My Mother Is A Pornstar

I was in the office now.

Mr. Thimble and I sat facing each other from either side of his desk. I couldn't help but notice his change of wardrobe; he'd exchanged his raped sweater for a faded t-shirt that looked as though it had been dug out from the bowels of some gym locker. As for myself, my pants were up and my dick had never been softer.

I knew by the tinge in his eyes that Mr. Thimble wanted to penalize me, but under what allegations? If anything, I was the victim, oppressed by my own hormones.

We spent maybe a little too long in that awkward silence, neither one knowing really what to say. All I could think about was leaving, going home, and maybe shooting down another target, and I imagine all he could think about was what in the hell did he do wrong that karma would turn a middle school principal into a walking love sock. But eventually the time did come when Thimble decided to bail out the empty air that had been drowning us both for so long.

“Daniel, do you understand why you're in trouble?”

I hate when people use my full name. It's like their trying to be personal, but anyone I ever really knew would just call me Dan. I chose to show my distaste for his address with an honest reply.

“Because I jizzed on you.”

I watched the word 'jizz' flare his eyes, as if all along he'd doubted me to have the balls for such language.

“I will not tolerate such language in my office.”

“Sorry.” My reply was deflated.

“The reason that you're in trouble is that you lied to your math teacher, left the room for an extended period of time to pleasure yourself, refused to answer anybody in the bathroom and ultimately created a raucous that distracted everyone. And you ejaculated on me.”

Jesus knows I bit back a laugh on that last line, and he must have noticed because he straightened himself in his chair and began again, this time in a more dominant tone. I knew right away he'd been waiting to drop this on me from the beginning like a leopard treading a pool of shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to spring.

“I've called in your mother.”

It was impossible to hide the disappointment in my face. “My mom?”

“Yes.”

“But why?” I might have been sitting, but my voice stood straight up from the chair.

“Because this has been an ongoing issue that needs to be dealt with, right here and now. And I think it would be beneficial to have some parental ...” He circled his hand, weaving his word in the air. “Input.”

“What the hell –”

“Language.”

“– could Carrie possibly offer the situation?”

“I would like her opinion on how you should be disciplined.”

“For what!? I didn't even do anything!”

“Daniel, we already debriefed what it was you were guilty of.”

I sneered. It was all I could do. He held all the cards, he'd used my name again. Not to mention the word 'debrief' meant absolutely nothing to me.

“Rudeness will get you nowhere in life,” Mr. Thimble replied, not at all budged by my insult. The only thing worse than being in an argument, is being in an argument where you're the only person who's upset. I had to say something to get him going.

“Bite me.”

His eyes opened. “Now, I've just about had it was this attitude! I am your principal –”

His rant died at my mother's entrance. She clicked her way in on heels with one arm bent upwards to support the heavy purse. Like all men caught in my mother's presence, Mr. Thimble's eyes hopped from her face to chest in quick jerks. She was pinned up in the same pink dress she always wore when I was in trouble like this, flaunting enough cleavage to float me out of my crimes and the city out of New Orleans, all at the same time.

“Mrs. Cavelli, thank you for coming,” he said openhandedly. “Please, take a seat.” I didn't look at Carrie as she sat, but I could feel her stare prying at me, asking: 'Dan, what have you done this time?'

“Is Dan in trouble?” she began, setting her purse by her feet. It was a stupid question. Of course I was in trouble.

“I'm afraid he is, Mrs. Cavelli.” he said with transparent concern. It's amazing how much his mood has shifted in four seconds. “This is the third disruption he's created in the past two weeks, and frankly detentions don't seem to be straightening his behaviour at all.”

“Well, what has he done?” she asked.

Mr. Thimble cracked an unfriendly smile. “What has he done? Last Tuesday, he snuck into my office and used to intercom system to advertise his new Cafeteria menu item.” I knew what was coming, and couldn't believe Thimble was going to even try to make it sound professional. “Queefburgers with a thick layer of poon-sauce.”

My mother made a sound deep in her chest. To Mr. Thimble it probably would have come off as a cough, maybe even a little clearing of the throat, but I knew she was laughing.

“I gave him detention after that little stunt, thinking that maybe it would teach him his lesson,” continued Thimble. “But a few days later he decided to strike again by printing a series of posters which he put up around the school.”

My mother looked a little disbelieving at that. “Posters?” She knew I hadn't even looked at homework in a leap year, and now I was being accused of going so far out of my way to create and advertise my own art on an entire three level building? That sounded a little bit too Jay-Z for this Kanye.

Without any sort of rush, Thimble opened one of his desk drawers and fished out the paper that I'd spent that whole night preparing. It was the picture of Thimble that I'd found on the Rothesay Middle School website bearing a surprised O mouth that was too perfectly tailored for the veiniest, most exaggerated penis I'd ever drawn to fill. Across the top was my cleverly invented title. MR. T LOVES THE D!

He laid the paper out flat on his desk for Carrie to inspect.

