I saw it yesterday, and I can't get it out of my skull.
The healthy curves, the taught yet yielding skin, the pucker at the tips.
I was going out of my mind.
I couldn't concentrate in class. Even my lovely Year 10s were just vague apparitions as I focused on my vision of the tight, taut meat.
I couldn't concentrate in the weekly Professional Learning session. (Mind you, that's the same every week) I know I'm supposed to be a professional, but I really don't give a f*ck. I'm a good teacher who gets good results for my students who seem to enjoy their lessons. Everything else is secondary.
And, Oh Yes, my Maori students have a lower failure rate than the other ethnic groups, so I should really be getting a f*cking gold star and a pass, giving me permission to be absent from every other PL session this decade.
But I still couldn't even focus on our new PE teacher's gleaming thighs and taut buttocks. (Note to self. Next Parent Teacher day, when the lovely new PE teacher comes to school, DON'T ask her to pick up the piece of paper lying in front of her pigeon hole. Skin tight leather trousers and the bending-stretching motion necessitates an immediate cold shower and an immediate change in (my) underwear.)
I just couldn't focus on anything.
I knew it was forbidden.
I knew it was dangerous.
I knew it was against the law.
I didn't care.
I was going to do it.
I was going to stroke the lovely curves.
I was going to kiss that hot, oily surface.
I was going to worry the puckered bit between my teeth.
I was going to take my really sharp knife and I was going to use it.
I could imagine the smell, the texture, the TASTE.
I was going to rub on the butter.
I was going to mash the turnip, the potatoes all together.
I WAS GOING TO EAT MY HAGGIS.
My Beloved had sneaked it in past biosecurity, and it was all mine.