Rebecca Spinks teaches Classical Literature at the community college. It’s a required course, so her classes are normally filled with students who would rather admire her body then take notes. And no wonder – her lecturing style is boring as hell, but her outfits don’t attempt to downplay her chest and ass.

It’s a mid-February morning, and the class and teacher are both restless. The lesson plan for the day lists Sappho, but Miss Spinks disappoints the students by explaining that only about 600 lines of Sappho’s actual poetry survive to the present day, and she won’t be reading any of it. The sorority girls in the back row look devastated. The football players look confused. Miss Spinks announces the mid-class break, and goes to get a cup of coffee and escape the hubbub behind her.

When she returns to the classroom, some joker has left pink envelopes on every single desk. Shaking her head, Miss Spinks goes around collecting what are evidently Valentine’s Day cards. She dumps the entire batch into the wastebasket behind her desk, and sets her lecture notes down while the class filters back into the room. A movement catches her eye, and she looks up to see a handsome young man frowning impatiently. She sets her papers to one side. “Yes?”

“What happened to all the Valentine’s cards I put out?”

She takes a second look at the student, and sighs. “I don’t believe in distractions during my class. And Valentine’s Day isn’t a national holiday or anything else that justifies the distraction.” Seeing that the young man seems upset by this, she relents enough to throw him a bone. “Look, maybe if we were studying Romantic Literature I’d feel differently. But we need to start on Thucydides, so please take your seat.”

Valentine’s Day cards. Really.

Whatever energy was in the class before the break has vanished, except for the three history majors who have moved up to the front row. Miss Spinks leans forward a bit, responding to their obvious interest in the material. Actually, they’re watching the material of her blouse as it strains from her posture.

Eventually, Thucydides is dealt with and the class disperses to lunch, afternoon plans, whatever. Miss Spinks puts her lecture notes into her leather bag, and pauses. There’s a pink envelope on her desk. It certainly wasn’t there earlier. Curiosity wins out over annoyance, and she opens the envelope to find a poem written in elegant cursive.

A community college professor
Was never the social aggressor
But those in her class
Drooled over her ass
So she quit wearing panties, God bless her!

Insulted, she rips the poem and envelope it in half and tosses it into the trash with the rest. Grabbing her purse and portfolio, she heads out of the classroom, pausing to bend over at the water fountain.

Well behind her in the hallway, an irritated Cupid is watching. An eight-year-old could hit that kind of target, and Cupid may look young but has far more practice than any eight-year-old. He pulls one of the special barbed arrows from his quiver, tugs the nock back and lets fly. A cruel smile spreads over his face.