and squirmed a little when he hit a particularly sensitive spot, which must’ve been her nipple. Feeling up a girl’s nipple right out in the open, Burt’s pretty cool.
“Didn’t your mother never teach you no manners?” she said, like she was all out of breath, finally removing his hand, but not before letting him cop her up good. She sounded to me like she was trying to act like Marilyn Monroe. She held Burt’s hand for a moment longer, then turned and walked back to her girlfriends, her low-slung ass pivoting in her tight wool skirt like two bowling balls trying to make a seven-ten split.
“I mean to have a piece of that before I die,” Burt gasped.
“He died with his boots on,” I drawled. “Ride ’em cowboy.” I could feel my own hard-on, even though Ginger didn’t mean anything to me. I’ve never jacked off to her, not one time. She’s too slutty for me. You’ve got to draw the line somewhere.
School was over for the day. Finally. Sometimes a day in this school feels like a week. A week, if it’s the wrong week, can seem like a year, an eternity. Everything’s a hassle, a challenge. It can wear you down.
I shuffled down the empty corridors, the taps on the heels of my Flagg Brothers clip-toe blue suede bombers echoing loudly on the scuffed-up tile floors.
This is the only time I actually like school, when it’s empty and quiet like this. You don’t have all the teachers and dumb kids pestering you and getting in your face all the time. If it was this quiet I could probably be a good student. I don’t know how anyone can work in all that racket the way it is during the regular day.
I entered the library, walked down the row of stacks, and took down one of the books from the set called History of the United States Naval Operations in World War II. The books are old and dog-eared, with pictures and descriptions of all the ships in the U.S. Navy used in the war, destroyers and aircraft carriers and battleships and everything. I know them like the back of my hand, I’ve read them all so many times.
I sat down at an empty table and started reading. Mr. Pitaro, who was the teacher in charge of detention hall this week, walked over to me.
“I don’t have your name down here, Roy,” he said, checking his list of detainees. The way it works is, if you screw up you get assigned to detention hall, which means you have to stay after school in the library. Nobody ever stays in the library after school unless they’ve pulled detention, not even the brains. I’m probably the only one who actually ever comes in here after school because he feels like it.
“I don’t have detention, Mr. Pitaro,” I explained to him. “I just wanted to read where it’s quiet. That’s okay, isn’t it?”
He was kind of taken aback, I could tell. It’s his first time running detention hall, that’s how come he didn’t know I come here just because I feel like it.
“Sure, yeah, I guess so,” he said. Like it was against the law to use the library or something. That’s the way this school is, even when you want to actually learn something they think you’re weird.
I got lost in the book. It really is a neat book, it’s kind of a bible for learning about Navy ships, which is real important to me. I must’ve been there longer than I realized because when I looked up for a minute to clear my head the room was empty except for me and the librarian, Miss Hughes, this ancient spinster who’s got three hairy moles on her chin. She’s pretty nice, actually, she lets me take out books and never charges me if I bring them back late. We’re often the only two people in the whole library, I think that’s one of the reasons she likes me, because I keep her company. It must get pretty boring, sitting in a library all by yourself.
The light was fading fast in the windows. Miss Hughes pointed to the clock on the wall. It was four-thirty, closing time. I put my book back on the shelf real carefully. I’d hate it if
“Didn’t your mother never teach you no manners?” she said, like she was all out of breath, finally removing his hand, but not before letting him cop her up good. She sounded to me like she was trying to act like Marilyn Monroe. She held Burt’s hand for a moment longer, then turned and walked back to her girlfriends, her low-slung ass pivoting in her tight wool skirt like two bowling balls trying to make a seven-ten split.
“I mean to have a piece of that before I die,” Burt gasped.
“He died with his boots on,” I drawled. “Ride ’em cowboy.” I could feel my own hard-on, even though Ginger didn’t mean anything to me. I’ve never jacked off to her, not one time. She’s too slutty for me. You’ve got to draw the line somewhere.
School was over for the day. Finally. Sometimes a day in this school feels like a week. A week, if it’s the wrong week, can seem like a year, an eternity. Everything’s a hassle, a challenge. It can wear you down.
I shuffled down the empty corridors, the taps on the heels of my Flagg Brothers clip-toe blue suede bombers echoing loudly on the scuffed-up tile floors.
This is the only time I actually like school, when it’s empty and quiet like this. You don’t have all the teachers and dumb kids pestering you and getting in your face all the time. If it was this quiet I could probably be a good student. I don’t know how anyone can work in all that racket the way it is during the regular day.
I entered the library, walked down the row of stacks, and took down one of the books from the set called History of the United States Naval Operations in World War II. The books are old and dog-eared, with pictures and descriptions of all the ships in the U.S. Navy used in the war, destroyers and aircraft carriers and battleships and everything. I know them like the back of my hand, I’ve read them all so many times.
I sat down at an empty table and started reading. Mr. Pitaro, who was the teacher in charge of detention hall this week, walked over to me.
“I don’t have your name down here, Roy,” he said, checking his list of detainees. The way it works is, if you screw up you get assigned to detention hall, which means you have to stay after school in the library. Nobody ever stays in the library after school unless they’ve pulled detention, not even the brains. I’m probably the only one who actually ever comes in here after school because he feels like it.
“I don’t have detention, Mr. Pitaro,” I explained to him. “I just wanted to read where it’s quiet. That’s okay, isn’t it?”
He was kind of taken aback, I could tell. It’s his first time running detention hall, that’s how come he didn’t know I come here just because I feel like it.
“Sure, yeah, I guess so,” he said. Like it was against the law to use the library or something. That’s the way this school is, even when you want to actually learn something they think you’re weird.
I got lost in the book. It really is a neat book, it’s kind of a bible for learning about Navy ships, which is real important to me. I must’ve been there longer than I realized because when I looked up for a minute to clear my head the room was empty except for me and the librarian, Miss Hughes, this ancient spinster who’s got three hairy moles on her chin. She’s pretty nice, actually, she lets me take out books and never charges me if I bring them back late. We’re often the only two people in the whole library, I think that’s one of the reasons she likes me, because I keep her company. It must get pretty boring, sitting in a library all by yourself.
The light was fading fast in the windows. Miss Hughes pointed to the clock on the wall. It was four-thirty, closing time. I put my book back on the shelf real carefully. I’d hate it if
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