Doing It All Over
10-20-2012, 11:16 AM
RE: Doing It All Over
Mr. Ached was surprised to see me hand in homework to him that morning. He was even more surprised to find it was correct. He expressed his pleasure with my work and made a point of calling on me during class. Most of the time I managed to come up with the right answers to his questions. Instead of making me happy however, it kind of pissed me off.
Now that I was supplying the right answers to his questions he was paying attention to me. But before, when I was flunking all of his tests and getting an F or a D in his class, I was simply ignored. The same was true for my other teachers. Now I'm not a screaming liberal who likes to blame everyone but the person responsible, but there is a certain amount of responsibility instilled in a teacher isn't there? Why hadn't I been helped along before this? Why had I been allowed to simply sit in class and flunk without even a single pulling aside by a teacher? Cynicism was the answer of course.
It was the answer, but it wasn't an excuse. I had been a paramedic and, except for cops, you would be hard pressed to find a more cynical group of people. I had been called out for so much bullshit in the course of my career that I assumed everyone was full of shit until proven otherwise. People called us for hangnails, for colds, for ear infections their kids had. And they reported these things as finger amputations, difficulty breathing, and head injuries. But never had I acted upon this cynicism. If someone said they were having chest pain, then they were having chest pain and I treated it appropriately even if they were twenty-five year olds only trying to get out of work for the day. If someone said they were short of breath than they were short of breath, even if they were speaking in complete paragraphs. If you acted on your cynicism you would be right probably ninety-nine times out of a hundred. But that one time you were wrong would bite you in the ass hard.
My teachers obviously assumed that trying to reach a disinterested student was a waste of time. Most of the time it probably would have been. But sometimes it wouldn't have been. Shouldn't they have been extending at least a little effort when someone like me simply sat in their classrooms and paid no attention? How many people who might have been turned around had just been allowed to sink into the abyss because the teachers assumed they were lost causes and directed their full attention to those who showed an interest in their subjects?
I was surprised by how strongly I felt about this subject and was quite pissed off by the time I left Algebra and headed for American History. My feelings were reinforced when I explained to the teacher that I didn't have my homework that day but that I would turn it in tomorrow.
"Fine, Billy," she said absently, moving onto the next student, obviously not believing that I was going to turn in anything the next day. Granted I did not make a habit of turning in the homework but had she ever talked to me about this? No. Had she ever called my parents and talked to them about it? No. To her I was a lost cause, unworthy of her attention. She would expend no efforts towards me unless I showed her that I was interested in her subject. Why wasn't she trying to get me interested in her subject? Why was she simply letting me sit there every day? What system was encouraging this?
Her lecture that day was on the role of Southern abolitionists in the beginnings of the drive towards the Civil War. She portrayed them as saintly people, dedicated to the cause of abolishing the evil institution of slavery. She implied to the class that they were right up there with George Washington and Abraham Lincoln in American History. About halfway through I could take no more. I raised my hand.
She ignored it for quite some time but finally was forced to call on me.
"Yes, Billy?" she said. "Do you have a question?"
"Yes." I nodded. "I'm just curious about something. You just told us that the abolitionists used to use protests to influence those southern slaveholders. Exactly what kind of protests are you talking about?"
She gave me The Look for a moment and then said, "Well, they used a variety of methods. Boycotts of services and that sort of thing."
"That sort of thing?" I said. "Isn't it true they used to attack slave holders and their families in the middle of the night? Burning down their houses and hacking the men and even the women and children to death?"
She nearly choked but she composed herself quickly. "Well, there were some cases of the more fanatical elements doing things like that of course. But that was rare. Usually they used the other measures I talked about. You have to understand that these people felt very strongly about anti-slavery. About it's wrongness. It's only natural that some of them went off the deep end as it were."
"Really?" I pressed further. "I actually read that grotesque violence was more the rule than the exception. I guess I must have read wrong. But to answer your other point about them feeling that it was wrong. Don't you think that these abolitionists were motivated more by economic factors than religious or moralistic ones?"
She was now speechless.
"I mean think about it. Who were the southern abolitionists? Poor whites for the most part, right?"
"Well yes," she agreed, "but..."
"Poor whites without jobs. How could they compete with slave labor? They couldn't. Isn't it true they also used to kill the slaves when they would attack a plantation? Hardly sounds like people who are just interested in freeing the slaves now, does it?"
"Well again, Billy," she said firmly, "what you are talking about was the exception, not the rule. There were some incidents as you described but usually they used economic measures like boycotts to achieve their ends. And many of them were imprisoned or killed by the corrupt southern system for their efforts."
"Well of course they were," I snorted. "They were destroying valuable property and threatening a near-perfect economic system. The plantation owners ran the law after all. I imagine they came down rather hard on them when they caught them."
She was actually flustered by what I'd said. "Well that's a very interesting point of view, Billy," she told me, "but I think we've discussed it enough now. If you don't mind, I'll get back to the lecture now."
I smiled. "Sure."
"Okay," she said, "now back in 1858 there was a group called... "
Though I had no homework for Mrs. Crookshank either, she did not ignore me in class as she usually did. She remembered my dissertation on the blood cell the previous day and began probing at me to see if it was simply a well-studied joke on my part or not. Her lecture was on the major arteries of the body and she fired her first shot less than two minutes into it.
"Now can anyone tell me the name of the arteries that feed the kidneys?" she asked and then, without waiting for anyone to put up his or her hand, turned to me. "Billy, maybe you can tell us?"
She thought she had me I'm sure. I'd been doing what I usually did in her class; watching her alluring form move back and forth and not looking as if I was paying the least bit of attention to her words.
"Renal," I said in a bored voice, causing her to give me The Look.
"Yes." She nodded, obviously taken aback a bit, and then went on.
She called on me multiple other times during the lecture, making the questions harder and harder. We covered the carotids, the circle of Willis, and all of the coronary arteries. Some of the questions I knew were not even part of her lecture, were not even part of high school curriculum. I came up with the answers every time, spouting them out in a monotone voice with an expressionless face. It quickly became clear to the entire class that some sort of battle was going on between Mrs. Crookshank and I. Finally, bored, I conceded the battle, telling her I did not know the answer to a question she asked. The look on her face was of weak triumph and more than a little relief.
She wrapped up her lecture just before the bell rang and assigned us our homework for the next day. As the class filed out she called, "Billy?"
I turned to her questioningly.
"Do you mind if I speak to you for a moment?"
"Sure," I said, walking over.
Her eyes looked me up and down as I stood before her desk. "You seem to have quite a bit of knowledge of anatomy and physiology," she almost accused.
I shrugged. "I like to read."
"Really?" she said. "What books have you read?"
"Oh the usual. Gray's Anatomy, A Physician's Guide to A&P, stuff like that."
"You've read them?" She found this hard to believe.
"Yep." I nodded. "Fascinating reading. I've even read your textbook a little. It's not bad but it oversimplifies things a little, wouldn't you say?"
She swallowed deeply, took a deep breath, and then said, "Billy, I majored in Biology in college and I have an extensive background in A&P. I asked you questions today that are well beyond high school level knowledge and you answered all of them correctly except one."
"I only pretended I didn't know that one," I told her. "I felt you were, shall we say, singling me out, and I wanted you to stop." I smiled cynically. "Kind of unprofessional for a teacher wouldn't you say?"
She dismissed the subject of her professionalism, or lack thereof, with a shake of her head. "I see. So you're telling me that you've known the answers to my questions all of this time, but that you haven't answered any of them, either in class or on your tests or in your homework until yesterday?"
I shrugged again. "What can I say?"
"What can you say?" she asked, getting a little angry now. "This makes no sense. Why would you do such a thing?"
"Well, Mrs. Crookshank," I told her. "I'm what's known as a classic underachiever. That means I have above average intelligence and good reasoning ability but I am bored to death by high school because the curriculum is so scaled-down that the work is not challenging to me. This sets up a vicious cycle in which I stop listening and doing the work and therefore get far behind and fail many classes. It's mostly my fault of course, but the system itself is also partially to blame since it sets such absurdly low standards in the first place in an attempt to pad the statistics. I mean, when regional test scores are low, what do you people in the education business do? Do you beef up the learning or reevaluate your teaching methods? No. What you do is scale down the curriculum and lower the standards for passing, therefore making it easier for those "struggling" students to pass, but boring the crap out of those of us who would probably benefit from harder, more challenging classes. What then happens is that many of what could potentially be your best students simply don't give a damn while many of the less intelligent and less worthy ones have their good grades spoon fed to them by teaching them with Dick and Jane methods."
She gaped at me. I knew I'd hit upon the very subject line teachers like her had bitched about for years to their administration. In a few years, after several lawsuits about people graduating at a functionally illiterate level while promising students were actually dropping out, education reform would hit the State of Washington like a sledgehammer, improving things remarkably. I almost wished I could tell her that. She would still be teaching when it occurred. But I didn't.
"I read psychology too," I told her instead, heading out the door.
I ran into Debbie at lunch. She jiggled over to me and smiled. I greeted her, looking her up and down, remembering what her young body had felt like naked beneath mine.
