Narrator: Brent Westner
My head ached, but I knew I was only frustrated. It was those damn numbers. I hated them. Hated them so damn much. So very damn much.
I was tired of thinking. Thinking was another thing I hated when it was forced upon me in such grueling ways.
That hatred drove me to restlessness. That was why my hand had shot up into the air. And Mr. Scott knew better than to expect an answer. He just nodded, as I turned to leave the room.
The hard, white surface of the urinal shone before me. I brought my right hand down, scratched at my crotch and then pulled at the zipper of my trousers.
The truth of the matter, though, was that I didn't even need to piss. I just wanted to be alone. Alone to clear my mind.
Friggin' geometric series, go shove them up your god damn ass, Mr. Scott. I can pay taxes and bills. I can count change. But I don't need to learn your fucking geometric series! Arrrgh.
No, it was more than that. 'Scapegoat'. It was a word Leslie had used, and explained to me. I liked it, because it was practical. Not too wordy, like the things she'd say in a conversation with CJ.
Math was my scapegoat. I realized this, as I spread the opening in the fabric at the front of my briefs.
The real problem was my empty pocket. No matter where I looked, I couldn't find my ring. Mom would kill me. The best hope I had was to buy something better, and tell Mom I pawned it to get something better. Then, I'd only make her a little angry.
Damn it, I can't afford something better! I need to find that engagement ring.
But as I dug into my pockets, running my hands through all the junk I carried around in them, all I was doing was rubbing my pants against my thighs. By sheer accident, I was arousing myself.
However, I knew I was alone in the bathroom because I hadn't heard anyone come in. Every stall had been open and vacant.
But I was wrong.
Warm breath ran down my neck, and every hair upon it stood on end in surprise. Abruptly, I slid my right hand up and out of my briefs.
There's nothing to see, right? I'm just a guy shuffling around in his pockets in front of the urinal... with his fly down. Right? So, quit breathing down my neck! I thought, though I was too stunned to move. All I could do was breath.
"Do you know the patch Leslie has sown into her backpack?"
I was relieved to hear Frith's voice. I smiled, to know that she was naughty enough to follow me into the men's room. "Which one?"
"The heart-shaped one," she whispered in my ear. I could feel the moisture of her every word.
"Y-yeah, I know of it."
She put her hands around my lower chest, pulling herself against me from behind. "Do you know what it says?"
"Something about someone." I could feel her supple breasts against my back. "Polly, was it?"
"It says, 'I Heart Polly Amarie'," Frith told me.
"Who is Polly Amarie?" I asked. "Some French-Canadian actress?"
Frith laughed, and the black-nailed tips of her fingers slipped under the band of my briefs. "Do you know what polyamory is, Brent?"
I had never dreamed that any of them would ever respond to my idle flirtations the way Frith was now. I began to wonder, as her fingers ran up and down my exposed chest, if maybe Leslie wasn't the best I could do. Frith was clearly not a timid lover.
She brought her head over to whisper in my other ear, rubbing her nose along the nape of my neck, "You don't, do you..."
I was breathing fast. My ribcage was heaving against her as she clung to me from behind.
"It's the very reason she puts up with the way you shamelessly flirt, oh so readily, with every girl you meet."
I gasped, as Frith's left hand dove down to the hair of my scrotum and then pulled back without touching my dick for more than a tenth of a second.
"Polyamory, Brent, is the consent between lovers to have multiple partners."
"Why do you ask?" I asked her, with a tone of great amusement.
Then her right hand dove into my underwear and grabbed me tightly. Incredibly tightly.
"Augh!" I cried out, as I was held in her iron grip.
Immediately, her left hand clamped itself against my open mouth. Then, her right hand began to move along the length of me.
"Do you, Brent?" she asked, as she turned us around to face the mirror. I could see the playful and seductive glint in her eyes. "Do you want to have multiple partners?"
I nodded, vigorously, against the hand that silenced me.
Then, she let go of me with both hands, and moved away from me quite suddenly. Then she spoke, in a frighteningly much more casual tone, "Oh, just wondering."
I turned to watch her hips, mouth gaping, as she washed her hands and then walked out of the bathroom without so much as another word to me.
It was several minutes, alone in a stall with my right hand, before I returned to class, quite red in the face.