4 comments/ 10225 views/ 2 favorites Inside Information Pt. 01 By: muffinmaster Until recently, I never really understood why Insider Trading is against the law. Sure, I realize that acting on facts you aren't supposed to have can give you an unfair advantage, but just how much of a benefit it gives you was something I couldn't completely comprehend until fate put me in a situation to find out for myself. My name is Kevin. I'm your average American male; average height, better than average build, average looks. And no, I don't have a monster-sized schlong that makes women drool with lust after just one glance. As my Granny always said, "Follow your dreams." There are worse mottos to live by. I've learned how to make the best out of life, as you'll see, so I try to smile a lot, and that brings out my dimples. I've been told, by more than a few women, that my dimples are irresistible. This whole story started eighteen years ago when Missy O'Bannon moved into the house at the end of my street. Even though I was a scrawny, eight year old kid at the time, I immediately fell in love with her. She was the most beautiful eight year old girl I'd ever seen. She was tall and thin, with long, auburn hair and dark brown eyes. Her eyes turned green when she was mad, which happened frequently when she was around me. For the first two days after she and her family moved in, I must have ridden my bicycle past her house a hundred times, just hoping to catch another glimpse of her. My Granny also told me, "Nothing ventured, nothing gained." Yeah, I know, my Granny told me a lot of things. She was a smart woman. I just wish she would have been alive when everything went down hill. Maybe then life wouldn't have been so bleak for so long. So, the moment the empty moving truck drove away, I screwed up my courage and rode straight to her house to introduce myself. Missy answered the door to my tentative knock. I'm twenty-six now, and I can still remember what she wore that day; faded denim cut-offs and an old Aerosmith concert t-shirt -- the kind that's white with black three-quarter length sleeves. Her long hair was tied back with a blue ribbon the same color as her shorts. That was the first time I saw her close up. She was even more beautiful than from across the street. "Who are you?" she snapped. That was the first time I realized her brown eyes turned green when she was angry. Swallowing the huge ball of fear lodged in my throat that was making it nearly impossible to talk, I finally managed to squeak out, "H-hi, I'm Kevin. I l-live down the street, in the gold house." "Swell. Now I know which house to burn down. Get lost, creep," she said angrily before slamming the heavy door in my face. That was also the first time I realized that no matter what I said or did, I would always make her angry. For fifteen long, lonely seconds, I stood there in shock, staring at her door, not knowing exactly what to do. I wanted to knock again, but I was afraid of her (a fear I would never quite lose). So, with a crushed heart, I turned around and started for my bike. That was when the door opened again. With rising hope, I turned back to the door, but it wasn't Missy; it was her mother. Mrs. O'Bannon who was an older, fuller version of Missy. Missy's mom had the same dark, auburn hair and dark brown eyes, but she wasn't as lean and taught as her daughter. Though they looked similar, they were far from alike. When the X-Files series came out years later, I realized that both Missy and her mother had a striking resemblance to Gillian Anderson. Where Missy's eyes were dark and foreboding, Mrs. O'Bannon's were bright and friendly. Where Missy's smile was tight and fleeting, Mrs. O'Bannon's was wide and cheerful. Where Missy's hair was long and straight, her mother's hair was shoulder-length and wavy. Where Missy could be rude and irritable at times, Mrs. O'Bannon was always polite and friendly. Yes, Mrs. O'Bannon greatly resembled Missy, but as I was to learn in time, it was in appearance only. "I'm so sorry about that. Please don't mind Missy. Moving away from her friends has been very tough on her," Mrs. O'Bannon apologized. Over the years I realized that was something Mrs. O'Bannon would frequently do for Missy. "That's okay. I just, uh, stopped by to, uh, see if you needed any help unpacking," I stammered. Now that I thought Missy hated my guts, I was too embarrassed to tell her mother the real reason I came over. "Oh, my, what a gentleman you are. We sure could use the help of a big, strong man like you," she said, smiling sincerely. "Does your mother know where you are?" "My mother died when I was five," I said matter-of-factly. Even to this day, I have a hard time looking people in the eye when I tell them about my mom and how she died, which was in a car crash on her way home from the grocery store. I guess you never really get over losing your mother. Plus the look of pity most people get after hearing about my loss only makes losing my mother harder to bear. "But it's okay, because my dad says she's in heaven watching over me." "Your dad sounds like a smart man," Mrs. O'Bannon replied. When I finally did look up at her, I couldn't help but see the care and concern etched across her friendly face. "Yep, he is. He works all the time. But I don't mind so much, because I get to see my Granny a lot," I told her. "That sounds like fun." Mrs. O'Bannon said pleasantly. When she put her hand on my shoulder to usher me inside, I wished with all my might that Mrs. O'Bannon could be my mom. * * * My father works long hours and was constantly away from home on business. Sometimes my Granny would watch me when dad was gone. But, as my Granny got older, she couldn't watch me as often as she used to. That's why, over the next ten years, I spent more and more time at the O'Bannon house. Mrs. O (I started calling her Mrs. O the year after they moved in) had a soft spot for me, the poor little motherless neighbor kid. I was over there every chance I got. Their house became like a second home to me, and Mrs. O willingly became my surrogate mother. Even though Missy sometimes treated me like I was some kind of disease-ridden vermin, Mrs. O was always happy to see me. She greeted me with a kind word when I was down, she tended my many scraped knees and cuts, she played games with me when Missy wouldn't, she gave me a shoulder to cry on, she laughed at all my jokes, she helped me with my homework, and she baked cookies with me every holiday. She was everything a mother should be. I don't know who was happier that the O'Bannons moved into our neighborhood; me or my dad. The fact that Mrs. O was so willing to befriend me and care for me, which I soaked up like a thirsty sponge, was a great relief to my father. I was really happy about it too. Ever since my mother's death, my dad threw himself into his work to avoid dealing with the painful realities of life. As a result, he was less attentive to me than he should've been, and that, in turn, caused him even greater grief. With Mrs. O around to fill the gap, my dad's guilt was greatly lessened. I didn't blame him, too much. I knew he grieved so deeply for my mother because he never stopped loving her. That's one trait I definitely picked up from him; fierce and lasting loyalty. As I got older, my relationship with Mrs. O changed from a mother/son type of relationship to that of a special friendship between a favorite aunt and