"Word has it I'm the biggest cock-tease in the school," she told me.
"Well what do you know about that?" I smiled. "Better than being the biggest slut, isn't it?"
She nodded, giggling again. "All the girls are asking me why I made out with you."
"Yeah?" I grinned. "What did you tell them?"
"That you were a totally awesome kisser. The best."
"Thanks," I said gratefully, wondering how long it would be until one of the other stoner girls decided to try for herself. "How are you today?"
She smiled shyly. "I could use another kiss myself," she said, blushing.
I chuckled. "I've got something to do after school today, but why don't you give me your phone number? Maybe I'll give you a call on Saturday."
She handed a piece of paper over to me. She'd already taken the time to write her number down. "Call me anytime, " she said, walking away.
Period four, which I hadn't gone to yesterday, was Driver's Education. I was gratified to see that at least they took this subject very seriously. The information, though very familiar to me, was not the least bit scaled down. Period five was PE. It was spent learning the finer points of basketball. And though I enjoyed seeing all of the high school girls jumping around in their school sweats and T-shirts, I was no better at sports than I had ever been. I did enough to get by and let the rest ride.
As I dressed in the locker room some of Richie Fairview's cronies were in there. Usually they were the terror of the locker room. They eyed me nervously and came nowhere near me. When they started to approach some poor freshman slob, probably intending to make him cry just for the fun of it, I gave them a glare and they immediately found something else to do. I smiled to myself. Maybe I couldn't change the world, but I was at least doing a little bit.
Period six, the final period of the day was English. The subject was paragraph writing. I listened blandly and noted down my homework. I kept my mouth shut. When the bell rang I shouldered my backpack, found Mike, and headed for home.
Shortly after arriving home I gathered up a bottle of window cleaner and a roll of paper towels. Tracy had been lying on the couch flipping through a rock music magazine and had only grunted a reply to my greeting when I'd come in the house. However when she saw me heading out the door with the cleaning supplies she favored me with a pitying look.
"Going to clean Anita's windows?" she asked me.
I nodded, putting on a look of resigned disgust. "Yep. You know how it is."
"Yeah," she said, "I know how it is. I gotta watch her little brats on Saturday night." She shook her head in disgust. "Saturday fucking night! Can you believe the nerve of Mom and Dad? Volunteering me for that shit on Saturday night. And do you know why she needs a babysitter that night?"
"Why?" I asked, pausing in the doorway.
"Because she's going to a party. A party! Well what the hell do they think I was gonna do? I'm tired of them springing this crap on me at the last minute. I have a life too."
I smiled. "Yes you do," I told her. "Let me talk to her. I'll see what I can do. I'm not doing anything Saturday, maybe she'll let me baby-sit instead."
"You?" Tracy asked with horror. "You can't baby-sit."
"Why not?" I asked, already knowing what she was going to say.
"Because you're a boy!"
"So? What does that have to do with anything? Why do girls automatically make good babysitters while boys are untrustworthy?"
"Well..." She tried to come up with something and failed. "Just because. Boys aren't as responsible as girls are."
"Oh we're not, are we? Why is that?"
"Because," she said, "if a boy was left alone in a house he'd do all kinds of things."
I started laughing.
"What?" she asked.
"When you were babysitting her kids," I asked, "did you ever drink her booze?"
"No," Tracy said indignantly.
"Oh come on, Tracy," I chided.
"Well maybe once or twice," she admitted.
"And did you ever have your boyfriend over to her house?"
"And did you ever smoke weed over there and make out on the couch? Or maybe use her bedroom for a little..."
"All right!" she yelled, laughing. "You made your point. At least to me anyway. But Mom and Dad and Anita are never going to buy it."
"I'm just offering," I told her. "I'll float the idea by Anita while I'm over there. And Mom and Dad will go along if Anita does. Don't worry, I'm good at talking people into things. And if it doesn't work, you're no worse off are you?"
"I guess not," she answered, her demeanor brightening. "Well thanks, Bill. I hope you can talk her into it." She chuckled. "It's kinda hard to picture you babysitting though."
"Kids love me," I assured her, "And I love them. I'll be fine." I headed for the door and then paused. "By the way, what are her kids' names anyway?"
10-20-2012, 11:16 AM
RE: Doing It All Over
Anita Browling's house was a single story with a small lawn and small back yard. Like all the houses in the subdivision, it had been built about 1970 or so, during a major growth spurt for the Spokane area. Like many of the other houses on the block, the paint was peeling off due to the extremes of the weather. I knew that at some point in the near future I would be volunteered to paint the house for her. Was that this coming summer? I figured it would be. I knew, looking at the paint, that it hadn't been done yet and I also knew I'd done it before Tracy's death. It had\would take me nearly two weeks in the hot sun to complete.
Anita was home when I knocked. I remembered she worked early in the morning-Tracy often had to get up at 5:00 AM to go baby-sit on vacation days-but I couldn't for the life of me remember what it was she did. She was wearing a pair of dark slacks that hid the form of her slightly large hips and a button-up blouse that showed off her large breasts nicely. Her brown hair was tied back in a ponytail. She smiled warmly as she saw me standing there with my cleaning supplies in hand.
"Billy," she greeted, throwing open the door and allowing me entry. "Did you come to do the windows today? You're such a sweetie."
"No problem," I said, smiling back. "I'll have 'em squeaky clean in no time."
Her two children (Ryan and Jennifer, Ryan and Jennifer, my mind repeated to me), were coloring in books at her coffee table. They both looked up at me for a moment and then went back to what they were doing. The living room was a little cluttered with toys and so forth but remarkably neat for a woman with two children. The television was turned off and the stereo was turned on. Barbara Streisand was singing about love, how it was ageless and evergreen, whatever the hell that meant.
"I really appreciate you doing this for me, Billy," Anita was saying. "They get so dirty during the winter and I have such a hard time climbing on the ladder you know."
"I'm happy to do it," I assured her. "Where should I start?"
I got the ladder out of her garage and began doing the outsides first, moving from one to the other, scraping and wiping off the accumulation of dirt, grime, road salt, and all of the other shit that floats around in our air or is blown forcefully through it during the winter. Anita stayed in the house for this portion although I caught glimpses of her through the windows when she happened to be in a room I was cleaning. I watched her whenever I saw her, checking out her form and imagining the possibilities. Though she was slightly chunky, there was nothing in the world wrong with that. Her skin looked soft, her face pretty, and she had beautiful breasts that bounced nicely when she walked. Sure, a teenager wouldn't admit he desired her, such were the commandments of peer pressure, but an adult would have no problem with her whatsoever. And I was most definitely an adult.
She waved at me whenever she happened to catch me looking in at her, or smiled at the very least, but there was no overt flirtation. I began to wonder if my mind was remembering things correctly. Was I confusing my previous masturbation fantasies with reality?
When I went in the house to do the inside of the windows it was only a minute or two before I got my first clue. I was up on the stepladder doing the living room window and she came up to offer me a soda to drink. As she handed it to me I was looking down at her. She had undone the top button of her blouse, allowing me to look straight down the front of it. I could see the mass of her white breasts contained in a flimsy, lacy bra. I was certain that the top button had not been undone earlier and I was also certain, as a fifteen year old would not have been, that she was well aware of the view she was giving me. She was showing herself to me. But for what purpose?
"Thank you," I smiled, taking the soda and swigging out of it. I then handed it back to her. "Could you set it over there for me?" I asked, pointing at a coffee table next to the ladder.
"Sure," she replied, taking it from my hand. When she bent over to set it down gravity pulled her breasts away from her body, as well as pulling the blouse away from her tits. This allowed me a fine view indeed. She caught me looking as she stood back up and I turned my head away, as a teenager would do. There was no sense tipping my hand, was there?
As I moved from window to window I grew more and more certain that she was deliberately showing herself to me. Why was she doing this? Was she just teasing a teenager? Or did she desire something more? I didn't know. Though my memories of her little shows were correct I also remembered that she had never made any attempt to actually seduce me. What should I do next? How could I find out safely?
As I cleaned I also chatted and talked to her two kids, remembering my promise to Tracy. Jennifer was four and Ryan was six. I truly do love children and they were cute ones. I applied all of the skills I'd picked up in my 32 years charming them. The responded to me well, obviously impressing Anita with my rapport.
"Your kids are really cute," I told her at one point, and she beamed at me.
But the kids also prevented me from seeing how far she was willing to go with her little game. She was an attentive and responsible mother. I knew instinctively she would do nothing while they were awake. That thought led to a plan.
"What time do you and Jenny have to go to bed?" I asked Ryan playfully.
He pouted. "Eight o'clock on school nights," he said. "And we're not even tired then!"
"That's a bummer," I told him, marking the time in my head. "Your mommy's a real meanie, isn't she?"
"Yeah!" they agreed together, giggling and making their mommy giggle too.
While I cleaned her bedroom windows she was folding her laundry on the bed and chatting with me about this and that. She asked about school and I had to search my mind for answers since I'd only spent two days in the place. As far as I know I said nothing inappropriate. When I finished the window I stepped down from the ladder and spied the doorway that led to the master bathroom. That would be her bathroom.
