Physical Education
inuxxian@gmail.com
Hayley 3s Hayley.


I don't like working out with anyone around, so I usually go to school early
if I wanna use the gym. I used to do it after school but it's full of other
girls then and they always make me want to kill. Like we are talking seriously
dumb-as-rocks little teacher's pet bitches here, all competing to tone their
pancake asses enough to make some monkey from the football team shoot one into
them. Ah, high school. Blow me and die.

Anyway I used to be able to at least entertain myself by fucking with their
heads a little, but even that got boring eventually, so now, like today, I go
early and do whatever it is I feel like doing, usually running and a few
weights and some pull-ups--I dig my stomach pudge but every girl should be
able to make muscles in the mirror and feel badass.

When I finish I'm heading for the locker room to shower up and thinking about
how unbelievably blazed I'm gonna get before math class, and I see this kid
Eric coming out of the boys' room. I don't know what he's been doing in there
this whole time. Probably jacking off and then eating his own cum while
weeping, or something real healthy. I mean, you're gonna think this is just me
because you've probably figured out by now I kinda hate most people, but trust
me Eric's special. He got busted twice for jacking off in the computer lab to
some stupid Japanese cartoon porno. Twice! So you don't need to feel bad about
what's gonna happen to him or anything, because he deserves it. Unless that's
a buzzkill--if you're into the whole senseless-violence thing, you can pretend
he just got caught once. Whatever, man. I'm not gonna tell you how to get your
rocks off.

Anyway he says hi in kind of a shaky voice and just the sound of it puts me in
a whole different like psychic place. I'm practically drooling now I wanna get
high so bad, but my brain's still humming with all the good shit it makes when
you exercise, and I broke my pull-ups record today and my arms feel really
light and something about his voice is so fucking wimpy it actually pisses me
off, like he shouldn't even be in the same room with me when I'm feeling like
this. (I get pissed off a lot. The therapist my parents sent me to before they
gave up and started drinking in the mornings said I have antisocial
personality disorder, which is a pretentious way of saying I'm a hostile
little fuck. Spank me. Or spank him, because he ended up having a total sanity
meltdown and regressing to infancy. The abyss gazes into you, bitches.) So I
just smile at him and put up two fingers and loll my tongue out between them
in the international sign for Lick My Clit You Fucking Loser.

Then he does exactly what I was hoping he'd do. "Dyke," he says as he walks
past me.

It's not like I really care about being called a dyke. I've experimented as
much as the next bored-ass suburban girl, and I can't remember the last time I
went a month without spending at least one Saturday morning in bed diddling
myself to the chick from Paramore. It's being called a dyke by Eric fucking
Smith, who should be on his knees in a fucking toilet stall while
representatives of every social group in the school line up to give him
swirlies, that's un-fucking-acceptable. Also, turns out hostile little fucks
often artificially create situations to let themselves express their
hostility. Look at you, getting an education.

So I walk up to Eric Smith and I give him a big sweet lovey-dovey smile that
pretty much paralyzes him, and then I let my tongue hang out and wriggle back
and forth like I really am eating rug, and then I lower my head and slam it
into his mouth and split open one of his lips and he goes down like the little
pussy he is, with his hands to his mouth. I kick him in the balls to keep him
down and he fucking HOWLS, which sounds because of those totally unique gym
acoustics exactly like someone cheering a volleyball team, like, really
intensely. Then I reach down and grab the back of his T-shirt and drag him
across the floor into the girls' locker room, which is empty.

I know you're all excited for the beatdown and hey so am I, but let's just
pause the action to talk about how I feel right now. I'm in the gym T-shirt I
tore the sleeves off because the P.E. teachers all wanna fuck me too much to
complain, and I'm wearing sneakers and those ridiculous little blue shorts
they put you in for high school P.E. because I guess they want everyone to
have giant stiffies for each other all the time. My hair's in a ponytail,
which yes looks fucking cute on me, and my chest under the P.E. shirt is all
sticky and the bottoms of the armholes where the sleeves used to be have big
grey pitstains, which yes also look fucking cute on me. I'm not that tall and
I don't have a six-pack or anything because ew, but fuck it; I'm a 100%
grade-A Amazon and I'm dragging my prey into my fucking lair. Take a moment to
wish you were a teenager.

By the time we get inside he's recovered from the ball-kick enough to be
wriggling like a dying fish, so I drag him to his feet and hurl him into the
nearest bank of lockers, which he bounces off with a sound like I've just
invented a new instrument. He staggers back to me; he can't help it. I was
going to break his nose here but I get this sudden impulse, and I grab him by
the greasy hair on the back of his head, throw my other arm straight up in the
air, and smoosh his face into my sweaty pit like he's a towel and I wanna feel
fresh. He mumbles and tries to yell and all the soft skin under my arm
vibrates and I laugh it feels so good.

"Lick," I say.

He says something in his freaky my-face-is-trapped-in-a-girl's-armpit language
that I can only tell is "no" because he hasn't started licking yet.

"Lick or you're never coming out," I tell him, and crush his face a little
more for emphasis. When I feel his tongue I get this total power rush and I
start rubbing him up and down under my arm like soap and shaking my
ridiculous-P.E.-pants ass in an improvised little dance. Go me.

When he's slobbered all over my stubble I let go and shove him and he stumbles
backwards, trips, and comes down hard on the edge of one of the benches. His
face is all swollen from where he hit the locker and kinda glistening with my
sweat and for a second I think how weirdly awesome it would be if I actually
gave him acne.

