Storiesonline.net
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                         Dee Does Middle School
                              by peregrinf

Copyright© 2011 by peregrinf


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Description: Before you read this, read "Carl & Beth Do Sex Ed." And before you read that read the trilogy of Carl and Beth Naked in School. "Dee Does Middle School" obviously picks up where C&B Do Sex Ed leaves off. An 8th grader, Dee leads The Dirty Dozen, the graduates from C&B's class. She's bold, she's saucy, she's brave and confused, and she and her crew are supposed to teach her schoolmates what they learned in class. That guarantees we are in for a hell of a ride.

Codes: mf ff Ff gi cons les bi het inc mother bro sis span group 1st safe anal mastrb fist toys creampie exhib doct sch
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Chapter 1

Never let it be said that I cannot snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.

Rather than indulge in false modesty, I am forced to admit that my performance in motivating The Dirty Dozen to shoulder their responsibilities as sexuality mentors to their classmates was magnificent. I had saved the day. Not only that, I had guided John Patterson to a sympathetic ear, giving at least the hope that he'd find relief from his demons.

Of course, such frankness, such honesty, also demands that I admit that almost immediately I totally screwed up.

In fact, I pulled probably my most bone-headed stunt since the time I tried to paint a cat black, planning on releasing it across the path of a boy who had offended me. The cat escaped -- unharmed -- but I still have scars.

My downfall began when we, that is, me, my BFF Missy and her beau Mike, pulled off The Great Escape, ditching afternoon classes by the simplest of subterfuges -- strolling casually past the school's main office. We simply walked out the front door, planning to go to Missy's supposedly unoccupied house.

Why didn't they STOP us?!

No, I can't blame it on the authorities' lack of diligence. The fault is mine, and mine alone.

While we hadn't actually discussed what we were going to do with our freedom, we all had the same idea. After all, given the morning we'd had we were horny.

But to continue, the first snag we hit was when we got within sight of Missy's house.

Her mom's car was in the driveway. No way could we explain why we were not in school.

We fell back to regroup, huddling behind a hedge.

"My place," I suggested. "No one is home."

"No one's home at my place," Mike countered.

I smiled my wicked smile. "Yeah, but at my place we don't even need to worry if someone does come home."

I came to wish I had never uttered those words.

"We don't?" Mike looked surprised.

Missy giggled. "Her mom's cool with anything."

"Anything?" He squeaked. Was his voice changing, or had he just swallowed a harmonica?

"Anything!" Missy and I chorused.

Which, now that I think about it, makes my mom sound like she doesn't care, which is NOT true. Not true AT ALL!

She does care, very much. Which, unless you've been paying attention to only the sexy parts of the preceding narrative, you already know.

It's just that she has an open mind when it comes to sex, within limits.

But I did not think of that at the time. My mouth was out of control. My body was out of control. Okay, I'm forced to admit that I was in thrall to my hormones, not that that excuses anything.

"We could even spend the whole NIGHT together," I announced. The thought made my tingler tingle even more.

"Slumber party!" Missy whispered conspiratorially.

Mike gulped. "Slumber party?"

My eyebrow was cocked and loaded. "Chicken?" I challenged.

"No!" He squeaked, cleared his throat, coughed, and tried again. "No," he repeated in his best grown up voice.

Then he dug into his pocket. "Uh -- I got these," he choked out, holding out a handful of CONDOMS!

I almost asked if he was a Boy Scout. Talk about being prepared!

Ohmygosh!

"Where'd you get those?" Missy asked.

"Uh, Ms Andrews, uh, kinda forgot 'em, so I grabbed 'em," he ventured.

"Planning a big weekend?" I asked wickedly.

Missy had her hands on her hips, glaring at Mike. "You... !" She drew a deep breath. "What were you thinking? You didn't even think to ask me?"

He blushed. "I ... I ... well! It's just in case, I didn't assume anything, I just thought, in case..."

Then she jumped him, wrapped her arms around him and knocked him flat. "I LOVE YOU!"

And she tried to eat his face as they rolled on the grass.

But I worried. "Uh -- are you sure you want me along? I mean, like you guys are..."

They unstuck their lips. "YES!" they answered together.

"It's not just 'cause -- uh -- my house is available?"

Unwrapping herself from Mike and sitting up, Missy planted her fists on her hips again, while Mike fidgeted nervously. "Dee! I can't believe you'd say something like that! What kind of a person do you think I am?"

I felt like I was being a total shit. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, come on!" She got up and wrapped her arms around me. "This is me, remember? Let's go this way, in case mom is looking out the window."

Well, the best laid plans, and all that! We got to my house and I realized my key was in my backpack, which was locked in my locker back at school. Now what?

If I'd been the superstitious sort I might have viewed the hurdles we'd already encountered as omens, and suggested this was a Bad Idea and that we should get back to school before our absence was noticed.

I should have, but I didn't.

Instead I wound up breaking into my own house! Don't ask me how, that's my own secret, involving some Spiderman-ish attributes I had acquired during my athletic career.

I hurried downstairs to open the back door for them, and we tumbled into the kitchen in a cascade of giggles, the emptiness of the house titillating.

"Anyone want some brownies and milk?" I asked.

"NO!" they both answered.

"This way," Missy ordered, grabbing Mike's hand, and he grabbed mine and we thundered and stumbled up the stairs to my bedroom, where we tore each other's clothes off.

And I know we'd spent one period a day for the last five days naked together, but we all stood there, looking at each other, and Missy looked at Mike, at me, back at Mike, and I could see the raw lust between them.

Standing beside the welcoming expanse of my carefully made bed, Missy was breathing hard, her budding titties rising and falling. Mike's cock was rampant, his hands opening and closing as if he could barely restrain himself from fondling the voluptuous object of his desires.

Voluptuous. Another great word from Language Arts, though not one generally associated with the works of E. A. Poe.

"Do you mind if we... ?" Missy sort of waved vaguely.

I shook my head. "No." The word was barely out of my mouth before they wrapped their arms around each other.

I wanted to cry, but not because I felt left out, but because I was so happy for them as they melted into each others arms. They were so beautiful together, Missy soft and round and pink, and Mike trim and fit. Missy's arms measuring his torso, his hands stroking her back, down to her well rounded rump, his cock trapped between them.

They were so engrossed with each other, in a tight lip lock, it took only a gentle nudge from me to tumble them together on my bed, hands all over each other as they kissed very deeply, very wetly, for very long before coming up for air.

"Do you want to?" Mike asked her fearfully.

She looked into his eyes. "Yes, oh yes, I do."

Face it. All three of us were as horny as goats, after all we'd been through this morning, to say nothing of this past week. No way were they going to stop at this point!

"But..." Mike fumbled around, looking for something.

I'd already raided his pants pocket. I tore open a condom packet. "Here," I said softly.

"You do it," Missy suggested a little fearfully.

So I rolled the condom down over Mike's jutting hard on, leaving, as prescribed, a little reservoir at the tip for his spillings.

Missy lay back, spreading her fleshy thighs to cradle him, and he awkwardly moved between them, poking blindly, until I reached between them and aimed his cock at her very ready opening.

I sank down on my knees beside the bed as he hesitantly pushed into her, and she welcomed him, her hips rising. They slowly fitted together as if they were made for each other.

Which, of course, they were.

Kneeling on the floor by the bed, I watched enviously as my former unrequited heart throb sank his dick into my BFF, and she welcomed it.

Oh, what must it feel like, I wondered, to have that warm, hard shaft filling her?

He moved with surprisingly restrained gentleness, pumping his cock in her cunt, her hands clutching at his back before sliding down to cup his firm butt cheeks. There was no restraint from her. With her grip and her moans she urged him to plumb her depths, having sacrificed her virginity to my mom's vibrator only the night before.

I might as well not have been there at this point, they were so wrapped up in each other, in this wonderful joining. I had to satisfy my own juicy cunt with one finger, then two as he pumped and pumped and pumped in her ravenous pussy.

No way it could last long, as keyed up as they were. The pace quickened, Missy's legs tangling with his to lock them together. He was making little chirping sounds as he speeded up, and she was panting, panting, panting until she suddenly went rigid, stiffening, squeezing her eyes shut, whimpering.

One more stroke and he was as rigid as she was, trying to drill his cock right through her. His ass was going clench, clench, clench, clench and I knew he was filling the condom with his hot seed, and all I could do was press my cheek against the bed, my fingers buried in my own cunt, my pussy spasming sympathetically as my tears, and undoubtedly Missy's juices, stained the bedspread.

When they'd relaxed, I reached to touch them. Missy reached for me, dragged me up on to the bed so we could all snuggle together, sharing the afterglow. She kissed my tears away.

"I'm so glad you're here," she whispered. "So glad."

"Me, too," I admitted.

Mike surprised us be starting to move in her again.

"No! Wait!" Missy protested.

"But I'm..."

Missy worked and squirmed. "I know! I know! But Dee... !"

"Me?!"

"Dee?" Mike asked as Missy pushed at him.

"Yes, Dee!" she insisted.

"But I'm..."

"Shut up! You know you want to!"

"Fresh condom?" Mike asked.

"Forget it! That one's still good, isn't it? And you're still hard."

There was a silly, giggled tangle of arms and legs, and Mike found himself on his back, me straddling him, looking down at his condom covered, still rock-hard cock, wondering if it could handle a second load, wondering if I could handle his bulk.

Then Mike took control, rolling me over on my back, and the matter was no longer in my hands as he sank his cock into my wet and willing twat, the condom well lubed by Missy's juices.

Oh God! He filled me, and filled me so full, and I knew, I knew, now, what it was like to have someone, a man, inside me, and he filled me, again, and again, and again, and I did like it, I did, I did, I did, and I was climbing and climbing and climbing with every stroke until the wave broke over me and I was swept along by my orgasm, only vaguely aware of his cumming until he went bonelessly limp on top of me, and Missy was embracing us both.

While Mike was still catching his breath, my lips sought Missy's and we kissed, and kissed, and I felt such love for her that when Mike carefully withdrew it was totally natural for Missy and me to tangle together.

I heard Mike mumble something as he left, and I heard a toilet flush, and water running, and then he was back, and the three of us just bundled together on the bed for the longest time, dozing and cuddling until the calls of nature roused us.

"I'm hungry," I announced after using mom's bathroom.

So it was down to the kitchen, for a naked snack of brownies and milk. We'd settled down and were stoking our fires, when...

"I thought I'd find you here."

"Uh oh. Busted!" I responded around a mouthful of brownie. "Hi, bro!"

Missy and Mike "eeeped!" and tried to cover themselves.

"Don't bother, he's seen it all," I assured them. "Remember?"

"I'll call off the dogs," Carl announced, going for the phone.

Only then did I see the message waiting light blinking on the answering machine. I got a sort of sick feeling in my stomach, reality intruding. Somehow I knew it was the school, calling Mom to let her know I was missing classes.

"We're in trouble, aren't we."

I wondered how many rules we had broken.

"Yes, but I'll call Ms Andrews and get her to call of the dogs," he answered. "Yes, they're here, they're fine. More than fine, I'd say."

He barked a humorless laugh as he studied us. "Probably. I'll check."

He covered the phone with his hand. "Did you use any of the condoms she misplaced?"

Mike blushed, and nodded.

"They did," he told her.

"How many?" he asked us.

"That's none of your business. We still have some left," I told him. "But we've got plans for them, so you can't have any."

He rolled his eyes and told her. She said something back we couldn't hear.

"Well, the deed has been done, I'd say, but I don't think they want to go into details."

"How's John?" I asked him to ask her, but she must have heard me.

"He's okay," Carl relayed. "He's gonna be getting some long term help."

"Tell her thanks."

"Dee says thanks. Yeah," he said to her. "I know that's all you can say. You're welcome. I'll tell them."

"Tell us what?"

"Her office, Monday morning, before the opening bell. All three of you."

Then he was gone, and we were left looking at each other. I looked at the clock. It was too late to go back to school at this point. My backpack -- all our backpacks -- were locked up for the weekend, with all our homework in them.

I wasn't sure about Missy and Mike, but even if it were possible I didn't have the guts to risk going back for mine at this point.

Shit!

The Stick was ominously silent. No help there. I suddenly realized how royally I had screwed up. We all did.

"I think we'd better go," Missy said softly.

Mike nodded his agreement.

I nodded gloomily. "Yeah."

Together we made our way back up stairs and they dressed. The wet spots on the bedspread, as well as the smears left by our filthy feet after wandering the school halls barefoot, gave mute testimony to our activities. After we'd kissed good-bye, I bundled the spread, and my sheets, also a casualty, into the washer and got it started.

Then I sat down to contemplate my options.

No. On second thought I realized I had no options, so I contemplated my sins, instead. I'd gone from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows. All I could do was sit there on my bed, feeling like a total shit.

I'd cut school. I'd gotten who knows how many people worried. Worst of all, I'd let Mom down.

"No one of the opposite sex here if no one else is home," had been an unbreakable rule for as long as I can remember. I'm not sure when it had been relaxed for Carl, but I sure knew it still applied to me. And yes, I knew full well that while the letter of the law had been followed, there'd been three of us, the spirit had been trampled underfoot -- or perhaps under cock and balls -- whatever.

Shit. The roll of quarters I owed the nasty jar was nothing compared to what I faced. I trudged into the bathroom and showered, trying to feel clean, the muck off my feet swirling down the drain along with my innocence.

Yeah, right. Innocence my ass.

I was finishing remaking my bed when I heard Mom get home, heard her heading up the stairs. My door was open. I don't know where Carl was. He'd probably gone over to Beth's to avoid the bloodshed that was to come.

"Oh! You're dressed!"

At this point she knew nothing, of course. She'd check the answering machine eventually and the shit would hit the fan.

I nodded, shrugged, not looking at her as I smoothed the freshly washed and dried spread. I'd dressed, as if clothing could armor me against what was to come, knowing full well it wouldn't.

"Is something wrong?"

I nodded. "I need to talk with you."

She looked worried. "Can it wait until I get comfortable?"

I wished it could wait forever, as far as I was concerned, but knew that wasn't an option. "Yeah. Take your time."

Not that Carl would tell, and I don't think Ms Andrews would say anything, either. But for me, not 'fessing up would be equivalent to lying to my mother. That would destroy our relationship, and I treasured that more than anything else in the world.

"Well, I'm going to get out of my work clothes. Come downstairs to the kitchen when you're ready."

I dallied as long as I could, but I finally couldn't find anything more that needed fixing, nothing more to rearrange, nothing to put away. I'd even grabbed my dirty underpants and dusted.

Gathering my resources, I trudged down the stairs.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" she asked gently. I was surprised to see she was dressed, if only in her sweats, instead of the nudity that had become the norm for the house. The light on the answering machine was out. She knew.

She knew, but she was waiting for me to 'fess up.

My mouth was dry as ashes, but nothing was going to wash them away, so I shook my head and sat down opposite her.

"Where's Carl, is he here?"

I shook my head. "No. He and Beth, well, the class was fine. Real good, in fact. He's probably at Beth's."

"I have to admit, I had my concerns about the class. Carl and Beth didn't really let me in on what they had planned, but I trusted him and Beth, and Ms Andrews. She seems awfully nice."

"She is," I agreed, not forgetting what I'd done to her trust as well.

I finally just blurted out, "I screwed up." And the whole story of my afternoon came tumbling out, starting with sneaking out of school, cutting classes, forgetting my backpack and everything, to being here with Missy and Mike.

And yes, I remembered that Ms Andrews had given me the afternoon off, but I also know she hadn't meant I could leave school without notifying the office. And Mike and Missy didn't have her blessing at all.

I didn't blame them, didn't mention that the whole thing had originally been their idea. I wasn't going to do that to them. I could have said "no."

I should have said "no."

"Ms Andrews sorta said I could have the afternoon off, but -- I guess I took it too far," I admitted.

Mom was silent for a long, long time, while I just huddled across the table from her, waiting for the sky to fall. Finally I couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, while tears trickled down my cheeks. I seemed to be doing that a lot lately, crying.

"And what, exactly, did go on upstairs, that you were changing your bed?"

I'd sort of glossed over the details on that particular scene.

I sighed. "Well, none of us is a virgin any longer," I admitted. "Mike twice over, I guess you could say."

That got her. She turned pale. "Oh, Dee. You're only twelve!"

"I'll be thirteen in three weeks," I pointed out, looking up.

She gave me her "don't quibble" look, and I dropped my eyes.

"My little girl," she sighed. "And what about you and Missy? The three of you? How's that going to work?"

I shook my head. "It won't," I admitted. "I won't say that what I got was a pity fuck, he made love to Missy first, but I know it won't work. Missy and Mike, well, they just belong together, and while Missy and I had something, well, she's not really interested in me that way."

I thought of my life without her, and a tear trickled down my cheek again.

"You'll still be friends," Mom suggested.

"But it won't be the same. I know it won't be the same." I began to cry again.

"Oh, Dee, come here," she invited tenderly, sliding her chair back, and I went around the table and she gathered me into her lap and held me while I bawled.

"I'm so sorry," I apologized when I'd cried myself out. It wasn't even the having sex with Mike that troubled me, and her. I'd broken the rules.

She didn't say anything, just held me, rocking me, and I wondered what she was thinking.

"Do you think you're gay?" she asked, startling me. "You know it won't matter to me, but I just..."

"I don't know," I answered. "I just know I love Missy so much, and I want her to be happy, so I know I have to let her go."

"You'll still be friends," she repeated, "but you're right, it won't be the same."

I think we both knew we were dodging the central issue, what I'd done. "Are you mad at me?"

"Yes," she admitted softly. "Of course I am. You know the rules."

I nodded.

"And I'm sorry about -- about what went on upstairs. You're so young. You could have waited. Did you use protection?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Thank God. Missy's had her first period. I know you haven't yet, but that doesn't necessarily guarantee you're not already fertile."

"I know."

"Darling, you are still so young," she pointed out. "I can't help thinking that maybe the sex ed class was a mistake, if this is what it leads to."

"No, don't blame the class," I pleaded. "Carl and Beth and Ms Andrews did everything they could. There are some kids already doing it in 6th grade, and they don't know anything about protection or anything. Carl and Beth tried to teach us that there are other ways -- oral sex, or masturbation -- that are safer. I don't know why we did it."

She stroked my head. That always made me feel so good, the way her hand ruffled my unruly hair back off my forehead, and it tumbled back down again when her hand passed, her warm, tender touch.

"I know why," she admitted. "Because your glands got ahead of you. You're young and your hormones are running wild ... I haven't forgotten what it was to be your age."

I just rested there in her lap, my head on her shoulder. That's how tall I was now. I remembered resting my head on her bosom, but I was past that. I was almost as tall as she was now, but I still felt very small.

"Well, one thing I know. I'm going to make an appointment for you with a gynecologist next week."

"Yes'm," I agreed, remembering Beth's display in the hands of her gyno, Dr. Smathers. I was not looking forward to the appointment. It all seemed sort of icky to me.

"Dr. Smathers, she's Beth's doctor, she seems awfully nice," I suggested. "She -- uh -- showed us how it's done when she showed us Beth's insides, in the class."

"Did she now? Well, if that's who you like, I'll see if I can get you in, even though it's not an emergency."

"Okay," I agreed in a whisper. "Thank you."

"Now, maybe you could get up. You're not as light as you used to be, my leg is going to sleep, and I think I need something a little stronger than tea."

I got up, wondering if that was it. The sky hadn't fallen.

Yet.

"Oh, and as of now, you're grounded, for the next week," she announced, not looking at me as she reached for the wine and a glass. "Direct to school, direct home, no TV, no phone, computer only for school work. And kitchen duty for the week, too. Understood?"

"Yes'm," I agreed. "I have to see Ms Andrews before school on Monday, too. The three of us do."

"So, she knows?"

"Uh huh. I don't know how she found out we'd skipped, but she sent Carl to find us, and he called and told her where we were, and what we'd done."

"Who got the condoms?"

"I'd rather not say."

She waited a minute, but I held my ground, not wanting to get Mike or Ms Andrews in trouble.

"We'll leave it at that," she assented at last. "I guess it doesn't really matter. At least you were smart enough to use them. Dinner at the usual time. And you start your kitchen duty tonight. Stroganoff, on noodles, please."

"Yes'm." I turned and slogged my way upstairs, knowing I had a repair job to do on my relationship with Mom and with Ms Andrews, and even with Carl. I felt like I'd been -- like -- a total Benedict Arnold.