"Do you mind if I use your restroom?" I said, nodding towards the door.
"Sure," she said, waving me in that direction.
I went inside and closed the door. After emptying my bladder into her toilet I buttoned up my pants prior to flushing. When my pants were secure I pushed the handle and used the noise of the toilet to cover the sound of me opening up her medicine cabinet. I took a look inside, quickly flitting my eyes over the shelves full of aspirin, old antibiotics, and various over the counter remedies. I spotted what I was looking for on the bottom shelf. A square plastic case with little white pills and occasional rows of pink ones imbedded in it. Each of the pills was in a spot marked with the day of the week. The pink ones were sugar pills, put in there only so the woman would be able to keep in the habit of taking one a day during her period. I picked up the case, seeing both that she was current and that she was not due for her period for more than a week. I smiled. I would have had to come up with another plan if she had not been on some sort of birth control. And being able to predict her period was a bonus I hadn't counted on.
When I emerged from the bathroom she was putting her clothes in the dresser.
"Anita?" I asked her as I folded up the ladder.
"Yes," she asked, turning towards me.
"You have Tracy coming over to baby-sit on Saturday, don't you?"
She creased her brow a little. "Yes," she agreed. "Your mother said she would."
"Well," I said, carefully, "the fact is that Tracy had plans for that night and my mom kinda ruined them by volunteering her to baby-sit."
Anita's face immediately turned to distress. "Oh my goodness," she said. "I had no idea Tracy had plans. If I'd of known that I never would have asked your mother." She shook her head. "Your mother told me that she'd be happy to baby-sit."
"Yeah," I agreed, "Mom's like that sometimes."
"Well I'll just cancel my plans," she announced. "I don't want to make Tracy miss her party. Especially after all she's done for me in the past. And you kids never accept any money for what you do."
"Well, you don't have to cancel your plans," I told her. "I talked to Tracy about it and I don't have anything to do on Saturday. I thought maybe I could take her place. That way both of you could go to your parties."
"You?" she said doubtfully.
"Why not?" I said. "I like your kids a lot, and they like me. I can take care of them all right. We'll have fun."
It took a few more minutes but finally I convinced her. Shortly after that I went home. But I wouldn't be home for long.
When I walked in the door Mom and Dad were both home. Mom was cooking up something in the kitchen. It smelled like steak. Dad was watching the news on television. I gave him a quick hello and headed directly for mom. She would be the authority on the subject I was about to discuss.
It took ten minutes and a phone call to Anita but I secured her permission to baby-sit Anita's kids in Tracy's place. She was doubtful about the plan and I knew she would probably call every ten minutes while I was over there, but I was able to wear her down.
With a smile on my face, I headed upstairs. I paused at Tracy's room and gave a knock on the door. From behind it came the sound of yet another teenybopper band. The music turned down and the door creaked open. She looked at me.
"Looks like you're gonna be partying on Saturday," I told her.
"You convinced them?" she asked in disbelief.
"Putty in my hands," I assured her.
"Oh thank you!" she squealed, pulling me to her and giving me a big hug. She drew back and looked at me. "You know, Billy," she said, "sometimes you're not such a little asshole after all."
"I'll take that as a compliment, Trace," I told her, walking away.
I entered my room as happy as I'd been in a while.
10-20-2012, 11:17 AM
RE: Doing It All Over
After dinner I went upstairs and took a shower, cleansing my body and making sure to brush my teeth and use plenty of mouthwash. I put on the tightest pair of pants I could find, a pair that hugged my lower body like a second skin. I put on a clean sweater and combed my hair. I checked my watch. 6:40. Almost an hour and a half to go. I pulled out my books and began studying.
At 8:30 I had completed all of my homework and stowed it neatly away in my backpack. I went to Tracy's room and knocked on the door. She opened it.
"Can I use your phone a minute, Trace?" I asked.
"Sure," she said, waving me inside.
She had been doing her homework I saw. Her Biology book and a spread of papers were scattered on her desk. She was dressed in her jeans and sweatshirt still. Her teenybopper album was still playing on the stereo.
Earlier I'd looked in my mom's phone book and found Mike's phone number, which, of course, I did not remember. I picked up her phone and dialed it.
His mom answered and I asked for him. A moment later he came to the phone.
"Hey, dude," I said, "I'm telling my parents I'm coming over to your house tonight for a while. So don't call me."
"You got it, dude," he assured me. "What's up?"
"Oh, I'm just going out for a while."
"Doing anything cool?" he asked, fishing for an invitation.
"Naw," I assured him. "Just gonna fuck off a little."
"Whatever," he said, disappointed, sulking a little, but at least I was safe from being busted via a telephone call from him. "See ya tomorrow."
When I hung up Tracy looked at me questioningly. "Where are you going?" she asked.
"Out," I told her.
"Just out," I said, my tone telling her she should mind her own business. I headed downstairs.
"Mom, I'm going over to Mike's for a little bit," I said as I passed through the living room.
"All right, dear," she said absently, her attention riveted to the television. "Be back by ten."
Three minutes later I was in front of Anita's house. I could see that the light was on in the living room and the faint blue glow of a television screen shining through. I found myself nervous as I contemplated what I was about to do. Was this really wise? If I had misread her I could get into a lot of trouble. I might even end up talking to a shrink or something. But my little head told me I was doing the right thing. Even at 32 I still listened to him probably more than I should. I walked up her driveway. After another brief, fearful pause at the front door, I knocked.
The sound of her voice came drifting through the door. "Who is it?""It's Billy," I said, speaking only as loud as I thought I needed to in order to be heard.
"Billy?" she said, confused. A moment later the door crept open about six inches, revealing her. She was wearing a robe I saw, pulled tight around her body. Her face was void of makeup and a towel was over her head, allowing a few damp strands to peek out.
"Hi," I said, embarrassed, not even faking it. "I was wondering if I could uh... well, talk to you about something for a minute?"
"What is it?" she asked, immediately concerned.
"It's kind of personal," I told her. "Could I uh... come in?"
"Uh..." She hesitated for a second, leading me to believe I'd made a terrible mistake. Then she said, "sure, come on in."
She opened the door, allowing me entry. I stepped into her living room and she shut the door behind me. Her living room was now absolutely spotless. The television was on showing a news program. A half-full wineglass sat on the coffee table near the couch. A glance into the kitchen revealed a half-empty bottle of white wine. My hopes perked up. She'd been drinking.
"Sit down," she said, looking at me. "Can I get you anything to drink?"
"Oh, no thank you," I told her, heading for the couch and planting myself near where she would sit.
She came over and sat down next to me, her robe riding up a little in the process and allowing me a brief glance of her milky white thighs before she pulled the hem back down. She picked up her wineglass and had a sip before using the remote control to turn down the volume on the television.
"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" I asked her nervously.
"Not at all," she said, shaking her head. "I was just watching the news before Dallas comes on. What's wrong?"
"Well," I started, "it's kind of embarrassing you know, but..."
"Billy, what is it?"
"Well," I continued, "you've been a good friend to me and I feel like I can, you know, trust you."
"Of course you can trust me," she said.
"But you're also friends with my mother," I said. "I really wouldn't want to have her find out about what I have to ask."
"If you don't want me to tell her, I won't tell her," Anita assured me. "Think of me as a doctor."
I paused for a moment, as if I was thinking it over. Finally I said, "Okay, well, you're younger than my mother and you're a girl and all, so I thought maybe you'd understand."
"Understand what?" she asked.
"I've got a girlfriend!" I blurted.
She smiled. "Well good for you," she said happily. "What's her name?"
"Debbie," I said, pulling out the first name to come to mind. "We've been going out for a while and..."
"And what?" she asked.
"And well," I took a long pause, considering my words. "And it's getting to the point where she wants to, you know, do things with me."
She raised her eyebrows, blushing a little. "Do things?"
"You know," I said. "Like uh... sex."
"Sex?" she said, blushing harder now.
"Yes." I nodded.
"Billy," she said sternly, "don't you think you're a little young to be thinking about sex?"
I looked at her confused. "Anita," I said honestly, "sex is pretty much all I think about. How old were you when you first, you know, did it?"
She licked her lips a little. "Okay," she said, smiling a bit. "I see your point. So you're saying she wants to have sex with you?"
"And do you want to have sex with her?"
"More than anything," I answered. "But you see, I uh, well, I've never had, uh, sex before."
"And has she?" Anita asked.
"I think so," I said. "That's the problem. I don't know how to do it."
"Well I'm sure if she loves you..." Anita started.
"Love?" I interrupted. "Love doesn't have anything to do with it. I don't love her, she's just my girlfriend. She expects me to do it with her and I've told her I've done it before."
"You lied to her?"
"Yes," I said. "Do you have any idea what would happen if people found out I was a virgin? I'm in high school. You have to be a stud or people think you're a fag!"
She took a moment to digest this, perhaps thinking back to her own high school days. When it was processed she nodded a little, licking her lips again. "I suppose you're right," she told me. "So what is it you want from me?"
"Can you tell me how to do it?" I asked, looking hopefully at her. "Please?"
