternating agony and massages get me to an 80-degree split. Sweat is blinding my eyes. One of the girls wipes me dry cooing that it will be over soon. Five more minutes of massaging gets me to 90 degrees. I'm demolished. I don't think I'll ever be able to walk again. Gweurfel cups my face in her hands. She gently soothes my brow. "There Mr. Jefferson, I knew you could do it. Now we can set up the experiment."

Gweurfel pushes a low table under my balls. She places a hot plate on the table and after plugging it in places a bowl of water on top. She slides the dastardly setup towards my balls. I twist frantically in the wind. Sophie steadies me by slotting her thumb into my widely splayed bum hole. Gweurfel plops my balls into the warm water and turns the microscope back on to high magnification. The phoenix rises. Gweurfel, in her most scientific voice proclaims, "We need to make sure the water is heating as slowly as possible to make sure that only very small increments of heat are added to Mr. Jefferson's balls."

My balls start to sweat and the phoenix smoothly starts to plume. "Too fast", Gweurfel observes and turns down the heat so that the incremental is barely noticeable. She turns up the magnification again. My pokey image fills half the room. My balls feel on fire but any movement is stopped by Sophia's' thumb. I doubt if I've ever eaten a meatball as hot as my downstairs. The girls watch intently and then they see it. Pokey is growing in little jumps. They measure the jumps. Every jump is exactly the same. Gweurfel triumphantly proclaims, "Energy is discrete, we've proven energy is discrete". The girls cheer as my balls bake. I've almost lost consciousness. Gweurfel demands "Are we right Mr. Jefferson, is energy discrete as we've just shown?"

I acknowledge their success;

For energy the theory is called Quantification Theory and was discovered by Max Planks. Energy has the same characteristic as mass of being quantized or existing as separate particles.

I succumb to darkness as a ghostly pokey image consumes the room.

11. Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle

Lucifer and I are reviewing the fine print of the contract where I agree to sell my soul if he disappears every teenage girl on the planet when I hear Miss Waters concerned voice, "Mr. Jefferson, are you all right?" I reluctantly open my eyes, great contract lost and see Miss Waters taking the steam out of pokeys' balls. The blushing orbs radiate enough heat to cause the air around them to waver. The curvaceous 20-year-old scrutinizes the problem. After a moment of hesitation she leans over, opens her mouth wide enough to make room for both balls, and slurps them in.

The cooling respite is overwhelming. All thoughts of hell incarnate are driven from my mind as I luxuriate in her ballroom. My spheres dance with her tongue in happy bounces until the reality of my pose hits home. A girl my own age is licking my balls. I remonstrate, "Miss Waters, what are you doing? Are you a tramp? Stop it immediately." The cooling caresses desist, but instead of leaving, the ballroom suddenly gets a lot smaller. Cutting walls clamp down, removing all the dancers bounce. A gnawing starts to form, that would scare even the "Big Apple". I modify my approach, "Miss Waters, I'm sorry I didn't mean to call you a tramp. It's just so hard to think straight when I'm in such pain." The crunch slows, pauses and reverses. The caresses return, the dancer returns, the bounces return, and my shame escalates.

Pokey in cheek, Miss Waters slurs, "Will you be civil now and thank me for cooling your balls."

The bite taken out of me, I answer, "Thanks Miss Waters, they were uncomfortably hot. You were very kind to help. Please don't sink your teeth into them."

Miss Waters spits out my balls, turns to me with a grin and jokes, "You are in no danger Mr. Jefferson, I never bite off more than I can chew. Now I just popped over to see if you need anything before your grade 10 class starts. Anything I can help you with?"

How she graduated University boggles my mind. Here I am naked, split 90 degrees, with a microscope/projector attached to my pokey and she wants to know if she can help.

My thighs are contorted impossibly, every muscle on strike action. I appeal to her humanity; "My legs are feeling very numb Miss Waters, could you perhaps lever my legs to the floor?"

Fat chance. Do females have humanity? Miss Waters drink in my eyes and softly comments, "You've agreed to take your punishments Mr. Jefferson. It will be up to your Grade 10 class to decide if you should be given succor." I tremble at the thought of my next jury. My imagination brings tears to my eyes. Miss Waters, observing closely, queries, "Why do you fight us Mr. Jefferson? We are just asking you to teach physics to our young charges. Why is it so important for you to continuously belittle us?"

Through tears I pour out my heart, "Because women hate nerds. So nerds hate women". Shit, what did I just say? This woman is a psychologist; any data I give her about my feelings will be used against me. Must throw her off the track quickly, I amend, "Witness how important it is for everyone in this school to humiliate me. I'm always naked but none of you are." If I can get her to think my position is about fairness then some of my deeper feelings will stay covered, where they belong.

