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Any remaining errors are because of my stubborness.This is a work of fiction. If you recognize someone, please don't tell them. Any resemblance is str...ctly coincidental and probably highly insulting!Place: Northern Indiana or a reasonable facsimile thereof. The places here are what I needed to make the story work and the distances do not pretend to be accurate, so draw a new map.Action: Hormonally charged fourteen and fifteen-year-old high school freshmen. Peer pressure abounds. Everything is. He noticed her firm round ass first. Her white skirt was tight down to her calves, showing off her ass and firm thighs. He could tell she was not wearing hose and those black high heels with three straps in the front reminded him of dominatrix shoes. Her top was black and sleeveless and he could see she had a light tan. Her hair was down to her waist—brown shiny and little wavy. He stared at her maybe she would look his way. He wanted to see her face and walked to the bar and ordered a beer. I follow her, but at a slight distance, just enough so that she has to every so often flick her head back to catch sight of me. She gets faster, so do I.I'm chasing her down Angel, she skits of into a tree filled gated park. I follow her. My hearts going like an ak47 and my breath feels like it's part of a gale. I walk around the park so many times it starts to feels like the park is spinning around me. I start to think that I must be going mad, that I've imagined the whole thing. So I sit. I had to clean the kitchen, wash the dishes, scrub the countertops and take care of the table. Luckily, I was used to cleaning at home because my Mom was usually working or out. It didn't take that long and I pulled my chain over to the couch and read the magazines. It was fun to linger over the fashions instead of the fleeting glances I normally got with my Mom's magazines or at newsstands. I could hear Mr. Harris scream, "fuck me, please Mistress, fuck me" or scream in pain. That died.
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