"Tell you how to do it," she said to herself, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.
"Yeah," I said, nodding. "So I'll know how to make it seem like I've done it before. Like, you know, how do I treat her boobs and all? And how do I, you know, put it in? How are you supposed to move once you're in? They don't teach you this stuff anywhere! Debbie's a blabbermouth. If I don't do it right, the whole school will think I'm a virgin by the next day. You gotta help me!" I pleaded, seemingly near tears.
"Billy," she said. "I appreciate your fears but you can't just tell someone how to do it. The only way to learn is, well, to do it a few times. It comes naturally, you'll see."
"But I told her I've done it before!" I said. "She'll know! Can't you at least tell me a little bit about how to do it? What about foreplay?"
"Foreplay?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said. "I heard you're supposed to do foreplay. I don't even know what that is!"
She looked at me in shock for a moment and then burst out laughing. I flushed as if deeply embarrassed.
"Forget it," I said angrily, standing up. "I'll just go home."
"No, no," she said, stifling her outburst. "I'm not laughing at you, just at what you said. I'm sorry."
Slowly, I put myself back down in the chair, noting the gleam forming in her eye. For the first time I felt I was making some headway. I noticed she'd let the hem of her robe creep up a bit, showing me her flesh up to mid-thigh. She'd also let the top open a bit, revealing a bit of cleavage and confirming my suspicion that she had no bra on under the robe. Perhaps I hadn't made a mistake in coming here.
"Listen," she said, "there's a lot involved in making love. It takes a lifetime to learn it all. But you just want to seem like you've done it before, right?"
"Yes!" I agreed.
"Okay," she said, downing the rest of her wine and setting the glass down. "Let me see what I can do."
10-20-2012, 11:17 AM
RE: Doing It All Over
"Thank you!" I blurted.
She took a deep breath. "Tell me," she said, "how far have you gone before?"
"Well," I said, "we've kissed a lot and she's let me feel her boobs through her shirt a few times."
"Okay." Anita nodded.
"And one time she let me put my hand under her shirt. But she wouldn't let me put it under her bra."
"And that's as far as you've gone?"
"But she's hinted that she'd like for you to do more soon?"
"Uh huh," I said. "That's why I came to you."
"Okay," Anita said. "If I tell you this, it has to remain here, do you understand? You're mother, your friends, nobody can ever find out about what I've told you. Can you do that?"
"Yes," I said, sensing the kill coming. "I promise."
"Okay." She smiled, leaning back into the couch a little. "I'll teach you the basics on how to have sex with a girl."
"I knew you'd help me, Anita," I said with a grin, feeling an erection starting already as I saw the shine in her eyes increase. Her nipples were hard. I could see them poking through the fabric in her robe. And she kept shifting her legs back and forth while she sat there. She was showing unmistakable signs of arousal. Signs a fifteen-year old wouldn't be able to pick up upon, but signs that were very familiar to a 32 year old.
"I'm glad to help," she told me. "Now the most important thing in the early stages is to be gentle. Girls don't like it when you maul them. If she lets you feel her breasts, don't squeeze them hard, caress them."
"Caress them?" I asked.
"Yes." She nodded. "You need to touch them gently, as if they were a delicate egg or something. Remember that. Don't break the egg. Just glide your hands over them and don't attack the nipples. Just run your fingers over them for a few minutes. Touch them lightly. That really gets girls hot."
"Wow," I said. "Like this?" I held up my hands and roughly moved my thumb and index finger back and forth.
"No no," she said, shaking her head. "You have to..." She paused, thinking. "Well," she said softly. "I suppose it would be easier to show you instead of telling you."
"Show me?" I asked, feigning confusion but feeling my cock leap to full life. I'd done it! She was going to show me.
"Yes," she said. "Again, you can never tell anyone, but in the interest of education, I suppose I could volunteer as a test subject."
"What do you mean?" I asked naively.
Slowly she put her hands to her robe and opened it at the chest, revealing her silky skin and freeing her braless tits. They were glorious, sagging only a little, the size of softballs. The large nipples were standing out proudly, just begging to be touched and sucked. "Here," she told me. "Give me your hands."
Slowly I reached out and put my hands in hers. She took them and placed them upon her tits, allowing me to feel the soft, springy flesh, the hard points of the nipples pressing into my palms.
"Now caress them," she said softly, her eyes shining. "Pretend I'm Debbie."
"Okay," I said, faking a stutter. I began to squeeze and caress them, running my fingertips over the soft flesh, twirling around her nipples, which were easily the diameter of dimes. I hefted their weight in my hands, testing them, before going back to caressing. Her eyes softened as I did this, her breathing quickening.
"Very good," she said, pushing her chest forward into my hands. "You're a quick learner."
"Cool," I muttered, continuing my actions. I looked below her tits as I did this, seeing her stomach. The skin was tanned and looked soft although there were a few creases and stretch marks. Her belly button was large and had a faint fuzz of black hair leading downward from it. I could almost make out her crotch but her robe was still closed over that portion of her body.
"Wouldn't she want me to, you know, suck on them?" I asked Anita. "Girls like that, don't they?"
"They love it," Anita breathed, twisting her shoulders into me now. "But it's another thing that you have to do carefully," she explained. "You have to treat a nipple like a baby does. Pretend you're sucking on a bottle when you suck a tit. Don't go after it like a shop-vac."
"Can I try it?" I asked her. "Just to make sure I'm doing it right?"
"I suppose," she allowed, reaching up and putting her hand to the back of my head.
She pulled my face to her left breast and my lips contacted the soft skin just above the nipple. I kissed and sucked for a second and then moved down, taking her large nipple in my mouth. As I began to gently suck she moaned, her fingers twining through my hair. I put my hands on her stomach, sliding them around to her back and pulling her tighter to me. I lapped and slurped at her nipple, tasting every square millimeter of it before switching to the right one. I took that nipple in my mouth and gave it a similar treatment.
I raised my head from her chest. "Is this what foreplay is?" I asked her.
"Yesss," she hissed. "But if you really want to master foreplay, there's one thing you want to know how to do."
"What's that?" I asked, licking her nipple once more.
"How to eat a woman, er, a girl."
"You need to know how to eat pussy," she told me.
"Can you teach me?" I asked, looking up at her flushed face.
"Yes." She nodded, putting her hands to the top of my head and pushing me downward.
Her robe parted and her chunky legs spread before me, revealing her crotch. It was covered with a mat of thick, curly, black hair. Her pink lips, swollen with her excitement, protruded from the center of her bush. Her clit was peeking from its hood near the top. Her thick, clean smell rose up before me, driving my desire, making me long to bury my face between those soft legs. I gave up all pretenses and dove in to her, attacking her slit with my tongue.
"Ohhhh!" she squealed in surprise as I drove my tongue into her body, plunging it in and out, lapping up her juices. She tasted so good. There is nothing like eating a pussy that is attached to a woman who has just emerged from bathing. Nothing!
I licked up and down, in and out, while her hands pulled me closer and her bare legs wrapped around my back. I felt her legs as I ate her, admiring the silky softness of them. When she started to buck back at me I went for her clit, licking it and then finally sucking it into my mouth. Her moans were so loud I feared the neighbors would hear. Not that I stopped because of this.
She came after only a few minutes, a loud screaming orgasm that splashed my face with her fragrant juices and made her rip several strands of my hair from my scalp. When she finally calmed down I looked up at her, my face wet, hairs sticking from between my teeth. Her expression was of total disbelief.
"Was that how you do it?" I asked her, sliding my finger through her slippery slit.
She nodded, speechless.
"Can you tell me how to fuck now?" I asked, taking off my sweater and throwing it to the floor.
A minute later I was completely naked and climbing between her thick thighs. I ran my fifteen-year old cock up and down her slimy slit for a moment and then she grabbed my ass with her hands and pulled. I slid inside of her easily, feeling her grip at me, feeling my pubis mash against hers. Though she was looser than Debbie, she was certainly more experienced. Her hips rose up to meet me and she clenched her vaginal muscles expertly. She had been married after all, and knew how to fuck. She did it well I quickly discovered as I began pounding in and out.
Her soft stomach pressed against mine as my pelvis moved to her rhythm. Her soft thighs slid against mine, quickly building up a sheen of sweat upon which to glide. I leaned down, feeling those tits push against my chest. My mouth found hers and our tongues began a desperate duel as we pleasured each other with our nether regions.
"Oh fuck me!" she cried, squeezing my ass cheeks. "It's been so long. Fuck me!"
"Yeah," I said, slamming harder, feeling her rise up to meet each thrust.
She broke our kiss and stared directly into my eyes, taking in my features. Her hands left my ass and began gliding over my legs, my back, my arms, playing with my armpits. Her expression was of exalted disbelief, leading me to believe I was fulfilling a fantasy of hers. She'd wanted to fuck a fifteen-year old and now she was getting her fantasy.
"Harder!" she commanded. "Fuck me harder!"
I pounded her mercilessly and soon her hips and her fingernails on my back told me she was coming again. She screamed out her pleasure as it hit her.
