High School Honey

by Bill Bowler

Chapter 15: Over at Floater’s

Honey and Shirley looked at each other.

“C’mon,” urged Floater, “you’ve never been over, right?”

“No,” said Shirley. “You never invited us before.”

“An incredible oversight,” said Floater. “Won’t happen again. My ol’ man built half the house. We got a pool table, bar, big color tube, great stereo. You should check it out.”

Shirley and Honey exchanged a glance that said, “Well, why not? Sounds like fun. There’s nothing to do in this old restaurant, anyway.”

“Then it’s settled,” said Floater. “Waitress, check please.” He turned to the girls. “It’s on top of Wohanus Lane, up from the blinking light on Pasquanack Road. Just follow me, I’ll go slow.”

The two girls followed Floater’s black Galaxy off Route 17, down along Pasquanack Rd. under the dark canopy of old maples and towering elms, through Pasquanack and into Brookbank. They made the left at the blinking light and followed Floater up to the top of the hill.

It was a clear evening. To the southeast, a piece of the George Washington Bridge and the top of the Empire State Building were visible, glittering in the distance.

Floater signaled to turn right onto the long gravel driveway that led through a copse of trees to the house. The property was only one acre, but the thick trees blocked the neighbors from sight and the house was set well back from the road, giving the sense of seclusion in the midst of suburban development.

The house itself was a testament to the incessant and prodigious labors of his father, Mr. Loom, whose restless hands ever sought work. Floater’s father had supervised the construction of addition after addition onto the original structure: rec room in front over the garage, new master bedroom, new kids’ bedrooms, one after the other over the years.

The house had taken on a zigzag shape as each new addition was joined perpendicular to the last. Inside, the walk from the rec room in front to Floater’s bedroom in the very rear was a journey down a long hall turning now left, now right, now left again, past the numerous added bedrooms and bathrooms.

When the additions to the house neared the property line, preventing further horizontal expansion, Mr. Loom looked skyward and moved to the vertical, building a tree fort for his son in the old oak on the side of the house, then a tool shed off the garage.

Then, like an explorer seeking a new direction for his curiosity, Mr. Loom gazed downward and tunneled into the earth itself, putting in first a drywell, then a sump pump. The result of his efforts was the large, beautiful suburban home, fully equipped with all the modern appliances and conveniences, into which Flea and Floater conducted the two girls that clear and cloudless evening in May of 1968.

Floater stacked some Beatles albums on the spindle. It turned out that he and Shirley both liked John best. Floater showed Shirley how to play 8-ball. He put his arms around her as he demonstrated how to hold the cue, but Shirley was playing cat and mouse with him, being faithful and saving herself for her boyfriend, Jack.

Flea and Honey stretched out on the couch. She lay against his side and put her head on his shoulder.

It was almost midnight. Floater knocked the 8-ball into the side pocket and called out, “Hey Flea, it’s getting late.”

Flea and Honey disentangled themselves on the couch.

“You girls are staying over, yeah?” said Floater.

The two girls looked at each other.

“Where’s the phone?” asked Shirley.

Floater showed her and Shirley made the call.

“Hi, mom? Yeah it’s me. Listen, it got late. I’m at the Millers’. Yeah, I’m going to stay over. OK? Great. See you tomorrow.”

She hung up. Honey’s turn. She dialed the phone.

“Hi, mom? It’s me. Sorry I’m calling so late. I’m at Shirley’s. I’m staying over OK? OK. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

She put the receiver in the cradle. There was silence for a moment. Floater offered his arm to Shirley.

“Permit me to give you the grand tour.”

Shirley took his arm.

“Night, all,” said Floater.

As he and Shirley headed off in the general direction of Floater’s bedroom, Shirley said, “There’s just one thing. I’m staying, but there’s one condition. We have to make a no-sex pact.”

“We what?” said Floater, as they disappeared down the hall.

Flea and Honey lay back down on the couch in the rec room. Honey was nervous and excited, happy at the thought of how gentle and sensitive Flea was, yet apprehensive at the unknown that waited behind the curtain, about to rise now, the unknown that was the future.