nephew. I only had one or two close friends my age then, but even so, I never opened up to them like I did with Mrs. O. She and I had lots in common, and we would sit and talk for hours. Often our talks centered on one particular subject: Missy. I was so hopelessly infatuated with Missy, and Mrs. O was worried that she wasn't as close to Missy, her only child, as she wanted to be. We both knew, though it was never said out loud, that I was the reason Missy wasn't closer to her mother. It was plain to see, even for a young kid like me, that Missy resented me because I took her mother away from the time she would have been spending with Missy if I weren't around. Mrs. O joked that we should form a mutual support group: "The Friends of Missy O'Bannon Club; meetings daily after school and on weekends; emergency sessions by appointment." Of course the relationship between Missy and I evolved as the years rolled by. Our friendship went from older, bossy sister who beats up her younger, pesky brother, to ravishing girl next door who never realizes the boy next door would do anything to maker her love him sort of relationship. Yes, that's right. I never outgrew my love for Missy. No matter how rudely she treated me and no matter how hard she tried to ignore me, I continued to adore her. Of course, that only angered Missy all the more, but I couldn't help it. I knew back then, hell, even from the first moment I saw her, that Missy was the girl of my dreams. I spent so many sleepless nights trying to come up with a sure fire plan to make Missy love me as much as I loved her. There had to be a way to open her heart; there just had to be. I desperately sought that sacred knowledge, that inside information, that would make her mine. I knew that if I could only say the right words or do the right thing, Missy would one day return my love. But I didn't know the right words to say, and I didn't know the right things to do. Not back then anyways. Not for a long time. Missy grew more beautiful with each passing year. At the same time she started developing and maturing into the stunning woman she would grow up to become, I discovered the joys of voyeurism and masturbation. I spent all my spare time ogling Missy, hoping for a revealing glance at her full breasts and rounded ass. But, no matter how unobtrusive I tried to be, Missy somehow always knew where my gaze was centered. God, how Missy loved to shake her ass in my face to watch my eyes pop out of me head. Or, as would happen more frequently, she would "accidentally" bend over right in front of me, giving me an awesome view down her shirt, showing me almost all of her generous breasts. I'd be so busy straining to see her elusive nipples that I'd get careless, and of course, she'd catch me gawking. She'd give me her trademark sneer, glance mockingly at my obvious erection, and then snicker loudly, "Pervert." Every time my cheeks would burn with shame. But I was also left with a massive hard-on that wouldn't go away until I took matters into my own hands, which also happened frequently. I lost count of how many times I had to rush home and stroke myself to a gloriously gushing climax. One thing (of so many) I never understood about Missy was no matter how mad at me she got each time she caught me ogling her ass or peeking down her blouse, it never stopped her from flaunting her body at me the next time. Of course, Missy only behaved this way when her mother wasn't looking. In front of Mrs. O, Missy was a perfect angel. But it didn't matter to me; I was too horny and in love with her to care how she treated me, as long as she showed me her magnificent body. She could do whatever she wanted to do to me just as long as she didn't ignore me completely. And Missy knew that, too. She thrived on that. Sometimes, when I look back on those years, I think Missy's only objective in life was to make me as sexually frustrated as she possibly could. If that was truly her aim, she certainly succeeded. I don't want to give you the wrong impression of Missy. She really was a pleasant, easy going girl. Though somewhat shy, Missy always had lots of friends, and she was popular at school. She wasn't a part of the In-Crowd, but most everyone knew her and spoke well of her. For some reason I just brought out the devil in her. We're like oil and water, fire and ice, and all the other clichés rolled into one. She wasn't always a bitch to me. There were plenty of times she was nice to me. It just didn't happen often enough. All in all, my life was good, at least until I was eighteen and a high school senior. Two things happened that year that would forever change my life. The first was seeing Mrs. O naked, and the second was finally getting to kiss Missy O'Bannon. * * * Mrs. O threw a party for my eighteenth birthday, because my dad, as usual, was away on business. Though it wasn't a huge bash, it was the best birthday I ever had. Mrs. O invited several of my friends and some of Missy's to their house for a pool party. I was so looking forward to it that for the entire week before the big event, I talked of little else. The night of the big party, I was supposed to go over an hour early to help set up decorations and whatnot. But I was so excited that I ended up getting there a half hour earlier. As was my habit, I entered the O'Bannon house through the door leading from their attached garage into their kitchen. Since I was practically family, Mrs. O had told me years ago I didn't need to bother knocking every time I came over. And Missy, in true Missy-fashion, told me I didn't need to bother coming over at all. So, like I've done countless times before that, I let myself into their house. The house was silent. I walked through the kitchen and looked into the family room; no one. Normally, Mrs. O was bustling around the house, busy doing something. I was starting to wonder if anybody was even home when I heard Mrs. O giggle. This wasn't her ordinary laugh; this sounded unusually playful, almost girlish. After another few seconds of silence, I heard Mrs. O' speak. Her voice was coming from down the hall. "Stop it, Tom. Missy's in the backyard and Kevin will be here soon to help decorate." "Come on, Rita. Missy's on the phone as usual; she won't hear us. And Kevin won't be here for another half hour," Tom O'Bannon countered. "We'll be quick." "You mean you'll be quick," Mrs. O retorted frankly. She didn't sound overly playful then. I was torn. My upbringing dictated that I shouldn't invade people's privacy, but my natural inquisitiveness demanded that I take the two steps forward necessary to peek down the hall to see exactly what was going on. It took a half-second for my curiosity to win out. I tip-toed forward ever so quietly and carefully peered around the corner. There, at the end of the hall outside the entrance to their bedroom, were Tom and Rita O'Bannon. They had their backs to me. Mrs. O must've just gotten out of the shower. She had a towel wrapped around her body, and her hair was wet. Mr. O'Bannon was dressed in a business suit, so I imagine he'd just come home from work. He was hugging his wife from behind and planting soft kisses up and down the back of her neck. That's what was making her giggle. He paused, speaking barely loud enough now for his voice to carry to me. "Well? Do you want to?" "I told you, we don't have time," she insisted. "Please? I know I could make you want to." "No, Tom, don't." Mrs. O