The school day passes by. (Skip to after-school)

What a typical high school day had been before I ducked under the electronic school board felt like a very foreign one a few hours later walking out of campus.

Restroom trips, hallway tumults, PE shoe-lace asymmetries, snickering douchebags, underpaid teachers. One after the other, the routine and the drab and the untouchable all melded into a kind of unifying, conforming caricature. My sort. The fantastically convenient kind. All things suddenly victim not of fictional conjecture but proprietary, proactive wish fulfillment carelessly scalping the crown of reality into the playground of a single, barely matured soul. It was unusual. And very powerful-feeling.

I talked to my nurse about it; one can say we had a very constructive (and hand-busying) talk that resulted in her questioning what it was I was doing suggesting to her to put her clothes back on -- for she was already wearing them, thong and nipple piercings and all.

"Later, John!"

Back in the present, I turn and wink at a curly-haired bespectacled boy, my mate Ned, as I step over a twig.

After waving bye to my group of friends, I catch the aroma of what is definitely preppy girl perfume number [three-digits here]. With barely a glance I grope the ass of a passing cheerleader and she replies by licking her lips and winking at me. While walking away I make sure she sucks the cock of the first man she sees behind closed doors. Then I continue down the mouth of the school entrance, hands in my pockets.