Chris Armstrong

Chris Armstrong

BIO: Some people call Chris a space cowboy and some call him a gangster of love. Others refer to him as Maurice. He often speaks of the pompetous of love. There are those who talk about Chris and will tell you that he is doing wrong. Do not worry. No, do not worry. He is right here at home. Chris enjoys picking, grinning, loving, sinning, playing solar musical concerts, joking, smoking, and, of course, midnight toking. He most assuredly does not want to hurt anyone.

You can keep up with Chris’ picking, grinning, and creative works at Army of Ideas.

Teacher, My Pet

“The teacher turned to her class and smiled, despite the outburst from one of her pupils. The teacher continued her lecture on the Louisiana Purchase without addressing the behavior. Several pupils continued to whisper to each other, again without intervention from the teacher.”

Principal Ellis dropped the evaluation form on his desk as he looked at Ms. Hemsworth. Her hands were folded in her lap to hide their trembling, and she frowned at Vice Principal Bellweather’s reference to her as “the teacher.”

Principal Ellis stared at the small pout of cleavage peeking from her dress as she leaned forward, and he made it seem he was staring off in deep thought. “What do you have to say for yourself, Ms. Hemsworth?”

She brushed her curly hair behind her shoulder, and Principal Ellis noticed a bruise on her neck. “I’ve been… distracted. I know I’m new and this review reflects poorly on me, but I assure you this is… an anomaly.” Her eyes darted around the room as she pressed a tissue to her nose. Principal Ellis leaned back in his chair and tugged at his watch band. His Swiss time piece.

“Ms. Hemsworth… Leslie.” His voice shifted to a familiar tone, as if they were good friends… or more. “Teaching is a difficult art to master. There will be bumps. But that’s why you have the teaching staff to lean on. And you have me.”

The last sentence hung in the air like a sick cloud, and he laid his hand on the desk as if to take her own in comfort. She regarded it as a snake, a tanned serpent with hairy knuckles and manicured nails ready to strike at her blouse.

Noticing her repulsion, he withdrew his hand with a smile and adjusted his watch band. “I understand your apprehension. It would hardly be discrete. And besides,” he nodded at her neck, “I see you already have someone.” Leslie brushed her hair forward. “I know men will be men, but we don’t have to be. I don’t condone hitting, but it’s your personal life, and I won’t interfere. Unless you want me to. That’s what I’m here for. As the principal.” The last part was merely an afterthought.

Leslie eyed the clock and then the door window. Last period was almost over. Her students were in Music class now, so they would head home directly from Mrs. Bentley’s room. She could leave school early. Before anything bad happened. “I need to head home a few minutes early, Principal Ellis.”

“What will he do to you if you’re late?” The playfulness had left his voice, and she froze mid-reach for her notebook.

“What do you mean? What do you know?” An admission. She let it slip in her surprise.

“The bruise, the lack of concentration during lessons, dozing off during a staff meeting… I don’t have to be a psychic, Leslie. Your boyfriend isn’t treating you well.”

Leslie peered out the window again, seeing one last opportunity to escape. “Principal Ellis, another time. I must leave before he gets here. Please.”

He stood with her, armed stretched out to stop her. “Leslie, I hope you can confide in me. If the school grounds aren’t safe for you, you are always welcome at my place.”

She nodded in thanks and dashed from his office. Playing hard to get. I’ve played that game. He watched her ass dance like two badgers wrestling in a sack and ached with pleasure. Soon. Very soon.

Leslie sighed as she closed her classroom door behind her. Two minutes before the bell rang. Still enough time. She ran to the cubby room in the back to get her purse, pulling the keys from its depths. The door opened with a long creak, and she froze, hidden out of sight among the children’s things.

My God! It’s too late! It’s him. He’s here.

“Leslie. Come out, come out, where ever you are.” The voice ran through her spine, twisting her body in terror. “I know you saw the principal. Did you think I wouldn’t find out. What did he ask you? What did you tell him about me?”

The bell rang, clawing at the silence, and with it, a parade of children’s voice screeched and laughed, carefree and oblivious to the abomination standing in her classroom. Footsteps approached, and she held her purse against her chest, a useless shield from the monster closing in on her. Into the cubby room stepped a pale-skinned boy with black hair parted down the middle. It was Mordecai, one of her students. It was him!

“What did you tell the principal, Leslie? Did you show him the bruise I gave you?” he hissed. She recoiled with a gasp. “The children will not hear your screams. They are spilling from the halls like blood.” His tongue darted between his teeth.

“I…I told him nothing! He th-thinks it was a lover. He knows nothing about you! Any of you!” The door opened again, and for once Leslie prayed it was Principal Ellis. The sounds of many small footsteps betrayed that hope.

Mordecai grabbed her arm and dragged her from the cubby room. Before her stood the rest of her students. They were all a pale yellow, each with eyes hungering for their prey. “We don’t believe you,” said Mordecai. “You let our secret slip from your lips. Your lips, the flesh so tender.” The other students moaned with satisfaction.

“I think we have a lesson for you, Ms. Hemsworth.” The students closed in around her, the sound of air sucking eagerly between their teeth.