sounded serious. She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but she wasn't fast enough. Mr. O'Bannon swiftly tipped his head to one side and began passionately nuzzling his wife's ear. Mrs. O's reaction was immediate. She groaned like a bitch in heat. There's no other way to describe it. The instant he began kissing her ear, she threw herself backwards against him, grinding her ass hard into his crotch. All the while she growled loudly, lustily. "Oh, that's not fair. You know how horny I get when you blow in my ear. Oh, god, don't stop, don't stop, you bastard!" she demanded urgently. I'd never heard her talk that way before. It was at that very moment that I stopped thinking of Mrs. O as my surrogate mother and friend, and I saw her for the truly beautiful woman she is. "You like that, don't you, you horny slut?" Tom crowed proudly. "You know I do," she retorted through clenched teeth. "My ears are so sensitive that I can't resist when you blow in my ear." "I know," Mr. O'Bannon chuckled devilishly. He doubled his efforts on her ear while his arms moved down the front of her writhing body. Even though I couldn't see what his hands were doing, it didn't take a genius to figure out what he was up to, especially when Mrs. O suddenly began groaning louder. "Oh, yeah, oh, ohhhh," she moaned forcibly, tossing her head back and forth. It was hard to tell if she was trying to push her husband away or she was lost in the throes of passion. I think it was a little of both. Whatever her reasons, Mr. O'Bannon had to struggle to keep his mouth attached to her ear. "Do you want me to fuck me now?" he murmured between kisses. Mrs. O didn't answer. She just continued to groan and gyrate harder. Her breathing became loud, ragged, almost as if she was panting. His arm movements became short, rapid thrusts. "Your sweet little pussy is dripping wet." Mrs. O's legs abruptly stiffened and she hissed, "Yessssss! Faster, uh, uh, uhh!" I could actually hear the squishing noises his fingers made every time he drove them up into her obviously flooded pussy. It was the most erotic sound I'd ever heard. Her breathing was now a series of rapid-fire grunts as she hunched her pelvis in time with his maniacally thrusting fingers. I don't know exactly when it happened, but suddenly I realized that my cock was an iron-hard bar that threatened to burst through my swimsuit. I was so stiff my cock was aching. I wanted to whip it out right there and then, but I was so caught up in the forbidden seen before me that I didn't want to move a muscle and risk alerting them to my presence. Though I'd had a few fumbling trysts with one or two girls, I was still a virgin then. There was no way I was going to miss out on that incredible scene. "God, you're so wet," Tom growled. "I know you want me to fuck you now, don't you?" "Yes! Fuck me; fuck me now!" She was tearing at her towel with both hands, trying to get rid of the barrier that stood between her and the fucking she so desperately needed. But her ravenous desire made her frantic, and she became overly clumsy. Tom stepped back and literally ripped the towel off Mrs' O's body, twisting her half way around in the process. Time seemed to stand still. For that one moment I was treated to an unobstructed profile view of Mrs. O'Bannon's exquisitely naked body. I had no idea Mrs. O was so hot. Normally she wore loose-fitting, modest clothing, so I never realized what a luscious, curvy body she had. I would never look at her the same way again. Her firm breasts, at least the one I could see, were a generous B cup, and were perfectly proportioned with her 5'2" frame. I loved the way it bounced and heaved with her ragged, gasping breathing. From her succulent tits down to her perfectly symmetrical ass, her sultry curves made my cock throb with sweet agony. Yes, she was in her late thirties and, yes, she carried an extra five pounds or so on her hips, but it made her look sexier, more womanly. Suddenly, Mr. O'Bannon maneuvered Mrs. O forward and into their bedroom, slamming the door behind them. I was left standing there by myself with a raging hard-on that threatened to explode at any second. Though Mrs. O was out of sight, the vision of her naked body was forever seared into my brain. I stumbled into the family room and sat down. Not more than five seconds after I collapsed on to their couch with a blissful smile on my face and a pillow spread strategically across my lap, Missy walked inside the house from the backyard. She was talking on the phone and didn't see me at first. When she noticed me, she stopped in her tracks and demanded. "What are you doing here so early, creep?" I was in too good a mood to be upset by her usual snide remarks. "I couldn't wait to see your lovely face." It was the truth, more or less. I always looked forward to seeing Missy, and she did have a lovely face. Plus, today was my birthday, and Mrs. O, who was at that moment getting royally fucked, had just given me the most wonderful present. Inside Information Pt. 02 It's so easy to look back with perfect 20/20 hindsight and say, "If I would've done this; if I could've done that; if I had only known." But life doesn't work that way, at least it didn't for me. If I had only realized back then that I possessed all of the information I needed to straighten out my life right away, everything might have turned out great. But I didn't realize it. Not right away. Not for a long time. Not until it was too late. * * * For two days I sat at home and did absolutely nothing; nothing but obsess over Missy and the cruel prank she played on me. I couldn't believe her sheer audacity. Did she really hate me that much? Did she really want to push me away that badly? Did watching me stroke my cock inches from her partially opened mouth really make her orgasm? Everything about Missy was a contradiction. One second she would smile so warmly at me, and the next she'd insult me and walk away. For ten long years I willingly endured her rude tirades because of the way my heart would quicken each time I saw her. I eagerly suffered her merciless cock-teasing for a brief glimpse of her perfect tits, of her amazing ass. I gladly put up with all her abuse just for a glimpse of her sultry smile. But no more. After sifting through all of my doubt, blame, anger, betrayal, lust, and love, I came to realize a very important fact; I didn't do anything wrong. Missy asked me to show her my cock. She commanded me to stroke it for her. She begged me to cum on her naked tits. Since the first moment I saw her when I was eight years old and I instantly fell in love with her, I did her bidding, doing everything and anything she wanted. Like a whipped poodle, I jumped through hoops at her command. I did everything but grovel at her feet. And what did that get me? I became a laughing stock to her and her friends. The constant hard-on and the continual broken heart were gradually killing me. I wasn't going to do it any more. I couldn't. No matter how badly I yearned for her touch, and no matter how deeply I would always love Missy, I wasn't going to grovel at her feet. I had to keep my dignity. What was love worth if you had to give up your pride to get it? So I vowed to just walk away from Missy O'Bannon. Quit her cold turkey like a bad habit. I promised myself that no matter how badly my heart ached, I wouldn't go running back to her. But, regardless of the strength of my