Remedial 9 00 9 30 Am

It’s morning, not particularly early, but overcast; if you are the romantic sort, or the depressive sort, or some easy combination of both, it gives the distinct impression of faded photographs. Those gray skies. It’s like the whole of the earth is encased inside of a slate chest that just had the lid shut; it’s foreboding and draining. It saps the strength out of your pores to enrich its faceless, passionless mass.

It’s after graduation, she’s almost 19, and she’s still wearing the fucking schoolgirl uniform.

This is all Jenny can think of as her boyfriend’s car pulls into the school parking lot. He turns to her, slumped in the passenger’s seat and pouting (as she has been the entire trip) and tries to give her a smile.

“Look, Jen. I was busy last night. I turned my cell off at the bar…”

“Fuck off, Tim.”

Similar sentiments had effectively concluded their conversation minutes ago, and Tim was fully aware of the fact. Still, he swam up against the current a bit more:

“I’m not around every night, you know…”

“You should be.”

“No. No, I shouldn’t have to be, Jen. I mean… look…”

He turns to her. She is tying her hair up into a bun, a good sensible knot of dirty blonde. She’s already unbuttoned the top of her white blouse. Her neck is smooth, but she still has the mark of their horseplay the other night.

She smiled a bit. Her blue eyes are sweet, but chilly, like two frozen pops.

“You’re lucky you’ve got me, Tim.”

He knows it’s true. He does not respond, but leans forward and kisses her lips. She leans back and rolls her eyes and giggles a bit.

“You need to take care of me, Tim…” she says, opening the door of the car, now parked.

“I do,” he insists, reaching out to stroke her cheeks in both of his hands.

She leans forward and wraps her arms around his neck. Her soft little tongue darts out and quickly rubs up the fronts of Tim’s own lips. She smiles wider.

“Then you should’ve been in bed last night. I wanted us to wake up my mom again. Fucker.”

She’s out. Her body’s like a strange, brighter cloud on that somber morning.

***

“Remedial - 9:00-9:30 AM: My Boyfriend Worships Me (or: Tabitha, I Miss You Bad)”

***

A random boy smiles in her direction as Jenny steps out of the car. This is natural, as her leg is the first part of her to exit, and Jenny has the best legs at least 45% of the boys at school have ever seen. Just a little meaty, just a little extra pink flesh to bounce around during basketball games, as she leads the cheers. He legs are always a bit pink, like she’s just waxed them. Sometimes she likes to let a little fuzz grow on them though; it’s ok, it makes them even more distracting. Her skirt is rolled up high, like most of the girls entering the building wear them. The bottom crests just two inches above her knees, one of which is scraped a bit from practice the other day. She is wearing small dark gray ankle-socks, as she always does, and slip-on brown loafers, wonderfully ugly shoes. If you concentrate on her in class, as most will, you will today notice the cruel outline of her green padded bra beaming through the white of her blouse. Keep watching, you voyeur of intense discrimination; she’ll lean back to stretch, and you can then see her flesh and belly and bra in the gaps between the buttons, traveling up to her face. She is wearing lip-gloss and no other makeup. She has already pulled her hair out of the bun, and it’s down to her shoulders, sweet deep blonde with streaks of brown.

This is not a normal school day, which is both bad and good. Bad, in that it’s summer school. Early session is for non-graduated seniors only. No little kids here, everyone is 18, 19. Everyone is here for a little extra instruction. Not everyone is here because they’re a failure, per se. Jenny knows the history, and a refresher is in order for us, as she walks up the steps of the school, tucking her blouse into her skirt.

Kara was always an emotional girl. By the beginning of senior year, she became a vibrating sack of nerves before any class or situation which may suggest stress. She was a beautiful girl. Very short, only 5’3 at absolute tallest. Meaty, not overweight, really, but very zaftig for a girl of her height. Dark Italian skin. Black hair right down to her butt. She wore her skirt up extra high; if she moved a bit too quickly, you could catch a fast peek at the bottoms of her panties, always cotton, always rich bubblegum pink. Not one for too much affection outside of closed doors, though. Her then (and current) boyfriend was named Chris; smoked a lot of pot, shoulder-length blonde hair, not unlike Jenny’s. Lacrosse physique. Who knew before the ‘event’ if they would last. But one Tuesday in April, she runs out of Advanced Natural Science, followed by Chris. She’s weeping, which is not a new experience.

“Jesus fuck, Chris… I’m gonna fail. I got a 42 on the test.”

“Aw, yer alright, babe,” Chris says.

“Fuck Chris, fuck… I haven’t gotten over a 65 since February. I’m fucking stupid…”

“Yer not stupid babe.”