Stand tall, The Stick whispered to me.

Oh shut up, I told her. Where were you when I needed you?

How could I have been so stupid? How could I possibly have been so stupid.

Some leader I was.

Shit.



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Chapter 2

I spent the weekend cleaning my prison cell, formerly the scene of the crime. All traces of the offenses committed had been erased, of course, but not from my heart or my body. Those few fleeting moments of carnal ecstasy had exacted a heavy toll on my psyche, even as they satisfied my -- what's the word I want? Starts with an "L" I think. -- never mind, call it horniness.

As I'd cleaned I'd tried being mad at Missy. After all, if she hadn't found me in the bathroom stall, none of this would have happened. But I still loved her, and couldn't blame her, no matter how hard I tried. I could have said "no," but I hadn't.

Okay, time to be honest. I was mad, and I was kinda banging stuff around, and I broke a little figurine of a diver she'd given me one day, just one of those silly little spur-of-the-moment gift-for-no-good-reason things that we used to do for each other, and I sat down on the floor, crying, through my tears trying to fit the pieces back together, knowing I'd probably never get one of her sweet, impulsive gifts as long as Mike was around, as if by doing so I could put us back together.

I didn't know what was wrong with me. I had never been much for crying, but right now the littlest thing seemed to set me off. So I just let the tears flow until I ran dry, blew my nose and wiped my cheeks. Then I got up and gently put the pieces on the shelf to be glued back together.

Then I tried to blame my troubles on The Stick for not speaking up, but that didn't work either. After all, I WAS The Stick, The Stick is me. I am Tall, I am Slender, I am Sexy, and I, not some fictitious "we," had been an Idiot, with a capital "I."

At least it rained all weekend, washing away any temptation to escape. If I'd worded it right Mom might have let me go running, and I might have just happened to run by Missy's house by accident, just in case she might be out in the rain, going my way, or maybe looking out the window and she'd see me and invite me in. But I didn't try. I had to pay my debt to society. So I dug under the bed, rounding up enough dust bunnies to stuff both a quilt and my sinuses.

Now I know why they call it a "dust ruffle."

I found my old Heelies -- you know, those sneakers with wheels? -- which had gotten me detention in 5th grade when I almost ran down the principal speeding down the hall. I mean I was speeding down the hall, he stepped out of his office directly in front of me. I performed a very graceful split half twist to miss him and proceeded to wrap myself around a water fountain, triggering a brief geyser which, through some horrible mischance, caught him in the face. I mean, it was straight out of The Three Stooges.

He was not amused.

I was, but only very briefly. My Heelies were summarily confiscated, to be returned at the end of the school year, by which time I had outgrown them. The incident also resulted in a school-wide ban on Heelies, of course, for which I was blamed.

My old hairbrush! After carefully making sure my door was shut (why? I don't know, considering all that I'd already done in public), and wiping it off with a hand sanitizer towelette, I pulled down my pants and panties and gave the handle of it a good ride for old time's sake. I managed a cumming of sorts, but it kinda paled in comparison to what I'd had with Missy, and Mike's living dick had been more exciting, too.

For some reason I put the hairbrush on the same shelf as the little figurine. I guess that was going to be the museum for relics out of my past.

Under my bed there was also a pair of pre-growth spurt 3 inch stack heels -- like I really need THEM now! -- and if you're thinking my Mom wasted family funds on frivolities for me, you're wrong. Both Heelies and heels were Salvation Army Thrift Store purchases, out of my own savings. Which, of course, I later deeply regretted when, for lack of funds, I had to forgo an afternoon at the movies with Missy.

Also under the bed, among piles of unmentionables and unidentifiable debris, I found three mis-matched socks, a field hockey ball, two very dusty, shriveled gum drops, four tissues (two used for blotting an early, unsuccessful attempt with my Mom's lipstick, two unused), a tattered Hulk comic book, an overdue library book, the fine on which would more than wipe out the fifty three cents (one quarter, two dimes, a nickel and three pennies) that emerged from the dust. Oh, and something that looked like a fossilized caterpillar, which careful dissection revealed to be an old, well chewed wad of bubble gum.

I couldn't help wondering what Missy was up to as I put things away -- Heelies and shoes destined for the Salvation Army clothes drop to be recycled once again into the hands of a gullible pre-teen, socks, etc., to laundry, and so forth. Had she told her mother what had happened? If so, was her Mom going to blame me for her daughter's transgressions?

I tried not to think of that.

Or were she (Missy, I mean) and Mike doing It again, and again, making use of the stash of condoms he'd "liberated" from Ms Andrews?

I hoped not, and not because I was jealous -- well, maybe I was a little -- but more because, well, it didn't feel right. They were young, even if they were already 13 to my 12 (almost 13). Together as children, scant months ago, Missy and I had giggled and gasped at the rumors about kids our age doing It, wondering what It was like, trying to imagine someone like, oh, say, Mickey Kelly doing It with some guy, naked and groping, maybe behind the garage or in one of the secret nooks in the park, or under the bleachers.

We weren't totally naïve. We'd seen some stuff on the Internet, after all, and I'd seen my brother and Beth humping like bunnies. But here we were talking about kids our own age, kids that we knew.

It just didn't seem right to us. We weren't One Of Those Kids!

Only now we were.

Between dust triggered sneezing fits I'd done a lot of thinking. What Ms Andrews had told me about being a leader weighed heavily on me. I didn't want to be a leader. I just wanted to be me, a carefree 12 (almost 13) year old.

But I'd pretty much tried that out on Friday and I regretted the results.

With Mom's permission I'd also done some research on the Internet, exploring the web site for Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays, trying to understand my sexuality. It had helped to know that other people were going through the same process, but I didn't really find an answer there.

And now it was Monday, another day of reckoning.

"Waiting for inspiration to strike?" Mom asked me as I stood staring at the front door, dreading what awaited me at school.

I'd thought of avoiding Missy this morning, but knew that was a chicken way out. Besides, she, and me, and Mike had to report to Ms Andrews before opening bell to answer for our crimes.

"See you Mom," I said as I opened the door, then I turned and gave her a hug. "I'm sorry," I whispered in to her warm, comforting softness.

"I know. I love you," she whispered back. "But remember..."

I nodded. "Straight home after school." Would she check on me? That very thought gave me a pang. I couldn't blame her if she did. I'd broken trust with her, after all.

Stand Tall, I told myself as I headed out, feeling like I was forgetting something, until I remembered my back pack, left in my locker at school. That was another transgression that would have to be dealt with. I hadn't done my homework, didn't even know what had been handed out at my afternoon classes. The shit just kept getting deeper.

I was sure to catch extra assignments for cutting classes. But at least I'd have something to keep me busy during the long afternoons of my confinement.

But this morning the sun was out, the rain having washed the air clean, and my heart gave a little leap at the sight of Missy waiting for me.

"Grounded, huh?" she asked sympathetically, though she already knew. My Mom had intercepted her phone call and explained that even calls were off limits.

"Yeah, I broke the rules, big time!"

And as for that little "heart leap?" Well, we were still together, but no longer Together, if you get my drift. Maybe "friends" works, but no longer "friends with benefits." Or something.

"You?" I asked.

Missy's face puckered guiltily. "I haven't told my Mom what happened," she admitted. "I got home and erased the message on the answering machine before she heard it, so she doesn't even know we skipped."

I opened my mouth, and closed it again, knowing how her Mom would react to the news that her daughter was no longer a virgin. The poor woman would have a stroke, and I would be banished forever from Missy's life. I'd already faced her Mom's wrath once, over a misunderstanding, and I knew she'd blame me again, and this time she'd be justified. If the town had them she'd probably have me locked in the stocks on the village green to be pelted with rotten fruits and vegetables before I was tarred, feathered, and run out of town on a rail.

It had been Missy's decision, but I'd be blamed. After all, I thought wryly, I'm a Leader!

Meanwhile The Stick was telling me that what Missy was doing, not telling, was as bad as lying to her Mom, and I didn't feel good about that at all. But what could I say?

I tried a flanking maneuver.

"My Mom's making me an appointment with a gynecologist, 'cause I'm now 'sexually active.'" I hooked my fingers in quotation marks around that delightful term. "Sorta like locking the barn door after the horse has been stolen, but I guess it's a good idea. You know, protection and all that."

I'd hoped Missy might pick up on the suggestion, but she didn't. She'd had her period since last year, but as far as I knew still hadn't yet had her first exam.

Instead she went, "Eeewwwww!"

"Yeah," I agreed. "Did you see Mike at all over the weekend?"

"Nuh uh. We -- felt kinda bad about -- well, you know. We're gonna try to cool it for a while."

"They say, once you've done It..."

"Yeah, I know."

And then Mike came into view and I saw her face light up, and knew that sooner or later, probably sooner, It was going to happen again, and again, and again, and I felt maybe a little jealous, more than a little bit sorry, a lot worried, and more than a lot left out. Mike and Missy were so wrapped up in each other, and wrapped around each other, engulfed in a cloud of hormones, I was left alone with my thoughts as we approached school and our appointment with Ms Andrews.

"Please close the door," she directed with ominous courtesy as we shuffled into her office.

I'd never been in it before. She was both health teacher and school counselor, charged with guiding our more troubled souls through the shoals of puberty. The three of us, by unspoken agreement, sat nervously on the edge of the worn couch across from her desk, Missy and Mike holding hands. There was a big box of tissues on the end table beside the sofa, and an empty wastebasket, woven of reeds or something, within reach, some diplomas in frames on the wall behind her.

There was an African motif to her décor, carved statues, colorful tapestries, a small carved elephant on her desk, possibly ebony and ivory. Something made me turn around briefly to see what hung on the wall behind us, only to be riveted by the sight of a framed, aged and faded document that clearly read "Bill-Of-Sale... $250 ... for one Negro, a girl named Patience, about 12 years old..." I jerked my eyes away from it, feeling a chill, but not before I read the last sentence... "to be a slave for life."

She pointed at me. "You I gave permission to take the afternoon off. But you know that doesn't excuse you from failing to notify the office."

She pointed at Mike and Missy, "But I don't remember you two being in the room."

They hung their heads.

"And didn't you people learn anything from what I, and Carl, and Beth, tried to teach you?" Ms Andrews asked.

"We used a condom," Mike blurted out defensively.

All I could do was hang my head. That wasn't what she meant, and I knew it.

"What was one of the first things I said to you? Read my lips! You're too young!"

Mike flinched and dug into his pocket, pulling out the remaining condoms, as if giving them back would make everything all right.

Ms Andrews drew back. "No! You keep 'em! It's too late! The deed is done!"

Missy looked like she was about to burst into tears. I tried to deflect Ms Andrews.

"How'd you know we'd cut out?" I asked.

She quirked her lips. "I get calls from teachers of three of my special students, wondering why they weren't in afternoon classes, asking if I still had 'em. I covered for you, as best I could, Dee, but even so I had to send out the calls. I also sent your brother, but it was already too late."

She drummed her fingers on her desk. "What'm I going to do with you? Whose bright idea was this, anyway?"

"Mine," I answered quickly, only to be echoed just as quickly by Missy and Mike. We looked at each other.

"I might 'a known. One for all and all for one, is it? Somehow detention doesn't seem appropriate."

I hesitantly raised my hand. "I've been grounded -- for a week."

"Shoulda been a year or two." She snorted, then frowned, thinking.

"Well, get outa here, you two," ordered at last indicating Missy and Mike with a dismissive wave. "Maybe I'll think of something. In the meanwhile, you keep this to yourselves, and try to teach your classmates to do as you say, not as you do! If they want to hanky panky, make sure they know to do it without the guy sticking his hanky in her panky! You stay, please, Dee."

Sick with fear, I closed the door behind my friends. "I'm sorry I screwed up."

"Relax. Somehow I know it wasn't your idea. But you could have said 'no, ' you know."

I nodded. "Why did you make me a leader?" I finally asked plaintively.

She smiled, shaking her head sadly. "Oh, honey, I didn't make you a leader. You just are one. You see something needs doing, you'll step up and get it done. If you want to blame someone, blame God, or fate. It's just the way you are."

I sank back down on the couch. "Maybe so, but I sure screwed up this time."

"Everyone does, from time to time. Tell me the truth. Whose idea was it to cut class?"

I remained resolutely silent. I didn't know if it was Missy's or Mike's, but no matter what, I wasn't going to rat them out. They're my friends. "When we did it we all knew what was going to happen," I admitted.

"But if you hadn't cut, it wouldn't have happened," she concluded.

I nodded.

"And, as a leader, whether you like it or not, what have you learned from this?"

I knew what she was driving at. I stared at my hands as I twisted my fingers together. "I should have said 'no!'" I answered softly.

She nodded. "For a leader, saying 'stop' is as important as saying 'go.' Maybe even more important. That's the most important lesson you need to remember. Whether you like it or not, people like you and respect you. They admire you. They'll listen to you. They'll do what you ask them to do, many of them without a second's thought."

She sighed.

"Trust me. They'll follow you when you step out front and yell 'charge!, ' even if it's in front of a bus!

"And contrariwise, if you see 'em going in the wrong direction chances are good they'll stop if you scream 'stop!' loud enough and long enough and soon enough, at least if it's before they've really gotten rolling and inertia has taken over. Sometimes the most important thing a leader needs to do is say, 'NO' in a very loud, firm voice.

"It won't be easy. It will make you unpopular, even hated by some people. As you get older you'll be questioning yourself about whether what you're about to do is the right thing, 'cause you'll be worried you're leading 'em off a cliff. Then you'll wonder, after you do it, if it was the right thing. All you can do is trust your instincts. You've got good instincts."

She sighed again. "I didn't make you a leader. I wouldn't even wish it on you. It is just what you are. I didn't choose you for the class, but I bet the people who did the choosing knew what you are, and that's why they chose you.

"It's a good thing, too. If it weren't for you we'd probably all still be sitting in that classroom.

"I didn't want to tell you what you are. Maybe I shouldn't have, 'cause now you'll be running scared. You'll get all self-conscious. But I decided it is better that you know, to give you a chance to learn how to handle it.

"I also know that you know right from wrong. I'm willing to bet you told your mom what happened before she found out, or you woulda been grounded for a year. And when your brain is working you make the right decisions, and you'll take your medicine without complaining. I'd trust you with my life."

"After what I just did?" I asked.

She waved her hand dismissively. "You weren't thinking, your glands were. After the week you'd been through I should have expected it. If I'd had my wits about me I would have planned a Friday afternoon pizza party for the whole lot of you, instead of classes. My bad.

"You won't do it again. Oh, you may make some other mistake -- everyone does, from time to time. Just be yourself and listen to that little voice inside. It will keep you straight."

"Listen to The Stick," I mumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing. How's John Patterson?"

"He'll be okay, given time. I can't say more than that. He could use a friend."

"And I'm it."

"That's up to you," she assured me.

"I kinda like him," I admitted. "He's not so bad, once you get to know him."

A bell rang. "You better get going. You got some teachers' feathers to smooth down."

"Yes'm," I agreed. "Thanks."

"Oh, and Dee?"

I paused in the doorway. "Yes?"

"Patience was my Great Grandmother, and she outlived her slavery by about fifty years. A lifetime is a long time."

I left, mulling it over. When that "Negro girl" had been about my age she had been taken from her mother and sold like a piece of furniture, to be a slave for the rest of her life, as far as she knew. It gave me cold chills to think about it. I was glad she'd outlived her slavery. Then I thought of her mom and how it must have felt when her little girl was sold to another slave holder, possibly a total stranger, possibly an even crueler master, and I got a sour knot in my throat.

The reception I got in the halls and classrooms drove everything else out of my mind, of course. I should have known better than to expect everything to return to normal, not after my performance at Friday's lunch. I was mobbed like a rock star, and Super Snoop Marvin Brubaker, the school paper's star reporter, photographer and general butt-inski buttonholed me for an interview and some shots to go with his story of the Debut of the Dirty Dozen.

He'd been caught without his camera in the lunch room, I guess. I hadn't paid attention, but I bet a lot of cell phone cameras had been busy, and we were all over the internet. Well, our town was used to The Program, so it wouldn't rock things too much, I hoped.

He wanted pictures of me naked, of course. I put him off, knowing I needed to clear this with the paper's advisor, and deal with my own mixed feelings. The last thing in the world I wanted was to be the poster child for the new sex ed, but it looked like I'd elected myself, whether I liked it or not.

Then, between first and second period, Judy Liu dragged me off in a corner for a quiet conference.

"Would you come to a sleep-over at my place?"

A 6th grader inviting me to a sleep-over?

"Some of the girls in my class don't believe me and Maria when we talk about what we learned," she elaborated, vibrating nervously, a typical 6th grader, all nerve-ends and adrenalin. "We thought maybe if they heard it from you they'd believe it."

"When?"

"Uhm -- Saturday night? I know it's short notice, but we talked it over..."

I thought fast. I had to, since the next class was about to start. "I'll have to check with my mom. I'll let you know tomorrow." Maybe my being grounded would excuse me, I thought -- hoped.

"Thanks!" Judy surprised me by rising on her tip toes, dragging my head down and giving me a quick, mint flavored kiss -- on the lips! -- before she darted away, her delicious little bottom twitching in her tight jeans.

I had to admit, the idea of consorting with a flock of naked, curious 6th grade girls certainly had its attractions. Oh what fun we could have!

I told my glands to shut up. The Stick, darn her, liked the idea.

By lunch I was more than a little weary of the whole thing. Excusing myself from Mike and Missy, I fled outside, sandwich and milk in hand, to my private nook, only to find John Patterson already occupying it, his own lunch beside him. He didn't say a word, just scooched over to make room for me.

For a while we just ate, while we each wrestled with our own demons, I guess.

"Thanks for setting me up with Ms Andrews," he said eventually.

"You're welcome. I hope it helps."

He shrugged. "It's hard. I don't wanna talk about it, but she says I gotta. She's nice. I think stuff's gonna happen, too."

I wanted to ask him what, but thought better of it. I looked at him, caught his eye. "Two things about us, John."

He looked worried. "What?"

"First, you don't have to tell me anything. I like you, and I want to be your friend, but you don't need to tell me anything. I'll still like you no matter what you do or don't tell me, and I'll always be your friend, if you'll let me."

I could see him relax. "And second, anything you do tell me will remain our secret. Unless it's something dangerous, like you're thinking of suicide or something."

"I won't do that," he assured me. "I've already been there." He fingered his neck, and I noticed some sort of abrasion or something.

Now I realized why he always wore turtlenecks instead of the usual Tees.

I risked touching his hand, scared by his admission. "But just so you know, if you do need to talk, your secrets are safe with me. Though I'd prefer you to share them with Ms Andrews, rather than me. She's the professional. I'm just a kid like you, after all."

He shook his head. "Not like me. You're special." He managed a lopsided grin. "You don't want to try this at home, huh?"

"She's a trained professional, on a closed course," I answered. We shared a laugh, and that was that. After finishing our lunch we headed back in companionable silence, until I saw the clutch of boys outside the door. There were a half a dozen of 'em, some supposedly John's "friends," and they'd probably been smoking who knows what. Now they had ganged up on Bill Harris, surrounding him, pushing him, teasing him nastily about his stutter.

Without even thinking about it I waded into the fray. "Stop it!"

"St-st-st-stop what, skinny?" one of them mocked viciously, taking a poke at me.

"Stop THAT!" I snapped, knocking his hand aside. "You're disgusting, making fun of something he can't help. And what about you, Horace? Read any good books lately?"

Shit! That was a cheap shot. I knew he had trouble reading. I turned to Bill. "Do that Rap again!" I didn't ask, I ordered.

Bill looked startled, but I stared him in the eye, daring him to take it to them.

Thank God he caught the idea, gathered himself for a second, and went into his shtick, snapping his fingers, clapping his hands, spitting out the Rap, ad libbing to rag on his tormentors, even working in the word "dyslexic" about Horace, giving as good as he'd gotten.

He left them gaping. John Patterson was flanking Bill as we pushed through them and headed inside.

"Th-th-th-thanks," Bill stammered.

"They try that stuff again, just rap it at 'em," I suggested grimly, shaking, now that it was over. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ms Andrews, a secret little smile lurking at the corners of her mouth. Why hadn't she done something? Maybe she'd come in late? Or had she just been waiting for me to show off like her trained seal.

I knew that wasn't fair, but I was pissed, and frightened by what I'd just done. Even with John at my side, the three of us had been outnumbered two to one.