Miss Waters studiously analyses what I've said. Has my misdirection worked? I cheer inside when I hear her say, "I think I understand your point, let me talk this over with Miss Kali and get back to you." My grade ten class starts to quietly shuffle in. Miss Waters, trying to be encouraging, says, "Your punishment is only for one day. Try to be a man about it. Have a good class Mr. Jefferson." I falter at her implication as she takes her leave.

New York Martha gets the ball rolling with, "The class have discussed your misdemeanor. We are all disappointed and agree that you need to be taken down a peg or two. In fact, 20 pegs is our decision. Do we have your cooperation or not?"

Taken down from these chains is exactly what I want, and the more pegs worth the better. I respond, "Yes Miss Martha, I will so submit." I realized my error when each girl came forward holding a clothes peg. Quickly I reverse direction, "Ah, I didn't understand what you meant by pegs, I've changed my mind." Martha, the first in line, pays no heed and attaches a peg to one of my nipples sending shoots of pain into my overdosed brain. The next peg attaches to my other nipple. My brain balances the pain. My testicles are the next targets. 7 pegs later one scrunched scrotum screams. 15 pegs later one ragged rear rages. 17 pegs later one aerated anus annihilates. 19 pegs later two checked cheeks cry. 20 pegs later one nipped nose nauseas. I whimper, "No more, please no more."

Martha takes my nose peg and tilting my head down until I'm looking at her says, "We're done now Mr. Jefferson. There will be no more if you behave. Now what is the lesson for today?"

How can I possibly teach these evil female children like this? My anus pegs pull up and out. More fresh air than is healthy hits the scene. I can begin the lesson. "Ok, ok, stop pulling, I'll start." The hole closes and I commence, "Is it possible to measure the position and speed of a particle with perfect precision?" Finally I find a safe subject. I see no way they can heap any more indignity on me figuring out an experiment for this.

Lettie thinks up an idea, reconsiders and lapses into silence. Martha looks glum, even boy scouts don't know everything. Margarida fails to do Little Portugal proud. Debbie then shows why Vietnam won the war. She states, "If we shine a very tight laser beam into the microscope while a particle has momentum we can measure its position and momentum perfectly. Margarida get the laser." The laser is switched on. The microscope/projector is switched on. Pokey jumps into the room with the laser light shining in front of his eye like the sword of Damascus. Debbie continues, "Now we know the distance between the eye and the laser so we can calculate the momentum when a particle leaves the eye by timing the event with our stopwatches. The laser defines the exact position so we will know both the position and momentum exactly. But how do we get the gun to shoot into the high energy laser beam?" All the girls worried that over fully remembering that nothing fired during their general theory of relativity class.

Margarida, not one to forget a grudge says, "This fat cow thinks that all we have to do is ask Mr. Jefferson to shoot. After all, he did say he would cooperate." The girls sigh with relief and look at me expectantly.

Now what am I supposed to do? I certainly have no intention of "coming out" in front of twenty 16-year-olds. Never mind pointing out to these dummies that a guy doesn't come just by ordering his pokey around. Especially when his pokey is in a crystal ball. "I'm sorry girls, but what you are asking me to do is physically impossible. It can't be done."

Margarida furiously disagrees, "Sally told me you shot in her grade 12 class and there was only a magnet around you. You're a liar."

Lisa takes my nose peg ominously, "Is this true Mr. Jefferson. Did you shoot in the air without touching anything?"

I have no intelligent response. How can I explain what happened was impossible. I try gamely, "That was a special situation. I was overwrought. I can't do it again."

Lisa gives me a wicked look and with a malicious grin pronounces my doom. "Girls, Mr. Jefferson has just informed us that he can shoot if he is overwrought. I want each of you to man your peg station and work on making Mr. Jefferson overwrought. I'll time the shoot." My God, she thinks she has me pegged but misunderstands it all completely.

They start with my nipples, twisting and pulling until they are three times their normal width and length. Testicle action would have floored me if it weren't for the chains. My bum pegs pull me wide open and then shut me tightly. They open and close me until my backside is enflamed. My bum hole pegs started winking me on and off. Cheeks and nose pegging morph my face hideously. The agony changes pokey to a shadow of his normal flaccid state. Vietnam grits into my ear, "We can keep this up until the end of the class. I would advise you to shoot."