“FUCK YES I AM!! I, aw… I can‘t go to summer school. It‘s fucking humiliating…”

“No. Yer not stupid. And I’ll take care of you. I’m going to summer school with you.”

“You… what? You’re doing ok…”

“Got a 78 average, babe. It can go down.”

It.

Can.

Go.

Down.

“You. No. No… you…”

He rubs his finger up her face; it’s by her nose when she smiles.

“It’s… so stupid for me to ask…” she mutters.

They smooch. Passion is there, but chaste, a bit. They’ll ‘’review’ together after school.

New test that Friday. Everyone in class knows about the offer. The couple don’t look at each other as they walk out.

Kara:

“I studied hard, Chris. I…”

She bites her lip. Frowns harshly. Turns the test paper over: 52.

“Babe.”

The crown murmurs with soft amazement. Chris is down: 26%

“I’m coming with you, I told you.”

Did the teacher of that class believe that Chris had simply ‘burnt out’? Did he ‘lose his drive’? ‘Senioritis’? No, everyone in the crowd knows he aimed for the ace.

Kara gasps deeply, and literally jumps into his arms. Everyone behind her gets a full glimpse of that rich bubblegum cotton, which Chris firmly grasps in the palms of his hands as he swings her around and around. Her sandals, which she wore with no socks, fly off as she swings, and her bare, olive Italian feet kick wildly behind Chris as they squeeze in the air. He plops her down on her feet. Her eyes are positively glowing.

“Oh Chris… oh… you…”

She smiles like no one has seen her do before and she shrieks for three whole seconds, eyes clenched shut in joy, her body quivering.

“Oh… I… Chris oh I FUCKING LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE YOOOOOOOOOOOU!”

Silence. She shrieks again for five seconds hopping up and down, and launches herself into Chris’s arms, and she lathers his face with kisses, her fat little tongue lashing out with each sloppy impact. The crowd, about forty strong, cheer loudly as the two lock into a long wet kiss. Kara is so ferocious, though, Chris can barely keep up. They stop kissing and just let their tongues wrestle in open air. Kara darts forward and kisses his chin over and over. Carl’s hands reach down to Kara’s butt and he slowly massages her cheeks under her skirt. She ‘oooohs’ and he slides his hands under the elastic top of her panties, and soundly rubs her fleshy bottom. She’s got such a beautiful ass, as many watching now know. She slides her tongue into his mouth for another tasty kiss, and he slides her panties right down her butt to her thighs, so her bunched-up underwear is totally visible beneath her skirt and her rear is fully nude underneath the plaid pattern. Kara’s been so careful with public displays of affection, but she’s so much in love! Chris softly runs his middle finger up the service of her ass, gently parting her cheeks. She hears girls gasping as the watch, but she squeals in joy and thrashes her tongue around even harder, a hyperactive kiss in full.

She stops kissing him and grins.

“Teachers’ll be here soon.”

They shimmer at each other. They stop embracing and Kara slips her panties back up. The two run hand-in-hand down the hall, down the stairs, down to the music room in the basement (class inside it is done for the day), and they lock the door. There’s a window on the door, of course. There’s a window to the outside high up on the wall, peeking just above ground level. They didn’t care who saw them at all.

People peek in from the outside a lot. Ten minutes after the initial ruckus, you’d see the couple snuggling and smooching and whispering, sitting on the teacher’s desk. Chris is rubbing the balls of Kara’s feet as they kiss with their eyes closed.

Twenty minutes through the ongoing class period, you’d peer in, and Chris has only his pants on. Kara is standing on the teacher’s desk in only her blouse and panties. Chris is softly running his tongue up and down between Kara’s legs, facing resistance from the fabric protecting Kara’s vagina, tasting how delicious that bubblegum really is.

Half an hour. Chris is totally naked. Kara, now clad in only panties, soaked from attention, is running her lips, without kissing, all the way up and down his erect penis, tasting the pre-cum, hot and sticky, drizzling from his summit. Then she washes his full length with her tongue. The girls peeping bite their lips at Chris’ 7 inches. The boys gasp at Kara’s figure, total proof that luscious girls don’t need to be twigs. Her full, saggy, but wonderfully pillowy breasts are smooshed and kneaded by Chris’ hands as she kneels on the floor.

