The Grade Curve Ch. 02

The memory of my experience in Mr. Bassett's office was still in my mind during classes the following day. When I thought about Lane and the things that had happened, my mind wandered away from whatever my professor was talking about. A pencil was in my mouth. It tasted unreasonably salty.

After class, I was sitting on a sofa in the school's lounge, clicking away at my laptop. I was finishing up my comp project, but the words were mixing together on the page, incomprehensible. I couldn't pay attention. This was starting to become a problem.

That's when I noticed Lane sitting across the room from me. He had his own laptop out, and he sat there frowning at the screen. He was dressed in a tight black shirt and sweatpants, with a backwards Yankees hat. The prominent veins in his arms were visible even to me. I thought tentatively about yesterday, about what those hands had done to me, about what I wanted those hands to do to me. A rush of chills went through my body at the thought.

"Slower," I could still hear Basset's deep voice in the back of my mind. He had been barking orders at Lane. "Grab his neck. His chest. His..."

I had been told to stay still, to be the object, so to speak. Move every now and then, but nothing drastic. Play the part. Look into Lane's eyes, widen mine, and stay silent. I must have been somewhat okay at it, because Bassett had continually said the words, "Good, Matt." That had to have meant something.

I thought hesitantly about the last thing Bassett had said, "You will be notified of your results in less than twenty-four hours." After this, his webcam had disconnected, leaving me alone with Lane on the sofa.

What did that mean? Our results? Was this some sort of test? What if we failed? These questions and more were whirling around in my mind when I noticed Lane shift in his seat.

He was staring at his computer screen, discomfort covering his features, rereading something over and over, his eyes wild. I was ridiculously curious, until I heard the familiar ding of my own email notification.

I clicked on the message quickly, knowing full well who it had to be from.

From: Robert Bassett (Dean of Student's)

To: Mathew French

Subject: Evaluation 1.0

Subject one (Mathew) performed well, with little assistance. He showed true discipline and desire for excellence. His role was achieved believably, and he exceeded even my own expectations.

Result: will return.

*

Subject two (Lane) performed at a par less than desirable. He showed little self-control and much discomfort. He did not provide a believable performance of his role. However, at the points of his success, he showed bravery and experimentation, which must be noted.

Result: will return (on conditions).

I found myself doing the same thing as Lane, rereading the message until the words began to make sense. I had performed... well? I had done something that Bassett liked. The notion seemed ridiculous. What could Bassett have liked so much about me? Lane was the hot one, easily. His body was out of this world, whereas I was lean, at best. He had those gorgeous green eyes and thick brown hair. What did I have?

The words, will return, repeated in the back of my mind as I watched the horror grow on Lane's face. He knew that he was in trouble.

***

Later on that day, I was on my bed, still attempting to write my comp project. The paper was starting to look like messy paragraphs pushed together, but at least it was something. I was not performing well in this class-probably because of my tendency to not turn in assignments-so this project was supposed to be my attempt at getting a somewhat passing grade. With all that was going on, I found that it was nearly impossible to write a coherent thought. I wondered fondly if I even needed to do homework, now that I had the Dean of Student's on my side. I pushed that thought out of my mind.

That familiar ding erupted for the second time today and I glanced down at my email. There was another message from Bassett

From: Robert Bassett (Dean of Student's)

To: Matthew French

Subject: (session 2)

Subject one will meet subject two in E256, the handicap accessible bathroom.

Because of high standings, subject one will not be participating at any level of difficulty. Results will be most likely favorable, no doubt. Session two will be considered a further examination of subject two.

Please wear something comfortable.

***

"Hey," Lane said once he recognized me. He wouldn't look me in the eyes. There was a laptop sitting open atop the counter in between the sink and the hand dryer. "I've been here for hours. Lock the door, will ya?" I obeyed, feeling the door click under my fingers as I pushed the button.

"Was your message as vague as mine?" I asked, already guessing the answer.

"As usual."

"He connects in five minutes?"

"Exactly one o'clock. So, four minutes."

"Couldn't he have picked a better place to do this?" I said, eyebrows raised at our surroundings. It was the smallest bathroom on campus; one toilet stall, a urinal, and a sink. The one peculiar thing about it, however, was the gigantic, full-body mirror that covered one wall.

Lane didn't respond.

We sat in silence for a few of those agonizingly slow-paced minutes. Lane still refused to look at me, and I could see a slight tremor in his hands. He was terrified. I had a feeling that his email had not been as uplifting as mine had been. What was at stake for this kid? I almost felt bad for him.

The screen of the MacBook suddenly shone to life, and a webcam screen showed Lane and me, standing, arms crossed, in the dimly lit bathroom. It was obviously a live stream of the laptop's webcam. I waved at the camera, and my figure waved back.

"Boys," Mr. Bassett's molasses voice emanated through the speakers, filling the surroundings with its deep forcefulness.

We nodded simultaneously.

"Let us begin."

After a while, I soon realized the reasoning behind Bassett's choice of location-the full body mirror provided him with a view from all angles. It was perfect, for him at least.

He first instructed me to stand directly in front of the mirror and unbutton my flannel. I obeyed, until I felt the cold air hit my bare torso. Lane was to then continue stripping me until I was standing, naked save for my briefs. He did, and I could soon feel goose bumps across my entire body.

"Do as you desire," Bassett ordered Lane. Lane simply stared, his eyes darting from me to the laptop. Desire? His face seemed to scream. He eventually lifted his hands and brought them up to rest on my shoulders. He began to massage them with a shaky grip. All I wanted to do was lean forward, to instigate any sort of further touch, but I knew that was not what Bassett wanted. It had to be Lane.

Finally, Lane brought his hand to my face, which he stroked gently. He touched my cheekbone, my lips, my jaw. When his thick fingers suddenly wrapped around my neck, I let out a gasp. With a slight growl, he pushed me back until I smacked against the mirror. At the impact, it started.

He pressed his mouth firmly against mine and forced his tongue in between my lips. He used his free hand to squeeze my bare nipples. I couldn't move because of his tight hold on my neck, but I moaned into his mouth, feeling the sharp pains and hot pleasure mix together in a toxic concoction. He moved his hand down my chest until it was just above my briefs.

"Get on the ground, face away," by Bassett's tone of voice, I knew he was talking to me. Lane released his incredible hold on me and took a step back, wiping his face on his shirt sleeve.

It took me a few moments to collect myself, but I soon turned around, got to my knees, and leaned forward, pressing my hands against the tiled floor. My eyes faced the mirror, and my other end-covered only by my thin, dampened boxers-faced Lane and the laptop. I could hear heavy breathing coming from behind me, from more than just Lane.

"Do as I wish?" Lane asked with what almost sounded like eagerness.

He received no immediate response. For a few minutes, the only thing I could hear was my rapid heartbeat. This anticipation was unbearable. My body ached, with more than just the pain of Lane's forcefulness.

"Mr. Bassett?" Lane spoke again. I was unusually aware of the intense rise and fall of my chest. I waited to feel hands on me; I needed it.

Bassett did not reply.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the speakers sounded again.

"You will be notified of your results in less than twenty four hours."