I'm desperate. I have to shoot. I need to fantasize like I've never fantasized before. My brain commands my pain centers to become pleasure centers. I dream the ultimate fantasy. She unbuttons the top button of her blouse making me promise that I'll be gentle. The next button and I see the gentle swell of her breasts forming. On the third button I can see her lacy red bra. She tells me she wants to save herself until she is married. But she finds my brain irresistible. She tears off the last two buttons exposing two beautiful bulges encased in red surrounded by white creamy skin. She reaches behind her to take off her bra. The dragon fills half the room and the girls, believing he is the result of their peg work redouble their twisting/pulling efforts until the dragon lords it over the whole room. My pegged body converts to pain/pleasure principles as she cups her bra, straps dangling down her sides. Pokey starts to hump the room furiously. She begins to lift the cups from her golden breasts and just before I see glory, the dragon belches white fire. Screaming girls snap me out of the fantasy. "No, no, I'm not finished. I didn't see her breasts." Confused, I gape at the action around me.

Lisa stares at her calculations and with sudden understanding said, "When I perfectly measured the position of a white particle it shot off in another direction with an unknown speed. I wanted to measure the position accurately, which is why I chose a very narrow laser frequency. However, the energy of the laser was so strong that it completely changed the momentum of the particle. This can only mean that the more accurate one measures the position, then the more unknown the momentum. I can only conclude that it is not possible to know both the position and momentum of a particle simultaneously."

All peg action stops. Debbie extrapolates, "But the opposite then must also be true. The more accurately we know the momentum, then the less we know about its position. In fact if we know it's momentum to 34 decimal places then the particle could be anywhere in the universe. Mr. Jefferson, have we got this right?"

Skewered with pegs doing a perfect 90-degree split chained to the ceiling gives me the right not to congratulate them. Anal peg warnings are communicated. I change my mind. "Yes Debbie, that is a quantum reality. Specifically Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle proves that ;

The degree of uncertainty in momentum times the degree of uncertainty in position = Planks constant / ( 2 x pi )

So, for example, if we know the momentum exactly, the uncertainty in position must be infinite in order to keep the product constant. Hence the particle can be anywhere in the universe.

This uncertainty leads to many strange things. In a Quantum Mechanical world, you cannot predict where a particle will be with 100 % certainty. You can only speak in terms of probabilities. If we say that an atom will be at some location with a 99 % probability, then there is a 1 % probability it will be somewhere else (in fact, there will be a small but finite probability that it will be found across the Universe). This is strange. We do not know if this indeterminism is actually the way the Universe works because the theory of Quantum Mechanics is probably incomplete. We do not know if the Universe actually behaves in a probabilistic manner (there are many possible paths a particle can follow and the observed path is chosen probabilistically) or if the Universe is deterministic in the sense that you can predict the path a particle will follow with 100 % certainty. A consequence of the Quantum Mechanical nature of the world is that particles can appear in places where they have no right to be.

Margarida face runs through a gauntlet of emotions. She whispers, "Mr. Jefferson, are you saying a particle in the white shower we just saw could have ended up anywhere?"

"Yes Margarida, those particles are quite large but there is a finite chance they could have ended up anywhere", I answer, not sure what she is getting at.

"Immaculate conception", she breathes. The girls kneel in obeisance. The dragon pulses with pride.

Chapter 12 – Wave/Particle Duality of Light

I ache for my legs back as I watch the ringing bell chase my Grade 10 class from the room. "Un-peg me at least", I howl. Not one head even turns. I twist and turn trying to get my legs off the tables. All the pegs hurt but the two clipped to my bum hole rim are particularity distracting. The room is cloudy from the white mist clouding the microscope projector. My Grade 11 class isn't for another hour. How I can survive this position for the duration is beyond my imagination. I retreat to my fantasy, real world discouraged. Her red bra cups resurrect in my mind. She stares and quietly asks, "Are you ready"? My pokey stirs. She starts to move the cups out and away. My pokey jerks. I see the edges of her breasts come into focus. I hump crystal ball air. Only her nipples are now unexposed. My fast moving pokey is about to heaven. Eyes closed, picture sharp, her nipples are almost uncovered. Sperm pumps from my balls into my pokey. Everything is perfectly timed.

"Mr. Jefferson, how dare you". Breasts disappear as my eyes snap open to observe Miss Kali furiously staring at my swinging crystal ball. She unlatches the microscope/projector exposing the meat of the experiment. "It is apparent that we need exceptional measures for a man who can't control a pokey even when we try to help by tying him up and distract him with pegs." Miss Kali unclips the pegs, lowers the chains and helps me stand. My legs buckle until circulation is restored. Miss Kali decides, "Perhaps the error is punishing the man instead of the pokey. Come with me." I don't move. Her reasoning is deeply flawed.

Fingernails imbed themselves into Pokey. "Argggggggg! Stop, I'm coming, I'm coming". She cruelly sets a brisk pace to the kitchen, nails jerking me along. Inside she grabs a jar of honey and without missing a step swings out a side door almost making me lose pokey in the process. Out we march to the playground where the school is assembled for sports activities.