Almost forty-five minutes later, and both are on top of the desk, Kara yelping in ecstasy as she rides his firm muscle. They’re dripping with sweat, both sitting up, clenched each other’s embrace as they grind and grind. Chris lays on his back to enjoy how gorgeous his girlfriend’s flushed body is as she fucks his brains out. He grasps her big brownish nipples and pinches and pulls them toward him. Kara screams and laughs. Everyone in the hall can hear. He does it again, and she screams more and laughs harder, tears mixing with sweat. He lean back up and they kiss, and he can’t decide whether it better to watch her body writhe or taste her in his mouth.

One hour. The two ache. Kara’s boobs are raw and red. His cum has long since been shot all over her pussy and thighs. They’re still kissing, and laughing, and whispering.

Since that momentous event, many students saw the couple as the very definition of vulgarity and overkill. A waste of time, what Chris did. Kara’s a slut, such a slut. But some girls and some guys loved what they saw, and began demanding their boyfriends and girlfriends flunk out and accompany them to summer school. Parents would be mad, yes, but lovers would be so very very very happy.

Jenny enters the school building to the typical summer school sounds, within this new paradigm. Yes, shoes scraping and lockers slamming, like normal school days. But there is a sound of wetness in the air. Of slurps and smacks, of saliva and makeup and flesh. She enters the main hall and at least 14 couples and kissing and fondling each other in the hall. Some sit on the floor, girl buried in her guy’s lap, snug in their soul kiss. Others with the guy’s back to a locker, his girl standing on his feet, leaned up to him and kissing tenderly. It’s by far the biggest summer school group in the school’s history.

Not just couples, though. Jenny’s boyfriend could not possibly fail; he’s got a scholarship coming up.

“So I’m just dumb and alone,” Jenny thinks. “Good.”

She spies another ’unattached’ girl, her pal Carrie.

“Hey, Jen!” Carrie says, bouncing up. She stops. “What’s wrong?”

“You know. Tim didn’t come over to do me last night.”

“Awwwwwwww. Poor little Jenny. Did you rub one off?”

They snigger. Jenny presses her cheek up to Carrie’s.

“Yeah. I’m mad. I can’t hold a pen now. I’ll fail again!”

They snort.

“You sure that’s all?” Carrie looks in Jenny’s eyes.

Carrie’s such a cutie. Totally teased and curled and sprayed black hair, falling into her eyes, which are tiny and covered in eye shadow. Full lips, glossy. A very pale girl, but tons of freckles. She’s got white knee-socks on and shiny, chunky black shoes. She’s got nice muscles; she was a track star before academic probation, and the exposed leg between her sock and skirt is very firm and supple.

“Yeah. Yeah,” says Jenny. “I’m fine.”

The walk down the hall. A girl Carrie knows is busy sucking face with her own boyfriend. Carrie pinches her belly in the middle of their kiss and the girl squeaks and gasps. She sneers sweetly at Carrie and returns to business.

The air is rich with the scent of hormones and wet skin, and popular perfumes. Jenny breathes it up for a bit, as she and Carrie walk to class; anatomy. They’re almost the first ones in; still five minutes left of playtime outside to go, after all. There are three other girls in the big schoolroom. One of them, sitting at the front and beaming at Mr. David, is Tara.

As far as Jenny can remember, this marks the extended coda to Tara’s sixth year of high school education. Some suspect that she let herself be held back just to date cuter boys in lower grades. She’s rich. Filthy filthy rich. She’ll marry a powerful man, no doubt, as she is very pretty too. She’ll have no worries. Jenny would love to hate her, yes. But, she can’t help but admire Tara’s attitude. She’s got it all, and she does what she wants, and enjoys everything she can. And Jenny sees something admirable in that, in knowing you can be dangerously close to drinking age in high school and not care and just have pleasure 24/7 and never suffer.

Tara murmurs sweetly and purses her Hispanic lips. Her shoes are off, her legs are crossed, and she rubs her powder blue socked left foot (designer brand, natch) up her thin brown right leg. Her eyes are right on Mr. David.

They’re having sex after class.

Every day.

Girls begin to file in. Jenny gazes a bit at their shoes as they pull their boyfriends in with them. The shoes are all the girls can use to individualize themselves in school. You can’t wear sneakers during the regular year, but many have them on here.

This is one of the keys to the magic of summer school, that all of these seniors have discovered: Mr. David will not care.

Normally, you’d get an easy grade in summer school anyway; you’re a senior. They want you gone, and your parents may get mad if you’re not.

But Mr. David knows. He knows the capacity for attraction here now. He is staring back at Tara, his eyes clearly running up her brown skin, so good, so hot.

So many of the girls are breaking the little rules that glue together the architecture of high school. When class starts, most of the shoes will come off. Many of those shoeless feet will be rubbed by boyfriends. Many will whisper and pass notes and also get foot rubs from friends’ boyfriends. Some will be particularly silly and prop their feet up on the desk, their underwear barely visible between their legs.

