Define "Wrong"

It’s not like anyone’s ever going to know what we did, I mean, who would suspect us? We’ve always been the good ones, the parochial school kids. With our starched shirts and pleated skirts, we really can’t do anything wrong. Though they really should have defined wrong a bit more clearly.

Now all that seemed so ridiculous, with my skirt hiked up around my hips and my head buried in his neck, pressed up against the bathroom wall.

Between kisses I gasp, “Madison, you know this is wrong right? I mean like, get expelled and get sent to public school type wrong.”

“I’ve heard public school isn’t that bad,” he says with a grin.

“Just get your hands off me okay? Who do you think you are?” I grimace and try to push him off me, but he pins my arm against the wall.

“I’m yours baby, I’m all yours,” he says, trying to slide his hand around my waist.

“Oh fuck off, I’m not your baby.” I say with disgust.

If he ever touches me again, I’ll shoot him.

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