The girls, seeing Miss Kali's fury, know something is up and follow her to the end of the field. She is the pied piper and pokey is the flute. She stops, drops the honey jar, and starts to play the flute two handed. All the notes are quarter notes. It feels like my pokey is in a shredder. Without missing a beat she shouts, "Girls, this pokey was trying to satisfy itself on Mr. Jefferson's punishment day. You will now witness how a pokey is tamed." She drops to her knees taking pokey and the rest of me down with a bump on a large mound of dirt. "Girls, hold his arms and legs". My bum resting on the mound of dirt is the highest point of my body as the girls stretch my limbs into a figure X. Shredded pokey wavers like a bundle of wheat trying to stay above the fray. Miss Kali pours the jar of honey onto the shredded wheat. It drips until my balls are also covered. Talk about a sticky wicket. With satisfaction, Miss Kali steps away and says, "Mr. Jefferson, you will stay in this position until you can convince the girls and I that pokey will not be self-indulgent again without permission."

Miss Kali must be off her rocker. This punishment isn't even close to what I've already been through today. In fact, the honey is rather soothing finding all the little rips that Miss Kali's nails caused and lubricating them back whole. I feel a tickling where my bum rests on the ground. Something is crawling up my crack towards my balls. Two tiny some things follow. A pyramid of tiny feet is right behind these leaders. Mystified, I raise my head as the leader comes into view; a green ant, a green biting ant. This isn't an ordinary mound of dirt. It's an anthill, a biting anthill. I shout, "Miss Kali, pokey will behave. He will never come again without your ok. Please Miss Kali stop this now."

It was too late; the leader tears a chunk of honey along with a bit of my balls. The two fellows behind dig into the honey ball. The rest of the pyramid catches up and my honey ball turns green. Serious gorging ensues. My ball earthscape is landscaped to a cratered moonscape. I whimper with agony. They swarm to the honey coated shredded wheat. Hundreds of bites per second munch pokey honey. Green ants find a reservoir of honey in pokey's eye. They drown in happiness biting deeply into his corona. Honey drips into my bum hole. The hoard dutifully follows. My interior is set alight. The greening of pokey continues. Half mad, I drive out all knowledge that women have breasts and choke, "Miss Kali, Girls, pokey is yours."

Miss Kali pours alcohol over the green stalk. Biting pain transfers to searing pain as the ants de-metabolize. "Girls, this will ensure our pokey doesn't get infected. Remember, with ownership, comes responsibility." Miss Kali lightly touches pokey with her fingertip. He winces in pain. "Girls, for the rest of the day don't play with our new friend here. He needs a day of rest. Come along Mr. Jefferson, it's time for your next class."

Hands and legs free, the girls help my overcome mind into higher space. Broken, pokey and I follow.

Deep inside something starts to grow. It's ugly. It's black. Hatred. I latch on. Even black is better than nothing. I might not own pokey anymore but I haven't given up my mind. There will come a day when I turn the tables at this school and on that day I'll get pokey back. Nursing this core, I straighten my shoulders no longer ashamed of who or what I am. My turn will come. It will come.

I stand at the front with Miss Kali as my Grade 11 class silently files in with worried faces. I wish they were happy. Revenge is sweeter against unadulterated evil. Miss Kali observes my wooden face and soothingly says, "It's over now, Mr. Jefferson. Just behave and we'll have no more of this sort of trouble."

She will find out the meaning of trouble soon enough. Once I decide to plan something, nothing on earth can stop me. "You may go Miss Kali, I have a class to teach." Shocked, she takes her leave.

I initiate, "Let's get this over with. What punishment has your twisted brains dreamt up for me." Let them do as they wish; my body is not in my control so why even try. My brain waves they can't scratch.

Olga takes command, "Mr. Jefferson, I can understand your resentment given what just happened. The punishment that Miss Kali dealt out was her decision and her decision alone. I for one do not agree with the severity." The other girls murmur their agreement. "In this class, Mr. Jefferson, your pokey belongs to you. We give it back. We'll let you come as often as you want."

Tears come to my eyes. My hatred melts a little bit. Not all females are evil. I must remember to be a little bit gentler with this class come revenge time. My hand unconsciously starts to soothe a traumatized pokey. "Thank you Miss Olga, I appreciate the courtesy. Today I want this class to determine whether a photon of light is a particle or a wave." My pokey cries at finding a friend.

The girls melt seeing pokey return home. Olga comes up to me and says, "We all want to help pokey Mr. Jefferson, just climb up on the desk on your hands and knees and we'll keep him happy for you during the lesson." I gratefully get up on the desk ass waving at the girls as Olga takes over pokey duties gently tickling him under the neck. French Canada comes up front and tickles the other side of his neck. Pokey luxuriates in sensation. This sure beats ants in the pants.

