Sling Shots

He leaned forward and snapped the bra of
the girl who sat in front of him in sixth
grade. Ping. Stop that! He thought she
was the only girl in the class who needed
a bra and he was lucky enough to sit behind
her and the sling shot she had tied around
her body under her cashmere sweater. Ping.
Once more, buddy and you’ll be sorry and
she kept her word. Off to the principal’s
office only to be hung on a clothes hook,
dangling legs stiff with his fear. No, I didn’t
put my hands around her from behind and
cup her breasts. I don’t even know what
those are. He didn’t dare move a muscle. She
recanted but not before he had been moved
to the back of the class, in the corner, all
by himself to cool off and think things over.
Then and there he decided to stick to real
sling shots until years later after he had
long forgotten about sling shots until he
learned how to reach around from the front
to the back and snap the strap, ping. He
waited, but there was only a giggle — no
protest. It was then he smiled and unhooked
the clasp.

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