At least the food is decent. And the hot shower has done wonders for my body. The marks from the teacher's whip sting, but at least I was able to wash in peace. The men's locker room was quiet, but the women's wasn't. We could hear shouts through the shower pipes. What were they doing?
I followed the group, like a sheep to the slaughter, following the smell of freshly cooked food. The place is spacious, with large windows and long tables arranged in eight rows. Most of the seats are already occupied by people who haven't had to shower after running around in the sun, lucky them. I grabbed a tray and, surprise, it's a set menu. More school nightmares. It's not that I'm picky, but, man, if I don't want peas, the world won't end, right? I'm not a kid anymore.
I sit at the first table with a space and am surprised when the rest of my classmates take seats around me. There's the hipster-looking guy, Jade or Jake, or something like that, Zacarias, and the semi-retired guy. Other guys spread out on either side, and in seconds the place is filled with noise and conversation.
"It looks disgusting," the bratty teenager blurts out.
"It's not that bad," I reply, grateful for the plate of stewed vegetables. The taste isn't bad.
"You have no taste," he chides, and I look at him over my fork. "You came because a guy touched your nipples, you have terrible taste."
I sigh. I expected it, from the moment the teacher spoke, in a way. Adulthood, after all, isn't just a post-adolescent classroom, and not everyone shakes off stupidity in the first stage. This one hasn't even taken a step out of that stage.
"Shut up, Zacarias," the hipster orders. Jade, it was definitely Jake. "We're all going to end up there, you better start accepting things as they are."
"No one's going to touch my nipples, I assure you," he says, boastful. I consider changing tables, look around, and see there are no more seats. Shit, always late.
"But I admit that young lady, that little one, helped a lot," says the old man with the white beard. He offers his hand to me across the table, and I take it hesitantly. This is the jerk. "I'm Ramiro, nice to meet you."
"Paul."
"Yeah, yeah, we all know your name by now. You're the teachers' favorite."
"What? I'm not the..."
"Of course you are! Didn't they both choose you?"
I bite my tongue, aware of this coincidence and cursing myself for it. I don´t needed was to develop that kind of reputation. I shut up and push the peas away from the salmon. I'm not eating them, thanks.
"What's our schedule this afternoon?" Jake asks.
"No way, something about Ethics or whatever that means."
"Oh, that'll do you good then."
He gives her a middle finger, and I hide my smile. I fiddle with the bread while I look for Vera. I'd wanted to talk to her a bit. Maybe after class... we have several hours free before dinner and the obligatory social distancing games. If I could just have a few minutes with her... Shit, what am I thinking? What would I say? How are we going to discuss everything that's happening to us? With how embarrassing she is, she'll probably run away all red-faced. Although, on the other hand, I was surprised by her audacity. It was as if two different people lived there, and when the clothes fell off, the girl who didn't hesitate to lick my feet appear. Her lustful, fiery gaze still turned me on.
"These three months are going to be long," Jake sighed.
"I shouldn't even be here," the old man growled.
"Did your wife report you or something?" the rooster asked indelicately.
"Your mother must have put you in here," Ramiro responded angrily.
"Don't mention my mother!" Zacarias jumped in, standing up and waving a fork at him.
"Okay, okay, calm down," I said.
Look, I don't give a damn if these two kill each other, but I'm in the way of that fork, and I like having two eyes.
"Well, don't mention my mother!" he repeats himself more than garlic.
"Yeah, yeah, sorry, kid, go on, eat your vegetables."
It's a good thing the PA system cuts through the nonsense, because otherwise there's bound to be bloodshed here. I make a mental note to find other people to socialize with.
"You have an hour of recess; you may go outside, within the school boundaries. No contact with the outside world is allowed; you are reminded that the gates are electrified. You are not allowed to invite unauthorized classmates into your dorms. Please refrain from improper behavior. Maintain decency outside the classrooms. Dessert will be served in the adjoining room in five minutes. One dessert per person; those who break the rules will be disciplined." "The people who have stopped talking begin to discuss the instructions."
I suppose all of them would be in the papers I signed, but who reads all that paper? I've accepted so many cookies on my computer that my soul has probably already been auctioned off to the best devil. I finish the raw salmon, while the rest rush to finish their rations reluctantly. An hour isn't much time, although I'm sure it'll give me time for a nap.
A gas alarm sounds and the back doors unlock. Those closest rush to take their trays to the bins and throw away the leftovers.
I get up too, craving something sweet to take the sting out of my mouth, and when I approach the doors, I see it's almost dark. I frown, and as the line moves forward and my eyes adjust, I begin to notice other things. They've drawn the curtains, blocking out the light. The line passes in front of the tables at the back and then out the other side. There's an eerie silence, broken only occasionally by the nervous whispers of those in front of me. They've lit candles, real candles, which flicker and move the shadows suggestively. This has something of a confessional, of contemplation.
It smells sweet, like strawberries, and my mouth is watering. Will they give us ice cream? Strawberry shortcake?
"It's freaking creepy," a tall, dark-skinned woman whispers behind me.
I finally reach the first table and stop dead in my tracks. Yes, it's definitely strawberry shortcake. They look delicious, cut into squares, with whipped cream and soft sponge cake. If it weren't for the prohibition, I'd eat two or three pieces. The problem is the tray.
Or the lack of it, rather.
Because the cupcakes are displayed on a naked, blindfolded woman. She's lying there, completely relaxed, completely motionless because all those little cupcakes are on her skin. I know she's alive because I can see her chest moving up and down, making the food tremble with each sway.
"Fucking degenerates," the girl behind me whispers. And I couldn't agree more.
I glimpse the rest of the tables: there are two men and two women, in the same position. They've been completely shaved, not a single hair on their bodies. They maintain a relaxed attitude, while the students take a small piece of dessert. But not with their hands; there's a sign right in front indicating that it must be done with the mouth. Fuck. Here we go again.
A woman watches the tables with a watchful eye. If anyone tries to pick up a dessert with their hands, or to leave without eating it, she points her finger and looks at the camera, and I have no doubt they're taking down all our names to punish us later.
I hesitate when it's my turn. The girl must be in her twenties, her golden hair falling in ringlets onto the table. Her lips have been painted crimson to match the shiny strawberries crowning each tiny bite. There are traces of it on her skin where people have already eaten a pastry. I lean over her, and the exquisite scent grows stronger. The candlelight hypnotizes me, making that skin, slightly sticky with sweetness, shine. I bring my lips to a particularly tempting piece, below her navel, and take a bite, trying not to stain myself with the rest of the pieces.
Perhaps because I'm nervous or because this isn't a comfortable position, the cake splits and slides gently down toward that hairless pubis. The stranger shudders when she feels that piece, which ends up lodged in the triangle formed by her legs and pussy.
I look toward the supervisor, who smiles at me and nods, and I don't doubt it. I run my tongue along the trail of cream left behind from her belly button and enter the hollow to slurp up the remains, leaving the entire area spotless. The girl makes a muffled face when I stand up and wipe my mouth with my hand.
Oh my goodness, it's delicious.