"Today, we have a native Parisian French speaker to help us," Mme. Belgique said. She seemed utterly tickled pink Literally, given the tint of her cheeks. Matthew had a foreboding of some unnamed doom to come.
"I'll pass out the drills," Francis said.
"Oh, thank you," Mme. Belgique said.
Matthew stared at the wall and trying to not focus on the fact that Francis had been in two of his classes. He could just hear one of those nature shows running a commentary in his head. The wild Canadian uses its natural camouflage to escape the predatory Frenchman...when he isn't dreaming of being eaten by the wild Frenchman whilst covered in whipped cream...
Mme. Belgique called upon a few other students, who thoroughly raped and defiled the French language with their pronunciation (and she said his Québécois was bad.) Matthew snuck a sidelong glance at Francis. The side of Francis' jaw was twitching. His half-smile (smirk, really) looked more like a grimace.
Finally, Mme. Belgique called on him. Funny, that she was one of the only teachers to notice he was actually a part of their classroom (save for attendance calling).
"Matthieu. Your turn."
Matthew could read most of this in his sleep. Somewhere along the line, his mind just went into autopilot and he read it off, in the Québécois that Mme. Belgique so detested. He had read halfway through it before he realized the words he was reading off. Français– sucer – coq? Oh, this was not the plain old drill he was looking for. It was most definitely not about how Jean and Marianne went to buy bread. Not even remotely.
I want to suck a Frenchman's cock.
As realization dawned on what he'd just said, the class started to crack up. Apparently their only hint of French proficiency involved vulgar words. He scanned down the paper. His replaced homework was filled with steadily more vulgar things.
"Well, if you're offering, Matthieu." Francis winked.
Matthew pushed the paper away, his face burning. Mme. Belgique gaped. She must have been fairly new at teaching, for it seemed that her mind had gone at a complete blank that one of the notorious bad boys in school (and such a charming one, at that) had just turned her class into unmitigated chaos. She could only stare as her students whooped, laughed, chattered, and threw papers around. It beared more than a passing resemblance to a zoo.
"I'll see myself out to the principal's office. I wanted to appreciate her décolletage, anyways," Francis said. He waved to the class, which was now in a state of pandemonium, winked again, and they rose up a cheer.
Matthew pulled his hoodie down over his face and sunk in his chair.
The Wit Of The Staircase 8/?
"I'll pass out the drills," Francis said.
"Oh, thank you," Mme. Belgique said.
Matthew stared at the wall and trying to not focus on the fact that Francis had been in two of his classes. He could just hear one of those nature shows running a commentary in his head. The wild Canadian uses its natural camouflage to escape the predatory Frenchman...when he isn't dreaming of being eaten by the wild Frenchman whilst covered in whipped cream...
Mme. Belgique called upon a few other students, who thoroughly raped and defiled the French language with their pronunciation (and she said his Québécois was bad.) Matthew snuck a sidelong glance at Francis. The side of Francis' jaw was twitching. His half-smile (smirk, really) looked more like a grimace.
Finally, Mme. Belgique called on him. Funny, that she was one of the only teachers to notice he was actually a part of their classroom (save for attendance calling).
"Matthieu. Your turn."
Matthew could read most of this in his sleep. Somewhere along the line, his mind just went into autopilot and he read it off, in the Québécois that Mme. Belgique so detested. He had read halfway through it before he realized the words he was reading off. Français– sucer – coq? Oh, this was not the plain old drill he was looking for. It was most definitely not about how Jean and Marianne went to buy bread. Not even remotely.
I want to suck a Frenchman's cock.
As realization dawned on what he'd just said, the class started to crack up. Apparently their only hint of French proficiency involved vulgar words. He scanned down the paper. His replaced homework was filled with steadily more vulgar things.
"Well, if you're offering, Matthieu." Francis winked.
Matthew pushed the paper away, his face burning. Mme. Belgique gaped. She must have been fairly new at teaching, for it seemed that her mind had gone at a complete blank that one of the notorious bad boys in school (and such a charming one, at that) had just turned her class into unmitigated chaos. She could only stare as her students whooped, laughed, chattered, and threw papers around. It beared more than a passing resemblance to a zoo.
"I'll see myself out to the principal's office. I wanted to appreciate her décolletage, anyways," Francis said. He waved to the class, which was now in a state of pandemonium, winked again, and they rose up a cheer.
Matthew pulled his hoodie down over his face and sunk in his chair.
*