Kim, pondering the problem, strikes lucky. "If a photon is a wave then if we send it through two slits it should create an interference pattern where the crests and troughs cancel each other out." She carefully cuts two slits in a piece of cardboard and places it on the desk in front of a happy swaying bum. Ordering the lights off, a photon emitter hits the slits with photon after photon building alternating bands of light and dark on my bum. "Obviously, light is a wave", Kim observes.

Francis, signaling another girl to take over her stroking says, "That's strange, if one fires a gun the bullet can only go through one slit or the other. Let's put a photon detector in front of each slit and see if we can see a bullet. If we can, then light is a particle." Photon detectors are placed in front of each slit. The photon emitter fires single photons again. This time only two bands of light show, one from each slit. The girls are confused. Without the detector photons are a wave but with the detector photons are particles.

I'm having trouble concentrating on the experiment; pokey is feeling great. He is electrifying my brain with pure pleasure. Olga smiles, "Come for me Mr. Jefferson. It's ok, we said you are allowed to in this class." She detaches her hand and goes to the back of the desk. She slides her lips over pokey and gives him a contented suck. "Come for me Mr. Jefferson. Miss Kali will never know." That's all it took. I had an opportunity to spite Miss Kali and make Pokey happy? No contest. I explode in Olga's mouth. She laps it up hungrily. The girls crowd around. What was it like? How did it taste? Did you like it? Olga looks up, eyes bright. It was a bit salty, but quite tasty. Francis wasn't going to let this experience go. She latches her lips around pokey and starts to slurp noisily.

Olga returns to business. "Well, if we don't measure where the photon goes it's a wave, but if we do measure where it goes then it's a particle. A wave collapses to a particle when it's measured? What can this mean?" I try to answer but pokey stimulation distracts me mightily. I detonate into Francis's greedily sucking mouth happily thinking about Miss Kali's fury when she finds out. A third girl decides she would like a taste. Olga postulates, "Well, let's see what happens if we put another photon detector behind the first one, but upside down. So when the first detector spots it, the second one will wipe out the signal before it hits the slit. That way, the slit won't know we detected a photon approaching it." Pokey takes a bit longer to rise to the occasion with the third girl but with avid determination she gets her tasty mouthful. The fourth girl latches on.

The detectors and the detector wipers are applied to the slits. The fourth girl milks her share and is replaced by the fifth. The photon emitter is turned on. Alternating bands of light and dark reappear on my bum. The girls are confounded as a slowing pokey deposits another load. As the sixth girl applies herself, Kim says, "So when we first measured where the photon was, the wave collapsed and became a particle and the photon only went through one slit instead of two. But as soon as we told the particle we didn't know where it was, the wave came back. This is weird." Pokey, although aching, gamely fires pokey juice into the sixth girl's wet mouth. Girl seven tries to get him hard and when he fails to respond, swallows him with disappointment. The tightness of her throat brings him rearing back. Girl seven deep throats him with pride. My pride mingles with her pride. Girl eight, a fast learner, swallows him right away and squeezes out four thimblfuls. Girl nine gets three and ten only one after tightening her throat as hard as she can. Pokey feels drained. Girl eleven feels him explode but the explosion is dry. A dull pain spreads through pokey as Girl twelve swallows her treat.

Francis says, "Let's put the detector wiper behind the slit. We'll know which slit the photon went through so the photon can't trick us this time."

A dry blast punches Girl twelve's throat. Backwash lightning hits my balls making me gasp in pain. "I've come enough girls, thank you, that will do." Girl thirteen must be deaf with eagerness. She consumes pokey like she hasn't eaten for days. The detector wipers are put behind the slits. Alternating bands of light and dark appear on my bum. Another dry discharge, another lightning bolt. "Please girls, pokey can't take any more. He's milked dry." Girl fourteen fastens on. She can't get him hard. I'm saved. She whips a finger into my bum hole not realizing it might interfere with the experiment. My prostrate is pressed. Pokey jumps back into action.

Olga shakes her head in disgust, "What is this light thing. Even when we know it went through one slit and not the other all we have to do is pretend we don't know and it partially goes through the other slit as well." Girl sixteen gets her buckle and passes flaccidville to Girl seventeen who needs two fingers to get the same effect. Eighteen takes 3 fingers and girl 19 has to use four fingers for over 3 minutes before action. The lightning bolts keep increasing in magnitude. My balls shrivel to peanut size. My bum hole grows to lemon size.

Francis knows when she needs help. "Let's ask Mr. Jefferson". Chinatown takes a hand in things. Kim, the 20 th and last girl punches her fist deep into my bum hole while drinking in pokey to the root. She moves her fist in time to her gulping throat. My final dry discharge backlashes the mother of all wars. The girls stare as waves of energy bulge down my pokey to my balls. They fry as I eke out, according to quantum mechanics,

Every probability wave extends throughout all of space, throughout the entire universe. Even if a particle's probability wave drops very close to zero outside some small region, that wave somewhere in any galaxy still has a nonzero value so there is still a non zero chance that the particle can be found there.

