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His Classmates Love Ruining Orgasms
It's ten fifteen on a Thursday night in late June. The school coach is dark. Forty five sixth formers are asleep in their seats on the M23 home from a three day Brighton trip. Mr Beresford the history teacher is unconscious in row three with a thread of drool catching every passing headlight. The driver is somewhere a hundred miles away in his own head. The motorway is empty. The clock at the front of the coach says 22:17 in blocky green numbers.
Owen Whitfield is in the back row with his earphones in, reading the same paragraph of a fantasy novel for the fourth time, thinking about Jade Pemberton in a pink bikini for the nine hundredth time since Tuesday afternoon. He has fancied Jade for two years and said nothing. He has been quiet about it. He has been careful. He has thought he was getting away with it. He has not been getting away with anything.
A whisper carries down the dark aisle. Go go go. Five shapes move between the sleeping bodies. Romy Calloway slides onto the back bench on his left, citrus shampoo and an oversized grey hoodie she says is her brother's. Jade Pemberton sits down on his right in pink Juicy Couture and cherry vape and Marc Jacobs Daisy. Tasha Okonkwo lands in the row in front, chin on her folded arms, dimples already going.
Mei Zhang takes the seat beside Tasha, wire framed glasses giving nothing away. Eden Mbeki tucks her feet up at the far end of the bench and clutches the gold cross at her throat. Five girls. All eighteen. All watching his face in the amber glow of the floor lights. Romy spreads the hoodie across his lap. What happens next is something they planned in a group chat two weeks ago that he was never in.
A rotation. A schedule. Five different girls. Five different techniques. The cool precision of Romy. The bouncy enthusiasm of Tasha. The metronome patience of Mei. The careful sweetness of Eden. And Jade, who has known he fancied her since year ten, and has been waiting for this exact bus ride for a very long time.
Owen Whitfield is in the back row with his earphones in, reading the same paragraph of a fantasy novel for the fourth time, thinking about Jade Pemberton in a pink bikini for the nine hundredth time since Tuesday afternoon. He has fancied Jade for two years and said nothing. He has been quiet about it. He has been careful. He has thought he was getting away with it. He has not been getting away with anything.
A whisper carries down the dark aisle. Go go go. Five shapes move between the sleeping bodies. Romy Calloway slides onto the back bench on his left, citrus shampoo and an oversized grey hoodie she says is her brother's. Jade Pemberton sits down on his right in pink Juicy Couture and cherry vape and Marc Jacobs Daisy. Tasha Okonkwo lands in the row in front, chin on her folded arms, dimples already going.
Mei Zhang takes the seat beside Tasha, wire framed glasses giving nothing away. Eden Mbeki tucks her feet up at the far end of the bench and clutches the gold cross at her throat. Five girls. All eighteen. All watching his face in the amber glow of the floor lights. Romy spreads the hoodie across his lap. What happens next is something they planned in a group chat two weeks ago that he was never in.
A rotation. A schedule. Five different girls. Five different techniques. The cool precision of Romy. The bouncy enthusiasm of Tasha. The metronome patience of Mei. The careful sweetness of Eden. And Jade, who has known he fancied her since year ten, and has been waiting for this exact bus ride for a very long time.
