High School Honey

by Bill Bowler

Chapter 5: Detention

Honey and Shirley walked slowly past the front office, down the corridor and into the cafeteria for detention.

“I have nothing to wear to the dance tonight,” Shirley was saying.

“Neither do I,” said Honey.

“I need a new blouse. I have no blouses,” said Shirley.

“I need shoes,” said Honey.

As the two girls walked through the glass doors into the cafeteria, Honey’s notebook slipped from her hand. She knelt to pick it up and the hem of her miniskirt rode up, revealing her upper thigh and the bottom seam of her pink lace panties. As Honey stood up, her eyes met Mr. Bloman’s. He was watching intently from across the room. Honey took a step back, tripped and fell into Flea’s lap.

“Stop that commotion, please!” Mr. Bloman called out sternly. He was monitoring detention.

The gentle pressure of Honey’s thighs on his lap gave Flea a momentary surge of unexpected pleasure. Her warmth and nearness, the aura and aroma of her body triggered a burst of hormones, in fact, opened the floodgates, and it is safe to say that, for the next five or six years, to the exclusion of all other possible interests and pursuits including philosophy, science, and the arts, Flea thought and felt nothing else but the single driving, overwhelming and delicious urge to see girls naked and have sex with them.

Flea put his strong hands gently on Honey’s slender waist and helped her rise from his lap, ending the accidental public display of intimacy, despite his wish to prolong the experience. A faint blush was fading from Honey’s cheeks. Honey’s eyes met Flea’s, and each became curious about the veiled and hidden mystery of the other. Honey smiled, and Flea succumbed to a quick sequence of mistaken fantasies. The other students twittered a bit as Honey and Shirley found seats and opened their notebooks.

Mr. Bloman, sitting by himself at the head of the room, took a look around to assure that calm had been restored, and resumed reading his book, Six Crises by Richard M. Nixon.

The detainees sat quietly studying. At the far end of the cafeteria, some non-detained students were pushing lunch tables to the side of the room, blowing up balloons and hanging streamers in preparation for the big dance that evening.

Mr. Bloman read another page and was filled with admiration for the cool, calm and decisive way Nixon had handled the communist mob in Venezuela. Mr. Bloman glanced up from his book again and surveyed the room. Floater Loom, that incorrigible loafer, was engaged in writing something and his diligence surprised Mr. Bloman, who had not expected Floater to make good use of his time.

Floater was doodling. He had just finished drawing the vice principal with a Hitler moustache and now he was doing obscene sketches of Mr. Bloman and Miss Ravich with enormous sexual organs.

Flea sat quietly, remembering the feel of Honey’s thighs on his lap and his glimpse of the pink lace line of her panties, the delicious and forbidden border between the known and unknown.

At four o’clock, the bell rang and the students scattered out the door like a startled flock of birds. As Honey and Shirley descended the grassy slope from the cafeteria to the parking lot, they found themselves walking beside Flea and Floater.

“Thanks for catching me.” Honey broke the ice with Flea.

“Any time.”

“Looked like Bloman got a little thrill there,” said Floater.

“I think he’s sex-starved,” said Shirley. “He looks desperate.” After a pause, she asked, “You going to the dance tonight?”

Flea shrugged.

“You’ll have to excuse my friend here,” chimed in Floater, “he’s not very loquacious and is, in fact, taciturn by nature. But in answer to your interrogatory, barring unforeseen circumstances, I am certainly going to the dance and, in all probability, my associate, Mr. Fleanor, will be in attendance as well.”

Flea grinned and gave Floater a shove. The girls giggled.

Proceed to Chapter 6...