"Hi, Girls," Spike gushed. He and Butch had cornered them in one of those cul-de-sacs designed and executed by school architects and builders exclusively toward this exact end.
"Good afternoon," Thumper curtseyed.
Bambi just shuddered, clinging to his Thumper.
"Just look at yourselves," Butch tut-tutted, shaking his head sagely.
"I'm sorry,' Bambi said. He was–truly and deeply–only, he didn't know exactly for what.
"Neither of you is going to get laid dressed like that."
The pair patiently huddled, drooling for their next slice of humble pie.
"From now on you're to dress to score."
"I'm sorry...sir...but—" Bambi stammered.
"Get some!" Spike screamed, his face twisting into that of a gargoyle. "Borrow–beg–steal. Just get them."
"Right, sir," Thumper saluted.
"Whatever you can get away with—and then some."
"Every day in every way," Thumper thumped.
"We're getting prettier and prettier." Bambi finished.
"And I don't want to see any unsightly bulges either," Butch winked. "Just panty lines."
Both the boys nodded, their noggins jiggling about like one of those crazy little knick-knacks in the back window of a beat-up Buick.
That said the two tormentors exited stage left.
"But...but–" Bambi sobbed.
"Don't worry, Honey Buns. I've got sisters. We'll find some stuff."
YOU ARE READING
Bambi and Thumper
Teen FictionOur story unfolds in the dark ages before LBGTQ+. Terry and Alan were never friends. What they were was a pair of fun-sized and terror-stricken high school freshmen. The boys were under the thumb of senior ogres: Butch and his wingman Spike. Under t...