"Now come in me!" she commanded breathlessly. "Oh come in me! Let me feel your fresh come squirting in my body! Oh God, please? Come in me!"
"You want it?" I asked her, holding back for the moment.
"Yesss!" she answered, pounding her hips and grasping my cock with greater force. "Let me feel it. Let me feel your come!"
"You like fifteen year old boys?" I asked her, slamming and slamming. "You like to feel their come shooting in you?"
"Ohhhhh!" she moaned, sticking her finger in my ass and moving it in and out.
"Do you?" I asked. "Tell me. Tell me what you like and I'll come."
"Oh God," she moaned, adding another finger to my ass, nearly causing me pain, but causing me great pleasure at the same time. "I love it. I've always wanted a teenager! I've always wanted to fuck you! Now please, come in meeeeeeee!"
"Here it comes, baby," I told her, increasing my thrusts. I felt the surge running up my spine. It was going to happen now, it was inevitable. My hips became a blur and waves of pure pleasure ran through my body as spurt after spurt shot from my cock into her grasping pussy.
"Yesssss!" she screamed, feeling me shooting. Even after my thrusts slowed to a stop, hers continued. Finally we both were motionless.
We kissed each other for a few moments, swirling our tongues together in the afterglow of great sex and then she looked up at me, her eyes showing shame and confusion.
"You were great," I told her, giving her left tit a friendly squeeze. "Absolutely great."
"What have I done?" she asked, more to herself than me. "Oh my God!"
I leaned down and kissed her again, licking at her lips a little. "You've done nothing, Anita," I said. "Nothing at all but give your friend Billy a little friendly advice for his girlfriend."
She shook her head violently. "No," she told me, pushing me off of her. I slid off with a wet slurp. Her legs were still wide and a big glob of my sperm drooled out of her slit. She closed them quickly. "God, what have I done?"
I rolled over and sat up. "Had a good time?" I asked, stretching a little.
"I can't believe this!" she said, near tears. "You're Margaret's son! And I've, I've, taken advantage of you!"
"You did no such thing, Anita!" I told her.
"I did!" she insisted, tears running down her face now.
"No," I told her. "You didn't. I took advantage of you."
She shook her head, pulling her robe around her. "That's nice of you to say, Billy, but you're a fifteen year old kid and I'm an adult. You came to me for help and I... I took advantage of that because it's been so long since I've had sex. I let my horniness get the better of me and I've done something awful. I..."
"Anita," I said, still sitting there naked, her juices and my sperm drying on my dick. "There is no Debbie."
"What?" she asked.
"There is no Debbie," I repeated. "I made that up as an excuse to come over here. I've also had sex before, several times. Couldn't you tell while I was making love to you?"
She looked confused. "I did think you were doing it rather well for a teenager," she admitted. "But why would you do that?"
"Because I wanted you," I told her. "Do you know that I lie in bed at night thinking about your body while I masturbate?"
"Yes," I said. "Constantly. I've wanted you for such a long time now. And I've thought that maybe you were attracted to me a little, that maybe if I, you know, set it up right, you would maybe do things with me. I came over here hoping that what we did would happen. I tried to engineer it. It's me you should be mad at. I lied to you. I was conniving. And I'm sorry you're upset by what we did. You were more than I ever hoped for."
"I was?" she asked, her eyes shining.
"Yes." I nodded. "Can you ever forgive me for tricking you like that?"
"Of course, Billy," she said. "But I still shouldn't have done that. Do you understand how serious this is? I can be arrested for what we did."
"I'll never tell anyone," I told her. "I swear."
She smiled a little, wiping her face. "Fifteen year olds swear lots of things," she told me. "And they very rarely understand the consequences of breaking those swears."
"Anita," I said, "I'm not an ordinary fifteen year old. I do think about consequences. I think about them obsessively. Would you like to hear an example of how I think about them?"
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"While I was over here earlier I was already planning this episode. But I was worried about the possibility of getting you pregnant. I did not want to do that. So I looked in your medicine cabinet to make sure you were on birth control of some type. I was looking for a diaphragm case or birth control pills. Only when I found your pills and assured myself that you were current on them did I decide to come over here tonight."
"You did that?" she asked, staring at me, giving me The Look.
"You are currently eight days from your period," I told her.
"My God," she said, looking at me with confused respect.
"Does that sound like a typical teenager to you? I like to think things through before I do them, eliminate all of the possible dangers I can. So what would I have to gain by telling anyone this? A few minutes of celebrity if I told the story, which my friends wouldn't believe anyway, they would only pretend to. That certainly does not balance out the loss of you as a friend." I leered at her. "A very special friend."
"Wow," she whispered, staring at me. "I don't know what to say. This is the most confusing moment of my life."
"I'm sure it is," I told her. "But did you enjoy what we did?"
"Well..." she started.
"Did you?" I asked.
"Yes," she admitted. "Immensely." She blushed again. "I've laid awake at night masturbating while thinking about you. But I never thought for a minute that we'd actually, you know." She shook her head. "You are a sneaky little bastard, you know that? You played right into one of my fantasies, almost word for word."
"I'm pretty perceptive they say."
"So why don't we mark it down as a pleasant experience for all concerned?" I asked her. "I enjoyed making love to you, you enjoyed making love to me. Both of us had fantasies fulfilled. I will never tell anyone about it. Nobody even knows where I am tonight. What we did will remain secret forever. I promise."
"Okay." She nodded, smiling again now. "But we shouldn't do this anymore," she said sternly. "It's still wrong."
"If you wish," I agreed sadly.
"I think that would be for the best."
"All right." I paused. "But is it still okay for me to baby-sit on Saturday? I'd hate to disappoint Tracy."
"Oh sure," she said. "Perfectly all right."
"Good." I stood up. "Is it okay if I use your shower before I go home?"
"Yes," I said. "I wouldn't want to go home smelling like sex. That leads to unwanted questions from parents."
She looked at me for a moment, shaking her head in amusement. "Very good thinking, Billy," she told me. "You know where it's at."
"Thanks," I replied, picking up my clothes.
I made it about ten steps towards her bedroom before her voice called me. I turned to look at her. She was standing up, her robe was flapping loosely, allowing me to see her breasts and her bush again. I felt my penis give a little twitch.
"Maybe I should go with you," she offered, smiling sexily. "Just to make sure you get nice and clean."
My dick took a bigger lurch. "By all means."
10-20-2012, 11:17 AM
RE: Doing It All Over
The next day at school, nothing terribly eventful happened. I turned in all of my completed homework to some very surprised teachers and, having done that, they began to truly notice me for the first time. They began to call on me in class, seemingly pleased when I supplied them with correct answers to their inquiries. In the classes where I'd already made my new self known, things mellowed out. Mrs. Crookshank asked me occasional questions on various anatomical topics but there was no longer a sense of challenge in them. She stayed confined to the current subject at hand and called on me no more than she did the other favorites in her class. The disinterested students like my former self, she continued to ignore. My history teacher on the other hand, seemed almost afraid of me. She didn't call on me a single time but eyed me nervously whenever she was discussing a controversial topic about the Civil War that was being scaled down into black and white, good and evil for the 'tender young minds' she was instructing. I know she was expecting me to pop up with another mini-lecture to counter hers. But I kept my peace, remaining in my seat quietly, mostly lost in my own thoughts, knowing that there was nothing that she was going to teach me about history.
That night was Friday night; the night that Mike's parents allowed him to use the car. He told them we were just going to drive around downtown; cruising he called it. It was, I remembered, the same thing he told them every weekend and every weekend they bought it. What we actually did was drive to a secluded park near the falls where a kegger was being held. For two bucks a head you could drink all the beer you wanted.
The night was brisk, as it always is in eastern Washington in late February, but the good weather was holding. The stars were out and a full moon hung in the sky, providing scant illumination to the darkened family picnic area. The atmosphere was festive as we arrived, paid our money, and filled our first plastic cups with ice-cold beer from the tap. Kids ranging in age from fourteen to eighteen were everywhere, lounging near cars, sitting on the picnic tables in groups of three, four, eight. Music blared from at least ten different car stereos and at least five different boom boxes, most of it conflicting with each other.
I took a moment to stare at the falls, watching the white, foamy churning of God knew how many millions of gallons of water rushing over the cliff. I could hear the roar of them even over the car stereos. It wasn't very far from this spot where Tracy had an appointment with destiny. An appointment I sincerely believed I'd cancelled. I took a drink of beer in her honor and then joined the party.
I drank beer after beer, getting pleasantly buzzed. I took a few hits off of joints or pipes that were passed my way, increasing the buzz to blissful intoxication. I listened to the conversations around me, which, admittedly, were not terribly stimulating. The talk was of rock bands, cars, drug experiences, fights, who was a bitch, who wasn't. It was peppered with unnecessary profanity, particularly the word 'fuck', which was the favored modifier among this age group.
It was less than an hour before a girl named Stephanie found me. She was skinny and bleached blonde, but attractive. She was also a junior and nearly two years older than I was. She chatted with me for few minutes and then brought up the subject that had led her to me.
"I heard you and Debbie got a thing goin'?" she asked, taking a drag off her cigarette. "Is that true?"