Shit! If they caught me alone I might be nothing more than a smear on the grass.

The rest of the school day was more of the same as before lunch -- pats on the back, questions, a few snubs from the snots, with frustrated sighs from the teachers whose classes I'd cut, and I was loaded with homework, of course. I emerged, standing tall in spite of the weight of my backpack, actually looking forward to my lonely walk home, only to find Mom waiting for me in her car.

My first reaction was a flash of anger, and fear. Did she suddenly mistrust me that much?

"Hop in," she invited, happy to see me, no sign of anger or suspicion. "You've got an appointment with Dr. Smathers in fifteen minutes. She had an opening."

I was relieved that was the reason she was there, but unsettled by the news. After giving her a dutiful kiss, I settled back and fastened my safety belt, staring out the window. Horace and his buddies were staring at me ominously.

"Are you all right, Honey?"

I shrugged. What I really wanted was to have her hold me and tell me everything was going to be alright. "It's been a rough day."

"I can imagine," she acknowledged, then thought a minute. "No, that's not true. Carl told me what you did, getting the kids to the lunch room for your show and tell Friday. That was braver than anything I could ever have done when I was your age. I don't think I could do it even now."

"Ms Andrews says I'm a natural born leader." I couldn't help sounding sulky.

"I'd say that's quite a compliment."

"I don't want to be a leader. I just want to be me."

She shot me a quick look of sympathy as she steered the car. "Which, I believe, is what's meant by a natural born leader," she pointed out. "If it is what you are, you don't have much choice."

She thought for a minute, frowning. "Do you know how proud I am of you?"

It was my turn to shoot her a look.

"You are so bold, so brave. You're smart, and kind. You welcome challenges. I don't think there's anything you can't do if you put your mind to it.

"Oh, you worry me sometimes, scare me, actually, you're so headstrong and daring, and impulsive. Some day you'll defy me..."

"No I won't!" I argued.

"Oh, yes you will," she said, smiling tenderly. "But I wouldn't change a hair on your head."

I realized I just had argued with her, and ducked my head. "I'm still grounded, huh?"

She chuckled, and smiled ruefully. "Right."

I almost teared up. That's one of the reasons I love her so much. When she punishes me, the love for me, and the smile, was always right there to make me feel safe and loved.

I thought of Judy's party. "Did that grounding for a week start last Friday? So it ends this Friday evening?"

"Why do you ask?" She was turning into a parking lot by a building with a sign out front for Dr. Smathers.

"Judy Liu, one of the 6th graders, wants me to come to a slumber party at her place Saturday night. Some of her friends don't believe her and she thinks they'll listen to me." Somehow next Saturday didn't seem so far off now.

Mom parked the car. "We'll have to talk about it when we get home. Carl has a college visit next weekend, remember."

Oh shoot! I'd forgotten that. "Okay."

I tried not to sound disappointed, but a sleepover instead of hours in a car, and then watching some poor dork walk backwards pointing out the chapel and the library? No contest.

"I didn't say 'no.' Maybe we can work something out. Now come on, Dr. Smathers will be waiting."

Inside we filled out a bunch of forms -- any allergies? High blood pressure? (I assumed that meant "have" rather than "give to others.") -- ever kissed a guinea pig? Well, no, not that, but since you asked, the answer is "yes" but it was years ago, and we were just good friends, until he bit me, that is. And I admitted to the broken arm I'd gotten falling out of a tree.

Doesn't everyone do that? And the sprained ankle, and -- well, never mind.

And I got weighed and measured. Turned out I'd grown almost another inch in the last two months. It was probably time for another trip to Salvation Army for some new pants.

Then I found myself sitting on an examining table, wearing nothing but a stupid, scratchy, too short gown that tied in the back, staring at my knees, remembering which scar I got when.

Oh, and I'd peed in a cup for them, too. My temperature, pulse, and blood pressure had been taken by a bustling nurse before she left us alone in the examining room. Mom asked if I wanted her with me, and after a moment of thought I decided I did. Having her there would be comforting, and I didn't want any secrets between us, not even here. But I made her promise not to say anything unless I asked.

"May I call you Dee, or would you prefer Diane, or Miss Walker?" Dr. Smathers asked after greeting Mom as she breezed into the room.

I was startled she asked. "Uh -- Dee is fine, doctor."

"Good. Now, Dee, why are you here?"

I shot Mom a look. Hadn't she told Dr. Smathers when she'd set up the appointment? But Mom was completely poker faced, and since I'd told her not to say anything I was on my own.

"Any aches or pains? Any unusual discharge?" Dr. Smathers prompted gently as she flipped through the papers on her clipboard. "I see this is your first visit to a gynecologist."

"Uh, yeah. No, no pain, nothing like that," I answered. "But -- uh -- I've -- uh -- been -- sexually active," I blurted out. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mom smile encouragingly.

"Have you now?" Dr. Smathers commented, making a note on the papers. She let that hang there, and I knew she wanted to know more.

"I -- uh -- did it last Friday -- with a boy that is. I did it before that with a girl, with my -- uh -- fingers, mouth, and with a dildo, but Friday was the first time with a boy. We fucked. Is that what you wanted to know?" Why I was upset I didn't know. Maybe because I was forced to admit how stupid I'd been.

"Did you use protection?" she asked calmly.

"A condom," I admitted.

"Good. Was there any pain?"

"No." At least she didn't ask if I enjoyed it, if I orgasmed, whatever.

"Not even with the dildo?"

I shook my head. "No. I've always been real active and athletic. I guess I probably tore my hymen at some point."

"Not unusual. Now, you haven't started menstruating yet, have you?"

"No. I'm a little worried about that."

"You needn't be. You're not yet thirteen. Active young ladies often menstruate later, especially ones as slender and athletic as you. You know from your class with Carl and Beth everyone is different." She smiled. "Oh yes, I recognized you the moment I saw you. You stand out in a crowd."

"'cause I'm so tall," I observed wryly.

"Well, there is that," she admitted, as if that weren't the only thing, but didn't elaborate.

Instead she talked about the exam, how she was going to poke and prod me, what she was looking for, how she'd examine my breasts (what breasts?) and my vagina, if I didn't object -- I didn't -- and what have you.

"Can I take off this stupid gown? It's itchy."

"If you'd like," she agreed. "I guess you're comfortable with nudity, what with the class, your brother having gone through the program, and watching Beth's exam you know what's involved."

I managed to untie the tie at the back of my neck, but turned so she could get the lower one for me, the one Mom had tied. Dr. Smathers' fingers brushed my back and gave me goose bumps, but I heaved a sigh of relief at being naked. I was a bit surprised to realize it was the first time I'd been naked in front of anyone since Friday.

She snapped on a pair of thin rubber gloves and while I was sitting there she started at my head, flashing a light in my eyes, checking my ears, feeling my neck and jaw, under my arms, before feeling my chest. To my embarrassment, my nipples responded eagerly to her touch. Then she unlimbered her stethoscope and listened.

"Are they... ?"

She smiled. "They're fine. They're even growing, though not so much you might notice. Your body's been busy building bone and muscle, but the good stuff is coming." She tweaked my nipples again. "Sensitive?" she asked.

"Very!" I admitted, a little embarrassed by my reaction. "How tall do you think I'll be?"

She finished listening to my heart. "Mmmm, that's hard to guess. I wouldn't be surprised at five ten, maybe a few inches more. Now, why don't you lie back and get comfortable," she suggested.

I lay back on the examining table, my legs dangling over the end. "Six feet?!" I wasn't sure how to take that. Then I remembered Kathy Powers, and how well she handled it, and actually felt kinda happy at the thought.

"Maybe, if you don't slump. You stand nice and straight and tall now. That's good."

"Thanks."

After running her fingers down my ribs she was poking my abdomen, pushing real deep, taking inventory, I guess. "Let's see -- liver -- spleen -- kidneys, two of them. Everything seems fine here," she decided. "No scars. One standard issue appendix, I assume."

I nodded. I was getting a little nervous, and a little aroused as she worked lower, close to the arch of bone above my still hairless slit. Then I felt her tug at something, and realized she'd found a hair down there!

"A natural blond, I see," she commented. "Wish I had hair like yours."

I lifted my head to look down. "Is there much?"

She laughed. "A few strands. Don't you worry. You probably won't have a big bush, blondes often don't, but you'll have it. You're going to be changing fast in the next few months."

I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that. "Like how?"

She was adjusting some things on the table. "Well, you know, your breasts are developing, and pubic hair. Your hips will round out, and your legs will gain some flesh. You've already got great legs, but they'll be real eye catchers, believe me. You'll probably get your first period, too, so you'll want to be prepared for that."

"Ick!"

She chuckled. "Get used to it, unless you want to stay pregnant for the next thirty years or so. Now, lift your feet into the stirrups, and then I'll help you slide your butt down close to the end of the table."

And there I was, feet up, spread wide. I'd done a bit of horseback riding, and decided the term "stirrups" was appropriate. You could fit a horse between my legs -- which was a rather discomforting thought. I felt incredibly exposed. I tried to deny it, but I kinda liked the idea of her looking at me.

Damn! Was I an exhibitionist? I had to admit I did get a thrill out of showing myself off. When I asked Beth she'd had admitted she did.

Yeah, I'm not known for being shy with my questions. Sometimes they just sorta fall out of my mouth. I'm trying to work on that.

I shot a look at Mom, but her expression was hard to read. Then I saw her uncross and re-cross her legs and suspected maybe she was feeling something, too.

Dr. Smathers drew a stool up between my legs and settled down on it. I dropped my head back as her fingers began exploring my vulva. I knew that she knew I was getting turned on by her closeness, and her touch. How could she not? Her face was inches from my arousal. She could smell it! I bit my lip and tried to stay cool, but I could feel my pussy reacting.

Her touch was firm but gentle, if that makes sense. There was no hesitation as she explored me, gently opening my lips, I could feel her tracing the folds of my inner labia. In my mind I was visualizing Beth's examination -- now my urethra was being touched, now my -- WOW! -- clitoris!

A finger gently penetrated my vagina, and my hips rose as my body welcomed the invasion.

Then, using two hands, a second finger, and, she was using them to pry my vagina open, side to side, then up and down, and all around.

Oh my!

She pressed down with both fingers and I felt the pressure in my bottom! What an interesting sensation!

"Excellent muscle tone, as I'd expect," she observed, her fingers palpating me floor of my cunt.

Oooooh! Did she know what she was doing to me?

Then Dr. Smathers stopped and I was disappointed. I looked over at Mom, and she was leaning forward. When she saw me looking she smiled nervously and leaned back as if everything was just as normal as pie, but her fingers were in her lap.

"Now we're going to look a little deeper," Dr. Smathers explained, holding up the speculum. "I believe you know the drill? Oh, pardon the pun!"

I nodded nervously.

"You'll feel some pressure. Don't worry, I've warmed it. First I use my finger to locate your cervix."

She did, probing deeply. Very deeply. Mmmmm. I liked that.

"Now the speculum."

I felt it slip in, and flinched a little. It wasn't like Mike's cock, and it wasn't like the dildo, or fingers. It was hard metal, but it was warm. Oh, it did feel good. My little cunt was so hungry.

Then I heard some clicks, and felt it spreading me open, and groaned in spite of myself.

"Beautiful," she murmured. "You have a lovely cunt."

I felt a little tingle of excitement. After all, how many cunts had she seen? And she thought mine was beautiful!

Mom laughed nervously. "Cunt. That's -- hardly a medical term," she pointed out.

Dr. Smathers chuckled. "There's only us girls here," she pointed out. "How do you feel, Dee?"

I swallowed. How did I feel? I felt horny! "Fine," I managed. I almost asked her how she felt as she explored my pussy.

"That's good." Dr. Smathers brushed my clit again -- accidentally?

"Wow!"

"Ooops! You're very responsive!"

By her tone I knew it hadn't been accidental.

"Uh, yeah!" I agreed, trying to sound as if I didn't want her to do it again, though I really, really did.

"Ooooops!"

"Oh JEEZ!"

"Sorreeee," she apologized insincerely. "Now I'm going to take some smears. While STDs are pretty much under control these days, it doesn't pay to get careless. I'm also going to recommend you get inoculated against HPV, of course. Wouldn't want anything to happen to this beautiful cervix now, would we? This shouldn't hurt."

I felt her sort of ruminating around in there.

"There! Now we can get this thing out of the way."

There was clicking, and the speculum went away. Darn!

"We're not done in there yet," she assured me.

Goodie! Though I didn't actually say that. I was about half-way to a really good orgasm.

"Two fingers," she announced.

Oh boy! And she went DEEP with them!

"There's your cervix," she announced, prodding deep inside me.

Whoopeee!

"Now we check what's where between there and here!" She put her palm low on my tummy, and then it felt like she was playing the piano in my room -- uh -- womb! I fought the urge to giggle.

"You're strong! Try to relax your tummy muscles, Dee. Just relax, and go with the flow."

Flowing was what I was doing! I've heard older girls complain about pelvic exams, but I was having a ball!

"The cervix feels good. There's the uterus."

She was kinda pushing things around, which only turned me on more, of course.

"Over here is an ovary."

Uh huh!

"And there's the other one."

Oh yeah! Don't stop now. See if there's third one!

But, darn it, she started to withdraw her fingers, and I thought it was all over.

"And right about here..."

She stroked me, the top of my vagina, and Holy SHIT! WOW! I was suddenly totally over the top! I was cumming like a banshee!

" ... is the G Spot!" Dr. Smathers announced, happily rubbing inside me as she simultaneously diddled my clit. My vagina milked her fingers for all it was worth, while my pelvis went into hyper-drive. There I was, on the gyno table, surfing an absolutely awesome orgasm ... with my mother watching!

"MooooOOMMMM!"

Mom leaped into action, sort of, sounding less than stable herself as she grabbed my hand. "I see, darling, I see. Oh, darling, are you okay?"

"M-m-more than okay! Oh WOW!" Then I trailed off into mindless grunts before Dr. Smathers slowly withdrew.

"Well, yes. You are, indeed, very responsive, Dee." Dr. Smathers sat back on her stool and, as I watched, she sucked my juices off her fingers! Maybe she was a perv, but she was sure my kind of perv.

"Thanks!" I panted. "I mean, Thank YOU!" I could see why Beth liked her.

"You're welcome." She peeled off her gloves and dropped them in the trash, letting the lid drop with a clang. "Now, there is one more thing, if you're willing."

"What's that?" Mom sounded more than a little shaken and concerned.

"I think maybe a rectal exam, as long as we have you here, Dee. What do you think?"

My butt? I immediately remembered Steve and Tony during their demonstration, remembered Missy exploring that route with her finger. Oh wow. What did I think? Silly question!

"Is that really necessary?" Mom asked dubiously.

"It only takes a few minutes. No extra charge," Dr. Smathers responded.

But what kind of a charge might I get out of it? "That's okay, mom. I don't mind."

I hadn't told her of course, that I'd had Missy's finger up my rear. I do have some secrets from her! I couldn't help wondering what Dr. Smathers' talented fingers might coax out of me.

"Why don't we get these out of the way," Dr. Smathers suggested, moving my feet and folding the stirrups out of the way. "And you can just roll over on your tummy."

Okay with me. By now she could have done almost anything to me and I wouldn't have complained. I was even wondering how often I could have one of her exams. But I guess Mom couldn't afford that, darn it.

So I rolled over on my stomach, my still aroused nipples feeling bruised as I pressed them into the thin cushion on the table. I rested my cheek on it, and let my eyes close as I saw Mom watching me. What was that look she was giving me? What must I look like, my skinny butt protruding past the end of the table, my feet spread. Oh jeez, what was this going to be like? I couldn't remember the last time Mom had taken my temp rectally.

I heard a fresh pair of gloves snapping into place, and then the good doctor was back on her stool, at my butt. She gave my butt a slap and I jerked in surprise at how good that stinging slap felt.

Then I felt her spreading my cheeks, and something cool drizzled down my crack, my asshole puckering defensively.

"A little lubricant," Dr. Smathers explained, "to make it more comfortable. Sorry if it is a little chilly."

"S'okay," I assured her, wishing she'd hurry up.

"You have a very pretty little rosebud," she assured me, tickling my back door. "Now, try to relax. Make like you're taking a poop."

I couldn't admit I'd done this before, of course, with Missy, so I just purred softly as her finger slowly invaded my asshole. Oh that did feel good! She stroked her finger in and out a couple of times, then I felt her lean over so she could whisper to me.

"Think you could handle two fingers?"

I nodded. Inside I was boiling again. Oh yes! Go for two, I silently urged, and she did, prying my winky open a little more, stretching me, scratching an itch I'd only recently discovered I had.

And oh, it felt SO good! It stretched me, of course, and I felt her wiggling her fingers inside me. She played around back there some more, sliding her fingers in and out, twisting them around, and I wondered if she was going to try for three fingers, but she didn't, darn it. I wasn't really cumming. I was just enjoying myself immensely, and then -- she added a couple of fingers into my cunt, where Mom couldn't see, so she was pinching the thin wall between my vagina and my rectum, and then she somehow got her thumb, I guess it was, on my clit, and I was suddenly just babbling nonsense as I came and came and came again.

She played me like a Stradivarius. She'd curl her fingers, her nails stimulating my G spot, then straighten them again, pressing upwards toward my rectum, which was stuffed with her fingers. My anus and my cunt both were spasming madly, and I was on fire inside, and I didn't think I was ever going to come down, and I didn't really want to, until finally I just couldn't take any more and went bonelessly limp, my cunt barely able to twitch.

The snap of the gloves coming off, clang of the trash can lid, and then she said "Come to my office after you're dressed," and bustled out.

I felt like I'd been totally wrung out by the time she was done with me. Mom helped me get dressed, and then steadied me as we went into Dr. Smathers' office.

"So, do you have any questions?" she asked quite calmly, as if she hadn't just had both hands up inside me, more or less, and she expected me to be rational.

"Uh -- how am I?"

She smiled. "You are fine. I won't say you're an average 12 year old, you're a little tall for that, but physically you are in excellent shape."

She thought for a moment. "You say you've had relations with both a boy and a girl."

"Uh huh," I answered warily.

"So you know them well?"

"Uh huh. Well, I know M ... the girl really well. She and I have been friends forever. I don't know the guy as well," I admitted. "He's 13, and so's she."

"How do you feel about them?"

I blushed. "I love her. I kinda like him, but they're a couple now..."

"And you're feeling left out."

I nodded.

"And you're wondering if maybe you're gay," she went on.

I shot Mom a sharp look, but she shook her head, so I knew she hadn't said anything.

"Yeah," I admitted unhappily.

She smiled gently. "Well, I can't tell you. I can tell you that you are very responsive, sexually, and, as you already know, your hormones are in high gear. But only you can figure out your orientation.

"Have you ever heard of a man named Kinsey?"

I shook my head.

"Dr. Kinsey was an early sexologist, one of the first to do an academic study of sexuality. At the time his work was quite controversial. He asked the questions everyone else was afraid to ask. In those days homosexuality was ignored, denied, never acknowledged, and certainly not something to be studied, discussed and analyzed, even in academic circles. He changed all that.

"Based on his studies and interviews, he developed a sexuality scale, ranking sexual orientation from purely heterosexual to purely homosexual, running from zero to six. Most people, being heterosexual, tend to fall into the low numbers, zero being strictly straight, while others may be around, say, about three. That means they're bisexual -- they can be physically attracted to persons of either sex. A small percentage of the population, maybe about ten or fifteen percent, are exclusively homosexual.

"Also, sexuality is not necessarily fixed in stone. You're young yet. It may change over time. Based on your limited experience I'd say it's really too soon to tell. I assume you found pleasure with the boy, and with your girlfriend. I'd say you're probably a one or a two, but a lot of youngsters your age experiment.

"And I'm sure you love your girlfriend. There's nothing wrong with that. Love is a beautiful thing. And, as you're discovering, you are going to grieve for the loss of that closeness as she grows closer to her boyfriend. It hurts. It is a real loss. You'll cry. Don't be ashamed of that.

"As for your sexual orientation, as I said, you're maybe about a two on the Kinsey scale. While I'm certainly not one to encourage promiscuity, some would say you have the best of both worlds available. I'd suggest you discreetly enjoy your ... flexibility ... as the opportunities arise."

Mom looked worried.

