Led_Astray
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 6, 2008
- Posts
- 1,455
Parent's Evening: OPEN FOR CRITIQUE
The classroom door opened, and Jim, the elderly caretaker, stuck his head in.
"Alright, Mr Larkman? You going to be long? Only, it's seven o'clock, see, and I'm all finished, and everyone else is gone, like." he chattered, with annoying cheeriness.
The occupant of the room raised his completely bald head and smiled with false friendliness. "I have one more parent to see, I'm afraid. But you go on home, Jim, I can lock up and set the alarms when I'm done."
"Well, that's very good of you, sir," burbled the old man, oblivious to the coldness in the teacher's blue eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow then." As the caretaker left, Mr Larkman could here him whistling tunelessly along the corridor, punctuated by the sound of a door opening and closing.
Damned old fool, thought Mr Larkman to himself. Get yourself home, I don't want any witnesses tonight...
He stood, drew himself up to his full 6 feet in height, and looked at his reflection in the glass of the door. He'd deliberately dressed to look authoritative tonight - covering his wide shoulders with a conservative black suit intimidated children and parents alike, and as a result he got a lot fewer complaints than, say, Mrs Simpson, the friendly and open teacher in the class below. It made parents evening so much simpler - the only reason he was the last teacher to finish tonight was because he had deliberately planned it that way.
He grinned at his reflection, and rubbed at his chin. He'd shaved that very morning but dark stubble was already shadowing his jawline, making his face look lean and angular, like a wolf. Combined with the complete lack of hair that might show tell-tales of grey, it made him look years younger, too. Closer to late thirties than his actual age of forty-five. Regular visits to the gym helped too, of course, though these days he just couldm't seem to shift the layer of fat over his belly... but that no longer mattered. He shook his head and scowled, then straightened his blood red tie and picked a speck of lint off his black shirt.
In the distance, he heard the entrance buzzer sound. Pausing only to tap a few keys on his laptop and turning its screen to face the wall, he left the classroom. He strode purposefully along the corridor, past notice-boards full of children’s artwork and writing, knowing that there was nobody else here to let the visitor in.
And besides, he knew it was for him...
The classroom door opened, and Jim, the elderly caretaker, stuck his head in.
"Alright, Mr Larkman? You going to be long? Only, it's seven o'clock, see, and I'm all finished, and everyone else is gone, like." he chattered, with annoying cheeriness.
The occupant of the room raised his completely bald head and smiled with false friendliness. "I have one more parent to see, I'm afraid. But you go on home, Jim, I can lock up and set the alarms when I'm done."
"Well, that's very good of you, sir," burbled the old man, oblivious to the coldness in the teacher's blue eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow then." As the caretaker left, Mr Larkman could here him whistling tunelessly along the corridor, punctuated by the sound of a door opening and closing.
Damned old fool, thought Mr Larkman to himself. Get yourself home, I don't want any witnesses tonight...
He stood, drew himself up to his full 6 feet in height, and looked at his reflection in the glass of the door. He'd deliberately dressed to look authoritative tonight - covering his wide shoulders with a conservative black suit intimidated children and parents alike, and as a result he got a lot fewer complaints than, say, Mrs Simpson, the friendly and open teacher in the class below. It made parents evening so much simpler - the only reason he was the last teacher to finish tonight was because he had deliberately planned it that way.
He grinned at his reflection, and rubbed at his chin. He'd shaved that very morning but dark stubble was already shadowing his jawline, making his face look lean and angular, like a wolf. Combined with the complete lack of hair that might show tell-tales of grey, it made him look years younger, too. Closer to late thirties than his actual age of forty-five. Regular visits to the gym helped too, of course, though these days he just couldm't seem to shift the layer of fat over his belly... but that no longer mattered. He shook his head and scowled, then straightened his blood red tie and picked a speck of lint off his black shirt.
In the distance, he heard the entrance buzzer sound. Pausing only to tap a few keys on his laptop and turning its screen to face the wall, he left the classroom. He strode purposefully along the corridor, past notice-boards full of children’s artwork and writing, knowing that there was nobody else here to let the visitor in.
And besides, he knew it was for him...
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