“Four-hundred and thirty nine of these were put up around my school,” Mr. Thimble explained while Carrie muzzled another outburst with her hand. “I'd ordered him to take down every single copy and serve out detention for the rest of the week.”

“Well,” she hardly managed, “it's hardly appropriate, but boys will be boys.”

“You don't think his actions were worthy of punishment?” His voice was surprised. Everyone in the field of education assumes parents will serve them the pity they so desperately crave. My mother is not most parents.

“Well if that's all you say he's done and he's been disciplined, then I would have to say no. Dan might have a slight appetite for misdeed, but he's a good kid.”

She smiles warmly towards me but I pay it no attention. Instead I look towards Thimble who appears to be in the midst of realization that Carrie wouldn't turn out to be the heavily armed reinforcements he's anticipated.

Mr. Thimble squared his shoulders, keeping his chin level as he spoke. This was his last chance to gain his teammate. “Mrs. Cavelli, this morning your son lied to his math teacher, went to the bathroom to masturbate and then ejaculated onto myself when I tried to help him.”

No face-itching or cheek-biting was enough to restrain Carrie's charisma this time. She erupted into a total fit of laughter. “He jizzed onto you?”

Mr Thimble's expression was horrific, first looking to my hysterically amused mother, then to me, which I returned with a big banana smile.“ Mrs. Cavelli, please!” he begged. “This kind of behaviour is completely inappropriate and I will not allow it in my school any longer!”

My mom stifled herself. “Okay, okay, you're right. You shouldn't have to deal with something like that.” she said dabbing her eyes. “I'll pick him up a stack of Playboys on the drive back and make sure his boner stays at home from now on.” She bubbled into laughter again. Even I thought that one was pushing the envelope.

“I'm expelling your son from Rothesay Park Middle School.”

Now the room was dead of all comedy. I felt my gut knot up into itself and Thimble finally looked pleased with himself again. I should have known the son-of-a-bitch would try something like this; it's so much easier to just throw someone out the doors than to straighten them out, and Thimble is your classic shortcutter. I don't even feel like this is about me anymore so much as it is Thimble needing to pack more dirt beneath his egotistical hill. What's more uplifting than to know you hold the dictation of success and failure? He's the kind of asshole that would have been perfect for operating a guillotine back in the day.

“Expelled?” My mother asked with a raised eyebrow. She didn't sound very convinced of Thimble's treat. “Don't you think that's a bit of an overreaction?”

“I assure you, it's a very adequate reaction, Mrs. Cavelli. For twenty-five years I've run this school. Twenty-five years. And during that time I have seen every kind of child there is to see, and Daniel is one of the worst.”

“Mr. Thimble,” Carrie sounded as though she were trying to defuse him now. I guess she'd finally decided enough was enough. “He's just a kid. Can you really claim being any different at his age?”

“Entirely!”

“There must be some other option for him.”

The room felt quiet without my own conjecture. My tongue swollen with held comments. They're here bartering over my future and all I've done is spectate. It were as if I'd forgotten my own voice.

“Well I tried to create an alternative for Daniel, but you appear just an incapable as him of taking any of this seriously.”

“Okay, Mr. Thimble.” My mother's voice had matured as much as I'd ever heard. “What do you suggest?”

“Therapy.”

“Therapy?” I broke my vow of silence.

“Yes,” he answered, meeting my eyes now. “With the guidance counsellor. Everyday after school, starting today.”

“For how long?” I demanded.

“Until your behaviour improves.”

I crossed my arms. “And what if it doesn't?”

“Then you will be expelled.”

“Mom!”

She widened her eyes to listen.

“Do something!” I pleaded.

“What the hell do you want me to do?” She asked. I was the only one who noticed Thimble rolled his eyes from the side of us.

“Tell him that I'm not going to any stupid therapy!” I said. “I'm a delinquent, not some douchebag going through a midlife crisis.”

“Well, Dan, he gave you detentions and clearly you didn't learn your lesson. You aren't supposed to like your punishment.”

“I'm not going to therapy.” I wasn't going to let them entertain this idea any longer. I couldn't believe it was even an option! What did they expect to happen? For me to uproot all the buried demons in my soul and emerge a changed man?

“So you're choosing to be expelled?” asked Carrie.

“I'm choosing neither!”

“Well that isn't an option,” piped in Thimble.

I almost told him to sit on his option and rotate, but Carrie spoke first. “Dan, nobody made you do up those posters or announcements.”

“Steve and Marv helped,” I growled. “I'm just the one who got caught.”

“And they helped you with your man-time in the bathroom, too?” She asked sarcastically. “That's called a jerk circle, and if you're having those with your friends then I think the therapy should have started a long time ago.” She laughed and looked at Thimble thinking he'd share the humour, but the man only looked like he might vomit. She turned back to me. “Come on Dan. You got yourself into this, so I'll let you decide. Are you going to go to the guidance counsellor or be expelled?”