martes, 16 de diciembre de 2014

Relato no. 2

Ahí estaba mi profesor, sentado tras de su escritorio, con lentes de pasta, camisa blanca tucked in blue denim jeans. He would just stand, go to the greenboard, take a chalk in his hands and write, write like a motherfucker, all over the greenboard. On his back, moving his right hand and paying all the attention to what his was writing, just like if he was giving to us the last word God. Like a prophet in boots.
I was not first in line but second from middle to right and two seats to the back. Coming all late, twenty or twenty three minutes late, just as he would tell me. "Twenty or twenty two minutes late" all the time, his way to say hello was "Ingrid, you´re twenty or twenty two minutes late", and I would just feel like coming home.
Did I tell how much I love tucked boys? No, I didn't. His white shirt would be tucked as hell, showing his hot ass to the worlds. I would just love those thight jeans covering his ass. And I had them just for me when he was writing on the greenboard like he was giving us the last truth from God. The last truth.
He would just turn over his feet, tell us some fucking non-sense, give a couple sacastic answers to my classmates and go back to his seat, look at us like a hawk go back to his doings came back to us an so forth.
I would just sit there and look and him whenever I could but so smart so he could never see me looking at him. And that was my play, till I understood he was not playing with me.
And I got nuts, how he could not play with me? how he could not see me? how he could not know I existed?
Then finally I decided he was to fall for me, and I was going to show the world he was another man like everyone.

And here the story begins

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En apoyo a la libertad de expresion y con fundamento en el articulo 6to de la Constitucion Politica de los Estados Unidos Mexicanos, publico todo lo que las voces en mi cabeza tienen que decir, pero me deslindo afirmando que no necesariamente comparto sus puntos de vista.