"However, my advice is, get to know your potential partners before you become intimate," Dr. Smathers went on. "Take the time to establish an emotional relationship. Oh, you'll play around. I did when I was your age, but that was just physical sex, relieving the itch. If you know your partner well, you'll find the experience much more rewarding, especially since giving pleasure is as much a joy, if not more, than receiving it. Loving means sharing."

"What about birth control?" Mom asked bluntly. "Would you prescribe the pill?"

"There's no firm rule. She could start on the pill now, though I prefer to wait until she's had her first period."

I flushed and shook my head.

"There are other options. Condoms, for example."

I shook my head again, wishing we weren't even having this discussion. I was still dealing with the realization that I was sexually active, that I could become pregnant!

"I'll take a gross," Mom said, to my shock. "No, just joking, but a good supply. Just put them on my bill," Mom responded. "Never know when I might need them, after all."

I gaped at her. Mom?

I was still digesting that when we left the office. I sort of wobbled out to the car. After the show I'd put on I knew I was going to have a hard time discussing this with Mom on the ride home. But as we pulled out of the parking lot, all she said was, "That looked like fun! I wonder if I can get an appointment with her sometime soon."

"Mom!!"

I might have laughed right along with her, but I was too tired, and I still had a pile of homework to deal with.



-------

Chapter 3

Let me tell you. It is hard to stand tall when your head wants to drop on to your chest. I was counting the cracks in the sidewalk. You know, the old rhyme, "Step on a crack, break your mother's back." I rewrote it to "break Missy's back."

It didn't work. Aside from the fact that the rhythm is wrong, that was too cruel to even think about. Even though I was furious with her I still loved her. It had been less than a week, after all.

So I tried "Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch." Every step of the long, lonely walk home it became a drum beat in my head, one "bitch" per step, every step. "Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch."

I couldn't believe she'd said "no!" My former BFF Missy refused my request for sanctuary! She'd blown me off as casually as she'd puff away a dandelion's seeds.

All my hopes for a busy, adventuresome weekend were circling the drain. Without a place to stay Friday night, a place that met my mom's exacting standards, and my more -- uhm -- adventuresome desires, I was doomed to hours in a car, over-nighting in cheap motels, sharing a room with my mother, following docilely along as my brother made the obligatory visits to the nearby institutions of higher education, even though he was setting his sights far above their mediocre intellectual rankings.

But I must admit, it isn't fair to grumble about hours in a car with Carl and Mom. They are good traveling companions. We sang, and laughed, and played silly games. And there is a certain twisted pleasure in watching some poor college kid walk backward into a light post as he describes the joys of attending Good Old P U.

But it was a far cry from a sleepover with Missy, even if she did have a boyfriend now. Toss in a sleepover with who knows how many 6th graders (And don't try to tell me we'd be wearing pajamas. You know better!) and you've got a recipe for -- for -- anything!

Nor is it fair to make fun of our nearby colleges. You can get a perfectly adequate education at, say, Podunk U. But if your goal is Princeton it is a bit of a comedown, even if the monograms are identical. But Mom insists he give the locals a look, given the nature of our finances. Face it, she's a single, working mom, and the Ivy League ain't cheap. Unless he got hellish good financial aid, Podunk might be his most viable option.

He seemed to be bearing up under the strain amazingly well, particularly since future educational plans were likely to result in the brutal sundering of his romantic relationship with Beth. Even if Princeton did hand out a pot o' gold, Beth is set on Harvard. On the other hand, Stanford is on both their lists, so maybe Fate will step in.

Probably something like three thousand "bitches" later the sight of Beth's car at the curb in front of my house lifted my spirits a little. Even so, without even stopping by the kitchen for my usual re-fueling, I slogged up the stairs, laboring under the weight of my backpack and crushed expectations, punctuating every step with what I thought was an under-my-breath, "Bitch!"

"Who?"

Beth's voice jolted me out of my grumble and I stuck my head into Carl's room. "I thought you two were in the kitchen. What are you doing up here?"

"What does it look like?" Beth giggled a little breathlessly, stroking Carl's naked back as he humped her, her soft pale body mashed into the mattress by his big, tanned frame, her naked legs spread wide, her pelvis lifting to meet Carl's thrusts, his pale white ass bopping up and down, unbaked buns rising and falling.

I might have done an eye-roll if the sight of them interlocked hadn't been so sexy.

"Who's a bitch?" she asked again.

"Missy," I answered. "But don't let me interrupt!"

"That's okay. I'm multi-tasking." Beth was breathing deeply, totally enjoying being watched while my brother screwed the living daylights out of her. The way she wriggled and squirmed I could tell she was enjoying it. I watched his cock, glistening with her juices as he slid it deeply into her. "Ooooooyeah! What's Missy done now?"

Yes, Beth is an exhibitionist. During her week in The Program, sweet, demure, top-of-the-class Beth Finch had learned to love showing off. She even made it pay over the summer, posing for local art classes, artists and photographers, sometimes with Carl. She'd made enough money to buy herself a car! Carl was happy to rely on her transportation while he saved his modeling earnings for college, and they both enjoyed the fringe benefits, obviously.

At a show in an art gallery I'd seen a gorgeously artistic charcoal drawing of them interlocked, nothing more than sensuously shaded lines and curves, no faces showing, they were unidentifiable, but I knew it was them, of course, because they told me.

The title of it was "Young Love." The thought of them posing for hours like that while the artist worked on the drawing had given me a tremendous rush, but watching them in living, moving color, complete with squishy sound effects, was even more exciting.

I had to admit I'd love to do the same, if I ever got the curves the profession demands.

No! Not screw in public -- though maybe that, too -- but modeling! Which reminded me, I still had to sort out the Marvin Brubaker issue. While I had my concerns, given Marvin's lecherous attitude, the school paper's advisor had green-lighted his front page Dirty Dozen expose, complete with photographs of some of the participants in "uniform,", shall we say, which, of course, consisted of our birthday suits.

Carl had a glazed look in his eye as he plundered Beth's willing crotch. I think it's true -- when God made man she gave him a brain and a dick, but not enough blood to run them both at the same time.

"Oh, all the time it's 'Mike' this, and 'Mike' that! It's like the world revolves around Michael!" I explained bitterly, evading the central issue.

"I thought" -- Carl stroked in -- "you were gonna" -- stroke out -- "spend the weekend" -- stroke in -- "with her" -- stroke out.

Trust my bro to cut to the chase. His voice was soft and breathy. He was sliding his cock in and out of Beth slowly, oh so slowly, and God did that look hot! I could feel my own slit beginning to ooze. Slipping out of my back pack I eased it to the floor and reached for my crotch to scratch the itch.

"I can't! She's got plans," I grumbled sourly, even as my hands shoved my pants and panties down. "She's never turned me down before! I've never ever turned her down!"

If you've been paying attention, by now you must have realized that sex has become a spectator sport in our house, at least on my part.

"Times change," Carl pointed out, obviously more interested in the sensation of his cock plumbing Beth's depths than in my aggravation with my very much former BFF. I was reluctantly coming to the conclusion that when you're twelve, almost thirteen, that "forever" doesn't necessarily mean for-ever.

Meanwhile, I'm fingering myself, as interested in the way Beth was prying into Carl's ass crack as I was in his humping her cunt. Beth looked at me with heavy lidded eyes, her soft lips parted, curled in a sexy, enigmatic little smile. She was a carnal Mona Lisa.

Welcoming the distraction from Missy's betrayal I took my hand out of my crotch long enough to strip off my shirt, kick free of my pants, getting as naked as my brother and his squeeze were.

I was so horny I squatted, right there, just inside the door, my legs wide, fingering my cunt, my nearly hairless cunt, pinching my tender little nipples. "Do you mind?" I asked, my own voice shaking with lust.

"Be -- our -- guest," Beth whispered. "Ooooooooyeah! Ohyeah, do it, do it, do it."

I don't know if she was urging Carl on, or me, but it didn't matter. It was so sexy watching them fuck -- so sexy I was in danger of losing my balance, so I fell back on my butt, my legs kicking wide apart in their direction, stuffing two fingers deep in my oozing cunny, squishing my clit, pinching a tit as the delicious flames devoured me.

Leaning back against the door frame I focused on them as Carl slowly picked up the pace, thrusting deeper, his hands hooked under Beth's shoulders so she couldn't escape the drilling he was giving her, not that she wanted to. Her flesh quivering with every impact, Beth was clutching at his pale ass, working her fingers deep into his crack, drawing him up tight into herself, and I could almost feel her finger probing his asshole, even though I couldn't see it.

We were all grunting and moaning by then, my orgasm looming over me like a tsunami. It was taking them longer to peak. Knowing them this was probably at least their second round. Carl drove harder, deeper, faster, and Beth whimpered with every stroke, her hips humping against him.

I came first, and I came and I came, until I couldn't come any more, and slumped weakly against the door frame.

Beth was looking at me! She'd watched me come and now I was watching her coming, her face flushed, body pulsing, and even so she blew me a distracted kiss, releasing one hand from Carl's ass to beckon me over! I scrambled over like a spider, crawling half on the bed, and she drew me in, and kissed me, deep, deep, deep, and hard, and wet, and she was suck -- suck -- sucking my tongue as if her orgasm was being transmitted from her cunt to my mouth, setting off aftershocks in my own cunny.

Carl had stopped moving, and was gasping, his cock undoubtedly jetting his seed into Beth's grasping cunt, and I was somehow all part of it. He lifted his sweaty head and saw me kissing his girlfriend, and kissed both our faces, and we turned our heads so we could share his kisses, until at last we were all going limp.

As Beth cuddled me, cupping my cheek, her eyes twinkled. "Why don't you come and stay with me?" she asked softly. "Think your mom would let you?"

She really had been paying attention! Talk about multi-tasking! My heart did its kangaroo imitation. "Could I?"

"Sure! Carl's going to be gone all weekend. I'll be lonely."

Beth wasn't obligated to check out the local colleges. She was aiming for Harvard, though Stanford was a viable alternative. I was rooting for Stanford for both of 'em, so they'd be closer to home, and have each other as well.

"Uhm -- Saturday night I've got a sleepover at Judy Liu's," I admitted. "But I bet you could come with me."

"You think?"

"I can ask her. She says some of the kids in her class don't believe her and she wants them to hear the straight stuff from me. Maybe if we're both there they'll believe."

"Please ask her. But no matter what, you can stay with me."

I knew Mom would approve. I couldn't help but smother Beth with kisses!

"If you two are through arranging your social schedules, maybe you can pay some attention to me?"

So we both turned on him, flipped him on his back, his limp, sticky dick flopping free, and proceeded to devour him, even though he is my brother. I did let Beth do the clean up on his cock.

"Now, why don't you gather your stuff and get out of here so Carl and I can enjoy the afterglow," Beth suggested after a minute of slurping had once again revived his prick.

Afterglow my butt. They were ready for the next round. I wondered if she'd take it up the ass this time, and wanted to stay, but...

"You and I can have our own little love fest Friday night, if you'd like."

I was surprised. Oh, sure, I knew she'd done it with Stephanie, but that had just been an experiment, I thought. I felt a delectable shiver at the idea.

"I think I love you!" I jumped out of bed and began gathering my scattered clothes.

She broke her suck on Carl. "Oh, pooh. You're just on the rebound."

"Are you staying for supper?" I asked.

"If there's enough."

"I'll make sure there is," I assured her, practically bouncing to my room to get some homework done before I had to start cooking, all thoughts of Missy's infidelity banished. It was almost enough to make me forget I was grounded for another four days -- or was it three? Today was Tuesday -- I tried to count days on my fingers, but did I count today, or not?

Whatever. Trig was simpler.

Later I was humming away in the kitchen, my naked ass bopping in time with the radio when Mom came in from work.

"You're awfully chipper," she observed, after turning down the music.

"Beth said I could spend the weekend with her!" I exulted.

"Did she now? Where is she?"

I shrugged as I stirred and seasoned a fresh batch of my special pasta sauce. "Upstairs, with Carl, as far as I know."

"Of course. Go easy on the oregano."

"Too late, already done, but I compensated with lots of garlic," I assured her, offering her the spoon. "Taste?"

"Mmmm, yum! Don't forget a cup of Cabernet."

I always felt a little wicked cooking with wine, though I knew by the time my sauce was done simmering all the alcohol had gone up in steam.

"Dressing for dinner?" she asked.

"Not unless you want me to," I answered, loving the feeling of being naked and free, knowing she wasn't talking about salad dressing. "And don't worry about interrupting anything upstairs. They've already done it at least twice."

"And you would know this how?"

She had the strangest little inhibitions. She didn't think I should watch Carl and Beth. I just waved my hand. "A little birdie..."

"Yeah, right," she responded dryly as she left. "You're a voyeur."

"Well, they're exhibitionists. They never close his door," I pointed out. "Making us a perfect match."

Mom laughed her way up the stairs.

Supper was a naked feast for the four of us. Carl even made a show of sucking some sauce off Beth's left tit. After I'd done the dishes, with help from Carl and Beth, bless them, I was able to knock off all of my regular homework and some of the extra stuff my delinquency had earned me.

So I crossed another day off on my calendar -- one day closer to the end of my confinement, one day closer to becoming a real teen-ager, one day closer to the start of swimming and diving practice, my mood much improved -- and so to bed.

Beth was spending the night, of course, so I fell asleep to the lullaby of Carl's bedsprings.

The next morning as I entered school for my appointment with Marvin I had planned to cruise right past Missy and Mike, my head held high, quite deliberately not sparing them a glance, but I unfortunately ran into her in the girls' room. She was primping in front of the mirror, putting on lipstick!

"Missy! Makeup?" The lipstick was apparently the final touch to a full face job.

"Mike likes it," she announced, trying to sound casually sophisticated as she pursed her lips as if to kiss her own reflection.

I opened my mouth to ask if her mother knew of this new fashion statement, then slammed it shut again. Her mom would have a cow at the mere thought of her little darling painting her face like some common tart!

"Would you do me a favor?" she asked, looking at me, blinking. With her mascara she looked like a raccoon with something in its eye. She was obviously into the "more is better" school of makeup. It made me grateful for my mom's tutelage after she'd seen my first attempts with her lipstick. Not that I had the time to bother with that gunk anyway.

And after what Missy'd done to me, she was asking me for a favor? I cocked my eyebrow at her.

"Could you ask Ms Andrews for more condoms?"

That rocked me back on my heels. Mike'd had a handful left over from our romp on Friday -- I hadn't actually counted them -- and here it was Wednesday, after an allegedly chaste weekend, and they needed more? My worst fears were coming true. They must have gone at it like horny hamsters over the last two days.

I wondered how they got away with it, given her mom's protective attitude. Behind the garage and under the bleachers came to mind, twice during lunch probably. Yuck.

"I could," I admitted, "But I won't. Ask her yourself, why don't you?"

She looked like I'd slapped her. She looked like I'd felt when she'd spurned my request for sanctuary. "You know her better, and you know how she feels about -- you know -- Mike and me doing It. I'd have to put up with a twenty minute lecture about how we're too young."

"And if she thought they were for me I wouldn't get one? I'm not going to lie to her. And doesn't how I feel matter?"

"You're jealous!"

"No! Well, maybe a little. But I'm not going to be your enabler."

"My what?"

"I'm not going to help you and Mike do what I don't think you should be doing. If you're going to do the deed, you have to face the music. You haven't told your mom yet, have you."

"Of course not. She'd kill me!"

"You do the crime, you do the time," I retorted. "I 'fessed up and I'm grounded for the rest of the week. Why should you get off scot-free?"

"See what honesty gets you? Mike says what she doesn't know won't hurt her."

"And you buy that?" I wanted to explain that at least I could still talk with my mother, about anything. That it was wrong to sneak. All the old arguments, but someone else banged through the door, letting in a gust of chatter from the hallway with them.

I used the interruption to make my escape, before I said something I really regretted. She had the nerve to ask a favor of me after she'd shot me down just the day before! Yeah, it hurt to turn away from Missy's shocked face, but she'd done it to me the day before, and after the way she'd turned me down I couldn't believe she actually expected me to behave as if nothing had happened!

Bitch!

I found Marvin the News Nose in the classroom that doubled as the school paper's editorial office, downloading yesterday's pics from his digital camera, and he wasn't alone. He'd managed to gather half of The Dirty Dozen to recreate our march from Sex Ed class to the cafeteria -- me and John Patterson, Mickey Kelly and SuperGeek A. J. Mansfield (still together!), and Judy Liu and Terrell Ford. It was a nice representative sampling, culturally, racially and -- uh -- grade wise.

After we had stripped naked (except for footwear -- sandals in my case), he led us to the conference room where the class had met, since returned to its original configuration, where he now posed us dramatically in the doorway.

I will say he has an eye for photography. I was in the lead, of course, looking like a slender Statue of Liberty or something -- or that painting from the French Revolution, something about Liberty at the Ramparts or something, except she was half dressed and had tits. I'd seen it in one of Carl's books when he was still excited by the sight of a naked boob.

Well, actually, he still is, especially if it's Beth's, but never mind.

I was photographed striking several different poses, one with an arm raised, pointing forward in an "onward and upward" gesture, looking dramatically back at my followers -- which, of course, I hadn't done in reality, afraid I'd find no one following me. As I was in the altogether I had no secrets from his all-seeing lens.

And then, off we marched, me boldly leading the way, the diminished cast trailing behind me, to the cafeteria, Marvin dancing backwards ahead of me, snapping away, bystanders gawking this time. When we'd done it for real, the first time, they'd all been inside feeding and had choked on their ravioli when we'd stormed the dining hall in all our naked glory.

Once Marvin got us there we posed on the tables, as we had then, feet up, legs spread, on full display to those who were taking advantage of the school's free breakfast. By now we were all really getting into it, still young and inexperienced enough to get a thrill out of our exhibitionism. Cock's were hard, pussies juicy.

Mickey especially enjoyed the exposure, of course, flaunting her precocious boobs and daunting red bush. When one wise-ass breakfaster offered her a banana she didn't even hesitate. While everyone looked on, she sensuously peeled it, and believe me, she could make peeling a banana really sexy!

I knew darn well she wasn't going to just eat it, and so did everyone else. With a giggle that made her titties jiggle, she theatrically deep throated it before drawing it slowly out in a way that had my pussy juicing. Then she reached down and parted her labia and ... you guessed it, slowly slid that white, fruity dildo into her auburn bush.

Holy shit! Since I was posed just as wide open as she was, I couldn't resist the urge to stick something up my own twat, so I looked around for another banana. I was peeling it when I saw Mickey's break off in her cunt!

Oooooops!

No problem, though. A. J. dove between her thighs with an entry so smooth that Louganis would have envied it. It was obvious he had acquired great expertise at muff diving. Leaning back on her elbows, Mickey tilted her head back, the tits on her freckled chest popping out as she flushed with lust as A. J. held her labia open and, sucking hard and teasing with his tongue, he ate that banana out of her.

It was easy to understand what they saw in each other. He was obviously enjoying it as much as she was. 'tis better to give than receive. I wondered if she was getting as good at nuclear physics as he was at cunnilingus.

Never one to be out-done by the jiggle queen, even though I lacked her attributes, I gave John a steamy look as I slid my banana into my own cunt, a blatant invitation to him, and left it sticking out like a cock. He turned white as a sheet and I suddenly realized I had screwed up. I quickly and carefully extracted the fruit without breaking it, and proceeded to eat it myself, savoring the piquant musk of my own juices coating its sweet flesh.

John was staring off into space, sweating.

Judy and Terrell were just as busy, with each other. Judy's delicate hand was stroking Terrell's big black cock, while his big, blunt finger was deep in her pussy, while they sucked face. Marvin took pictures of all of us, of course, though he promised the banana shots would not appear in the paper, since the new food pyramid wasn't part of the original lesson plan.

We were all having such a good time that we'd lost track of time and the morning bell rang. A few final, hasty snapshots and we dispersed with no time to retrieve our clothes, barely time to snatch up our book bags, check in at home room for roll call and announcements and then head to class.

Naked.

Ms Andrews, displaying her usual agility, commandeered the PA system to announce our exposure as a trial run of the Naked in School Program as practiced at the high school.

Like that was supposed to mute any disruption? You try dropping a half a dozen naked 'tweens into middle school classes and hallways and see what happens. Only the fact that we were dispersed around the building prevented a full-scale riot. As it was, throughout the morning you could easily track each of us nudists by the eruptions of gasps, laughs, shrieks, howls and bursts of applause as we scampered our naked little butts from class to class. By the time I got to lunch my ass was a fluorescent pink from the patting and pinching it endured in the hallways, not that I'm complaining.

