He told me he was working on his PhD. He said it was on changes in the evolution of the physical characteristics of adolescent boys in the 21st century. He said he wanted me to be a part of his study. I was flattered that he had singled me out as the one student in his ninth grade biology class he invited to participate.

He told me that all of his research equipment was at his home and offered to take me there after school one day. He asked me to tell my parents that I would be working with him on an extracurricular project for which I’d receive extra credit.

The day finally arrived and I was excited. I felt special, honored. We dove to his house and went down to his basement, where his home office was. He offered me some lemonade and oatmeal raisin cookies, my favorite cookies. He asked me if I was ready to get started and I told him I was.

He said he needed to take some measurements to use for his baseline. He suggested I strip down to my underpants, which I did. He asked me if he could take pictures of me with his digital camera and I said he could. Then he grabbed a cloth measuring tape and began taking measurements. First my chest. Then my waist. My hips. My shoulders. My arm length, leg length. He measured the circumference of my upper arm, lower arm, thigh, and calf.

Then he said he needed to measure the size of my penis and testicles. He asked me to remove my underpants. I hesitated, but he assured me that it was for scientific research, so I removed my underpants.

He took my flaccid penis in his hand and measured its length and circumference. I was uncomfortable with him doing this, but he was my teacher. And this was for his PhD.

Then he said he needed to measure my penis when it was erect, like a before and after image, and he started to stroke it. I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. I tried pushing him away, but he was strong. Then he bent down and tried to take my penis in his mouth.

I saw the large microscope on his work table, reached over and grabbed it, swung it down, and started hitting him on his head with it. Over and over again. He stopped. And that’s when I called 9-1-1.

“Thank you for your statement,” the police detective said. “We’ve contacted your parents and the school. One of our officers will drive you home.”

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Written for today’s Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt. Today’s prompt is “teachers.”

This fictional piece was inspired by the movie “The Tale,” which I recently watched on TV.