The girls stare at each other. Olga concludes, "Everything, even particles, start out as probability waves. Information collapses the wave causing the particle to form." The girls all look at pokey. "That's right", Olga whispers, "The opposite is also true, when the particle information disappears the waves come back."

The girls crowd around me telling me pokey is welcome to come in this class anytime, no matter what Miss Kali says. I don't have the heart to tell them my tiny inch-worm just wants to find some hole to crawl into where he can hibernate for a decade or two. Ten particle girls smack their lips as they leave. The wave ten girls resolve to be first in line tomorrow. I wonder why the girls have strange lumps on their chests. Dismissing it as some sort of teenage female prank, my dark side plots. How am I going to grow these seeds of Miss Kali mutiny? I tell my devil to wake up.

13. Quantum Entanglement

My conference with the devil is abruptly ended by Miss Pringle's sharp slap to my bum. "Mr. Jefferson, you are such a lay about, come one, time for lunch". I struggle to reenter reality hell. Losing patience, Miss Pringle activates her joystick approach. Her fat thumb skewers me back to the present. "You like this don't you Mr. Jefferson?"

This fat lady is on my hit list for sure. "No Miss Pringle, I detest it. Take your thumb out please." Instead, she presses her thumb hard forcing my ass to the table. The intrusion, most unwelcome, prompted a, "Please Miss Pringle, you are hurting me." Leaning over, strange bumps pressing on my back, she meows and rapidly thumbs the target zone. My gripping walls try to expel her to no avail. The friction is raw. With faltering diction I plead, "Miss Pringle, please stop, I'll cooperate with anything you have in mind."

She forcefully turns my drained face to meet her flushed face. "All right Mr. Jefferson, you can begin by showing a little more enthusiasm and support for this school. We are on the edge of profitability and need your help in getting this school on the map. Start thinking about what we are going show at the science fair this Friday. If we win, out future is guaranteed." Her thumb stops moving and rests deep in my throbbing corridor. My mind twirls around what she just said. My bum, caring only about repelling the invasion, gives two tight Morse code squeezes around Miss Pringle's thumb. Amused, her thumb bends an acknowledgement into the twisting corridor. "You will give your proposal to Miss Kali tomorrow morning? I have your promise?" Her thumb bends gradually bends my tunnel ninety degrees as I urgently squeeze out bowed replies. Looking at my shriveled pokey disdainfully, she joysticks me from the table and onto my feet, "That's agreed then. Ok, let's get you fed. Need you to keep your strength up." Miss Pringle thumbs me to the cafeteria's front where Miss Kali and Miss Waters sit with stern composures, a high chair between them. A banquet of food brings my stomach to life. I eye the offerings hungrily. Miss Kali nods at the high chair. Miss Pringle gives me a thumb up and withdraws her person and appendage as my bum settles down on the chair level with Kali Water eyes.

Miss Kali stands and calls for the girls' attention. "Girls, Mr. Jefferson is very hungry and should be fed. However, this is his punishment day and we shouldn't make it too easy. I have decided that Mr. Jefferson can eat anything that can be mimed by his pokey and balls. If he asks for your assistance, please extend your cooperation. Please proceed Mr. Jefferson."

I muffle out a protest, "Miss Kali, I can't touch my pokey and balls in front of all these girls. It would look like I'm playing with myself. Can't we work something out?"

The room holds its breath waiting for Miss Kali's answer. Instead, she picks up a ruler and looks significantly at my pokey and balls. She starts to tap the ruler ominously in her hand, striking it harder and harder, not taking her eyes off the package for a moment. Pokey quails at the concept she is transmitting and overrules my dignity. My stomach takes over and spying a hamburger, my stomach orders my hands to wrap my penis in my balls to deliver the mime. The delusory effect gets no votes from the gallery. I try again, being careful to stay away from my testicles; once again, no votes. My stomach is crying for relief. "Can someone help me please? I want to eat a hamburger."

With the speed of New York, Martha beats sluggish Sweden to my balls. "Sure Mr. Jefferson, I'll make hamburger out of you." Before I'm given a chance to warn her about testicle sensitivity she turns pokey into a curly fry and palms flat, mashes my balls and testicles as flat as a pancake. The girls all approve the hamburger configuration.

Miss Kali seeing the anguish on my face picks up a hamburger and let's me take a bite. "Eat faster Mr. Jefferson, the mime must be active while you're being fed." Martha squashes my balls between her hands a bit harder. The pain is blinding. I gnaw and swallow the hamburger like a lion. Almost biting Miss Kali's finger off to get the last piece, I finish and the hammerlock unsnaps. "Aren't you going to say thank you for my help?" Martha sweetly inquires.

