Friday evening. Grading papers and realizing my patience for this system—and for people who can’t tell the difference between ‘your’ and ‘you’re’—has officially evaporated. Maybe I should start docking points for every typo. A letter grade per comma splice. An F for every half-assed thesis statement.

Or maybe I just need something—someone—to take the edge off. To remind me what real power feels like. Not this bureaucratic bullshit. Not these blank, entitled faces. Something raw. Something where I don’t have to be ‘fair’ or ‘understanding.’ Where the only rubric is my satisfaction, and the only acceptable grade is complete submission.

The thought alone is enough to make my cunt ache. The control. The violation. Knowing I could ruin someone just because I want to. Because I deserve to. It’s more honest than any lesson plan I’ve ever written.