Flea felt Honey’s body against his and listened to her breathing. When he started kissing her, she kissed him back. It was so much fun and so great, and no parents were home and they had the whole house to themselves. She offered no resistance when she felt Flea’s hand on her breast.

Flea would have preferred bigger tits, but that was not going to prevent him from taking full advantage of the present opportunity. Honey did not resist. She melted, she gave way, a wave of pleasure surged through her body, and her fantasy of a handsome husband and a happy family life trembled in her subconscious.

She drew him nearer, embraced him and kissed him with warm, moist lips. On receiving this kiss, the electric current of Flea’s passion cracked like a thunderbolt and nothing remained in life for him but to get her clothes off.

Honey sighed. “I never expected we would end up together like this. It’s almost like fate or something, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” said Flea.

“Do you ever think about the future, Flea? Like what we’ll be doing in ten years? Do you ever wonder about that?”

“Nah,” said Flea. “What do I care what happens in ten years. The world isn’t going to last another ten years, not the way things are going.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hey, I was only kidding. Don’t be so serious.” Flea realized he was saying the wrong things and ruining the romantic mood. He had better tell her what she wanted to hear or his goal of getting her naked in bed was not going to happen.

“In ten years?” said Flea. “Yeah, who knows? We could be married by then, with a couple of kids.”

“You really think so?”

“Sure.” Flea kissed her willing lips. “The way we feel about each other, hey, it’s almost a sure thing.”

Flea’s phraseology was not in precise conformity with Honey’s wishes, but Flea was not known for his way with words. It seemed to Honey they were all but going steady now. Flea’s touch was so gentle, he was so sensitive, and she felt so safe and secure with him.

Honey just surrendered in his embrace as he French kissed her and unbuttoned her blouse. She slipped into a fantasy of a long and happy relationship as he struggled to unlatch her bra with one hand. He fumbled with it but couldn’t get it and finally she had to unhook it for him.

“Gently, gently,” she whispered as the young bull charged.

Flea came up for air thinking it was time to cruise down to the master bedroom. He helped Honey up from the couch and she held her blouse shut as they walked arm in arm through the kitchen, through the living room, down the zigzag hall.

The master bedroom was a large, neat, comfortable room with thick wall-to-wall carpeting, a separate bathroom, TV, air-conditioning, and a giant bed. Flea switched on the TV.

Johnny Carson was interviewing a guest. Honey was taking off her shoes and looking at Flea with love and trust. She folded her clothes and put them neatly on a chair and got into bed wearing just her panties.

Flea threw his shirt and pants on the floor, turned off the light and crawled in under the sheets. He could feel the warmth of Honey’s body as he moved towards her and took her in his arms. Flea was driven by a blind and irresistible force, and yet part of his mind remained coldly analytical, self-conscious, thinking about what he was doing, watching, observing Honey, planning his next move, even while passion drove him on and dictated his actions. In his arms, Honey seemed shy but willing.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Flea took off his high school ring and put it on her finger.

* * *

When it was over, when he regained control of his critical faculties, Flea felt a pang of guilt and even, perhaps, remorse, that he had overpowered her so quickly. It seemed to be a big deal to her. She had made so much noise, crying out while he was hard at work concentrating, and now she was still panting and clinging to him, and he just wanted to roll over and go to sleep.

Honey intuitively began to feel confused, even alarmed. Now, when she had given herself to him completely, now that she was his for life, he seemed suddenly cold and distant.

Flea had given absolutely no thought to the subject. It had never once entered his mind before, in the grip of his desire. Then it had simply not occurred to him, had not seemed to be his problem nor even something which touched upon him. It was simply outside the sphere of his consciousness, an irrelevance as meaningless as tomorrow, not something that he, personally, need be concerned with, and a subject most certainly unromantic and possibly damaging to the carefully constructed mood he had wished to maintain. But now, as if an afterthought, now that the barn door was open and the horse escaped, Flea reached for his pound of cure and asked, “Are you on the pill?”

“No,” answered Honey.

The bedroom door swung open.

“What the fug!?” swore Flea, annoyed that Floater would barge in on them like that.

The lights went on, and Mr. Loom stood in the doorway, holding his belt in one hand, his face bright red and the veins popping out on his forehead.

to Challenge 383...

Table of Contents