The relief felt in my second and third floors is immense. My third floor says, "Thank you Miss Martha, I really was hungry." The third floor persists, most of its rooms still empty. "I would like to eat some more." I look at the food trying to think of something to eat that the second floor wouldn't object too. Spying an apple, I try to make my balls that shape. The girls are mystified. Explaining, I say, "I'd like an apple, it's an apple, can I eat it now?"

Rebecca stands and says, "I know all about apples Mr. Jefferson. We have lots of apple trees in Vancouver." She comes forward and looking at the material on hand forms her approach. Taking a piece of ball skin on one side she rotates it clockwise until its tense on pokeys neck. Skinning a piece from the other side she rotates it clockwise until it joins it pinned partner. My insides jumble, my left ball doesn't know what my right ball is doing. My second floor contorts into a mobius strip. Pulling fingers observes, "There, perfectly round with just the right stem length." The girls vote their approval. Miss Waters picks up an apple an presents it to me in much the same way Eve presented her apple to Adam. Rebecca takes a good grip on ball skin and with both hands, pulls until my apple shines. "Eat up Mr. Jefferson, I can only hold you to perfection for so long."

I consume that apple amid second floor wreckage, teeth munching faster than Miss Waters can turn the apple. I demolish the apple just before the second floor collapses. Vancouver fingers, white from effort, let go. Rebecca glows, "Happy Mr. Jefferson, you got your apple. What would you like next."

I think my second floor has suffered enough on behalf of my third floor. I shake my head. Miss Kali picks up the ruler and commences that dastardly tapping. "Mr. Jefferson, I'm concerned that you aren't eating enough. Have some desert at least." Knowing how useless it is to argue on punishment day I see some jelly and holding my balls give them a little shake.

The girls' eyes rapidly move from my exhibit to the dessert table trying to figure out the message. Denmark twigs out, "He wants some jelly girls. He really isn't very good at paradigms. I'll go help him." Sophie comes forward and centers each ball into the cups of her palms. She jiggles them. She bounces them. She speeds up. At quivering speed I eat the jelly Miss Kali and Miss Waters spoon. I get the last bit in my mouth as Sophie's juggling act reaches its peak. They smash into each other. I screech in pain, spittle slivers of apple spraying over squealing girls. Wiping a piece from her face, Sophia gives my balls a hard Danish squeeze and says, "That was fun Mr. Jefferson. I like helping you."

Miss Kali and Miss Waters abruptly stand up. Miss Kali commands, "Girls, time for your next class. Mr. Jefferson, you just have your grade 12 class to finish and your punishment day will almost be finished. Miss Waters, please escort him to his class."

Miss Waters helps me down from the chair and wraps an arm around my naked waist with unbecoming familiarity. Looking down, my curiosity gets the best of me. "Miss Waters, what are those bumps are your chest. I notice everyone here has them. Is there some sort of contest going on?"

Miss Waters gives me a look of astonishment. "Are you talking about my breasts Mr. Jefferson?" My confused face confuses her. She brightens, "Mr. Jefferson, you are learning how to control pokey troubling thoughts. I'll talk with you about these bumps another day. Right now you have to take some different lumps at your next class." Miss Waters leads me to the front of my Grade 12 class, a merry group of 18-year-olds enter closely behind. Miss Waters, giving me an unwanted hug, queries the girls, "Have you decided on Mr. Jefferson's punishment"?

Laura speaks up. "We only ask for Mr. Jefferson's cooperation when we need to prove an experiment in this or any future class." She looks at me as I nod my assent in not a little relief. I've had enough punishment today. Laura observing my relief pricks it a little with, "Don't be too happy Mr. Jefferson. We girls have been cross-referencing with the leaders of the other grades and we know full well what you have called some of us. Only your very best behavior will provide you succor What are you teaching today, and it better be interesting."

The girls are talking about me with each other. I didn't like the sounds of that. A Miss Waters pokey slap snaps me to the lesson. "Quantum entanglement Girls. When a particle is entangled, it means that two particles are identical in every way. They have the same spin, momentum and relative position. If the wave form of either particle collapses, the other particle will collapse at the same time even if the two particles are many light years apart." Disbelieving faces meet my statement. "No one knows what the maximum size of an entangled particle can be. Anton Zeilinger has entangled a buckyball, a molecule with 60 carbon atoms, so we know it is at least that large."