“Miss [whatever]…” Mr. David will say.

“Sorry!” the girl will say automatically, and she’ll laugh, and Mr. David will laugh, and she’ll keep right on doing it. But Mr. David will teach, and they will not get totally out of hand. They will all pass.

Is it like this in other classes? Other summer school rooms? The student body is massive: the biggest school in the nation to demand uniforms, there’s hundreds of students in each grade. There are 76 students in this particular post-year class; perhaps a study will be done later on why the educational system has failed. Everyone is stuffed into this (admittedly abnormally big) room, but all the better to touch and play and feel.

Jenny’s eyes are fluttering closed. She jerks her head back a little. Don’t fall asleep.

The room is filling now. She looks over to where Tabitha’s seat is. Some bitch is sitting there now. Of course. Tabitha would never be here.

Her eyes. Too little sleep last night. They burn when air hits them.

Tabitha.

Her clearest memory of Tabitha comes from the first minute of every Anatomy class since the beginning of October of her senior year.

She had just begun seeing Tim. He was crazy about her. She tries to tell herself that he still is.

Jenny and Tim would drive to school together every day. Beforehand, they’d usually wake up together in whosever bed they had shared, and fool around for a few minutes. Freshen up, take a nice hot shower. They’d stand in the bedroom after toweling off, and they’d get dressed. First, she would dress him, from his tight briefs to his suit jacket. Then he’d dress her, from her little socks to her hair tie.

They’d get to school, and Jenny would kiss him goodbye.

Right before Anatomy class, they’d meet again in the hall. They’d walk off to a far-away section, by lockers no-one used.

He’d kiss her. Lips. Nose.

“Go on. C’mon Tim. Better keep me happy.”

He’d nibble on her nose.

“I’ll leeeeeeeeeeave yoooooooou,” she’d taunt.

He’d fall to his knees. Very slowly, he’d slide her feet out of each of her shoes. He’d rub each of her feet as she’d lean back on a locker. She’d groan in delight. Her socks were so warm on his hands. He’d draw closer and gently kiss every one of her toes, right through her socks. She’d lift her foot and wiggle it around, and he’d grab it and hold it still and tickle the bottoms as she laughed. He’d kiss them again.

He’d draw his mouth up to her ankles, just above the rim of her sock, and buss her tenderly. She’d put her feet firmly on the floor then, and he’d begin to lick her. First around the lips of her socks, but then slowly up each leg; she’d pucker her lips and huff as she felt her legs grow hot and wet with his affections. The bell for the next class would ring by the time he’d got to her knees, and she’d feel very good. He’d continue moistening her all the way up to the fabric of her panties. Wet drips are beginning to form in the center, and not directly from his tongue. She’d then turn around, breasts to the locker, and Tim would raise her skirt up high and lick downward from her thighs. His tongue would grow rough, so he’d stand and turn her head towards him and kiss her. He’d then set about returning her moisture to her. Finally, he’d be back down to her socks. She’d turn back around and he’d slide her shoes back on, like Cinderella. They’d hurry off to class.

She’d walk into Anatomy, and Tabitha would be sitting there looking out for her. Tabitha would see the light shining off of her moist legs, like she’d been swimming, and she’d high-five Jenny as she sat down. No one but them would know what this meant. Tabitha would be in the (always optional) pants and blouse combo. Her grin was so toothy. Her red hair was always a frizzy mess. Big, thick glasses. Such a dork, that Tabitha.

“Hello Jenny!”

“Hello Tabby!”

“You’re… very moistened!”

“My boyfriend worships me, Tabby!”

And.

Class has begun for remedial summer Anatomy. Tabby is not there. Jenny stares off into space. Tabitha was her very best friend. Couldn’t stand her for three years. Jenny got her as a tutor for class.

“I’d rather be doing something else,” Jenny said way back then.

“Oh? Who?”

Jenny was stunned that this dumb-ass in the ugly pants (what girl doesn’t wear a skirt?!) would say such a thing!

But Tabby smiled and told her who she’d rather be doing. She gave a whole list. Jenny smiled. Told some stories. Went on for hours. Went home, talked more on the cells.

Tabby’s a perv. A huge perv.

Jenny knows, though. It’s her that suggested the ‘dressing’ every morning. It’s her that told her about the between-class licking. All Tabitha. Where is she now? Where is Tim? Has everyone gone off now? Is this class going on forever?

“I’ve done lots of crazy stuff with Tim. Tons! I’m a perv too,” she says, and thinks back to before Tabitha.