"No," I answered. "She's just a friend of mine."
"A friend?" She giggled. "I heard you were more than friends. I heard she threw herself at you over at Raisin's house the other day."
"Who'd you hear that from?" I asked, sipping from my latest beer.
"Lonnie," she said. "He said you were pretty smooth about it too."
I smiled at her, staring into her eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about," I said. "Debbie and I flirted a little but nothing more than that. You know how rumors are around here."
"Yeah," she said, tossing down her smoke and crushing it under the toe of her tennis shoe. "I do. Some people just can't keep their mouths shut about things."
"Yep," I agreed. "But some people can."
Less than an hour later we were 'taking a little walk' into the wooded area around the park. We sat against a tree, watching the falls, the sound of the party distant in our ears. We started kissing, which led to my hands beneath her jacket and sweater, which led to me taking off her pants and eating her pussy on the cold, damp ground. I pulled two orgasms from her and then extricated a condom from my pocket. A minute later my pants were off, my dick was capped, and I was thrusting within yet another tight, teenaged pussy. Afterward we returned to the party, walking together as friends out for a nature walk, the discarded condom marking the spot of our indiscretion.
"Where have you been?" Mike, who was quite fucked up, asked me when I rejoined him.
"Oh," I said casually, "I was bullshittin' with some of the guys over there."
"Oh." He nodded, and then went back to his graphic description of the time he'd bagged a girl and her sister at a similar kegger party. The rest of the guys listened respectfully to his tale. They then tried to top it.
I took a moment to be nervous about driving home with Mike as we twisted and turned along the levy road at high speed. I had no seat belt on - it simply wasn't done back then - and I was thrown from side to side as he drunkenly hit 20mph curves at around forty-five or so. But I took comfort in the fact that I'd done this dozens of times in my previous life without a second thought and nothing had happened then. I already knew that I was scheduled to live to at least thirty-two. In a way I was kind of immortal, wasn't I? Well maybe not immortal, but at least invulnerable.
I was cheered by this thought as we went on our way at 11:30 that night (we were both required to be home by midnight). That made being tossed from side to side by centrifugal force kind of fun. Even when the back end of the car slid a little on a sharp curve, bringing us dangerously close to the edge, I didn't get an adrenaline rush. I simply cheered Mike's skill with the car and asked him if he had any more weed on him.
10-20-2012, 11:17 AM
RE: Doing It All Over
Saturday was a good day. I woke up only slightly hung over from the beer, knowing if I'd drank as much as I had the previous night as an adult I would have been nearly incapacitated the next day. God, youth was great.
It was shortly after the breakfast dishes were washed and put away (my parents had no dishwasher, an appliance they would not acquire until shortly before I moved out) when the telephone rang. Tracy answered it.
"It's for you, Bill," she told me, being very polite for Tracy. A cynical part of me informed me it was simply because I was doing a favor for her tonight and she wanted to stay on my good side. But a more hopeful part wondered if she was simply calming her attitude towards me a little.
"Hello?" I said, expecting it to be Mike.
It wasn't. It was Debbie. "Hi, Bill," she said. "How you doin'?"
"How'd you get my number?" I asked her, knowing I hadn't given it to her.
"Oh, I've got my sources," she said mysteriously. She then got right to the point. "My parents and my sister are going out of town for the day." A brief pause. "I was wondering if maybe you'd like to, you know, come over?"
"To your house?" I asked.
"Well, yeah," she said. "If you're not doing anything else that is."
"Nothing planned," I told her, a smile forming on my face. "What time should I be there?"
I used my charms on Mom to score a few bucks off of her, though I had to endure one of her lectures as the price. Soon I was heading out the door. I stopped at a convenience store and bought another package of condoms. Twenty minutes after that I was in Debbie's house.
We didn't bother much with preliminaries. Less than ten minutes after my arrival we were in her bedroom stripping off our clothes. She begged me to eat her again like I had at Raisin's house and I teased her a little, saying I didn't want to break the law or anything. Finally I buried my face between those thighs and went to town. I then fucked her, after donning a condom of course. I then taught her the finer points of giving a blowjob, stopping her before I actually came in her mouth because I wanted to fuck her again. I showed her the female superior position and she caught on quickly, finding that if she rubbed herself in a certain way, she could bring herself off.
"See," I told her, after I'd finally blown my second load into the condom, "you can do that with any guy and you don't have to rely on his skill in order to get yourself off. As long as you can keep him from coming for the length of time it takes you to rub yourself to orgasm on his cock, you can be satisfied."
Her naked, sweaty body was collapsed across mine, her ample tits pushing into my chest. My hand was idly stroking her firm ass. "But how," she asked, "do I keep them from coming? I haven't done it with many people besides you, but every time I have, the guy comes in less than a minute or so."
"Suck him off first," I advised her, knowing I was making some future lover very happy. "Use those tricks I taught you when you were sucking me. Take the load and then demand he eat your pussy. Tell him he gets nothing else if he doesn't return the favor."
"Wow," she whispered, her tongue licking at the sweat on my neck.
"While he eats you," I continued, feeling myself stirring again already. God the wonders of youth! "He'll get hard again, but it will take him longer to come since he'll have just done it. You should be able to keep him active long enough to give yourself a good come." I patted her ass, rolling her over and beginning to kiss her again. "Because that's really what it's all about, isn't it?"
"Yeah," she breathed, thrusting her tongue at me.
I went home mid-afternoon and fell fast asleep. My balls were aching in a very pleasant way, the way that tells you they were happily overused. I'd taken a shower before leaving Debbie's house so I had little to do before my babysitting assignment that night. When I awoke I only had to put on fresh clothes, comb my hair and, of course, brush my teeth, expunging my mouth of the smell of teenaged pussy.
As I headed out the door Tracy was getting ready for her party. She was dressed in her tightest pair of jeans and a form-fitting sweater. She smiled as I went by.
"Heading to Anita's?" she asked.
"Yep." I nodded. "Have a good time tonight."
"I will," she said. "And thanks again."
"Anytime, Trace," I replied, heading downstairs. "Anytime at all."
10-20-2012, 11:17 AM
RE: Doing It All Over
Anita was dressed in a red dress that showed off her natural attributes-her tits-nicely. Her chunky legs were covered with dark pantyhose. She saw me looking as I entered her house and blushed a little.
"You look very nice," I told her lecherously. "Are you sure you want to go to this party tonight?"
She giggled like a teenager. "My presence is quite expected," she told me. "Besides, the kids are awake anyway."
I nodded. "Of course," I said, and turned to the kids, who were playing on the floor with a collection of toy cars. They saw me and squealed, heading for me.
"But sometimes," Anita said thoughtfully, "a girl gets a little ill and has to come home early; say around nine o'clock."
"Really?" I asked, smiling, wondering if my dick could perform after my earlier session with Debbie.
"Really," she said and then turned to the kids. "Gimmee kisses," she told them. "Mommy's going bye-bye."
She returned at ten after nine, just after the kids had been put to bed. After brief inquiries about their health and well-being, she walked over to me and took my hand. She traced her manicured nails over the back of it and then guided it under her dress, sliding it along over her nyloned thighs to the junction of her legs. I could feel dampness and musty heat emanating from her crotch.
"Do you feel how wet I am?" she asked, grinding her thighs together, pulling on my wrist to put pressure on her sensitive regions.
"Yeah," I said, my mouth drying a little.
"That's from thinking about you and all the things I'm going to do to you tonight," she told me.
"Cool," I gasped.
"Why don't you take these pantyhose off me?" she asked, kicking off her shoes. "I could use a little air."
I kneeled before her and pulled off her pantyhose, as requested, and, while she stood there before me, she threw the hem of her dress over my head. Her bare legs and crotch were directly before my face, the silky material of her dress billowing over my back. The smell under there was rich with musk; her pussy lips were oozing moisture. She widened her stance a little, spreading her legs and bringing her pussy near my mouth. Her hands grabbed the back of my head and pulled it forward, into her wetness.
I ate her to orgasm as she stood there, though her knees became quite wobbly as she came and she had to hold onto my shoulders for support. She then pushed me to my back on the floor and pulled my shoes from my feet and my pants and underwear from my body. She spread her dress around my hips and lowered herself onto my straining, very erect cock. Slowly she sank down upon me, engulfing me in her wet snatch and then pumping her hips up and down.
I must say that she gave me one of the best fucks I've ever had, before or after recycling. I wondered why her husband had divorced her. He couldn't have found someone better in bed. Better looking maybe, but not better in the sack.
I staggered home about ten-thirty that night and fell immediately into bed. My crotch was throbbing with the beat of my heart and my dick had a raw, used feeling to it. I had a smile on my face as I fell into sleep, thanking God for Mr. Li and for the fact that I hadn't been in a jovial mood that night and wished I was an Oscar Meyer wiener or something. Never in my life had I had so much sex in so short a period of time. And with three different girls too! My last thought was what tomorrow would bring.
It didn't bring much. My body was aching and sore. Since it was Sunday, the Lord's Day after all, I spent the entire 24-hour period without leaving the house. It was a day of rest. There was school tomorrow.