As was becoming our habit, me and John, still naked, grabbed our lunches and escaped to our sunny nook overlooking the athletic fields. For a time we just breathed sighs of relief and ate. I was amazed he was handling all this as well as he was. Then I saw his hands starting to tremble and took his sandwich from him before he dropped it.

Then I was wrapping my arms around him while he bawled. He kept trying to stop, trying to apologize, trying to hide his shame, but I just held him and soothed him, remembering how my mom calmed my hysterics when I was a little kid. There wasn't anything sexual about what I was doing, it was just one human being consoling another.

I said nothing about what had happened in the cafeteria earlier, but cursed myself for upsetting him. I still didn't know the origins of his hang-ups, but something about that banana sticking out from my crotch like a cock had definitely set him off.

We didn't lie down together. There were some kids kicking a soccer ball around on the field, and I knew what they'd think we were doing if we did, so we sat there, my arm around his shoulders as he shuddered with sobs.

Finally he was cried out and apologizing, while I reassured him that it was all right.

He was twisting his hands together again. "It's just that..." He stammered to a halt, staring at his tangled fingers.

I lifted his chin so my eyes could meet his. "Sshhhh," I shushed him gently. "You don't have to say anything. I'm sorry I upset you. It won't happen again."

He nodded jerkily.

"It's not your fault," I added firmly.

He managed a big, shaky breath. "It's just that -- stuff is happening."

I was dying to know what stuff, of course, but wasn't about to ask. "I'll be here for you, anytime you need a shoulder to cry on. You don't have to say anything."

"Thanks," he said, sighing deeply. Suddenly he pulled me to him, and kissed me! Not an open mouthed kiss, just a very firm peck, if that makes sense. "Thanks!"

Then the bell rang and we gathered up our trash and it was off to the afternoon grind, still naked. He even brushed some grass off my butt, and deliberately put himself between me and Horace and his groupies as they stood around outside in a cloud of stale smoke.

Dopers at the age of thirteen. What a bunch of losers.

John and I looked at each other, and let their hoots and insults roll off our naked backs as we entered school, hand in hand.

Once inside we parted to go our separate ways, still not bothering to find our clothes. The public reaction was growing more subdued, but I still loved the sensation of letting it all hang out for everyone to see as I made my way through the rest of the day.

In fact, when I looked at my clothes at the end of the day, I just wadded them up and stuffed them in my pack. And that's how I found myself outside the school, starkers. With a naughty giggle I set off on the walk home.

Naked on the public streets was a new sensation for me. I knew I wouldn't get arrested or anything, of course. The NIS program had gotten the public used to seeing naked teens, and even a few adults, on the sidewalks or in a shop or the mall. Well, maybe not totally used to it. I enjoyed the looks and hoots and honks from passing cars as I made my way home.

Out here in the open I loved the touch of the sun and wind on my naked skin, touching places it wasn't used to touching, where I wasn't used to feeling it. It reminded me of the touching exercises that Carl and Dee had led us through, made me so totally aware of my body, every inch of it.

When I had to wait for a light at an intersection I almost did a little dance, right there on the street. I tried to be dignified, in keeping with my age, but when the light changed I actually skipped like I was still a little kid as I crossed in front of the cars, the only things between me and the whole wide world being my sandals and my backpack.

I wanted to scream "Look at me! I'm Naked! I'm Tall! I'm Slender! I'm Sexy, and I know it!"

After letting myself in the house, I scampered up the stairs, threw off my pack, flopped on my back on my bed, stroking my own naked body. When I pinched my tits I realized I could feel the swelling of my developing breasts, and that only made it all the more delicious. And when I slid my fingers down to my crotch I felt the first of my pussy hairs coming in.

My finger slithered into my already juicing pussy as I dug my heels into my bed and lifted my pelvis. My door was wide open, the afternoon breeze stirring the curtains in my open window, stroking my flesh. I didn't care who saw me as I masturbated myself to a rip roaring orgasm.

Once I'd satisfied that hunger I headed downstairs for some milk and cookies before settling down for my homework. I was just finishing analyzing another Poe story when Carl rapped on my door.

"Hey, Sis, want to go for a run?"

Would I! But I couldn't. "I'm grounded, remember?"

"I already checked with Mom. It's okay, as long as I'm along as your probation officer."

I was out of my chair and mooning him as I rooted in my closet for my shoes. "Be right with you!"

He looked at me. "Like that?"

I was already pulling on socks. "Why not? I walked home this way." I stuffed my feet in my runners and tied them quickly. He, of course, was dressed. He doesn't like his -- uh -- equipment flopping around as he runs -- says it hurts. I've heard girls with big boobs make the same complaint about their bumpers.

"Did you! Well done!"

"Piffle," I said dismissively. "You've done it. Besides, I was naked in school all day." So I had to tell him about Marvin's recreation of the Great Display as we headed downstairs. "I have to be back in time to cook dinner," I reminded him.

"Two miles?" he asked.

"Make it three," I countered, setting off at a trot. "My legs are longer now."

And oh, there I was again, the wind in my hair -- ALL of my hair -- the sun on my skin, the eyes of the neighborhood on my grace and beauty. The ground seemed to flow beneath me as we jogged our usual one-mile loop once, then again, and for a third. I felt so free, so totally alive!

Taking the last turn, I couldn't resist the challenge. From our comfortable jog I sprinted off like the wind. "Race you!" I yelled back over my shoulder. Half a block to go and I heard his feet pounding behind me. He started to draw even and I dug a little deeper, put him behind my shoulder, but he drew even again, fists pumping, pulled ahead and hit the walk up to the front door no more than a stride ahead.

"WHOOOSH!" he puffed, leaning on his knees. "I'm gonna have to do some serious training to keep ahead of you."

"You got it, Bro. I take no prisoners." I was dancing, tingling all over, feeling better than I had in days.

"Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head. I did beat you, remember, and you got a head start."

"Oh, you ran like that?" Mom was home, surprised to see me naked.

"Walked home from school this way, too," I admitted. "Tell you about it at dinner. Lemme get a quick shower and I'll nuke some stuff to life."

It was a good evening, and I slept well. Only two days to go on my grounding, and Friday afternoon I'd be at Beth's house!



-------

Chapter 4

FREEDOM! FREEdom. FreeDOM! FREEDomFreedomFreedomFreedomFREEDOM! I'm FREE, free, FREE! The dungeon door has been OPENED! I have paid my debt to society! Giving me time off for good behavior, the warden opened the gates. I have been turned out into society, chastened and reformed.

TGIF!

I gave Mom and Carl long and loving hugs this morning, 'cause I won't see them again until Sunday night. They will be heading off into the academic wilds on the Great College Hunt before my school day ends. Following school I am paroled into the custody of Beth, who has sworn, promised, and affirmed that she won't let me do anything she wouldn't do, and she won't let me out of her sight.

Considering all that she's done in the last year that leaves me quite a bit of latitude. So what if she does see me doing something lascivious? That'll be part of the fun.

But then, too, I admit to hoping -- nay, assuming -- that she'll be part of the doing.

And in case you're wondering what happened to Thursday, the answer is -- not much. More accurately, that should be "what happened ON Thursday," of course. After three days of home confinement and school turmoil, Thursday was what passes for a normal school day. Except, of course, for my house arrest.

Briefly, Thursday I went to class as usual. Missy and I studiously ignored each other, repelling each other as if, no matter which way we turned, our magnetic poles reversed to push us apart. There was a negative thermal effect operating between us as well. When we came into proximity the air chilled, frost formed on exposed surfaces, people nearby shivered and reached for jackets.

But I will NOT dwell on that! It is over and done with. What we once had shared has been sundered, split, broken and shattered.

So now it is Friday, the first day of the Rest of my Life, and as I walked into school I was greeted by a cheering throng, led by Marvin, waving the school paper in front of me! You'd have thought I was a rock star or something.

Marvin and the crew must have pulled an all-nighter to bring the school's scandal sheet out a half a day early. Normally copies were stacked by the cafeteria doors at lunchtime, to be scooped up by an eager public, usually to wind up catching lunch drippings as juicy bits of gossip were dissected over peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, fish sticks and hash browns, or gooey macaroni and cheese that always reminded me of -- well, never mind. That's too disgusting to contemplate.

Darned if I know why the deadline was pushed up. Was Marvin afraid of being scooped? Unless the publisher of the weekly local newspaper was still trolling the Internet, drooling, trying to make a decision over which of the cell-phone candids of The Dirty Dozen he should use on his front page, his rag was likely already on the newsstands and doorsteps.

And yes, there was I, right on the front page of the Middle School Gazette, a Marvin Brubaker masterpiece, in all my naked glory, inspiring the troops, a school paper exclusive not available to the editor of the local tabloid!

How 'bout that! The middle school newspaper scooped the pro on that, at least!

Snatching the paper from Marvin's hands, I was so excited to see it I almost missed seeing Missy turn her back on me.

I was more interested in the lead photograph of ME! Taking up half the front page I was striking one of those dramatic "follow me, troops!" poses, arm thrust out, pointing the way, legs well spread as I stepped out in the lead.

What little modesty I had left abandoned me completely. I was proud of my exposure. I mean, I was spread like margarine on toast, full frontal, and he'd chosen his angle carefully! You could practically see my clit, if you got your nose to the paper and kinda squinted. And thanks to modern color printer technology you could see my tan lines, and my nipples, all pink and puffy with excitement.

I can't decide whether I'm glad or sad that my pussy wasn't drooling. Tell me truly, would a little drool be too much? Maybe just a little shine? At any rate, if I was gooey it didn't show in the photograph, but that was about the only thing that didn't.

Then I was set upon by the crowd, all waving their copies, seeking my autograph! Someone thrust a Sharpie into my hand, and I began scrawling graceful "Dee"s across my naked tummy, just above my very lightly furred slit. Sometimes I'd add a "For (fill in the blank)" or "Best wishes to (fill in the blank)" to the "Dee" if I managed to take the time to recognize the face behind the hands holding the paper.

It was madness, only to be broken up by the opening bell and hall monitors scattering the throng. I didn't see John in the crowd, and worried a little about that as I tried to read the article while blundering my way to home room.

The story, what I managed to read of it, was nice, too. Ms. Andrews gave me full credit for leading the class to the cafeteria, credit enough to make me blush. Almost everyone involved in the class that was interviewed admitted it was exciting, that if it weren't for me we might still be sitting there, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Except for Missy. With her it was like "yes, well, we are really just very close friends. Of course I taught her everything she knows, and I talked her into taking the class in the first place. If it weren't for me she'd never have handled it, and..."

I mean, gag me with a SPECULUM!

At least she hadn't tried to take credit for leading the charge herself, and I have to admit, she'd been the first to react to my challenging "Who are we?" by answering "The Dirty Dozen!"

God, I remembered my cold sweat when I'd lobbed out that "Who are we?" to my stunned classmates, to be greeted by a deafening silence, and the rush of relief I'd felt when she'd picked it up and tossed back "We're the Dirty Dozen!" as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Darn it! Why can't I just hate her? Why do I have to keep remembering all the nice things she's done, all the good times we've shared? And now I see her on the road to disaster. I have visions of her sneaking around to fuck Mike in the janitor's closet or in the band room, her rump beating a tattoo on a bass drum. She could wind up pregnant, and then what will she do?

Probably come running to me for help.

She should talk to her mom before that happens!

Although, having had my own glancing encounter with that woman's temper, I can see why she's afraid to.

What bothered me more was I'd seen her flirting with other guys when Mike was not around. She was getting more than a bit like Mickey had been, all jiggly and bouncy and giggly, rolling up the waistband of her skirt to shorten it, wearing last year's sweaters. Limiting her activities to Mike was one thing, but expanding them to the general population opened up a path to total slut-dom, or worse!

But if even a whisper gets back to Missy that I told anyone, she would feel I betrayed her and then she'd really, really hate me, and I couldn't blame her, and I don't want that.

On the other hand, Ms. Andrews has to know just what Missy is doing with Mike. Why doesn't she do something?

But of course Missy is skillfully avoiding her for just that reason, and Ms. Andrews can't forcibly kidnap the girl.

On yet another hand, when her mom does find out about Missy's easy virtue, from any source, well, the feces will really hit the fan. Everyone in school has to know they're Doing It, and if Missy starts distributing her favors more widely it will only get worse, to say nothing of hurting Mike, who, so far, has refrained from bragging about his conquest.

What'll happen is, some kid will say, within hearing of his/her own mom, "Did you know that Missy Wilson is Doing It with Mike Collins (or fill in the blank)?" And that mom will say something to another mom at the beauty parlor or supermarket and that mom will say something to Missy's mom, and ka-BOOM!

Anyway, Missy will blame me no matter how or when her mom finds out. Missy's mom will again blame me for getting Missy into the class in the first place. In truth, as you may already know, Missy used my participation to get her parents to sign the permission slip, knowing her parents trusted me not to lead her astray, so it is not my fault!

But that won't matter. It'll still be my fault.

On yet another hand (I think that's three, if you're counting), if I don't tell, well, I'm likely to be blamed for NOT telling, especially if something bad does happen to Missy, and I'm gonna hate myself, and...

Shit! Shit, shit, Shit! It's a no-win situation, and it is all her fault!

Anyway, getting back to the matter at hand, today is another school day, Friday, the day of my liberation. I was dressed again today. Yeah, it felt kinda stuffy, but I didn't want to risk over-exposure. Let 'em undress me with their eyes and brains for a while. The rest of The Dirty Dozen must have felt the same way. Even Mickey was looking demure in a blouse and skirt.

And speaking of Mickey, she and A. J. are like pancakes and syrup. You know you can't have one without the other, but at least they're not as touchy-feely as Mike and Missy, thank goodness! I hear that A. J. is tutoring Mickey with her math, never mind that he's a 6th grader and she's 7th, he's ahead of everyone in math. I also hear they're working together on a project for the Science Fair. Go figure! I wonder if it's comparative biology. He certainly knows his way around her pussy. I bet she knows her way around his cock, too.

Then I wondered if they had done it -- the Big F -- yet, and decided not. Mickey is not stupid, like Missy, just prematurely over endowed, and since she and A. J. have gotten together she's definitely tamed her jiggle, while A. J. glows in her presence, and actually combs his hair and has clean fingernails! I bet he washes his hands so he doesn't get her bra dirty when he gropes her. It's all a matter of motivation. Rumor is he's getting contacts to replace his glasses.

They, Mickey and A. J., that is, were prominently featured in the article's photographs, as were Judy Liu and Terrell Ford, who I hear is getting free piano lessons from Mrs. Lewis, the music teacher, and I chalk that up to Ms. Andrews' intervention. And no bananas took part in Marvin's expose, neither Mickey's nor mine.

The only people really put out by the whole do were Horace and his crew. If anything, their swagger was worse than ever. They've taken up forming a sort of ugly knot of sneers and scowls as they stalk the hallways, looking for trouble. The twerp whose nose I twisted has been drawn back into the pack and wears his cargo pants lower than ever. Another half inch and his skinny white butt will be hanging out. If he bends over it will serve him right if some boy so inclined decides to demonstrate how guys do each other.

But, back to work. I bagged a couple of extra copies of the school paper and tucked them into my backpack, hoping I'd have a fairly normal day for a change. I was pretty much caught up on my homework. I was doing community service for one of my afternoon teachers, straightening up after class. At least chalk boards are a thing of the past or I'd be inhaling clouds of dust while beating erasers together.

And after today I'd be free, free, free. It had been arranged that after school I would walk to the high school to rendezvous with Beth. In my locker I stowed a token overnight case containing a few, very few, necessities, as I did not anticipate having need for much clothing over the weekend.

And all went according to plan, until John and I adjourned to Our Nook for our usual al fresco lunch. We were finishing our meal when the sky cracked, prior to falling in, figuratively speaking.

John hadn't said anything much, but that wasn't unusual for him. We usually just shared a companionable silence. But that didn't mean I wasn't worried. He didn't eat much, and I could tell he was more stressed than usual. In fact, I hadn't seen him so uptight since most of us had stripped naked that first day in the sex ed class.

I touched his arm, and that's all it took. He broke. A tear trickled down his cheek.

"What's wrong?" It was like I'd squeezed the trigger. He reached for me and I held on to him as the emotional storm broke. Through his bawling and gasping I managed to gather that he was afraid to go home after school and didn't know where to go or what to do. That was all I knew and he scared me so much I didn't want to know anything more.

When he'd calmed down a little I managed to scramble together our trash and got him to his feet. "Come with me."

He didn't resist, and I racked my brain figuring out a roundabout way into the school and to Ms. Andrews office so we wouldn't be seen and cause questions. Once there I settled John on the sofa, made him promise he wouldn't move from the spot, closed the office door behind me and searched out that fount of wisdom and compassion, my favorite school counselor.

All I had to say was "It's John. He's in your office," and she was off, briskly but controlled to avoid panicking the crowd. She even paused briefly to quench a swearing match. I swear, you could set off a bomb and her reaction would be "what's that noise?"

Not knowing what else to do, I followed and hung around outside her office, trying to look casual, until she opened the door and called me in. John was lying on the sofa, curled around a pillow, sucking his thumb.

Uh oh.

"We got a problem," Ms. Andrews admitted. "We need a safe place for John to spend the weekend."

I suddenly saw where this was headed. NO! I wanted to scream it. No! No No NO NO NO!

"I don't want to get Child Protective Services involved yet, but John can't go home."

I wanted to ask why not? What do you mean "we have a problem?" Why couldn't he go home? Why not get Child Protective involved? Why me?

So what comes out of my stupid mouth? Of course I say something really dumb, like, "I'll take care of it."

I mean, what the heck did I do that for? I'm a kid, a week shy of turning thirteen, and I'm solving HER problems for her? My mom's out of town, I've got titillating social obligations. How'm I gonna help? Why'd I say that?

"May I use your phone?" I asked politely, as cool as lemon yogurt.

It had to be The Stick. I'm standing there, watching my hopes for the weekend go right down the toilet, while The Stick takes control of my brain. My finger didn't even tremble as I punched in Beth's home number, as if I knew for certain her mom would be home and would be cool with giving John sanctuary.

Where do I get these ideas???!!!

And, in case you are wondering, no, I don't have a cell phone. It is not in my budget. If it's an emergency there's always someone I can borrow from.

I'll say this for Beth's mom -- she has as much ability to roll with the punches as Ms. Andrews does. But then, she raised Beth, who is a fricking genius who rode naked aboard a big, black gelding to inspire a high school pep rally, whose naked body stimulated the football team into a last second come-from-behind win over archrival Eastern High.

Mrs. Finch also saw her daughter's boyfriend, and then Beth herself, through the whole Naked in School thing in the space of three tumultuous weeks, so I guess she's seen it all.

She listened to me, or rather The Stick, explaining the situation, talked with Ms. Andrews, arranged to warn Beth what was coming, and it was set. John would be in my care for the weekend, with the Finch family's assistance.

What had I done? I had to be out of my bifurcated mind! Or The Stick was.

Ms. Andrews got John and me both excused from our afternoon classes. Making sure I was okay with John, she went off to deal with her own afternoon obligations. I sank down on a chair and slowly re-gathered my wits while my hopes for the weekend circled the drain. How could I possibly indulge my lusts with John around?

The Stick proceeded to get on my case in no uncertain terms. What was more important than taking care of a fellow human being in distress? How could I think only of my carnal adventures, while John was suffering so?

I wanted to strangle my alter ego, my conscience, whatever that thing inside me that I call The Stick was.

Instead I reached out to John and he latched on to my hand like it was a lifeline, at first tucking it in next to his still wet cheek. Then he spit out his own thumb and began to suck -- no not my thumb! He substituted my middle finger! The bird finger! The -- well, you get the idea.

Eeewwww!

Or not. The feel of him sucking rhythmically on my significant finger -- and he took it deep! -- triggered some very strange sensations in some very interesting parts of my anatomy, like my tits, and my cunt! I wasn't sure whether he was asleep or what, but I didn't want to take my finger away from him. It might distract him or traumatize him, or something.

Okay. In fact, I kinda liked the effect he was having on me! Unable to resist the urge, I unbuttoned my shirt and slipped a hand inside to play with my throbbing titties.

