TREVOR AT THE WHITEBOARD

Mark Johnson
4 min readJul 27, 2023

The school day was nearing its end, and Trevor was having difficulty focusing in Mrs. Ortega’s 7th-period Algebra class. His focus, or lack thereof, could have been for many reasons, like having a low-energy lunch to power him through the rest of the day. The other factor was that it was an unseasonably warm day, and like how geese knew when to fly south, the girls of North Highlands High School were ready for the heat letting their skin show, soaking up the blessings from the sun, wearing shorts and tank tops.

The matter at hand was the trigger as Trevor walking into Mrs. Ortega’s class, caught a glimpse of Coreen as she walked into class. He was filling his eyes as she went to her desk and sat down in a slow-mo moment. Like many of the girls on campus, she dressed for the heat, wearing a hot pink spaghetti strap tank top and denim cutoff shorts. The color contrast against her natural cinnamon-tan skin was mesmerizing and clear as day she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her ample adolescent breasts bounced and swayed as her nipples protruded just enough to be seen.

Moments like this were happening all over campus as high school boys finally saw what summer had done to their female classmates and how the coming season was looking ever brighter with the mass unveiling. So as Mrs. Ortega’s class sat at their desk and began to review last night’s homework, Trevor set out on a daydream of mega proportions featuring Coreen. Trevor was set to review Kyle’s homework as each student passed theirs to the student ahead of them. Trevor’s ended up in the hands of Will, a real stickler for grading by the rules, but Trevor’s mind was off somewhere else.

Mrs. Ortega was now at the whiteboard, helping the class do peer edits on the homework assignment due that day. Trevor was editing Kyle’s paper, who sat behind him, and not really checking his work, more just checking if he got the correct answer. This was a practice Mrs. Ortega frowned upon forever, reminding students to review the work and add notes if they had gotten it wrong. The act of subordination on Trevor’s part was due to him being thoroughly caught up in a daydream that was exploring what Coreen might look like topless.

At this point, Mrs. Ortega decided to start calling students to work out problems on the whiteboard, and her first selection was Trevor. Who knew why she chose him? Maybe she felt he could solve the problem, perhaps she just sensed Trevor wasn’t doing what he was supposed to, or it could have been the glazed-over look in his eyes as he looked out the window.

The sound of his name snapped him back to reality. He had missed the workings of the two previous problems and scrambled to figure out where the class was. Mrs. Ortega asked again, pointing to the board, a draw-erase pen in her hand. In most cases like this, Trevor would play like background or try and avoid eye contact with Mrs. O to avoid getting selected for the humiliation of working out an Algebraic equation in front of the class. This time the jig was up.

He looked around, finding his place, and began to get up frantic; his mind still caught up in his afternoon fantasy. He then realized he was in full afternoon wood mode and knew standing up anymore; he might just put someone’s eye out on his way to the whiteboard. So he stalled, halfway standing, halfway sitting, pulling his shirt down in front of him as he looked over Kyle’s paper for how to work the problem, hoping his excited member might have time to subside. Mrs. O urged him to make it quick and stood up, homework in hand, using it as a fig leaf, covering himself up as he awkwardly walked the aisle to the whiteboard.

Mrs. O handed him the marker and asked him to work on the problem. Nervous as all hell that the classroom would catch a glimpse of his protruding member in his pants, he stood legs crossed and stared at the board. He then realized all he had to do was copy what Kyle had written on his paper; be it right or wrong, it was an exercise. Trevor proceeded with the plan, only wanting to return to his desk and be aroused in peace.

So he jotted it all down swiftly and turned to Mrs. Ortega, fidgeting from head to toe again with Kyle’s homework in front of him along with the draw-erase pen. Mrs. Ortega looked over the worked-out problem asking the class if it was correct and worked out properly. The students were silent as Mrs. Ortega approached the board standing next to Trevor. She reached for the draw-erase pen, focusing on the board only to brush up against Trevor’s bulge, leaving them slightly more than horrified.

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Mark Johnson

Mark Johnson is a University of Chico graduate, a lover of the creative arts, avid photographer, with an undying entrepreneurial spirit.