After applying the equipment, I was full of confidence when I started my next class.
At this point I should like to make clear that:
- I do not have some strange fetish and actually like wearing the damned things.
- My problem is a variable one, and I do not always have the use the infernal device.
- I always wear nice, loose boxers, (for medical reasons which can be called in general terms; crotch rot prevention)
My usual method in this case is to cover the main points of the lesson using a PowerPoint presentation, accompanied by explanations.
I had no problems at this stage and was almost unaware of the traitorous piece of refined paper and adhesive technology nestling warmly amongst my nether regions.
As usual I did my presentation part of the lesson ensconced behind my desk, controlling my computer as we went through the PowerPoint.
The next stage of the lesson was where the kids converted the pearls of wisdom which had been flung before them into answers applicable to the assessment on OS we were working on.
As was my habit, I circulated amongst the class checking their work, giving feedback and feed-forward on their efforts, removing cell phones grasped in grubby little fingers (Christ, why can't their parents teach them to wash? I swear I saw tiny green shoots appearing from the embedded muck trapped between C******'s fingernails, but I could have been wrong. It could have been bits of dried mucus or pus from her habit of picking her nose and scratching her various sores)
|Have a bath for goodness sake.|
I reckon I must walk about 10 miles a day, circulating between the desks, which is why I have such a trim and manly figure.
After about 10 minutes, I became aware that something was not quite right.
There was friction where no friction should have been.
There was an almost subliminal tugging at certain sensitive areas of my anatomy.
What the hell was going on?
As I walked to help the next student, the tugging got worse and as I squatted down beside the student it felt like tiny little claws were mauling my delicate bits.
I could tell from the feeling that the appliance had slipped inside my trusty boxers and a rather large bit of the adhesive backing had now firmly attached itself to the "dangly bit" and was exerting a pull with every step I took.
My students were then treated to the sight of their beloved teacher standing stock-still, now frightened to move and with a rictus of pain etched into his ruggedly handsome features.
What on earth could I do?
If I did the logical thing, the rational thing, I would shove my hands down inside the warm and humid recesses of my trousers and gently remove the bloody thing without ripping out chunks of delicate yet essential flesh and hair. But how would this appear to my students?
I could see the headlines now.
PERVERT TEACHER IN TROUSER INCIDENT
TEACHER SUSPENDED IN DISGUSTING EXPOSURE
HE PUT HIS HANDS DOWN HIS BOXERS AND SCREAMED said frightened and disgusted C****** (15) from Nuova Lazio High School.
Every step was now agony, so I shuffled back behind the armour of my desk, taking tiny little steps all the way.
For the rest of the lesson I tried to ignore the plaintive requests for assistance from puzzled students, and tried to maintain an unmoving posture.
At last the bell went and the students left, some giving me puzzled glances as they went out the door.
I still couldn't fix things, as my room has a large window which would let anyone outside see what I was doing and I wasn't going to get caught that way again (See an earlier post which detailed the Great Arse Scratching Incident of 2011.
I had to get to the staff toilet, but that was over 200 metres away.
I then had to make a difficult decision. What was it to be? Dignity or Pain.
I chose pain and set off for the staffroom.
Each step up that bloody long path was accompanied by squeaks of pain from me and by ripping and rending sounds (which luckily only I could hear) from deep inside my kecks.
When I finally made it to the safety of the loo, tears were steaming down my face and many passing staff and students had been giving me very odd looks. I just hoped that they thought I was practicing my routine for the end of term show and was going as a geriatric and very slow Michael Jackson doing a bad Moonwalk, or even thinking "poor old bugger's had his hemorrhoids burst again"
Alone in a cubicle, I finally managed to remove the bloody appliance.
I just didn't want to count the number of (very curly) hairs adhering to the bloody adhesive, but I knew, oh yes I knew that I had had the equivalent of a full Brazilian down there.
I am just very, very glad that my gastric processes have returned to normal and that I shouldn't have to use those disposable devices of torture again.
I wonder if I should keep a couple of rubber bungs in my desk drawer.
Just in case.
|Just in case|