10-20-2012, 11:18 AM
RE: Doing It All Over
The poor weather returned for Monday's walk to school. The temperature was in the thirties, the sky was cloudy and spat intermittent flurries of snow down upon Mike and I as we walked to school. Mike was telling me what a great kegger it had been on Friday and that I should have gone to the one on Saturday night as well.
"I'm tellin' you man, there was bitches everywhere," he proclaimed.
"Yeah?" I replied, brushing a snowflake out of my eye and pulling my hood tighter against the cutting wind.
"Fuck yeah," he said. "I met this bitch from Spokane High and we got all fucked up together. After a while we went off to the trees and she gave me a fuckin' blow job."
"A blow job huh?" I asked, as if interested, wondering if Mike had ever really been laid at all.
"Yeah," he leered. "She could suck-start a Harley, I'm tellin' you. You shoulda come. I bet you coulda got laid too."
"I'm waiting for Miss Right," I told him.
He looked at me strangely for a moment and then, finally figuring it was a joke, started laughing.
I didn't laugh back and we walked on in silence. Mike bothered me. I knew the path that he was on but every attempt I made to even talk about steering him off it had failed. I wanted to help him, to keep him from ending up a 33 year old loser living with his parents and never having held a job for more than a year in his life. Didn't he want to marry, have children, raise a family? Didn't he want what everyone else in the world did? Surely the life he would end up with was not what he desired, was it? But I had no idea how to even begin to steer him. His façade was of the tough, independent person, streetwise, never needing advice or help from anyone. How could you reach such a person? Especially when they'd spent their entire life as the superior member of the friendship. I was clueless and hoping that some answer would come to me. But the answer, for the moment, eluded me.
"Well look who's back," Mike said as we approached the school.
I looked where he was indicating and saw Richie Fairview standing with his cronies in their accustomed spot near the bike racks. The same spot where I'd engineered his downfall and his trip to the hospital. Even from this distance I could see he had a bandage on his nose. Though he had a heavy coat on I was reasonably sure his chest was taped up beneath it. I'd felt a definite crunch when I'd kicked him the other day.
"Well well," I smiled, already turning that way.
"You gonna fuck him up again?" Mike asked, a little fear in his voice, but not as much as before.
"Only if he wants to go the hard way," I said, heading directly for him.
You have to understand that Richie was more than just Richie to me. He was the epitome of bullies, the sum of all large, stupid aggressors who had picked on me since grammar school. He encompassed bullies who would pick on me after Richie would eventually graduate or drop out or whatever. As a shy, easily malleable kid I'd been easy fodder for them throughout my school years. And they had left an impression that was deeper than I'd realized until I'd seen Richie on my first day back. Richie represented all bullies who had ever said an unkind word or had laid an unjust hand upon me. By besting him at his own game, I was besting demons that had helped shape my previous life. I intended to make him suffer, to bring him down as far as I could, to expose the lie that all bullies represented; that they were gods, unchallengeable.
His friends tittered nervously as I approached, whispering some things to him, him nervously whispering some things back. The very fact that he was standing at the head of them despite his earlier defeat told me a lot. He'd undoubtedly told them he was going to repay me for the sneak attack on him the first time. They were anxiously awaiting his revenge. I was pretty sure there would be no revenge. The Richies of the world don't generally think things through very carefully.
"Hey, dickwad!" I yelled directly at him when I was close enough. "How was the hospital?"
"Fuck you, motherfucker!" he yelled, taking a few steps closer; again telling me volumes about his intentions. Had he been meaning to fight me, he would have waded right in. But he didn't. He took a few steps towards me, obviously hoping I'd cower and back down. When I didn't (and why he thought I would, after our last encounter is a mystery to me), he slowed down, his mind re-evaluating what his strategy was. In that moment I knew I'd won the confrontation.
"That's some pretty insulting shit you're talking," I told him conversationally, walking closer. "I suppose you think your friends here are impressed by it." I shook my head sadly. "They're not. Talk is cheap, faggot, action is where it's at. If you wanna impress your friends and restore your reputation as a badass you're simply gonna have to kick my ass. Isn't that what you told them you were gonna do?"
"I am gonna kick your fuckin' ass!" he roared, taking a tentative step forward.
I laughed. "Are you now? Well go ahead and do it." I made a 'come-on' gesture with my fingers. "Kick my ass. Let's see you do it."
He stood still, his face fuming, infuriated with shame and anger. He wanted to, that was obvious, but he also remembered what had happened last time.
"I'm waiting," I said impatiently. "When are you gonna kick my ass? It's sitting here right in front of you. Start kicking."
He remained motionless, his body trembling with rage, rage I was oh so pleased to see. This was even more satisfying than besting him in the first place. "Yeah," he finally said. "So you can rat me out and have me arrested or something."
"Oh please," I scoffed. "Having someone rat you out never bothered you before. Why don't you just admit it? You're scared of me. You wouldn't take a swing at me if I dropped my hands and closed my eyes, would you? It hurts to get the shit kicked out of you, doesn't it? It's an experience you don't care to repeat, is it? You know that if you take a swing at me, or make any move at all towards me, you're gonna be riding in an ambulance again, don't you?"
"Fuck you!" he yelled, near tears now, on the brink of collapse.
I shook my head again. His friends were staring at him, nervous fear in their faces.
I spat, the wad landing on his shoe. "You fuckin' disgust me," I told him. "If you want to fight you come and find me and we'll have ourselves a fight. But keep in mind, that if you start any of your 'fuck you' and 'I'm gonna kick your ass' bullshit with me again, I'm not gonna be so generous. Like I said, talk is cheap. If you want some action, look me up. If you don't want some action, keep your fuckin' mouth closed when you see me."
I turned my back to him and walked into the school, Mike in tow. I knew I had nothing to fear by turning my back to him. I knew it.
10-20-2012, 11:18 AM
RE: Doing It All Over
Lunchtime. In my previous life I'd always eaten pretty much alone since Mike had a different lunch schedule than I. But now I found myself the center of some attention. People kept coming up to me, just wanting to talk about this and that. I was becoming popular I realized, not sure I liked it. And again, I was 32 years old, not fifteen. The conversation I was offered was not terribly stimulating.
After only five minutes the combination of the cold and the endless litany of pussy stories, car stories, or drug stories drove me inside to the cafeteria. The cafeteria was the domain of the preppie students, those college bound overachievers. The air was warm and scented with the aroma of spaghetti. It was filled with the babble of conversations and the clanking of plastic trays on simulated wood grain tables.
I stood near the doorway surveying the scene, seeing the gathering of cliques at various tables, trying to find a place to sit down. Many of the students in there were those who were in my classes. They'd always ignored me since I wasn't quite one of them and I had no desire to strike up friendships with them now. With burrito and soda in hand I scanned around the room and finally locked onto a solitary figure sitting by herself near the back of the room.
It was Nina Blackmore, the future emergency room doctor. Like always, she was by herself, eating out of her tray and reading a book. Nina, in addition to being a high school classmate, had been a junior high and grammar school classmate as well. She'd appeared at our school when I was in the third grade, a new student from somewhere or other. That, in combination with a lisp she'd had at the time had doomed her to the role of unpopularity. She'd been the butt of jokes since forever, although they'd been particularly bad in grammar school. Third, fourth, and fifth graders can be unusually cruel to kids who were somewhat different.
I myself was as guilty of this as everyone else. I'd done my time chanting teasing rhymes at her back then, deriding her, calling her ugly, making fun of her lisp in as cruel ways as fourth grade minds could conceive. Though she'd gone to speech therapy until well into junior high and lisped no more, the damage was done to her. She was an outsider, belonging to no clique, doomed to be by herself until probably college where she would show up the vast majority of her classmates by working her way into a 130 thousand dollar a year job.
But even then the mark of her school years would be forever upon her. I would know her as a paramedic, would frequently transport patients to the emergency room where she was employed. She would have a reputation as a cold hearted, vindictive bitch among the paramedics and nurses she dealt with. She was the kind of doctor who would question a paramedic or RN's every decision, no matter what the outcome of the patient. And she'd always reserved her most scathing comments for me. I'd always known this was because I'd gone to school with her and had once, in grammar school, been one of her tormentors.
A typical example of her wrath is something that occurred nearly a year before my recycling, on a frigid January day. I'd been dispatched to a call for a child with seizures in a middle-class section of the city. Child seizure calls are generally nothing that gets paramedics terribly excited. Usually the child either has a history of seizures or is having them because of a high fever. Seizures are not usually life threatening.
However, when I walked into the house that day with my partner and the crew from a Spokane Fire Department engine company, I took one look at the kid in question and knew I was dealing with something more than a seizure call. The kid, who looked to be about ten years old, was lying on the carpet near the sofa. His skin was blue, as blue as a police uniform, and he was not breathing. His eyes were vacant, staring into space, bugging out. He was lying still.
There was a brief second of pause while we all clicked into this-is-really-an-emergency mode. And then every eye in the room turned to me-the paramedic, the person in charge of this mess-waiting for me to tell them what to do.