"Hey man," I say in my best I-am-a-totally-normal-person voice. "You OK
there?"

"Fuck you, Hayley." God my name sounds RAD when people sob it. See, Mom and
Dad, I do appreciate you.

"Ooh. Pottymouth. You're such a bad boy, Eric. You get me so hot."

"F-fuck you."

He's really on the verge of tears now. I'm going for the gold. I jam my hand
into the little blue shorts and throw my head back and do a full-on
ultrasarcastic porn-star moan, just one, so loud he actually jumps. "Oh my GOD
stutters are so FUCKING sexy." This is all fake of course but it's not like
I'm not giving my labia a little pet. I mean, my hand's already down there,
and those girls work so hard. "Keep it up, E-E-Eric. M-make me n-n-n-NUT." My
middle finger slips inside and I'm actually surprised by how juicy I am. Fuck
math class, I'm going to Liam's after this.

He finally starts crying here. Every boy cries differently, by the way, and
Eric's near the top; his little staggering sobs have all the dignity you'd
expect from the man who brought you The Computer Lab Incident. (TWICE.)
They're actually like perfectly spaced out, like he's beatboxing or something;
I kinda want to record it and, like, spit some fire. (Have we never talked
about rap by the way? Because oh my God I know I come on all tough dom girl or
whatever but I would have been Eazy-E's white-girl toy in a fucking SECOND.
Every girl has her dream date and when I was 13 it was watching N.W.A. gun
down LAPD officers while I ripped from the gravity bong.) Anyway now that I've
broken the tears barrier I grab Eric by the shirt again, pull him up, and drag
him towards the bathroom, and I shit you not he actually fucking says "I can't
go in there!" in this sniffly little voice and I almost have a heart attack
laughing. I had taken my hand out of my shorts but when I see myself in one of
the bathroom mirrors I'm like fuck it and shove it right back in. Liam's gonna
have to take sloppy seconds; a girl's got needs.

Anyway, you know where this is going, cuz I all foreshadowed it and shit. In
case you were wondering I do get As in English. I kick open a stall door and
shove Eric in and kick him in the back of the knees and he goes down and bangs
his chin really fucking hard on the toilet, and he gets like one second to
process the pain before I'm behind him with my hand on the back of his head
and he is going down. God, sometimes the old tricks really are best. He's
thrashing and struggling and bubbles are coming up from the toilet because he
is for some reason being retarded and emptying his lungs into the water, and I
keep him down there for the first flush while I shift a little to give my
other hand a better diddle-angle. When the water's all gone I hear him gasp in
air just before it comes flooding back in again. He gasps for too long and
gets some in his lungs--this is fucking WHY you don't breathe out when your
head's underwater, which you'd think someone who's been getting swirlies
basically weekly since first grade would have figured out by now.

I hold him down for two flushes and bat around my clit some more, and when I
let him up there's a wet spot forming on my shorts and slime all over my
fingers and I am really feeling the need to take off the shorts and start
doing things right. But I've got some discipline--I can take my hand out and
kick the toilet seat down and slam him a couple times into the porcelain to
make sure he's not getting up, and then I can leave him there while I walk
over to the overflowing trash can in the corner, and then you'd better fucking
believe I can reach in and take the first little reused wrapper I see and open
it to find a total jackpot of a tampon, like a serious ultrasaturated dripping
gore straw that was obviously up the cunt of a girl who cries at night about
her Heavy Flow, and I go back to the stall and roll Eric over and stand over
him and lower the congealed thing towards his face like I'm playing with a
kitten. He tries to wriggle away but I've got him, and he opens his mouth to
scream something and at that EXACT MOMENT, like God is a psychopath who loves
to see me happy, a big fat cold red drop of period blood which I swear is
actually CHUNKY falls off the hovering tampon and straight into his mouth.

His eyes get so unbelievably wide I worry they're gonna slide out, and he
looks like his brain's just snapped and he's not gonna be able to do anything
ever again except jack off in the computer lab and OCD-wash his face. I open
my fingers and let the tampon drop into his mouth and then I slam his jaw shut
and stand up, and he pukes. He pukes while he's on his back and with his mouth
closed and it's really complicated and gross and actually looks dangerous, so
I leave him to figure it out and close the stall door and go to wash my hands
while he retches and sobs behind me. God fucking damn do I look good. Kiss the
mirror; let's make out. Way to strike a blow for feminism you flawless fucking
bitch. There's a puddle of red barf oozing out from under the stall door. Be
proud.

What I said about God up there? Is totally fucking true. Here's how you can
tell: while I stood there, making out with my reflection, one hand holding my
labia open while the other got everything nice and frothy, some car pulled up
in the parking lot outside the little window near the ceiling and I swear to
whatever you think would make me honest that the car was blasting fucking
N.W.A.. As in Hayley's 13-year-old
back-when-I-got-kinda-turned-on-by-parental-advisory-stickers fantasies
N.W.A.. So I got to stand there in my gym shorts, working myself all the way
up to an A+ self-administered orgasm at seven-thirty on a school morning while
Eric "Twice" Smith sobbed behind me in a puddle of vomit, and I got to do it
all while shaking my white-girl ass to "Gangsta Gangsta". Which I still know
all the words to. Sigh. Call me, Eazy. I've still got the gravity bong.