Katie Jackson smeared more chapstick across her lips and wished Mr. Furman would hurry up and finish the lab demo already. Once he turned the Bunsen burner off, she’d be able to ask for a pass to the bathroom. Chem class rules: no standing during open-flame lab demos.
That term at school, she habitually thwarted boredom by taking as many toilet breaks as she could get away with. Private moments in the Girls’ Room stalls were her only peaceful times at Kennedy High. The shrink her stepfather forced her to see would have said she was withdrawing. Isolating. Hermitizing. So what if she wanted a quiet place to squeeze her nipples at 11:40 on a Tuesday. Was that so wrong? A pass to the bathroom would win her a reprieve from the engrossing (not) periodic table of elements, a nipple squeeze, and, oh yeah, she did kind of have to pee.
She relished the feeling of a full bladder. She crossed her legs and contracted her—what did Cosmo call them?—PC muscles. Kegels. Thank you, Cosmo. Squeeze, release. Squeeze, release. Tash had a perfect GPA and he said that 20 Kegels twice a day would put the You in Cum. Katie was fairly sure Tash was all talk, but she’d take a genius’s sex tips any day. Squeeze, release, Squeeze, release. No one could argue that he wasn’t well read. When her time came for real sex, not just touching herself, her PCs would be ready.
“Miss Jackson, we’re waiting.”
“I’ll repeat. What is the temperature in Kelvin?”
“Um. It’s—I really have to go to the bathroom.”
“Not during the experiment.”
What would Mr. Furman would do if she had to go so bad that she couldn’t hold it? She uncrossed her legs and pressed the tops of her thighs together, leaning forward in her seat. Squeeze, release. She let just a little bit of pee out, then quickly squeezed again.
Now her crotch was wet with the heat of urine and she wanted to touch herself so bad. She imagined pressing her palm to her pelvis and fingering her clitoris. Squeeze, release. She folded her arms like she was cold just to put pressure on her chest. She didn’t really think of her small mounds as breasts. They were too new and too small. Still, all at once every part of her craved touch. Plus, she really needed to make sure her jeans didn’t appear as wet as she felt. If she could get a bathroom pass before the bell rang, she’d have enough privacy to massage her clit a little while her bladder was still full.
She shot her hand up and spoke before the teacher called on her. “Mr. Furman, I really need to go.”
He ignored her. It was almost as if he liked the idea of making her wait.
TO BE CONTINUED
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