resolve, I knew the very next time I saw her, my will would crumble like a stale cracker and I'd be doing her bidding again in an instant. I couldn't help it. Missy was everything I wanted in a girl, and she was the only girl I'd ever wanted. She was gorgeous, smart, and strong willed. I would never forget how passionately she returned my kiss. I would never forget seeing her naked breasts, so round and so full and so starkly white against her tanned flesh. The way the tight, yellow bikini bottoms hugged her shapely ass was forever burned into my memory, and her beautiful face . . . How do you walk away from your dream? Was it even possible? For the sake of my sanity and my pride, I had to try. My buddies convinced me to meet them at a party that night. The thought of hanging out with my best friends and knocking back a few seemed like the perfect way to begin to forget. Plus, the people who'd be at that party were not the type of people Missy and her friends normally hung around, so there was no way I would bump into her there. Famous last words. I saw Missy the second I walked through the door. She was standing on the far side of the living room, surrounded by a cluster of drooling, leering guys. Missy looked incredible. Her auburn hair tumbled down her back like a silken waterfall ablaze with the light from a Harvest moon. Her flowing hair framed her gorgeous face and cast most of her features in mysterious shadow. She was wearing all black. Under an opened button-down black shirt she wore a black tube top, which molded to her breasts like a second skin, and she was wearing skin tight black jeans that hugged her hips suggestively. She also wore black pumps with three inch heels. I'd never seen her wear all black before, and the effect was unbelievable. She looked so mysterious, so sensual. She seemed bored with the knot of horny admirers in front of her. Her eyes were restlessly scanning the crowd, and when my friend Dan yelled my name from across the room, Missy's eyes immediately landed on mine. She gave me her trademark smirk, which meant she was in a foul mood, and that always meant trouble for me. Whenever she wore that condescending sneer, I could do nothing right. I made my way to where my buddies Dan and Dave where sitting at a table, surrounded by a mob of girls. Those two had girls throwing themselves at them all the time. It was remarkable. To get to their table, I had to pass within arm's reach of Missy and her entourage. Missy was holding a red plastic cup. As I drew nearer, she quickly drained it. I was close enough now to notice her eyes were glassy and a bit unfocused from the beer she was drinking. Swell, she was drunk and pissed off. She stared silently at me as I wove through the mass of people. I smiled tentatively at her, but, mindful of the promise I'd made to myself to avoid her, I didn't stop and I didn't say anything. I was kind of proud of myself. I was two steps past her when I heard the snide comment. Hell, even through the tide of noise and music that made the walls vibrate, everybody heard it. "Hey, jerk off. You better keep your dick in your pants." That was from Larry Watson, who was standing next to Missy. Larry and I had never been friends. We barely tolerated each other, and seeing him standing so close to Missy infuriated me. I turned around in time to see Missy's smirk turn into a full blown snicker. The guys around her were laughing with her. But it was Missy's obvious pleasure that made me see red. "Thanks so much for telling everybody," I told her. "I didn't tell anybody anything," Missy said firmly. There was a slight slur in her words. She set her jaw and glared stonily at me. I'd seen that stubborn look of hers a thousand times before. She wore it every time anyone doubted her sincerity. "Right," I said flatly. "I'm supposed to believe anything you say now, especially after the other day? I don't think so." "Look," Missy said sternly. Her eyes swiftly flashed green. Missy absolutely hated to be called a liar. She leveled a finger at me and spoke through clenched teeth. "It's not my fault you can't take a joke." "A joke? You call embarrassing me like that a joke?" I retorted angrily. "Well, no." Missy sounded regretful. In a classic twist of fate, the song ended and there was a sudden lull in the conversation the exact second Missy spat venomously, "What you whipped out of your shorts was the joke!" She was clearly heard by one and all. Her cruel words instantly ripped my heart to shreds, and I stumbled backwards from the sheer nastiness of them. The humiliation and fury I felt two days ago was nothing compared to what surged through my boiling blood right then. My mouth worked soundlessly for several tense seconds that lasted an eternity. Though I felt the crowd turning their complete and undivided attention toward me like sharks sensing blood, my whole focus was on Missy's narrowed eyes and pinched face. I kept waiting to see the tiniest trace of remorse, of guilt, but the only emotion I saw on her livid face was stubborn pride. Finally I gathered my wits and stopped sputtering. When I spoke, my voice was hoarse and strained. "I suppose our kiss was just a joke to you as well?" Missy's nostrils flared briefly, and her voice positively dripped with scorn. "You call that a kiss?" Even though the music continued, the crowd remained totally silent. Everyone around us gasped and moved in closer. I fought to keep my eyes from tearing up, but I couldn't help it. Her harsh words were like a slap in the face. I didn't know what to say to her last insult. My gut twisted with agony, and all I could do was stare impotently at her while she maliciously lashed out at me again. "Where'd you learn to kiss, your dog?" she retorted scathingly. The crowd roared with laughter, and I could feel Missy drawing strength from their approval. "Hell, I'll be lucky if I'm not scarred for life after that slobbery excuse for a kiss." Missy was glaring defiantly at me, with her jaw set even more stubbornly than before, as if she were daring me to defy her. I swiped at my leaking eyes. My heart felt cold and dead in my chest. I didn't understand why Missy was saying those hurtful things to me. I could feel the distance between us growing wider every second. This was my last chance to let her know how much I loved her. But what could I tell her that would make her see how much I needed her? What could I do to show her that she was everything to me? I wracked my brain, scrounging desperately for that one bit of powerful wisdom, that one bit of inside information that would win her heart over. But I came up empty. Really, there was only one thing left to say, and that was the truth. I stood up straight and squared my shoulders. I spoke plainly, honestly. "That kiss meant the world to me, Missy. It was the perfect kiss. I'll never kiss another girl with as much passion or as much love." "Was that your pathetic attempt to show me how much you care?" Missy laughed meanly, and her anger exploded. "What am I supposed to do? Swoon from the fervor of your lips? Should I tell you that no other kiss has made me feel as deeply loved as yours? Should I tell you that your love for me makes me ashamed of the way I've treated you? Should I tell you that I've never been more turned on in my life than when you kissed me? Should I throw myself at your feet and beg you to kiss me like that again? Ha! You make me throw up!" With