OooOooOooh!

My Spanish classroom is really, really hot.

I mean, it has to be tipping into the ninety degree border sometimes. It's hot to the point that when I have to peel off every layer of clothes I can without appearing indecent.

So here I was in the middle of class one day, fanning myself with my Spanish workbook and lulled by the voice of my Spanish teacher when suddenly, my eyes started roaming the outline of the guy sitting in front of me. My mind started to work itself in a frenzy. I mentally traced the hard outline of his jaw, the surprisingly graceful curve of his neck, the lazy 'u' that sloped onto his broad shoulders. The temperature in the room seemed to rise by a few degrees. The freckled expanse of his skin seemed soft and powdery. I had an uncontrollable urge to touch him.

In my mind's eye, I was touching him. I was placing my lips on his neck, skimming the silky skin, gently nipping his earlobes.

The temperature of the room rose again.

My hands were slipped under his shirt and possessively touched his chest, the hard muscles of his abs, and traveled to the band of his cotton boxers.

It was here that I came to a mental barrier. My fantasy wasn't going any further. Ew, stop, I told myself. Am I so desperate to get laid that I'm fantasizing about him? And in the middle of Spanish? Have some decency.

I considered this voice meditatively. Then, I thought about the unbearable heat of the room, the hypnotic voice of my teacher, and the lump of pure want stuck in my throat, so thick I couldn't swallow. Fuck off, I told the voice in my head.

Now, I can claim that I've had sex in my Spanish classroom. At least mentally.