“Yeah, I slept in a sleeping bag after the party last night. The floor was sooo hard.” So explained the lass in the next seat on the train to her father, as she called home last Sunday.
Only… her dad’s chance encounter later in the week with the parents of the girl whose eighteenth birthday had been being celebrated would reveal, in passing, that none of the party-goers had stayed over. That the young lady in question had left early with her boyfriend, who’d been “dropping her at home.” And further enquiries would determine that *his* parents had been away for the weekend.
Whether she’d had sex with him or not was not the issue, her father would explain as she stood shamefaced before him – although her blushes told a clear story. Lying was. And, although she was mere weeks away from leaving school, whilst she lived under their roof, he wouldn’t tolerate deceit.
He’d unbuckle his belt and double it over: instruct her to lower her jeans and touch her toes. It’d have been years since he’d last had to deal with her like this; she’d be crying before he even started. A dozen strokes, each at full strength. Tight and sorrowful hugs afterwards, loving and caring. A lesson duly learnt.
Nice snippet, Abel! My mind drifted away!
Alias – would that be because I mentioned the belt? 😉