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Paul fucks a 'secretary' hard up the ass.

.. the new kid in town and the town's high school who had been smitten by blue eyes, chiselled pecs and abs, post-practice musky scent from a gorgeous cock. Guilty as charged. So much for my high IQ and aced classes, and my arrogance and my ego, here I was just like one of those pansy gay dudes smitten by a "straight-acting-jock". ending up in the gallery for a play that I was not going to watch but blowjob my way through, only to be somehow end up with a date charged with murder and about to be arrested.

Karma really has a bitchy sense of humour, no? Except I didn't think karma counted when you were screwing the bitchy cheerleader's jock boyfriend. I thought that would balance the karma. Oh well, so much for sex and high school, boyfriends and dead girls.

Oh! Dead girls! Patricia Roy was being bagged now. Poor girl. She was a nice girl, pretty in a waiting to be Lindsay Lohan post meeting the Plastics, and nice and naive, and well, now she was dead. I guess what they say is not quite right. You might just not survive high school. Okay! Sorry. Yeah I'm a bit of an asshole for making jokes about a dead girl, but really, if you ever see the movie 'Dead Girl' you'll know why, I mean like come on, bunch of dudes get up and fuck a kinda dead girl in some freaky basement: chlamydia is the last of their worries, eh? Perhaps, a therapist for these dreaded sexual urges; and while I'm at the point of therapy, I don't think any therapy is going to get me over this evening any time soon.

"Down on your knees! Hands above your head!"

Oh Fuck! With three swift paces and one swift move, the burly policeman caught hold of my not-so-secret-anymore-homosexual-affair Chris Beaumont and cuffed him.

"Time to hit the road. Off you go!"

With that the officer took Chris with him who was just aghast and plain shocked. He hadn't said a word, not even a 'What! No! I didn't do it!" Maybe, it was his part-jock brain that had taken over. Don't get me wrong. I'm not all cock. I do like my guys with some substance beyond the impregnator. So, Chris is a pretty smart dude, except hanging out with the jocks all the time does affect you- like if you're American and you hang out with a Brit for a while and you can't stop doing the accent- whether you hate it or love it. Something like that, a part-jock brain which currently exhibited itself in an open mouth and ludicrous expression on Chris' face, with blood down the front of his white t-shirt that settled so well on his abs... Bam!

My ears rang and my eyes watered up a tad as I grabbed my bleeding and possibly broken nose amidst hysterical sounds from the surrounding chorus including now my mother's distinct "Good Lord!" I gathered some sense to notice a fuming Kate Dolores glaring at me, albeit with another one of her hyena pack member padding her possibly hurt hand.

"You awful Awful boyfriend stealing faggot! You abominable twat!"

"That's rich from a chic whose abominable twat has had more hits than Hillary Clinton 's 'Deactivate your account' destruction of Donald Trump!"

A round of collective shocks and sighs (my mother's "Troy!"), though a bunch of winks and smirks from the high school students watching the show down between the head cheerleader and the uber cool newbie known for his brain and brawn. I doubt most of them knew where their sympathies or loyalties lay. This was probably much about the kicks of the night: you know, a Shakespearean play, a murder, an arrest, and finally a showdown.

"That's enough, Troy. We are leaving now!" My dad grabbed me by the elbow and tugged me away before it got ugly. My mother tip toed her way after us apologising profusely to anyone who would listen. I caught a glimpse of Cory and Tracy, my friends of two weeks signalling me with their phones, possibly suggesting a regroup later. Well, that would definitely be needed.

Straight down the gallery, across the theatre, out the door, in the p

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