each malicious sentence, her voice became shriller, louder, harsher; until at last she ran out of words and she stood panting furiously, staring malignantly at me. Missy had never been that cruel to me before. Her voice was trembling with rage, and there was a harshness in her eyes that tore me apart. Her spiteful words made me shake with sorrowful fury, and I had to bite the inside of my lip to keep from crying. God, I hated how she made me feel. But I was not going to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break down, not again, not like two days ago. Without saying another word, I turned to leave. "Oh, Kevin, wait," Missy called suddenly. I pivoted expectantly, hopefully. "I forgot to tell you," she sounded contrite. But it was just an act. "I'm moving to Los Angeles next week. Now you won't be able to follow me around like a lost puppy anymore!" She laughed harshly again. Then she grabbed Larry Watson's full cup of beer and threw it in my face. My heart filled with a numbness more chilling than the ice cold beer that ran down my face and soaked my shirt. I'll never forget the song that was playing then. It was "Every Rose has its Thorn" by Poison, and they were singing, "Was it something I said, or something I did, did my words not come out right . . . " With my heart completely shredded and crushed, I pushed my way through the crowd. All I wanted to do was get away. Though I hadn't had anything to drink, I felt drunk. My brain was sluggish and my legs were weak and unsteady. I heard somebody calling my name, but I didn't stop, at least not until I stepped outside and onto the deserted backyard patio. The quiet was deafening. The stars were shining brightly, and a full moon lit the patio with a subdued silver light. It was very chilly out, and my soaked t-shirt was icy against my skin. I angrily pulled my shirt off and threw it at a lounge chair, but I missed. I didn't care where it went. I was beyond furious. "How could I be so stupid?" I raged. Ten minutes ago I was worried that I would go crawling back to Missy like a love-starved puppy when I saw her. Well, Missy made damned sure that wasn't going to happen. The back door opened, and I saw a girl outlined in the doorway. It was Claire. Even though it took my eyes a few moments to adjust to the dim light outside, I could easily tell it was Claire. Her shapely figure is hard to mistake, especially with the bright light from behind her making her butter-crème yellow sundress almost completely transparent. Every inch of Claire's luscious curves, her full breasts, her narrow waist, and her well-rounded hips were perfectly silhouetted. My eyes were drawn to the V at the top of her smooth legs. Wow, she had an amazing figure. She'd changed her hairstyle, and it looked great. Her dirty-blonde hair (isn't that such a naughty sounding hair color?) had been recently styled. It was shoulder length now, and it was coiffed to give it that purposefully mussed up appearance, making her look as if she'd just been royally fucked and she was looking for more. Claire's complexion has always been exceedingly smooth, and she never wore much make up; she didn't need to. With her broad cheek bones and wide, innocent-looking blue eyes, Claire's face had an irresistible angelic appearance that I had always found appealing. She smiled timidly and said, "Hi, Kevin." "What do you want?" My voice had a sharp edge to it that made Claire wince. I didn't mean to sound so angry. But I wasn't even certain I wanted to be talking to Claire. I wasn't certain I wanted to be talking to anyone. My emotions were too raw, and I was still so deeply enraged. Why was Claire here? To gloat? To tell me to get lost? To disgrace me even further? Blackmail? "I'm sorry. Missy can be such a bitch," Claire said. She walked across the concrete patio to me, and I could tell by her uneven gait and slightly slurred speech that she'd been drinking. "Don't I know it," I growled. Her sundress had tiny spaghetti straps that left her shoulders bare. She didn't seem to notice the cold. I always said that I'd lust after Claire in an instant if I didn't have Missy. Well, I sure as hell didn't have Missy, and I was definitely beginning to lust after Claire. Why didn't I notice how good she looked before? Claire, who is six inches shorter than I am, looked up at me and said, "You should forget about Missy." There was something in the lilt of her voice that caught my attention. "Believe me, I'd love nothing better than to forget about her," I agreed. "But she's not an easy girl to forget." Claire was standing awfully close to me now. Her baby blue eyes were boring intensely into mine. She smiled sweetly, almost shyly. "I bet I could make you forget about her." She batted her eyelashes and leaned closer. My heart skipped a beat, and I thought to myself, "Did she really just say that?" When she'd leaned toward me, I noticed that the front of her sundress was hanging quite a ways away from her ample chest. She definitely wasn't wearing a bra. I had an absolutely beautiful view into the deep valley between her magnificent naked breasts. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was suddenly a barren desert. I felt her hand under my chin, raising my head until I was looking into her smiling face. "I've liked you for a long time, Kevin," Claire admitted shyly. "That's why I followed you out her. I want to show you that there is more to life than Missy O'Bannon." I was stunned, but I loved her directness. It was such a turn on. Wild thoughts chased each other around my spinning brain, making me dizzy. I had no idea Claire felt this way about me. Well, truthfully, I never looked at anyone other than Missy, so I wouldn't notice if a brick wall fell on me. Is there life without Missy? Dear God, was that possible? Did I want to find out? Damned right I wanted to find out. Missy had her chance. This was my way to get back at her. I'll show Missy I'm no weakling. I'm not going to curl up into a ball and cry my eyes out. Fuck that! I'm going to live. I'll make Missy regret every hate filled word she said to me, and then she'll find out how bad it hurts. "Do you really like me?" I stammered blankly. I couldn't think of anything else to say. "Even after you saw what I did in Missy's backyard?" Claire moved forward until she was pressing her tits firmly against me. The feel of her rock hard nipples on my bare chest sent an electric charge straight to my cock, and it twitched expectantly. "I really like you," Claire stated decisively. "Especially after what you did in Missy's backyard. Oh, God, that was the sexiest thing I've ever seen." "Really? It was?" "You have no idea how turned on I got watching you, Kevin. You made me so wet." Her voice had become a throaty whisper, and her eyes twinkled mischievously. "Please, please, let me show you how much you turn me on." Claire took my blithering silence for consent, which it was. Her speed and her strength surprised the hell out of me. Before I knew what was happening, Claire grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me backwards. The backs of my already wobbly knees came up against the edge of a lounge chair and Claire gave me a little shove. I think I screamed out, "Hey!" or "What the?" or something equally slow-witted. I landed in an ungraceful sprawl on my ass, with my back against the cushions and my feet hanging off the sides of the padded chair, pointing in different