Serendipity, that occasion when something occurs by happy chance rather than by a deliberate effort. It's very nice when it happens to you.
It was the last day of school and I mean the last. I wouldn't be returning to this place ever again. Next year I'd be at university. Most of the student body were already gone, fleeing this place with cries of delight.
I'd have been one of those who had already fled if it hadn't been for a lazy arts master. He hadn't bothered to return our prized artistic artefacts, leaving them locked in the display cabinets. It wasn't until he was reminded that he went to the tremendous effort of unlocking the cabinets and extracting those exhibits belonging to the final year class so we could go and collect them.
I'd had a couple of pieces on display. I thought they were reasonable, the arts master thought they were good, and my mother thought they were works that showed the incipient genius of her beloved son. She absolutely insisted that I turn up to school today to collect them.
As those art pieces were all I had to collect I'd delayed my visit to the school until after lunch. Now I was just strolling along to the art-room where I would carefully stow my loot in a satchel and bear it triumphantly home, where my mother would spend four hours deciding where they should be best displayed.
I grabbed my stuff, wrapped it, and stuck it in my bag. That done I proceeded to review the rest of the artwork left waiting to be collected. Most of it was dross and if it were mine I'd have been too embarrassed to collect it. Denial of all knowledge would have been my preference. There were some very nice pieces, though, a couple of them even better than mine. I picked one up to check out the artist.
"That particular piece is mine," said a very pleasant contralto. "If you damage it then I'll be most displeased."
"Kimberly," I said, smiling with enthusiasm. I liked Kim. Quite a charming young lady who would also be shaking the dust of this school off her shoes. My understanding was that she would be going to an art school next year, and so she should.
"If this little gem is yours then that one there probably is as well," I said, indicating a second piece. "There's nothing else here that comes up to your standards."
"Um, yes, it is," she assented. "Thank you. You're not a bad artist yourself. I've seen your things on display and they're quite good."
"Damned with faint praise," I lamented. "Quite good generally means they're OK but the person saying it knows they can do better. That's why you're the one going to art school while I will be following a career in electronics."
"Humph," she grunted. "You know damn well your stuff is good. You'd probably do even better if you applied yourself to art as a career. You drove Mr Benson crazy with your lackadaisical approach to art."
"What can I say?" I asked with a shrug. "I like electronics and I can do marvellous things with them, and that's without the university course. I can't wait to see what the Uni comes up with."
We continued bantering for a while as Kim wrapped and stowed her art items away.
"I take it that you're totally out of this place now you've collected those? I noticed that you didn't bother wearing the official uniform today. Mrs Fotheringham won't like that."
"You should talk," she said, glancing at my casual attire. "Besides, what's she going to do? Give me lines or a detention? I'd laugh at her and walk away and she knows it."
She had a point. I don't think any teacher has a chance of applying discipline when the culprit can just turn and walk away, never to return.
"I remember when she wanted to check out that all the girls were wearing the approved school panties," I said laughing. "The girls almost rioted at the thought of a panties inspection. Terms like lesbian teachers and sexual harassment were bandied quite freely."
"Ha, I doubt if anyone wore the approved school panties," giggled Kim. "I don't know who approved them but even my grandmother wouldn't wear them. The school board is so far behind the times that it's ludicrous."
"Which begs the question, do you wear the approved panties. Um, apparently not," I murmured. I knew this as I'd lifted up her dress to take a peel.
"Stop that," she giggled, slapping my hand away.
"I'm curious," I told her. "It looked like those panties were made of silk. Mm, definitely feels like silk."
My hand had slipped under her dress again and was stroking the front of those panties, feeling out the material.
"They're not silk," she told me, slapping at my hand. "You stop that."
Slapping at my hand didn't achieve much. I just kept stroking that interesting material.
"Did you know that Ziegfeld had the costumes of his Follies made from silk? He thought the soft rubbing of the silk against the girls' genitals would make their dances slightly more erotic."
"No, I didn't know that. Ah, do you mind moving your hand."
