The morning sprayed in through the gap beneath the oatmeal beige shades, stabbing Jim's eyes when he accidentally looked at the bright horizon. Also in the distance, his teacher's voice echoed a tired analysis of Orwell or Golding or something else you're supposed to think is deep when you're in high school. When he got sick of hearing her strained voice croak the meaning of this or that allegorical theme, he scanned around for some simpler stimulant for his half-asleep head.
First there was Beckie. Right below Beckie were Beckie's breasts. They hung there like giant raindrops caught in some lacey white gutter, bulging over the edges and only kept from spilling by the tension of her teenage skin. Beckie liked horses, he recalled. Beckie and her breasts, bouncing on horseback as her long red hair brushed around and between them. The mental image moved muscles in his groin he didn't think actually existed.
Then, there was Kendra. Her hair looked like straw, held behind her head with some backward-bowtie knot that only boyscouts are supposed to know. She fiddled with it now, her quick fingers and chewed-off nails feeling for imperfections. Her fingers led down to thin arms and narrow shoulders, where her skin faded from farmer-tan red to milky white. She dressed and acted like her whole life was gym class. Jim thought for a moment, in a sort of smiling reverie, how that would play out beneath the covers. Whether or not that could ever happen was, of course, not a question for right now.
The desk-chair combo squeaked a bit as Jim surveyed the rear of the room and pretend to stretch. In the back corner, at last, was something truly worth turning around for:
Rated: PG Author: Sue Doeman
Aug 01, 2008 08:28