directions. Before I could even straighten out my legs, Claire was in my lap, straddling my legs. I caught a quick flash of butter-crème yellow panties where her smooth, shapely thighs met. Her slight weight pinned me to the back of the lounge chair as surely as if I'd been nailed there. "What are you doing?" I sputtered lamely. I needed time to think. I knew Missy didn't love me, but I still loved her. I would never stop wanting Missy. Oh, but it felt so good to be wanted. Claire's desire made me come alive somehow. For ten years I labored in vain to get Missy to want me like this, but she never did, and maybe she never would. But maybe . . . I quickly pushed all thoughts of Missy out of my head. It was crystal clear: Missy didn't want me, and Claire did. End of story. Claire leaned in to me until her shiny lips were next to my ear. She spoke in a throaty whisper that sent my brain whirling. "I'm on a mission." "A-a mission?" I croaked out. I tried to clear my throat, but for some reason, all the fluid in my body had drained down to my quickly inflating cock. I prayed that Claire wouldn't feel it pulsing against her deliciously smooth thigh. "Wh-what kind of mission?" "I want to show you what love should be like." She paused briefly, then added bashfully, "Please let me love you, Kevin." She sounded so sincere, so needy, so damned sexy. My brain was stuck in neutral, revving ineffectively. There was no way I could have pushed her away, and I didn't want to try. I was certain of it now. Claire shifted her head, and then I felt the tip of her wet tongue against the base of my quivering throat, and with agonizingly slow speed, Claire's warm tongue singed a path all the way up my neck to my ear. When she reached my earlobe, she spoke in a lusty whisper again. "Do you like the feel of my tongue?" "Oh, yes," I replied emphatically. My mind was too far gone to come up with anything more coherent than that. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her tightly to me. The warmth of her body was heavenly against my bare chest. "Kiss me, honey," Claire breathed seductively in my ear. She trailed a line of kisses from my ear to my mouth, which was suddenly, inexplicably, wonderfully moist again. Her lips tentatively sought mine. That kiss was so tender, so affectionate. She sighed deeply into my mouth, and my arms responded automatically by crushing her trembling body even harder against mine. My head spun faster, and my senses whirled. She made me crazy with desire. Inside Information Pt. 02 (Original) Author's Note: This is the original Part 2 version of my story. This version is slower to develop, and it's got more emotion and less gratuitous sex. I rewrote Part 2 because of the comments I received after submitting Part 1. But now I'm curious to know which version you prefer. Please let me know what you think. Thank you for taking the time to read my stories and send me all of your wonderful comments. * It's so easy to look back with perfect 20/20 hindsight and say, "If I would've done this; if I could've done that; if I had only known." But life doesn't work that way, at least it didn't for me. If I had only known back then that I possessed all of the information I needed to straighten out my life right away, everything might have turned out great. But I didn't realize it. Not right away. Not for a long time. Not until it was too late. * * * All through high school I'd been earning money by mowing lawns and raking leaves for the elderly people in my neighborhood. The day after Missy humiliated me I was on my way home from mowing Old Lady Wilkes' lawn. Believe me, the last thing I wanted to be doing was mowing that ungrateful old bag's lawn, but I knew she would hound me relentlessly until I did. All I wanted to do was stay home and hide from the world. I had to cut across the neighborhood park to get from Old Lady Wilkes' house to mine. My mind was whirling a mile a minute, churning over the horribly embarrassing events of the previous day and wishing, for about the millionth time, that yesterday had only been a bad dream, that Missy didn't hate me, and that I'd kept my dick in my shorts. I didn't even know there was anybody in the picnic shelter I was walking past until I heard them shout at me. "Hey look, it's pervert boy!" It was Larry Watson, and Daryl and Daryl were with him too. Larry, the ringleader of our neighborhood troublemakers, was a tall, chunky, greasy haired, foul-mouthed jerk who lived to cause mayhem and destruction. Mike and Barry Foster (who we loathingly called Daryl and his other brother Daryl) were with him as usual. The idiot brothers were skinny, dull-witted carbon copies of Larry. Like two brain-dead monkeys, they copied everything Larry did. They even dropped out of school like Larry did. I kept my head down and ignored them, but inside I was seething with anger. My worst fear was realized; Missy had told people about me already. "Where you going, pervert boy? You gonna go beat off in front of little girls?" Larry scoffed. Daryl and Daryl laughed obediently. "Fuck off, you dumb shit!" I should've kept my mouth shut, but I was too furious with Missy and with myself to control my rage. Larry was quick. I didn't hear him running at me until he was two steps behind me and literally breathing down my neck. My wrestling training kicked in instinctively. I turned sideways to avoid his punch aimed at my back. Then in one continuous motion, I flung my right arm around his shoulders, pulled him against my hip, and rotated my body. His momentum did the rest. It was a classic Judo throw/takedown maneuver, and it worked like a charm. Larry landed hard, flat on his back, the air bursting from his lungs in a single, putrid breath that curdled my stomach. I followed him down, landing smoothly with my forearm across his throat to keep any oxygen from getting to his lungs until I was done threatening him. "Leave me alone, you fat fuck! If you ever come near me again, I'll kill y—" That was all I got out before I was blindsided. One of the Daryls (I never knew which one it was) used my head for a soccer ball with his steel-toed boot. He kicked me square in my left temple. White hot agony exploded in my brain. I flew off Larry and flopped over sideways like a sack of potatoes rolling off a produce truck. The brothers continued their impromptu soccer practice on my body long enough for Larry to stumble to his feet. I got an up close view of Larry's sneaker when it crushed my nose and split my upper lip. Then they were all running away, hollering their final taunts and jeers over their shoulders as they fled. My face, my ribs, my arms and my legs were throbbing with the pain from their dozen or so brutal kicks. Blood flowed freely from my aching nose and lip. Fury made my head buzz and my hands shake. I thought about chasing after them, but they were long gone. Besides, it was Missy I was mad at. She was the one who told Larry, Daryl and Daryl what I did. She was the one who set me up and tricked me. She was the one who hated me. I made a beeline for her house. I didn't go through the garage door and into their house, because I sure as hell didn't feel like family any more. I pounded on their front door until someone opened it. That someone was Missy. The second I saw her beautiful face, my shame and my outrage and my desire for her united, and I exploded. I started screaming at her, spraying blood and spittle everywhere. "Look what they did to me! Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted? Why don't you just cut out my heart yourself and get it over with!!!" Missy's face went instantly white when she saw me. I don't know if it was seeing the blood all over my face or hearing my furious words that did it. "Kevin? What happened to you?" she asked with genuine alarm. "Like you don't know. Thanks for telling Larry and the idiot Foster brothers about me! Thanks for ruining my life!" I yelled heatedly. "I didn't tell anybody anything," Missy said firmly. She set her jaw and glared stonily at me. I'd seen that stubborn look a thousand times before. She wore it every time anyone doubted her sincerity. "If you think I would do something that deceitful just to hurt you, than you don't know me very well, Kevin." "Then what about yesterday?" I said flatly. "Look," she said sternly, her eyes swiftly flashing green. She leveled a finger at me and spoke through clenched teeth. "I'm sorry about yesterday. But that doesn't give you the right to come pounding on my door shouting wild accusations at me." "Wild accusations? After the way you embarrassed me like that, I have every right." "It was supposed to be a joke, but things got way out of control," she replied, though not as harshly as before. "Oh, that was a very clever joke," I sneered. "I suppose our kiss was just a joke as well, huh?" Missy's nostrils flared briefly, and her voice positively dripped with malice. "You call that a kiss?" she retorted scathingly. "David Williamson kisses better than that." I fought to keep my eyes from tearing up, but I couldn't help it. Her harsh words were like a slap in the face, like a dagger straight to my heart, and I staggered backward under their fury. David Williamson was on the varsity football team. He's as dumb as a stick, but he's as good-looking as Brad Pitt. All the girls at school wanted him. I didn't know what to say to that. My gut twisted with jealous rage, but all I could do was stare impotently at her while she lashed out at me so maliciously. "Bob Farley and Jim Dolan are better than you, too. Hell, even Chris Haskell kisses better than you, and he's only a freshman." Missy was glaring defiantly at me, with her jaw set even more stubbornly than before, as if she were daring me to defy her. I swiped at my leaking eyes. My hand came away wet and bloody. My heart felt cold and dead in my chest. I had no idea if she was telling the truth or not, but that didn't matter. Her wanting to hurt me so badly was insult enough. I could feel the distance between us growing wider every second. This was my last chance to let her know how much I loved her. But what could I tell her that would make her see how much I needed her? What could I do to show her that she was everything to me? I wracked my brain, scrounging for that one bit of powerful wisdom, that one bit of inside information that would win her heart over. But I came up empty. Really, there was only one thing left to say, and that was the truth. I stood up straight and squared my shoulders. I spoke plainly, honestly. "That kiss meant the world to me, Missy. It was the perfect kiss. I'll never kiss another girl with as much passion or as much love." "Was that your pathetic attempt to show me how much you care?" Missy laughed meanly. "What am I supposed to do now? Swoon from the fervor of your lips? Should I tell you that no other kiss has made me feel as deeply loved as yours? Should I tell you that your love for me makes me ashamed of the way I've treated you? Should I tell you that I've never been more turned on in my life than when you kissed me? Should I grovel at your feet and beg you to kiss me like that again? Ha! Don't make me puke!" she spat out venomously. She'd never been that cruel to me before. Her voice was trembling with rage, and there was a harshness to her eyes that tore me apart. Her spiteful words made me shake with sorrowful fury, and I had to bite the inside of my lip to keep from crying. I was not going to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break down, not again, not like yesterday. Without saying another word, I turned to leave. "Oh, Kevin, wait," Missy called suddenly. I pivoted expectantly, hopefully. "I have to tell you something," she paused, and I saw her throat muscles constrict, but it was just a vicious act. "I have to tell you that I'm moving to Los Angeles next week." She then laughed harshly again before slamming the door in my face. With my heart so completely tattered and crushed, I stumbled numbly down their driveway. I didn't hearing anything and I didn't seeing anything. I certainly didn't hear or see Mrs. O's car turning into the driveway just as I was crossing it. Her brakes squealed and then her front bumper thumped my right hip. She wasn't going very fast, and she didn't hit me very hard, but it was enough, especially in my already dazed condition, to knock me over. I was sitting on the cement before I realized what happened. Mrs. O jumped out of her car and was yelling my name. When she saw the blood all over my face, I thought she was going to become hysterical. She quickly knelt beside me. "Oh my God all that blood I didn't see you until it was too late are you hurt I'm so sorry." Mrs. O was talking a mile a minute and her hands were anxiously touching my face, probing at my cut lip. "I'm all right," I assured her. Pointing to my face, I told her, "You didn't do this. This was courtesy of Larry, Daryl and Daryl." "What happened? Did you get in a fight?" "Ask Missy," I answered tiredly. "Let's get you inside and cleaned up," Mrs. O insisted. She tried to help me up, but I gripped her hand hard and pulled her down next to me. Then I was hugging her and crying. "Why are you moving away?" "Oh, Kevin," Mrs. O said. "Are you leaving because of what I did?" I blurted out. All of a sudden I couldn't breathe, my brow was bathed in sweat and my heart was hammering so frantically that I thought it would burst out of my chest. I started blathering desperately. "Please, don't leave. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I won't ever do that again. Please don't leave me." I was crying harder now; great painful sobs that wracked my body. Mrs. O hugged me tightly, and that made me cry all the harder. "No, it's not because of you, dear. I wanted to tell you yesterday. We're moving because Mr. O'Bannon is being transferred to Los Angeles. That's all." "I don't want you to go," I wailed pitifully. Los Angeles was across the country, across the world, across the universe. I would never see Missy again. "I don't want to go either. We just found out about it a couple days ago. It was very sudden," she said. "But, it's a big promotion." "Wh-when are you leaving?" "We leave Saturday morning," Mrs. O said. She caressed my back as she continued to hold me. "I'm sorry about what happened yesterday. I know it wasn't your fault. Missy told me what happened. I don't know why she would do that to you." "Because she hates me," I mumbled in to Mrs. O's shoulder. Mrs. O held me at arm's length and looked my in the eyes. "Missy does not hate you. Don't you ever think that. She cares a lot about you, Kevin." "No she doesn't," I retorted woefully. "She just told me so, in no uncertain terms. Why does she hate me? Why?" Mrs. O was crying too. "She doesn't hate you." "Yes she does. You have to tell me how to make her love me, please," I begged