When you kissed the teacher, the rules of the game changed. I could bend over backwards in the classroom but now all he wants is for me to bend over forwards in his office to achieve the same results.
When you kissed the teacher, what was once a place of education for some of us suddenly became Hugh Hefner’s Playboy mansion where each and every one with a vagina is up for grabs.
When you kissed the teacher, I stopped being daddy’s little princess and was transformed into a fringe benefit of the job, an academic geisha.
When you kissed the teacher, you opened not just your legs but a door that left us all vulnerable and all our cries are now under rug swept.
When you kissed the teacher, you placed a burden on our shoulders that is heavier than his pot-bellied self and it pricks like a needle to the derriere but I’m sure you understand exactly what that feels like.
Before you kissed the teacher, your dull self could have asked for learning aids to help you grasp concepts because now you in line for a different type of AIDS.
Why you couldn’t have just been a commercial sex-worker completely escapes me. You are already giving yourself up for paper.
So after all your ‘hardwork’, imagine his surprise when he meets a girl like me and I say NO! I don’t get to go head-to-head with a horny bull but his vicious ego instead.
If you were a character from History, you’d be Lobengula, except you added the ‘se’ before the X that sold out all the girls to the man that will do whatever he may deem necessary to help us pass.
The sins of our fore-classmates.