Oh my! I tugged on my nipples in time with his rhythmic sucking, and it was like he was nursing on me, and that really got my pussy going, so I was squirming my thighs together to kinda squish my cunt, but soon decided that wasn't going to get me there, darn it! I mean, I was so close to cumming!

I needed two hands, but couldn't take my finger away from him.

So I looked around the office, desperate to find something to stimulate my cunt, and my eye lighted on that ebony elephant on Ms. Andrews' desk.

Oh shit, I couldn't do that!

Oh yes I could! Letting go of my tit for only a moment, I snagged the elephant and stuffed it between my thighs, wedging its trunk against my crotch right through my pants and panties, but that wasn't enough, so, working one-handed, I opened my pants, pushed the crotch of my panties aside and really put that pachyderm's proboscis to work on my cunt, his forehead on my clit.

Crossing my legs to keep the elephant in place it was back to my tit, first one, then the other! Pinch and tug, pinch and tug, add a twist to the pinch and tug and oh MY!

And I humped against the elephant, the whole thing synchronized with John's suck - suck - sucking on my finger, and I was going up and up and...

Almost there...

Allllmost there...

THERE! Oh yes there and there and there and there and my panties were getting wet and the elephant was drowning and I was stifling groans, and I swear it felt like John was sucking harder on my finger as if he knew what was going on and on and on, until it couldn't go on any longer and I went all limp.

When I finally regained my wits and my strength I let go the strangle hold on my left nipple and extracted the elephant from my cunt. I guess you could say he really got a snoot full. Snagging a tissue from the box I wiped him as clean as I could and returned him to the desk, hoping Ms. Andrews didn't sniff too alertly or the jig would be up. By the time I managed to get my pants restored and my shirt buttoned John's sucking had diminished to gentle slurps.

Leaving me wondering what was going on in his head. What could make him feel that he couldn't go home? Home, to me, was a place I knew I'd always be welcome, and safe. Of course I'd read about kids who had been terribly abused, but never before known one. Was that what had happened to John?

The whole orgasmic episode had taken only a few minutes, so I settled down for a long wait, curious in a morbid way, understanding, but still frustrated at having my plans disrupted.

Then that devious, horn-dog part of my mind considered it from another angle. I'd gotten to know John well, very well, as we'd gone through sex ed class. Eventually he'd handled the nudity, and I'd even sucked his cock. Maybe he wouldn't be all that inhibiting, or inhibited after all. What were the possibilities, John, plus me, plus Beth?

The mind boggles!

And, assuming Mrs. Liu is aware of the reason for the sleepover as an extension of sex ed, that's the perfect excuse to have John there. It might even be good therapy for him!

Manipulative? Nonsense. I'm only thinking of what is best for John, and the sex ed program, of course. Manipulation is such an ugly word.

Yeah, right.

So? When you're handed a lemon, The Stick reminded me, you make lemonade. All I'd need was some sweetener to pull this off, and I am, after all, a master of sweet.

Ms. Andrews returned, sniffed the air suspiciously, looked at her elephant mascot before adjusting it's position on her desk, shooting me one of her "I know what you've been up to" looks, her eyebrow cocked.

I managed what I hoped was an innocent smile, John still sucking on my finger until the final bell and hubbub in the halls made him stir. He let my hand go with an embarrassed frown and pulled himself together while I dried my hand, then retrieved our book bags and stuff. I was feeling much more up-ta-mistic as John and I unobtrusively made our way to the high school. As we walked I filled him in on my -- our -- social obligations.

I'd carefully avoided giving Ms. Andrews any more information than necessary about my weekend schedule. After all, she already had enough gray hairs.

"So we're staying at Beth's house tonight?" John asked, looking only mildly worried. His resilience impressed me. He could haul himself together amazingly well. Ms. Andrews and I figured he'd had years of practice assembling his carefully constructed façade and that there was a strong core lurking in there that sustained him.

I reflected that it also probably helped that he felt safest at school, or anyplace other than home, for that matter, which I still find hard to understand.

I nodded. "You know Beth, and she knows you, so there's nothing to worry about. Beth's parents are cool, too, and won't ask any questions." I already knew Ms. Andrews had said just enough to Beth's mom to make sure they wouldn't pry.

"I don't have any stuff with me for staying over," he pointed out.

"We'll take care of that," I answered, crossing my fingers. I was taking this one day at a time, not wondering what was going to happen come Sunday. Where would John go then?

Home with me? Well, it was a solution.

By now I was leading us through the corridors of the high school. It wasn't as empty as when Missy and I had visited, there being a wealth of after school stuff going on now, producing a drone of conversation from behind closed classroom doors. Soon we found ourselves being drawn on by the sweet sound of a flute echoing down the hall from the school's art studio.

Inside there was a vision straight out of a classical old master's masterpiece. The source of the flute music was Stephanie, gracefully posed on a draped stool, sitting up very straight (which amplified her ample bosom), Beth lying at her feet, gazing upward worshipfully, while Kathy stood at her easel, paint brush in hand. Gauzy curtains across the big windows softened the afternoon light that spilled over Stephanie's lush curves, her generous breasts with large areolas and stiff dark nipples, Beth's petite form with her delicately molded breasts, stiff pink nipples, her graceful curves.

As you may have guessed, they were all nude. Stephanie was voluptuous, Beth looked almost childlike as she reclined on an artfully wrinkled sheet, while Kathy was trim and fit, tall, and wielded her brush with a grace that was purely natural to her. She made my heart race, I have to admit.

And the sunny smile that blossomed on her face when she turned and saw us did nothing to slow my pulse. There was no question that she was happy to see us, not bothered by the interruption.

"Relax, ladies," she told her models, absentmindedly wiping a paint smeared thumb on her left boob, something she obviously did often, in various exciting places on her body. "Hi Dee!"

Oh I hoped that smile was for me.

It was! It had to be for me. I didn't hesitate, I walked into her embrace, we kissed -- chastely -- and hugged, with me basking in the feel of her warm flesh in my arms. That delectable smudge of paint on the slope of her left breast was a finishing touch. Had it been chocolate I would have licked it off.

It took an effort on my part to separate from her to introduce John.

"Of course, John, I remember you from the class," she greeted him, with as warm a hug for him as she'd had for me.

Oh well.

"Pardon us for not moving," Beth apologized, still on the floor at Stephanie's feet. "It's a bit of a nuisance to have to completely reestablish the pose. Hi, John."

John shuffled his feet a little, and greeted her with a bob of his head, his eyes darting around as he took it all in.

"Okay, girls, let's knock off for the day," Kathy ordered, draping a cloth over her work.

"No! Wait a minute," she stopped them before they could move.

Stephanie blew a brief, jaunty tune on her flute that trailed off into a mournful wheeze.

"Would you guys mind getting naked? I just got a great idea," Kathy explained. "It'll just take a minute, something I want to try."

I knew how I felt about it, getting naked being one of my favorite activities, but shot a look at John. "What do you think?"

"Uh, I don't know," he stammered, obviously a little nervous.

"We can trust 'em," I assured him. "Besides, we're seeing them naked, aren't we?"

"Uh, yeah," he admitted.

I was already stripping. "Come on, it'll be fun, and you can see how a real artist works."

I guess I was a leader again, or still. John began taking off his clothes, and in moments we were as naked as Kathy and her models. And why was she naked? She was the artist? Oh, well, why not, for that matter? My eyes kept going to that smudge of paint, just above her conical areola crowned with a stiff nipple.

And there were smears around her waist, like she'd rested her hands on her hips while she studied her subjects, and fingerprints near her pussy.

"Hey, Dee, you're developing nicely!"

I blushed, pleased she'd noticed. I mean, it wasn't much yet, just a gentle rise in the boob department, a little fuzz downstairs, but it was something.

"And still growing vertically, too," she observed in a way that made me stand just that little bit taller.

"Okay, let's try some stuff," Kathy decided with a clap of her hands.

So, for the next forty-five minutes she tried placing John and me in various poses around Beth and Stephanie. Stephanie somehow managed to interpret the poses with sweet tunes from her flute.

One pose had John and me holding hands, raised high, as if we were doing some medieval dance, Steph's music a lively jig. Another had me in his embrace, and Steph went all romantic, in yet another we were on the floor with Beth, sitting looking up as Stephanie improvised a pensive melody, one that was serious but somehow ripe with love. I marveled at her talent, wondering how she did it so easily.

It finished with something like a naked game of Twister, which degenerated into a tumble and tickle among me, Beth and John, with Kathy aiding and abetting first one then another of us, while Stephanie's flute giggled and chuckled, until we were all out of breath and had acquired some of our own paint smears in exciting places.

The ice had been broken, John was relaxed and laughing, his worries banished by Kathy's warm enthusiasm, Beth's sweetness, and Stephanie's uninhibited music, and, maybe, I like to think, by my -- my -- my whatever it is that seems to inspire people to do things they might not otherwise do.

And of course I reveled in the sensuous skin against skin of our naked bodies rubbing together. Gosh I love being naked with other naked people!

"Well, what do you think?" Kathy asked when we'd finally relaxed in a heap.

"What do we think about what?" I asked.

"Would you like to pose for me, with Beth and Steph?"

I was thrilled with the offer, but saw John's hesitation. "Uh, well, we'll have to think about it, won't we John?"

He'd gone all reserved again. "Yeah, think about it," he stammered.

"Sure, no problem," Kathy quickly assured him as she finished cleaning up her brushes and stuff, but not her paint smears. I would have been happy to kiss them off for her, but I don't think Steph would have appreciated that. "I think you'd be great."

"I'm kinda taller than he is," I pointed out.

She waved a hand. "Pooh, I can fix that. It's just a matter of perspective. But don't worry about it now. Come on, let's get out of here." Wrapping an arm around Steph, she headed for the door, both of them still naked.

"Like this?" John asked, looking down at himself.

"Well, why not?" Kathy asked. I liked this girl's thinking!

"We're headed over to Beth's house," I pointed out, not sure how Mrs. Finch would take to me and John arriving all starkers.

"Mom won't mind," Beth assured us. "And we'll be in my car, not walking the streets like this."

I'd never ridden in a car naked and the thought made me tingle, though I had walked the streets naked, of course.

"You guys can decide it on your way to the parking lot. I need Steph for getting this paint off me, and other things," Kathy answered, dragging a blushing Stephanie away.

"It's water-based," Kathy added mischievously. "And edible!"

Stephanie shrieked and giggled as she was hauled off.

Reminding John that he was sort of in hiding, I pointed out that no one would expect to see him naked, riding in a car, and that it might even be fun. I didn't mention that Beth's car was a sexy little two seat convertible and that she usually had the top down.

Since I was the taller one, I took him on my lap, accidentally almost sticking my tit in his mouth.

What is it that makes doing these everyday things naked, like riding in a car, so exciting? At first I'd even gotten a charge out of cooking naked, though I did learn to be wary of hot spatters and usually resorted to an apron for my own protection. But riding naked in a car was a whole new thing and I was loving it. My hand sort of wound up in his lap, and it was the most normal thing in the world to curl my fingers around his cock. I sort of wiggled it like a gear shift as Beth smoothly managed the five speed stick, and John's dick swelled in my grasp.

He got in the spirit of things by sucking on my tit, so I gently fiddled with his scrotum.

So he bit my tit! YOWEE!

I stroked his pecker like it was the most natural thing in the world, and his hips began shifting in that age-old dance, and I saw Beth shoot a glance at it when we paused at a light.

"Tissues in the glove box," Beth pointed out calmly as she pulled away from the light, shifting the stick shift, stroking John's thigh in the process. "Try not to get jizz on the upholstery, it's a pain to get the stain out."

Trust her to know, I thought. John went off just as we turned in at Beth's street, and I deftly caught his goo in a wad of tissues. Whatever John was dealing with it wasn't affecting his output of sperm, that was certain. I loved the musky smell.

He was drained, limp, and all cleaned up by the time we arrived in Beth's driveway. After unloading book bags and my overnight case, we helped her put the top up in case of rain before going in the side door.

Beth's mom took one look at us, and quickly shed the loose dressing gown that was all she was wearing. It looked like the weekend was going to go very much as I had hoped, in spite of John's unexpected presence, maybe even better. He looked apologetic, but after his third apology and fourth "thank you, Mrs. Finch" he was put at ease by her warm welcome, and the plate of cookies and glasses of milk she set out.

But even as he snacked I noticed his eyes darting around, taking everything in. Like a stray kitten brought indoors, he was checking for threats, analyzing escape routes.



-------

Chapter 5


Beth's mom would be the first one to tell you that she's not Super-Mom, that she's just a mom. Well, first of all, "just a mom" is -- what do they call it? something that like contradicts itself, like "military intelligence" -- it sounds like someone stupid on oxygen -- an oxymoron, that's it. Mom-ing is a very challenging profession. And second of all, MY mom is Super-Mom, so on that score, I agree. Beth's mom can't be. Only one per customer, or town, whatever.

But I admit, if I didn't already have a mom, Mrs. Finch is the mom I'd like to have. She's warm and comforting, laid back and loving, and it's easy to see where Beth got her sweetness. Beth got smarts from her daddy, and that's what she still calls him, Daddy. Not that her mom isn't smart, she is, of course, but her dad is really smart, even though he may be an accountant, not a rocket scientist or physicist or something like that. Trust me, I've seen my mom trying to balance her checkbook. Accountants are smart.

Anyway, Mrs. Finch keeps the house neat and tidy, but not stuffy, the furnishings comfortable rather than fashionable, like in Missy's house. There are magazines on the end tables, yarn and needles protruding from her knitting bag. It looks lived in. It is comfortable. The only place in Missy's house I'd ever really felt comfortable was her bedroom. Anyplace else I had the feeling if I disturbed something the world would come to an end.

Missy's mom even has her canned vegetables shelved in alphabetical order.

After a house tour we settled in Beth's room, with its strange mix of femininity and geekiness -- frills, computer stuff, stacks and heaps of books, books, books, a poster with transparent overlays of a person all taken apart so you could see the muscles and bones and even nerves and stuff like that. Yuck! She wants to be a doctor. Ick.

And then there's a sort of sepia-toned sketch of a naked man in a circle in a square, his arms stretched out. Beth says it's by da Vinci. There's also a sketch of Carl, obviously done by Kathy (she signed it). He's holding his trombone, and his personal slide is at full extension, if you get what I mean.

The craziest thing is on the top of some bookshelves, a naked Barbie-type doll astride a really tacky rearing plastic horse. I wanted to ask about it, but didn't want to pry, but it tickled something in my memory.

Yummy cooking smells drifted up from the kitchen, and my mouth was watering, my stomach growling. I think the word I'm looking for to describe my lunch is "truncated," a word which, for some reason, makes me think of an elephant who's had an unfortunate encounter with a weed whacker.

We were all still completely naked, of course. Well, except Beth, who was wearing that little gold cross she always wears, and I don't think that counts. I don't think she ever takes it off. She's not in-your-face religious, though she goes to church on Sundays. As you may know, at the end of her week in The Program she gave a reading and a little homily to the congregation, wearing only shoes, that cross and a smile. Talk about brave!

The cross is from her grammy and grampy, and that makes it special. Sometimes I wish I'd known my grandparents, but they were gone before I was born.

Anyway, Beth was perched on her computer chair, legs folded tailor fashion, her bald cunt and bubble-licious titties on full display. I was sprawled on the bed, while John wandered the room, looking at stuff.

He was as tight as a guitar string, and he wasn't helping me relax. I was in over my head, and I knew it. Who knew what would set him off? He was a scared kid in among strangers. At least I was among friends, though I'd never eaten here, of course. Carl had, often, but not me. Even I had my limits when it came to torturing Carl, and invading his girl's house with my pranks was out of bounds.

The three of us talked about posing for Kathy, a nice safe topic. Beth admitted that it was fun, with fringe benefits, especially if it was with Carl. I tried not to sound too eager at the prospect of posing for her, though I had this mad hope that Kathy would paint me -- I mean paint ME, my whole body -- and then clean me off with her tongue, like Stephanie was probably cleaning Kathy at this very moment.

Or I'd paint her and clean her off. I'm not picky.

Yeah, right, sure. I know. Like that's going to happen! I'm a kid and she's a goddess, and she's got Stephanie. But I can dream, can't I? I mean, can you imagine what it would be like, lying there, all stretched out in the art studio, gracefully languid, while she licked me, from head to toe, and all those exciting places in between, my titties, my cunt, even my ass...

Whoa! I was about to cream in the rompers that I wasn't wearing. That was enough fantasizing for the moment!

John, on the other hand, was unsure about the posing, but it was hard to figure out why. He'd seemed comfortable enough this afternoon in the studio, but he seemed to have this dread of something awful happening to him. We tried to reassure him. After what had happened at lunch I kept feeling like I was teetering on the edge with him.

We heard Beth's dad come home and some talk in the kitchen. Then he came up the stairs and stuck his head in to say "hi." He seemed as cool with us being as nude as Beth's mom was. Beth and I didn't have any trouble with it, either, but John seemed to almost cringe.

"Supper in fifteen minutes," he announced. "Come-as-you-are."

"Thanks, Daddy," Beth responded.

"Does that mean what I think it does?" I asked.

"Naked," Beth answered.

"Is he -- gonna be naked, too?" John asked nervously. He was studying something on top of the bookshelves. I noticed he was holding his hands behind his back, really careful not to touch anything. It was like there was something wound tight inside him.

"Probably. Is that okay?"

"I guess so," he responded softly.

"If you want... ," Beth offered.

"No!" he answered a bit sharply. Then, more softly, "No, it's okay. It's just that I'm not used to -- it's okay."

Beth and I shared a look, and shrugged.

"What's that?" he asked, carefully pointing at the horse and doll concoction.

Beth giggled, and actually blushed. "Oh, my brother made it for me, after he saw me at the pep rally last year."

"Suppertime!" Beth's dad announced from the doorway, and Beth was right, he was naked! Oh my. Not that I'm complaining, you understand, but still, the sight of a full-grown parental man gave me a tickle in my tee-tee. Judging by the rise of his pee-pee, the sight of us naked kids was having an effect on him, as well, but he didn't apologize or try to hide it or anything. Mr. Finch is a sweetie, a little on the pudgy side, with a bit of a bald spot, not too much hair on his body, and a handsome package, you might say.

"Pep rally?" John asked.

"Tell you about it at supper," Beth promised as she led us downstairs.

As comfortable as I was with Beth and her folks, I was as nervous as if I was about to take off from the ten-meter platform, thirty feet and then some above the water. The view down from there always gives me a squinchy feeling in my tummy. I only do it for fun. I'm too young to actually compete from it. I'm not supposed to do it, but then, there's not always someone around to stop me, so...

Anyway, back to supper. I kept thinking, what if Beth's daddy asked some logical question, like "where are you from, John?" or "tell us about yourself, John?"

The dining room is nicely furnished, nothing fancy. This was a family dinner, with the regular china, tableware out of a kitchen drawer -- nice but not sterling. Mr. Finch was at the head of the table, Mrs. Finch at the foot, nearest the kitchen, of course, me and John on one side, Beth on the other, and there were serving dishes of meatloaf, French cut string beans, and steamed carrots, glasses of milk at John's and my places, wine for the adults.

Even Beth got wine, darn it. It's hard for me to remember that Beth is only about four years older than me, even though I'm taller than she is already. I mean, she has done so much, and she's so smart, and she is SO right for my brother, and he's right for her, and...

Anyway, it was all very normal, except that we were all naked, and The Stick, that wicked corner of my mind was thoroughly enjoying it. You know! Enjoying that we were doing the most normal thing in the world, having supper at a friend's house, only we were all naked! I mean, is that kinky or what?

I tried to imagine Missy's family dining naked and sprained my brain. Missy's Mom is always so perfectly groomed, dressed just so, the perfect suburbanite. Even her casual clothes are pressed. She probably even irons her panties -- starches them, too.

And yet here we were, all naked, wrinkles and all -- not that any of us had too many wrinkles. And we were comfortable, for the most part.

I was a bit surprised when Mr. Finch reached for my hand, while Mrs. Finch, on the other side of John from me took his. I saw Beth reach for her parents' hands, got the idea, and we all joined hands.

Mr. Finch's grip was firm and dry. John gripped mine nervously, his palm damp, so I gave him a reassuring squeeze as we bowed our heads.

"Bless us, oh, Lord, and these, thy gifts, which we are about to receive," Beth intoned softly. We all "amen-ed," and Mr. Finch gave my hand a squeeze, so I squeezed back, and squeezed John's, and then we passed the food.