Calgary pipes up, "How does on create an entangled particle Mr. Jefferson?" I explain to Susan that very complicated equipment is needed and it wouldn't be possible to duplicate the experiments in this classroom. Susan did not gives up easily, "But there must be some simple way to do it, using a crystal as a splitter perhaps?" I'm impressed, it took the physics community a few years to figure that one out. I reply, "Yes, Susan barium borate crystals coupled with lasers will create entangled particles."

Janice crys, "Our new computer routers have these crystals. Let's pry them out." Three room routers yield their crystals and are delivered into Janice's hands. She picks up some glue, comes forward and superglue my pokey and balls with twenty barium borate crystals. "Katy run to the other rooms and get as many laser pointers as you can." Katy returns with a laser for each girl. Janice finishes her instructions, "All right, each girl point their laser at one the crystals." I don't have the hearts to tell them this experiment has no chance. Let them learn the hard way I reason. Meanwhile, unless pokey wants to live in a crystal palace, I'd better remember what the formula is to remove superglue.

Twenty ghostly images begin to float away from my cock and balls. They solidify. Perfect package replications majestically march in step to each girl's light source. Frightened, Rebecca punches the disembodied parcel. My balls explode and I would have fell down if it weren't for Miss Rivers supporting arm. All the images disappear.

Rebecca says in an embarrassed tone, "I'm sorry Mr. Jefferson, I now understand that punching your entangled balls feels the same for you as if I punched your actual balls. But why did all the entangled balls disappear on my punch."

I'm having trouble believing what's going on. Entanglement is not supposed to work on massive objects. Looking down at my drained pokey, I ruefully conclude that he doesn't look that massive. I explain to Rebecca, "When you punched my balls, you collapsed the waveform and entanglement disengaged. Therefore the images disappeared."

Rebecca, composure regained says, "I panicked, it wouldn't happen again. Let's do it again girls, but this time let's be gentle with the entangled pokies so they don't collapse."

20 girls shine their lasers. Twenty entangled "cock and ball" shows drift to their owners. Each girl gently blows on her offering. My pokey tries to retreat into his ball shell to get away from gale force winds. Rebecca, stridently says, "He's getting away, stroke him gently." Twenty girls wet a finger and begin to stroke the turtle's head, trying to get him out of his shell. The sensation is exquisite, twenty fingers stroking where there should only be space for one brought the turtle out into the sun. Twenty pokies grew simultaneously with mine until 21 six-inch rods sliced the room.

Miss Waters decides to give a hand. Wrapping her fingers around pokey she starts to jerk him up and down. The girls, taking their cue, duplicate her motions. My pokey, happily mummified, croons with pleasure. Miss Waters mouths her approval. The other girls latch on with their mouths. Twenty-one wet slurping wet homes move pokey to an impossible 7 inches. He throbs in pleasure, enjoying this type of licking much more than previous lickings. This sure beats ants. Miss Waters swallows me whole. Twenty girls gag in response. The pressure of twenty-one soft throats moves my drained balls to the top of my sacs in their desperation to deliver some sort of reward. My brain spirals down and down until it is joined with all the pokies. I blow my pokey brains out into Miss Waters and twenty girls heads. The waveform collapses leaving only Miss Waters with the real item. My pokey brain stays connected with all the girls' brains. Information overload commences. He grows to accommodate the new information. Miss Waters, surprised, happily drinks me in. The connections with the girls' brains strengthen until they feel permanently wired. Miss Waters, headache sensing something awry, nips him down. I pull Miss Waters hair trying to escape the pain. The girls are all holding their heads from a sudden migraine. Miss Waters, through clenched teeth, mutters, "Take your hands away from my hair if you want to keep this Mr. Jefferson." Her incisive ways are most convincing. I helplessly drop my hands to my sides and pray I end up with a complete package. It was nip and tuck, but she finally ceases her carnivorous activity and brightly looks up at me to say, "Finish your lecture Mr. Jefferson, you're all juiced out. You need some rest."

I turn to a group of white-faced girls and conclude,

Entanglement is a real phenomenon (Einstein called it "spooky action at a distance"), which has been demonstrated repeatedly through experimentation. The mechanism behind it cannot, as yet, be fully explained by any theory. One proposed theory suggests that all particles on earth were once compacted tightly together and, as a consequence, maintain a connectedness.

Rebecca concludes, "Thank you Mr. Jefferson, that was most entangled." My pokey jerks; all the girls hold their heads and leave rapidly.

Miss Waters, hand around waist again escorts me to my basement villa. Setting me down on the bed, she asks, with hands on hips, "What is going on Mr. Jefferson? I can see your pokey and balls in my mind even when I close my eyes. Get your disgusting package out of my head right now." I'm at a loss for words. What is she talking about. She slaps my balls in anger and as I anguish she falls to the floor holding her head. She runs out of the room.

I wonder what happened. My devil brain, in his new entangled pokey home chuckles evilly, "and so it begins."