her. "I can't help you, Kevin. It's Missy's decision." Though Mrs. O said the words gently, lovingly, they still tore me apart. "Why can't you help me? You were always like a mother to me. Doesn't that matter?" I asked pitifully. "It matters a lot to me, but, but she's my daughter—" I didn't let her finish. I knew what she was going to say. "She's your daughter and I'm nobody. I'm just some motherless kid you felt sorry for." "That's not what I was going to say, and you know it," she objected hotly. "It doesn't matter anyway. You're leaving. I'll never see Missy again. I'll never see you again." I pulled free of her grasp and stood up. I'll never forget the look of sadness on Mrs. O'Bannon's face. "I'm so sorry, Kevin." "Me, too." I walked away. She didn't try to stop me; what was the use? When I got to the sidewalk, I glanced back at Missy's bedroom window. She was there. Her eyes, wide and solemn, watched me walk away. That was the last time I saw Missy O'Bannon. * * * "Don't waste your life wishing for what you can't have; instead, make the most out of life with what you've got." That's another gem from my Granny. For days after Missy moved away that thought ricocheted around inside my head like a stray bullet made out of Flubber. I never got over Missy, because I didn't want to get over her. I loved her with all my heart, and I wanted her to love me back. I relived that last scene with Missy over and over, kicking myself for not trying harder, for not being smarter, for not succeeding. I remembered watching Mr. O'Bannon blow in Mrs. O's ear and turn her on as easy as flipping a switch. Mrs. O' reaction was instantaneous; she groaned like a bitch in heat and rubbed her ass lustfully against his crotch, even when she didn't really want to be turned on. That was the kind of inside information I wanted to learn about Missy. I needed to know how to make her want to kiss me. I knew if I could just kiss her, then I would have a chance to turn her on, to make her want me. But the problem was, I didn't know how to make Missy want to kiss me. My mind was a riot of conflicting thoughts and contradictory emotions: All I could think about were Missy's venomous last words, and how badly they had stung me. Then I would remember that kiss. I could still taste Missy's sweet lips. I could still feel her hunger washing over me, filling me with her lustful desire. I wasn't imagining those things. They were as real as the memory of her rigid nipples grazing my chest, and the way her thighs convulsed when I came on her. Underlying my muddled thoughts was a constant chorus of "I jerked off in front of Missy!" That reproachful phrase blared through my head like a foghorn. I simply couldn't believe I had disgraced myself so readily. Did it matter that she asked me to? Commanded me too? That didn't ease my total and absolute shame. It was that over-riding humiliation and the way I screamed at Missy after my fight with Larry that kept me from contacting Missy before she moved. Speaking of Larry; who else knew? I talked, discretely, with my two best friends to see if they'd heard any rumors about me; they hadn't heard anything. But if Larry, Daryl and Daryl knew a secret, you could bet your last dollar that they wouldn't keep it a secret for long. Would I ever be able to hold my head up again? Being on summer break helped. The school's information grapevine didn't function well during the summer. That made me feel a little better. A week and a half after Missy moved across the country, I was still hiding away in my house, wallowing in misery and self pity. I didn't feel like talking to anybody. I didn't feel like seeing anybody. I didn't feel like doing anything. I just wanted to be left alone. I even stopped going to the school weight room to work out. I didn't answer my phone, I didn't read any emails, and I didn't answer the door. Halfway through that week, my father had left for a week-long seminar in Boston, so I was literally all by myself. My Granny, who was close to eighty then, had moved out of town to live with her daughter. My aunt was a stay at home mom who had plenty of time to look after my ailing grandmother. I was also missing Mrs. O. She had been my closest friend and confidant for so many years, and I really wanted to talk with her in the worst way. What must she think of me? Disapproval? Shame? Scorn? Outrage? Fury? Hell, for all I knew, Mrs. O had even watched the video. Now there was the ultimate in degrading thoughts. Imagine for a minute how you'd feel if the mother of your eighteen year old girlfriend saw a video of you jerking off all over her daughter's bare tits. You'd be lucky if she didn't take out a butcher's knife and try to shorten your excited disposition, if you know what I mean. All these contradictory and confusing thoughts kept tearing me apart, until Claire set me straight. With Claire's help, her dogged persistence, her saintly patience, her pillow-soft breasts and her talented lips, Claire made missing Missy somewhat easier to bear. As if losing the love of your life can ever be easy to accept. Claire and her amazing lips really helped me get a-head in life. Yeah, I know, that was a horrible pun. But when you're forced to walk away from the only thing you ever wanted in life the way I did, you have to have a sense of humor to keep from going totally insane. Well, having a loving, willing woman helps a lot, too. I had both, only I didn't know it; not right away; not until Claire bushwhacked me that morning. It was 10:33 on a Thursday morning (nine days, twenty-three hours, fifty-six minutes and seventeen seconds, give or take, after Missy moved away). I remember the time exactly because I looked at the clock above the TV when I heard the first explosion. The blast sounded like it came from my front yard. I thought it was a gun shot at first. It could've been a car back-firing, but I doubted it because it sounded too close. I sat perfectly still for several tense seconds, listening intently but only hearing the thud of my own heartbeat. Then I heard it again; BANG! I leapt off the couch and raced to the small window beside the front door. There was a blur of white motion at the curb. Bright, hot sunlight reflected off a plastic grocery bag dangling from my mailbox, and it was swinging back and forth swiftly, as if someone had only just hung it there the second before I peeked outside. Without stopping to put on shoes, I sprinted outside. The blistering sidewalk seared my bare feet, but I didn't care. I was pissed. I figured it was someone from school pulling some kind of prank on me. I hated to be made a fool of, especially since I did it so well on my own. When I reached my mailbox, I tore off the plastic bag while scanning the immediate area for the prankster. But there was no one in sight. The street was empty, the sidewalk was clear, and there weren't any parked cars nearby for anyone to have enough time to hide behind after hanging the bag. Speaking of the bag . . . I pulled apart the torn plastic handles and looked in the bag. "What the hell?" At the bottom were a handful of pebbles, which were an exact match to the gravel in my front yard. I scanned the street again; still no one in sight. "This is fucked up," I muttered angrily as I stomped back to my house. I slammed the door behind me and looked outside one more time through the peephole. "What's the point of hanging a bag of gravel on my mailbox?"