"John was asking me about the horse and rider up in my room," Beth said, serving herself some beans.

"Oh my!" Beth's mom said taking some carrots while Mr. Finch served me some meatloaf. "That brings back memories!"

"Something about a pep rally?" John asked.

Mr. Finch chuckled. "Some pep rally!"

"You must mean the one before the football game with Eastern last year," I explained, the pieces falling into place in my mind. "Mmmm this is good!"

"When that monster reared up with Beth on his back I nearly fainted!" Mrs. Finch confessed, taking a sip of wine.

"You nearly fainted?! What about me? I'm the one he was trying to buck off," Beth said. "That was not in the script!"

"I guess nobody told the horse about the bonfire," Mr. Finch pointed out dryly.

John was looking bewildered as he tucked into his supper, his hunger obviously overcoming his nerves. He'd eaten less at lunch than I had, after all.

"It was when I was in The Program last year," Beth explained. "On Friday of that week it was announced that I'd been chosen to be Miss School Spirit, which was dreamed up by some sexist pig, probably a football player, as a way of boosting school spirit for football games. It's been around for years, of course, only they didn't have Naked in School in mind when they first thought it up, not that that would have stopped them."

"Since she was in The Program she had to do all school activities naked, and leading the pep rally was part of it," I continued. "She and my brother, Carl, had been sort of feuding with one of the football big shots, and that Neanderthal set it up to embarrass her."

Beth's mom took up the story. "Instead she turned the tables on him, but good."

John looked interested, and it makes a great story, so even though the rest of us had lived it we enjoy telling people about it. I'd never suspected it, but it turns out that beneath her mild exterior, Mrs. Finch has a flare for the dramatic.

"It's the night of the pep rally," Beth's mom begins, "and the crowd has gathered on the baseball field. There are cheerleaders, and the band is playing fight songs, when it suddenly stops and marches to form a lane to the outfield.

"'Charge!' is played, first by Carl alone on his trombone, then all the brass section, then the whole band, ending with the cymbals -- CRASH! --and Beth comes riding out of the darkness on this huge black horse.

"Well, I was petrified for her, of course," she went on. "She's ridden some, but nothing like this, a full gallop, no less. Of course she was stark naked. This is not the kind of thing to put a mother's heart at rest."

She fanned herself theatrically. "There was a stack of old lumber and stuff, must have been ten feet high, right on the pitcher's mound, for a bonfire. She comes charging up on this monster black stallion, I think it must be a Percheron..."

"A gelding. Bucephalus is a gelding, and a saddle horse, dear, don't exaggerate," Mr. Finch corrected meticulously as he paused with a bite of meatloaf half way to his mouth, his cheeks dimpled from suppressing a smile.

"Stephanie's horse," I explained.

"Carrying a lit emergency road flare, don't forget," Beth added.

"Beth was carrying the flare, not Bucephalus," I pointed out.

"Shush! Who's telling this?" Mrs. Finch scolded. "She rode once around the bases, I mean, like you'd think she was a barrel racer or something, and tossed the flare on the pile of wood.

"Well, it must have been soaked with something, because it went up like Vesuvius, a big WHOOSH!" Beth's mom waved her hands. "It shot sparks and and a fireball, it must have been three stories high. Well, of course that spooked poor Bucephalus and he reared up, almost pitching her off into the flames!"

"Oh, pooh!" Beth snorted. "I was at least ten feet away."

Not to be deterred, Beth's mom went on, theatrically mopping her brow with her napkin. "I had visions of my favorite daughter being burned alive!"

Well, by now I'm practically having hysterics at her performance. John's meal is forgotten, a forkfull of beans half way to his mouth.

"I'm your only daughter," Beth reminded her drily. "And I was never in any real danger. But I admit I was so scared I almost peed and pooped in my non-existent pants." She laughed. "And Stephanie wouldn't have liked that one bit! She would have had to clean the saddle!"

"Don't be vulgar, honey," Mr. Finch scolded mildly, chuckling.

I was trying to avoid snorting milk out my nose by now. I swallowed desperately. "You think you were scared? Bucephalus did wet his pants. If he'd been facing the wrong way he would have doused the fire! As it was he left a puddle the size of Lake Erie at second base and took off for center field like his tail was on fire. All he wanted was to be back in his nice safe stall with his nose buried in a bucket of oats."

"While I danced naked around the fire like some pagan," Beth went on, grinning. "My hair was dyed scarlet and gold..."

"School colors," I put in. I should mention that when Beth does something she does it right!

" ... and moussed up into this wild crest, while I stirred the crowd to a fever pitch with my naked body and cheers. I had the whole crowd with me. There must have been a thousand of them, students and parents and kids, all screaming 'Beat Eastern!' at the tops of their lungs. What a trip!"

Have I mentioned that during The Program Beth really came out of her shell?

"Don't forget the fireworks," I reminded her.

"And Daddy had set it up with a client of his for some fireworks, other than the bonfire, I mean -- an aerial display. Once the fire had burned down to just some hot coals, all the field lights went out, leaving us in the pitch black, a breathless silence, and they launched three whatchmacalllums..."

"Chrysanthemums," her daddy filled in.

"CHUFF, CHUFF, CHUFF," I filled in the sound effects, "then, way, way up in the night sky -- BAM -- BAM -- BAM! Scarlet -- Gold -- Scarlet! They lit up the whole world. They were humongous!"

" ... While, not twenty feet away, I stared Freschetti down, challenging him to top that!" Beth concluded.

"Freschetti was the football player they were feuding with, star running back," I explained to John.

"He didn't wilt, but I could see that he knew I'd beaten him. Then I skedaddled out of there into the darkness, dove into the back seat of our car, only to practically land in my brother's lap.

"I hadn't known Johnny was there, he'd been away at college. So when he got back to school, he made up that little statue for me out of a toy horse and a naked doll, and he gave it to me for Christmas. I mean, that was SO sweet of him. It's not beautiful, but I love it, though I have to admit I don't have Barbie's attributes," she said, looking down at her modest breasts with their delectable pink nipples.

Nipples that I'd love to ... well, never mind.

"Your magic must have worked," Beth's dad pointed out. "You beat Eastern."

John was kinda gaping. "You did all that naked? In front of a crowd?"

"The bleachers were full, parents and students and little kids. The band played. I danced around the fire, led the cheers, all while I was naked." She made no secret of being proud of her accomplishment.

"And we pulled it all together, the horse, the costume, if you can call it that, the props, fireworks, everything, that very afternoon -- that took some doing, I tell you!" Beth's mom explained.

"My parents and friends are the greatest," Beth said proudly. "They did it. They deserve a trophy."

"She did more than that naked. That was just the pep rally," I went on. "She was Miss School Spirit at the football game the next day, too. She carried the school flag in the color guard, and led cheers, and..."

"But I wasn't naked for that," Beth said primly, probably deliberately interrupting me before I said something she maybe didn't want her parents hearing, like about how she'd encouraged the team's efforts. "I was wearing something."

"If you call a coat of paint 'something, '" Mr. Finch said wryly.

"Well, I was sticking to the letter of The Program rules, if not the spirit," Beth admitted impishly.

"Scarlet and gold," I pointed out. "Head to toe, front and back. And who was it that painted you?"

She dimpled prettily. "Carl, and Stephanie, and my brother, and Mom and Daddy," she admitted. "The paint was cold, and the brushes really tickled, and I had to stand really still for a long time while they did it, but it was fun."

I wanted to add that I would have been happy to help, but decided that that, too, was too much information.

"Daddy did my back," she added modestly. "And Johnny -- he's my brother, he's named John, too, like you, John -- he did my legs, and they both did my arms. Mom and Stephanie got the more interesting parts."

I sneaked a peek at Beth's father, wondering if, just maybe, he kinda wished he'd gotten a more interesting portion of his daughter's anatomy. But no, that was The Stick wondering that! I'd never, ever think such a thing, I assure you.

He was blushing clear up to his bald spot by now. "As I said, it must have all worked. You beat Eastern with a last minute touchdown and two point conversion."

"And she got carried around the field on the team's shoulders, and ... and everything," I concluded awkwardly.

It's general knowledge what happened in the team's locker room after the game, kind of a legend around school, in fact, but it's one of those things I've noticed people don't talk about much, except behind closed doors -- the show, yeah, but not the -- uh -- payoff after the game. Beth doesn't talk about it at all.

I do know that Carl only loved Beth more afterwards. He worships her.

Anyway, now that I'm older, I've caught on that there are things parents sort of go into a state of denial about when it comes to their children's' lives, so I managed to cut myself off before I embarrassed everyone.

Which reminded me, I had to call Mom and clue her in on what was going on, I suppose, but not right now.

"Gosh!" John was wide eyed. "So I guess being naked is nothing special for you guys."

Mrs. Finch dimpled. "Well, it still does have an effect," she admitted, giving her husband a teasing look. I noticed her nipples were stiff. He did something in his lap with his napkin, blushing.

"Mother!" Beth gasped, and we all laughed. When Beth got up and started to clear the table, I nudged John and we joined in, while the two adults sipped their wine, looking at each other down the length of the table. By the time we got back from the kitchen with the chocolate pudding they'd vanished. Beth giggled, and blushed, and we sat down to enjoy our desserts. After I was done I borrowed their phone and called Mom on her cell. When I explained about John I could hear her jaw drop.

"John Patterson is with you?"

I nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "Uh huh. He couldn't go home, and Ms. Andrews didn't want to involve Child Services, and I sorta -- uh -- volunteered..."

"I think I need to talk to Beth's mother. Is she okay with it?"

"She says she is and -- uh -- she's -- uh -- not exactly available right now."

"Why not?" Mom was instantly suspicious.

"Uhm -- she and Mr. Finch are ... busy, I think."

"You think?"

What, I'm supposed to tell my Mom they're up in their bedroom screwing like rabbits? "I'm sure they're busy. I can have her call you. Later, I think."

Mom sighed. "Please do."

"Really, it's okay, Mrs. Walker. Mom's cool with it," Beth broke in. She was on an extension. "John really did need a place for the weekend, and Dee was the only logical choice. You know how close she and John have gotten since sex ed, and John's really troubled. She's good for him."

"I'd still like to talk to your mother," my mom insisted.

"This would really not be a good time."

"Have her call me." That was Mom's no-nonsense tone.

"Yes'm," Beth and I chimed in together.

"But it may not be until tomorrow morning," Beth warned.

"She is home, I trust!"

"Yes'm, and so's Daddy. It's just that, well, they're busy."

"Doing what?"

Beth and I were both fighting giggles now, even though I was a little scared that Mom was really getting pissed off.

"I -- we'd rather not say," Beth choked out. "It's something very personal, just between the two of them."

I swear, I could hear the bed-springs from where I was downstairs!

The silence from the other end of the line was, shall we say, very, very pregnant.

Then Mom sighed. "All right. But please, have her call me in the morning. And as for you, Dee..."

"Uh, yes?" I ventured warily, envisioning a month of solitary confinement.

"Behave!"

"Yes'm," I agreed obediently. "I love you."

"I love you, too, dear. Talk to you tomorrow, when Mrs. Finch calls. Don't forget!"

"We won't," Beth and I chimed in, holding on until we'd both hung up before we rolled our eyes, erupted in a burst of giggles and headed back to clean up the kitchen, only to find that John had been busy while we'd been on the phone, so there wasn't too much more to do.

When we finished and headed back up to Beth's room the parental units' bedroom door was still closed, soft murmurs emanating from it. Ah, the afterglow!

John looked at the little statue again. "So you're 'Lizard Breath.'"

Uh oh.

"Where'd you hear that!" Beth was not pleased.

"Uh -- it's on the base of the -- the trophy. 'Lizard Breath Rides' it says, and the date."

Beth turned on him. "Nobody ever calls me that. No one! Ever! Except my brother!"

"I'm sorry!"

Beth softened. "Oh, that's okay." She gave him a big hug, which unsettled him in a different way. "My name is really Elizabeth, and my brother has called me Lizard Breath since I was a little squirt. But don't you dare ever tell anyone!"

"Okay," he agreed humbly. "I'm sorry. I won't."

She saw how upset he was and drew him into another hug. "Oh, it's okay," she assured him. "I'm just tired. It's been a busy day. And please, don't ever tell anyone!"

He again assured her he wouldn't.

It wasn't all that late, but we were all pretty tired, and tomorrow was going to be a doozy.

"Uh -- where do I sleep?" John asked nervously.

We'd never discussed it, but Beth and I just looked at each other, and without exchanging more than that glance, we answered in unison, each of us taking one of John's arms and hugging it to our naked chests. "With us, of course!"

"But..."

"No 'buts, '" I insisted.

"One 'but.' First a shower," Beth directed. "I don't want three pairs of dirty feet in my bed."

"You guys can go first," John gallantly offered.

"Haven't you heard?" I countered. "There's a water shortage. You have to shower with a friend."

"Or, in this case, two friends," Beth added as she got towels and stuff and led the way to the bathroom.

"The shower's not big enough," he protested.

Beth was already adjusting the water. "It is, too. You just have to be really, really good friends. Which we are."

Together we maneuvered him under the spray and joined him, the shower door bumping my ass as Beth pulled it shut, stuffing us in under the spray.

It was delightfully cozy, the three of us rubbing together, breasts and elbows, pussies and a cock, fronts and backs, buttocks and boobs and all that wonderful skin against skin. Beth and I passed the soap back and forth, lathering John up all over, and then lathering each other so we were all sudsy slippery.

John didn't have a chance. We were all over him, like wool on sheep, rubbing and squirming, turning our bodies into washrags for him and each other. Hands slithered thither and yon, exploring curves and crevices, protrusions and protuberances. It was a no-holds-barred soap-fest that soon had all three of us in a lather. Even John lost his inhibitions, at least until I went for the crack of his ass.

It was at that point that I felt him stiffen. No, not his cock! That had risen early in the suds-a-thon. His whole body!

So I didn't linger there. No siree! I managed one quick swipe for cleanliness and then concentrated on his front, his chest and neck and nice trim tummy as I cuddled him warmly to my soapy bosom, what there was of it. My slickly sudsy hand curled around his swelling cock, and I felt the tension go out of the rest of him, like it was draining off into his dick, making it harder, and bigger by the moment.

So I concentrated on making that part of him feel real, real good, for both him, and for me, to tell the truth, and he began to puff and pant and grunt and groan, especially when I swirled my slippery palm over and around the head of his pecker.

He had a lovely cock, big but not too big, and hard, and growing harder, and I thought maybe I could really get into this, if I get more experience with it. I'd sucked him once, and I'd had Mike's dick in me once, but I realized most of my experience was with pussies, and maybe this was a good time to remedy that imbalance.

So I squoze it -- or should that be squeezed it? It slithered through my soapy grasp, so I slid my hand back down it, and squeezed again, letting it slip and slither out of my grasp, so I slid my hand on it again, and off, and his hips began to push in opposition, and it felt so good, and so exciting.

Beth, bless her lusty, voyeuristic nature, saw what I was doing, and cuddled around me, watching, her sudsy fingers sliding down to curl over my cunny, her finger slipping into my pussy. Then she slid her other hand down my back, and invaded that crevice, and she found my asshole, and a finger wriggled in there and I thought I was going to DIE!

She snuggled her wet, soft, slippery breasts against me, squirmed her thighs around my thigh so I felt the stubble of her shaved pussy, and the three of us all sort of humped and squirmed together, all lubricated up, one of Beth's fingers oh so deep in my ass, with, I think, two stuffed up into my cunt, and John's cock in my hand. My hands, actually. I was giving his staff a workover with both hands, taking a little time to diddle his balls, too.

By now he was leaking, of course. Somehow I could tell the difference between soap film and the pre-come seeping from the tip of his hard on. Oh yeah! He was hot, hot, hot! I was getting hotter and hotter and hotter, and Beth was pressing tighter and tighter and tighter against me, her hips working to grind her pussy against my thigh.

Yes. Oh yes! Oh YES! I was, I was, I was almost there, almost, meeting Beth's penetration and pressure on my clit with thrusts from my hips while I simultaneously tried to stick my butt out to get her finger deeper in my backside, and shove my thigh hard against her crotch, and she curled her pussy fingers inside me and found that spot, that spot way inside, the one Dr. Smathers had found, while the barrier between my cunt and rectum was being squeezed, and I was going up, and up and up and...

OVER THE TOP!

I was soo over the top! Over the top, top, top, top, pop, pop, pop!

But not so much that I didn't feel John's cock pulse in my hand, and my other hand was cupped over the tip of his dick and I felt each hot, gooey spurt against my palm -- squirt -- squirt -- squirt -- squirt -- hotter than the water that was spilling down on us from the showerhead, thicker and slipperier than soap, and the musky scent filled the steamy shower stall as his coming filled my palm with his semen, setting off another wave of spasms in my own crotch, until I couldn't sustain it any longer and slumped in Beth's embrace.

As I relaxed the pressure of my butt against the shower door popped it open, admitting a brief blast of cold air before Beth managed to yank her fingers out of my twat and pulled the door shut again, and then we were all sagging against each other, savoring the aftershocks, hugging and snuggling.

OoooooooooYEAH. It was SO good. So good. Sooooo goooood.

And then it was a warm joy to turn and tumble around, letting the water wash away the soap and juices, leaving us feeling all clean, and limp like the used wash rags that we were. Our hands wandered all over again, seeking and disposing of the soap and come lingering in various cracks and crevices before Beth shut off the water.

There was nothing that needed to be said, even whispered, as we dried each other off, and then mopped up the water that had escaped the shower before making our way back to Beth's bedroom.

Together we slipped under the covers in a tangle of naked arms and legs and torsos, the light from Beth's computer screen serving as a night light at John's apologetic request. Together we fitted together in a big, exhausted snuggle. I went to sleep in a cuddle so close I could feel John and Beth's warm breath on my face and they could feel mine.

Only to be slammed awake sometime in the night by a cry from John and an elbow in my gut. He was turning and tossing and thrashing.

"NO, NO, NO!"

He'd thrown the covers off us, the night air touching our naked bodies. Not knowing what else to do I fought my way inside his thrashing arms at the cost of a bruised cheek and cuddled him from one side, while Beth did the same on the other. Together we held him, and shushed him, afraid he would wake the house, but it was too late. I heard the door, light from the hallway, knew someone was looking in, probably Beth's daddy.

"Is he... ?"

"Nightmare, I think. We'll handle it," I assured him.

"Oh, well, okay. Call if you need help."

"We're all right, Daddy, thank you."

John was half awake now, his panting easing, crying while Beth and I held him and petted him.

"I'm sorry," he apologized.

"Sshhhhh," I responded. "It's all right. You're safe, you're safe."

"There's nothing to be afraid of," Beth assured him. "Thanks, Daddy, we're okay."

"G'night, punkin."

"G'night Daddy."

I heard the door close softly, the light from the hallway cutting off, leaving us in the glow from Beth's computer screen, waxing and waning in brightness and color in time with the cycle of her screen saver.

"It's only a dream, a nightmare," I assured poor John, my fingers wiping the tears from his cheeks. "Nothing to be ashamed of. It's not your fault."

He was calmer, but shivering and I cuddled him close, sandwiching him against Beth on the other side. Without really thinking, I let my lips nibble at his cheek and his ear while my hands stroked his slender frame, feeling his ribs, the flat of his tummy, the curls of is pubic hair.

He was hard! My fingers explored his shaft, folded up against his belly, and it twitched when I touched that sensitive spot just under the head.

"Oh mama," he murmured, and I froze, felt Beth go rigid as well.

"Is he awake?" she whispered softly.

"I don't know. But he's hard."

Her fingers touched mine on his dick. "Oh wow!"

His hips were moving, just ever so slightly, rubbing his cock against my hand.

"What should I do?" I asked. I didn't know, but my body had its own ideas, I can tell you that.

"I don't know."

We were both whispering.

"John, are you awake?"

He mumbled something unintelligible, his hips still moving.

Beth stifled a breathy giggle. "I think he's sleep fucking!"

"Oh dear. Shit!"

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"I wanna..."

"No!"

"Yes!!"

"You wouldn't!"

"You think I shouldn't?" I asked her.

"I didn't say that."

"You think I should?" By this time my pussy was in full flower. Oh God! I remembered the feel of his cock in my hand in the shower, the feel of his hot squirts of semen into my palm. What was I doing?