"Start bagging him," I barked to one of the firefighters and she rushed into action, opening their bag and pulled out the equipment.
I kneeled down next to the kid and felt for a carotid pulse. It was there, but it was weak and very slow. What the hell was going on? I'd wondered, trying to think. Ten year olds did not just suddenly collapse and die from a seizure. There was something I was missing.
The mother was, understandably enough, absolutely hysterical but, while I opened up my airway bag and began setting up to put in a breathing tube, she was able to tell me that she'd heard a strange noise and had entered the room to find her son seizing on the couch. It had gone on for a considerable time and then he'd simply stopped just before we'd arrived. His breathing hadn't started again. She told me he had no known medical problems. He'd had no fever, had in fact been perfectly fine when she'd talked to him less than ten minutes before she found him seizing.
While I pulled out my breathing tube and a laryngoscope-a lighted instrument used to peer down someone's throat prior to placing the tube-the firefighter began bagging the child, forcing air down his throat and into his lungs. While she did this, my partner had hooked the child up to our EKG machine. I took a quick glance at the reading. His heart was only beating thirty times a minute and was slowing further with each passing beat. What the hell?
The firefighter who was bagging seemed to be having trouble. "The air won't go in," she told me. "It just blows out the side."
Armed with that information I took another look around the room. The television was on, tuned to a cartoon show. A half-eaten hot-dog was sitting on a plate on the coffee table. The light bulb suddenly went off above my head.
"Was he eating?" I asked the mother.
"Yes," she sobbed, wringing her hands. "I'd just given him his lunch."
"Shit," I muttered, everything falling into place. "Stop bagging him and let me in there," I told the firefighter. She stepped aside and I picked up my laryngoscope. Lying on the floor near his head I inserted the blade into his mouth and lifted the tongue out of the way. The light bulb on the end of the blade illuminated his airway for me. It was blocked solid by a chunk of pink hot dog.
"Matt, give me the Magills," I told my partner.
He slapped a long set of forceps into my hand, an instrument designed specifically for removing foreign objects from airways. I'd never used them before-true choking calls are rare-but they worked just exactly as I'd been promised. I grabbed the chunk of meat and pulled it free, revealing his vocal cords and trachea behind it. I gave him a second to see if he would start breathing on his own. When he didn't, I picked up the breathing tube and slid it through his vocal cords. The firefighter attached her bag to the top of the tube and began forcing pure oxygen down into his lungs.
By the time I got the tube secured his skin had pinked up considerably and his heart rate had increased to more than a hundred. By the time we loaded him into the back of the ambulance his eyes were open and he was gagging violently, no doubt upset to wake up and find a large tube in his throat. By the time we got to the hospital I'd been forced to remove the tube and he was breathing well on his own. He was a little confused and dopey but awake and able to talk. When we brought him in to Nina's emergency room I was positively glowing with the satisfaction of a job well done, convinced that out of all the times I'd been needlessly called, for once I'd actually been needed, that I'd actually made a difference.
And what did Nina, the good doctor have to say to me after she heard the progression of the call?
10-20-2012, 11:18 AM
RE: Doing It All Over
"You're supposed to try abdominal thrusts on an unconscious choking victim before you resort to the Magills," she said icily. "Did you miss that part of the class back in ambulance driver school?"
She actually wrote me up for this, making me answer to our county emergency medical services authority. I was given a written reprimand in my file for failing to try a less invasive method of clearing the airway first. The medical director, to give him credit, was at least apologetic as I signed it. He mumbled something about how the ends don't justify the means and then explained that "certain doctors" seemed to have a problem with the whole world.
Though I'd been pissed at her-she had after all turned one of the high points of my career into a disciplinary procedure-I understood even then that I was partially responsible for what had happened. I understood even better looking at her now in the cafeteria, sitting alone and reading a book while she picked at a plate of cafeteria spaghetti. After all, the experience with Richie was fresh on my mind. Had what she'd done been much different than what I'd done? We'd both attacked visible symbols of past torment. We'd both given in to basic human nature.
Was it too late for Nina? I wondered, looking at her. Was the damage to her already done?
I took a deep breath and headed her way.
"Okay if I sit here?" I asked her when I arrived.
She looked up at me with suspicion plain in her eyes, perhaps wondering if I'd come to renew the teasing she'd been so familiar with in grade school. While waiting for an answer I looked at her, marveling over the power of suggestion. Nina had been called ugly since the third grade. It was an accepted fact among everyone that she was ugly. But the funny thing is, she really wasn't. She was skinny and had small breasts, a late bloomer as I've mentioned before. Her face was without any make-up but it was smooth and actually sort of pretty. Her brown hair was unstyled but looked just like everyone else's hair all the same. She was called ugly and probably felt ugly because we'd all agreed back in third grade that she was ugly.
It was also assumed that she was dumb, a natural conclusion based on the fact that she never said anything to anybody. It had been assumed of me on my first trip through school too. Obviously she was far from dumb. One did not make it through four years of college, four years of med school, and two years of residency if one lacked intelligence. Could there be meaningful conversation here perhaps? I saw the book she was reading, 1984 by Orwell, a very deep book.
"Please?" I asked again, "I won't bite you."
Her eyes softened a little, as if to say that she was reserving judgment for the moment. "Sure," she finally said.
I took the bench across from her, setting down my food, drink, and napkin. "That's a good book," I offered, nodding at the cover. "I've read it quite a few times. Very thought provoking."
She nodded, not saying anything, keeping her eyes firmly on the page. Suspicion was radiating off of her in waves. Maybe it was too late.
"Its also," I went on, "the most depressing book I've ever read. Is this your first time reading it?"
"No," she said softly. "I've read it five or six times."
"Then you probably know what I mean," I said. "The thought that everything is controlled. Everything. The entire war is just a production to keep the masses from bettering themselves. The entire writings of history are rearranged on a regular basis to control the way people think. Even the resistance doesn't really exist. When you get to the point where they are captured and you find out that they'd been known about the entire time." I shook my head. "It's just a depressing thought, a depressing book. But also one of my favorites."
She was looking at me now, confusion and a little curiosity shaping her features. "It's one of my favorite books too," she said carefully, as if expecting me to start laughing at her or speaking in a fake lisp.
"Have you ever thought," I said, "that all of that stuff in 1984 could actually be happening now? That we, as proles, wouldn't even realize it? I mean, think about it, with today's technology how hard would it be to re-write history, or to control the media, or to keep track of everyone?"
"Not very hard at all," she said, putting the book down for the first time. Careful interest was visible now. "Sometimes I swear that it's really happening to some degree or another. Maybe I'm just paranoid."
"No." I shook my head. "I'm sure most intelligent people know that you can't possibly know what's really going on, how things really work. I'm pretty certain they don't really work the way we're taught in government class though."
She smiled, revealing white, perfect teeth. Strange I'd never noticed that before. Probably because I'd never seen her smile before. I wondered if anyone else had.
We continued to talk about 1984 and other books by Orwell. The only other one that I'd read was Animal Farm but she'd read them all. She explained the basic plots of them and the underlying message with animated clarity. Once she started talking to me I found her conversation intelligent and her insights well thought out. I almost forgot I was talking to a teenager. Before I realized it lunch was over and it was time to head for the next class.
"Nice talking to you, Nina," I told her with frank honesty as I stood.
"Thank you," she squeaked, her face blushing, her eyes confused.
"Maybe I'll see you tomorrow," I said with a smile. "It's nice to talk to someone who thinks like you do, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes," she agreed with a nod. "I'll be here tomorrow if you want to, you know, talk some more."
"I'd like that," I said, giving her a wave and heading for the door.
I was cheerful as I walked alone through the crowded halls, making my way through kids in groups, heading for driver's education. I was thinking that maybe Nina could be softened a little bit after all, and I'd truly enjoyed talking to her. What was that they said, still waters run deep? It seemed that was true in her case. If only I could figure out a way to reach Mike. If only meaningful conversation could be the key to derailing him from his path.
My thoughts were sidetracked as I found myself walking behind Richie Fairview. He was with two of his cronies and was trying, in his idiotic way, to strike up a conversation with a group of cheerleaders who were walking the same direction. The cheerleaders were trying there best to ignore the trio of thugs and Richie, deciding to up the ante a little, began reaching for their skirts, trying pull them up.
At the sight of this all of my anger at Richie and bullies in general came flooding back. He didn't know I was behind him but he was about to find out. I kicked out my foot, catching his back leg just as he was stepping forward. He stumbled forward and crashed to the hallway floor, scraping up his elbows and hands and sending up a chorus of delighted giggles and laughter from the cheerleaders.
Richie rolled over and jumped to his feet in an instant, his fists raised, an obscene epitaph on his lips. And then he saw who had tripped him. He stopped.
"You oughtta be more careful, asshole," I told him conversationally, continuing to walk by. "You can get hurt falling down around here."
I didn't look back at him, just continued to walk down the hall towards my class. Behind me the cheerleaders were still chuckling. I wasn't attacked from behind. I knew I wouldn't be. A smile was on my face as I found the right classroom and went about the task of learning to drive a car.
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