"I don't know," she countered unhelpfully.

"MMMmmmm," John moaned, his hips still working, his cock becoming slippery with his pre-come.

The Stick was saying "go for it!" My brain was total mush, but my body sure as hell knew what it wanted.

"Move over," I urged Beth.

"You're gonna?"

"I -- it feels right to me," I answered. Oh God! What if I was wrong? What if it was just my stupid hormones talking?

And even while I was thinking that Beth was easing away and I was sliding carefully over on top of him, straddling him, his body warm and exciting against mine. I kept my weight on my arms, my elbows, so he could breathe. I could feel his cock hard against my lower torso, and I slid upward until the tip slipped between my thighs, the head of his dick nuzzling at my pussy.

Oh I wanted that! Oh I did SO want that! I was straddling his slender hips, his dick teasing my slit with its torpedo-like nose. Oh God, I did so want it!

Lesbian or not -- and I suddenly realized it sure felt like "not" -- I wanted a fuck!

"Are you?" Beth asked.

Somehow I squirmed so his cock teased my lips open. "Yeah. Oh Beth, hold my hand!"

Her fingers found mine while I slowly worked his cock into position, felt it tease my cunt open, my wet, juicy, ready cunt.

I squirmed, and his prick eased its way into me. It was hot, and hard, and wedged me open, and I wormed my way down on it, his hips starting to heave. Was it a reflex? Did he know what he was doing? What I was doing?

"Oh yes," I sighed. "Oh yes." I groaned as I slowly impaled myself on his hardon. My hips rose, my cunt lifting his half seated cock, and I lowered them, and drove his hard meat deep into my cunt, deep deep deep, and it felt so good!

I lifted my head and looked down on him, and his puzzled eyes met mine. "Dee?"

I nodded. "Yes, it's me." I freed my hand from Beth's and touched his cheek.

"I was dreaming."

"This is real," I assured him. "It's okay."

I didn't know if that was a statement from me, or a question for him.

"Okay," he murmured, and I still didn't know, but it didn't matter. It was done. It was doing. I let my body have its way, my butt rising and falling, pistoning his pecker in my pussy, deep, deep, deep in my pussy. Oh it felt so good!

I kissed him, licked his face, and all the time I was pumping, pumping, pumping, and his hips were rising to meet me with every stroke. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Beth, lying on the bed beside me, one leg up, one hand pinching her tit, the other working in the shadow of her crotch, her eyes wide with lust as she watched us fuck, and fuck, and fuck.

We were moving, faster and faster, the bed huffing its encouragement, bouncing him up, my crotch smacking down, my little clit going SPARK -- SPARK -- SPARK with every impact, until I felt those wonderful spasms lurking, twitching, felt his cock swelling, and pulsing, until I felt him spurting, spurting, spurting deep inside me, and my own coming swept over me, a series of hot waves, my body straining until at last I collapsed on top of him, holding him close, close, close to my burning body while my pussy milked the moment for every drop of pleasure it could get.

Oh my!

Oh dear!

Oh God!

Oh shit!

What if I got pregnant?

What have I done?

Sshhhh, The Stick said. Sshhh. It's all right.

Easy for her to say, I thought, as I eased myself off John, his wilting pecker slipping from my swamped twat, a wave of our drool sliming our flesh.

I consoled myself that I hadn't yet had my first period. My only hope was that I probably wasn't ovulating yet.

Probably.

It was worth the risk, I thought, as Beth moved back in so that, between us, we had John covered, so we could shield him from his nightmares once again. I only did it for him, I thought.

Yeah, right.

I'm only twelve, God. Not yet. Please not yet.



-------

Chapter 6

Snuggling against John, all seemed very tranquil after our fuck. He was on his back, snoring softly, and together Beth and I covered him, me on his left, her on his right.

But appearances can be deceiving. I wasn't tranquil. I was like a squirrel in a cage. I felt very alone, probably more alone than if I had actually been alone. I mean, like, they're sleeping peacefully, while I'm contemplating the catastrophes that lurk all around us. Global warming. Terrorist attacks. Swine flu. Toenail fungus. Toilet overflow.

Pregnancy.

My mind refused to melt into to the post-orgasmic glow. The Stick was gnawing her metaphorical fingernails. I was sucking my thumb. Literally!

Slurp. Slurp. Slurp.

"What if ... What if ... What if..." Even the hypnotically cycling glow of the screen saver couldn't lull me to sleep. "What if ... What if ... What if..."

I found myself thinking of Henry. You know, the gerbil I had for a pet? And no, I don't remember why I named him Henry, but I know why I thought of him.

Insomnia.

According to the books, Henry was supposed to be either diurnal (active during the day, asleep at night, as you probably already know), or crepuscular (most active at dawn and dusk, less active or asleep during the day or night).

Henry hadn't read the books. He was nocturnal, a word which I learned means "keeps Dee awake at night," and probably the reason I got such a good deal on him at the school fair.

Henry had an exercise wheel in his cage, and the wheel made a "ka-squeak, ka-squeak, ka-squeak" with each revolution.

No, oil didn't fix it. Nothing did.

It was loud enough that no one wanted to share a room with him. But, he was MY responsibility, so...

Once, before I learned geometry and that "pi" wasn't a sweet treat, with Carl's help I calculated the circumference of the wheel, pi times the wheel's diameter. I counted the "ka-squeaks" per minute, times how many minutes Henry ran each night. Using that, I did some multiplication and long division and computed that Henry had run the equivalent of half-way across the state, at the expense of my sleep.

Tonight the "ka-squeak" wasn't Henry, it was my mind, running in its own exercise wheel, and instead of "ka-squeak, ka-squeak, ka-squeak," it was "what-if, what-if, what-if." Or maybe it was "pregnant, pregnant, pregnant." The thought had become a desperate little animal, running and running and running, blindly, senselessly, over, and over, and over, a panicky scamper to nowhere.

The thought of Mom's disappointment was an icy dagger in my gut. The Stick was no help, scolding me for not considering the consequences of my actions before I acted.

I shifted and squirmed.

Beth reached for me. Wordlessly snuggling closer, she managed somehow to embrace both John and myself, shielding both of us from our demons. Her soft, warm embrace gathered in the rodent of my mind, soothed and settled it, and I slept.

I woke up from someone poking me in the ribs. My eyes, and some other parts of me, were all sticky and icky as I slowly crawled out of my sleep, daylight filling the room. I was still half on top of John, while Beth was on the other side, snoring softly.

"I need to pee," John grunted urgently.

"Sorry." I rolled on my back so he could escape. He crawled off over me. Blinking in the morning light, I was having trouble orienting myself. Then it came back to me and I twitched.

The Stick grabbed my mental shoulders and gave me a hard shake. She insisted I was not pregnant!

"Something wrong?"

I must have made a noise. Beth had rolled over and was looking at me.

"Nothing," I muttered.

"Come on, give," she urged, drawing me to her, and the feel of her body against mine was so warm, and caring -- and arousing.

"What -- what if I'm pregnant?" I was way down in the bed, in her grasp, my face below her chin, my hand cupping her breast, toying with her tit.

"Stop that!" She took my busy hand in hers. "You haven't even had your first period, have you?"

"No, but I must be almost due, and -- and I did it with John, and we didn't use any protection, and..."

So, did I get sympathy? Did I get understanding? No, I did not. She tickled me! With no warning, she went right for my ribs! YEEEOWWW.

So I retaliated, and my worries vanished in a gale of giggles and tickles as we tumbled around in bed, throwing off covers and the last shreds of modesty (not that we had much to begin with) in an unabashed tickle fest. I like to think my superior size and athleticism quickly prevailed over her experience and guile, but considering how things turned out, maybe she wanted to lose.

"Oh oh," she said, dimpling up at me.

Oh oh indeed! I was straddling her tummy, my naked pussy embracing her soft, warm, bare abdomen, to my pleasure, I assure you. I had her arms pinned. I licked my lips, and I saw the glint in her eyes even as she made a token effort to escape.

"You wouldn't dare!"

She'd said the magic word, dare. Never one to pass up a challenge, as well as a chance at a little carnal exploration, I lowered myself on her, slowly, seeing the quickening of her breathing, the stiffness of her nipples.

Bless me! She's as randy as I am! She playfully twisted her head from side to side to avoid me, but she was no match for my cat-like reflexes. I licked her cheek, her ears (both), her neck, as I closed in on my target, and she was shrieking and giggling, her squirming only teasing my crotch even more.

My lips found hers, with her cooperation, of course, and all the strength went out of her, all at once, and she kissed me back, her tongue tangling with mine. I let go of her arms and we wrapped each other in warm embrace, and it was flesh on flesh, my aroused nipples pressing into her soft, soft breasts.

Oh Oh Yes!

"You vixen!" she said softly when we broke the kiss. "Are you really worried about being pregnant?"

"I was," I admitted. "But I'm not now."

We kissed again, rolling over together, our legs tangling.

Her nipple and my lips somehow made contact. I nibbled at that tempting morsel and she moaned.

"Dee!"

I sucked her sweet bud.

"Oh Dee, you devil!" she groaned.

Her arms embraced my head, hugging me to her breast, so I squirmed closer, nursing on her tit as I did. Her thighs spread, her legs tangling with mine. Cunt to thigh we squirmed together.

"You're oversexed!" she complained.

Maybe so, but at least I wasn't worrying anymore. I was juicing, and I could feel her hot seepings painting my thigh. She was as horny as I was. She needed a shave, the stubble on her pussy scraping my flesh. Releasing her tit, I squirmed up so I could kiss her again, our tongues playing together as we humped.

Oh, it was soooo good! I had to admit to myself that I had wanted this for so long. I felt only a slight twinge at poaching on Carl's territory. I knew I'd never displace him in her heart, but she was sweet, and soft, and responsive, and my own heart swelled with love for Beth even as my body flooded with lust and I felt her responding with her own orgasm.

We squirmed together like we were each trying to fit inside the other's skin, sharing our orgasms. As we came down I was vaguely aware of someone at the door, then footsteps running away, but I was erotically involved...

"Dee!"

"What?" She jarred me out of my slide down from our orgasm with another, less playful poke in my ribs.

"What?"

"John needs you."

"What? But I just..."

She grabbed my ears! Literally, she grabbed my ears and dragged me up, meeting my eyes. "John needs you!"

"How -- why?"

"He heard us, saw us, and ran. Trust me, he needs you. Now! Get your cute little ass out of this bed and find him! He's probably in the bathroom." She sniffed. "Besides, you need a shower, and he does, too. Go!"

The Stick joined her in goading me into action, scolding me out of my stupid self-absorption. I was needed! I got my ass out of bed.

Did Beth really think my ass was cute? Wow!

I found him, huddled in the bathroom, on the toilet seat, his hands twisting and twisting and twisting. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have watched," he apologized abjectly.

"Why not?" I asked. "I would have."

"Oh."

I had to assure him I didn't mind, that in fact I wished I'd known he was watching.

"I have nightmares, you know."

"I know," I assured him gently, kneeling in front of him, capturing his writhing hands in mine. Then I had another thought. "But I hope you don't think what happened between us last night was a nightmare!"

"Uhm, no, but, did we really... ? It wasn't a dream?"

"Yes. We really did it," I assured him. "It wasn't a dream. And I don't regret it. I think it was wonderful. Don't you?"

"But, I'm -- you're -- we're -- gay! I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!"

"Sorry for what, the fuck? I'm not in the least bit sorry. And anyway, it wasn't your fault. It was my idea," I insisted. Well, maybe The Stick's more than my own. Heck, once in a while she's got to take the blame. "It was good. Wasn't it good?"

He nodded. "It was wonderful. But I didn't think -- I thought I was -- I mean, I've been called faggot, and all ... And you and Beth just now, were doing it, weren't you? So doesn't that mean you're -- uh -- gay? I'm confused," he concluded.

"So'm I," I admitted, rising enough to wrap my arms around him, two bodies finding warmth and comfort in each other. "I didn't think I was straight, but then last night you and I did it. Maybe we aren't what we think we are. Maybe together we can sort this out, but for now, come on, I need a shower. You can wash my back."

"It -- was my first time," he confessed.

I let that pass without comment. I didn't see any reason he needed to know of my lurid past. I regretted it had been, shall we say, a less than romantic encounter. Face it, I'd raped him. Call it a fuck of convenience, or opportunity. But then, now that I thought about it, my own "first" with Missy and Mike had been anything but romantic. Willing, eager even, but not romantic.

Except, well, Missy's willingness to share her boyfriend with me, that was special, but that was before everything between us fell apart.

"Come on." I maneuvered him into the shower, and with soap and spray we swept away the last of sleep's cobwebs and the crusty evidence of our dark-of-night debauchery, along with some of my guilt and worry. I washed him, he washed me, and the touch was soothing, not arousing.

But I do admit to shocking him when I peed in the shower.

Well, what was I supposed to do? I needed to pee! I didn't want to drip water all over the bathroom getting to the toilet. So I just sort of spread my legs, and stuck out my pussy, and let 'er rip, trying not to hit his feet, at least.

Of course he knew! I couldn't do anything about the smell, and the yellow swirling around our feet before slithering down the drain was unmistakably from the fountain at my crotch. Like a loud fart in a quiet room, it wasn't something that could be ignored, and there were only two of us, so looking innocent was not an option.

"Sorry," I apologized, blushing. "I shoulda gone before we got in."

"S'alright. I never saw a girl pee before!"

"Well, now you have." I tried to be matter-of-fact about it, but I could see it had an effect on him, and me, too, and I was curious about seeing him do it, of course, but I'd missed my chance, darn it.

As we washed I found myself promising God that if He would please not let me be pregnant, I'd never, ever do such a foolish thing again, and I'd have Mom make another appointment with Dr. Smathers for some birth control, so I'd not have to trouble Him in the future, and I'd even start going to church -- I bet Beth would take me -- if He'd save me from my stupidity.

I'd never really thought about God much, but right about now I was thinking that puberty is no place for sissies. Someone once said there are no atheists in foxholes, and I was in my own, personal foxhole, dodging the bombs and bullets of adolescence. I needed all the help I could get.

We were just getting out as Beth came in, so we swapped places, leaving her to wash her own back. Rather than venture downstairs on our own, we took the time sitting on the bed in Beth's room to talk a bit about what had happened. He didn't want to talk about his nightmares, so I just explained how I'd gotten carried away by the moment.

"But we really fucked?" he asked. "I really did think it was a dream. A wonderful dream," he added quickly, "not a nightmare."

"We really fucked. We really, really fucked." And while I had my concerns, I assured him I had no regrets.

"It was -- like -- the most wonderful dream ever. Not like..." But he cut that thought off sharply. "So, maybe I'm not gay?"

"Who's to say? I'm not even sure what 'gay' is anymore. What we did sure felt good to me. But, then, so did making it with -- well, never mind who."

"You've -- uh -- done it with another girl?"

"Yeah, but I don't want to talk about it," I responded a little curtly. Thoughts of Missy still hurt, and I was wrestling with the feeling that I was suddenly no better than Missy. One thing I had to admit was that now that I'd done it with guys a couple of times I certainly wasn't averse to doing it again, if the right guy came along. But I'd be a darn sight more careful!

But Missy seemed to have totally abandoned the relationship she and I had shared for so long, and I still couldn't do that, and I remembered how wonderful it had been with her, so warm and loving.

Then, too, the thought of Kathy was enough to make me cream, so I wouldn't kick her out of bed, either, or Beth, or Stephanie, if they wanted me. Well, I mean, look what Beth and I had done this morning!

Face it, The Stick said, you're a slut!

Am NOT! I retorted lamely. I'm, well, more selective than a slut. Like, for example, Missy...

Especially Missy, if she ever changed her mind, I realized suddenly. I still wanted her, even after she'd broken my heart, and I was worried -- terrified for her, dreading what would -- not could, but would -- happen if she didn't at least come to her senses and stop flaunting herself around so.

John and I each fell into our own musings.

"Are you two all right?" Beth asked, vigorously toweling her hair dry as she stood in the doorway.

"We're... ," John started.

"Confused," I finished for him.

"Welcome to the club. At your age that's not uncommon," she responded from her lofty maturity, all of -- what? -- four or maybe five years older?

"Not that I'm beyond it myself," she conceded. "Come on, we've got to get downstairs for some breakfast, and for my mom to call your mom, and then we'd better consult with Judy and her mom and draw up a battle plan for tonight."

"A battle plan?" I hadn't really thought of that.

"You know -- who does what to whom and where and how?"

"And when," I added, remembering Judy hadn't set a time yet. "Oh, and she doesn't know about John, either."

"What about me?" he asked, and I realized maybe I hadn't filled him in on the weekend's schedule, at least not in detail.

"Uh huh. It's going to be a busy day." Beth led the way downstairs. Distracted, and attracted by the thought of the sleepover, I wondered if I'd have to put any clothes on this weekend. I hadn't so far! I was going for a new personal record, but I still had miles to go to beat Beth's program-induced marathon!

Who says I'm not competitive?

Beth's mom was dressed, but didn't bat an eye at our nudity. After setting out a delicious spread of juice and milk and pancakes and bacon, with butter and real maple syrup hot from the microwave, she went into another room to call my mom. I wanted to hang around while they talked, get some idea of how much trouble I was in, but it was obvious that she didn't want me there, and my stomach echoed the thought.

After appeasing my tummy with half the pancakes on my plate I got impish, again, looking down at myself. "Oh dear, I dripped some syrup!" I pointed out the amber drop poised on my nipple to John. "I'd hate to see it go to waste."

John may not be the rocket-scientist that Beth is, but he caught on quickly. Without a word he leaned forward and suckled on my tittie, his tongue toying with it. "Yum!"

I'd say there was hope for this boy! "Thank you!"

I giggled as Beth shook her head slowly from side to side at our shenanigans. Then she dripped -- how careless of her -- on both her boobs! She, who got the job of pouring acid in chemistry class because of her steady hands -- and John and I scrambled for the honor of pleasuring her. It was so thoughtful of her to do it so we each had a tit to suck.

After I'd polished off a stack of pancakes, more syrup "accidents" and three strips of bacon, along with juice and milk, it threatened to become a food fight, until I was told to pick up the phone, and my stomach suddenly knotted up,.

Right then I wished I hadn't eaten so much.

"Hi, Mom," I greeted her fearfully.

She sighed. "Dee, I swear, one of these days you'll be the death of me."

"I'm sorry." I felt awful. How many times had I heard her say that?

"Oh Dee! No! Don't be sorry," she reassured me, and I could hear her concern. "You did the right thing, taking John in hand. It's just that the timing could have been better, but you didn't have any control over that. John needed help. I wouldn't have expected anything less of you, and Mrs. Finch insists she's fine with it."

I breathed a sigh of relief, and immediately tensed up again when she asked, "So, did you sleep well last night?"

"Uh huh." Oh yeah, just fine, like a rock, if you didn't count boffing John and worrying about the consequences.

I wasn't lying, exactly. Thanks to Beth I did sleep well. I was just taking the Fifth Amendment, I told myself.

Understand, like most mothers, Mom has near telepathic powers, though distance does seem to weaken them. The less I said the better. The slightest slip and she'd be on me like a duck on a June bug, and the last thing I wanted was to worry her.

Still, her voice sounded so good to me. I don't remember the last time I'd been away from her for this long. Well, not really. I mean, I'd said good-bye to her just yesterday morning. I'd had weekends at Missy's that went longer, but somehow this was different. She wasn't just a block or two away if I needed her. I wanted so much to snuggle into her arms and talk with her. I knew, too, this was not the time to ask for another appointment with Dr. Smathers. That would just raise all sorts of red flags and besides, she was miles away, and it was the weekend.

"How's John?" she asked.

"He's -- okay," I assured her. "Beth and I are trying to keep him steady."

"Be good to him. From what Mrs. Finch says he's going through some rough times."

It was obviously not a good time to tell her how good I had been to him so far. "How's Carl?"

"Oh, he's off sampling college food, doing some peer bonding at the same time, though we don't think this is the school for him. Anyway, he didn't need me there."

The Stick took me in hand, and Mom and I chatted a little before signing off.

"Have fun at your slumber party, darling."

"Thanks, Mom. See you tomorrow."

"I love you."

I hugged those words to my chest. "I love you, too, Mom."

Resolutely I turned my attention to the sleepover at Judy's, and my thoughts turned lustful. My ability to switch focus was getting a real workout. Flexible. I was flexible, I told myself.

Mercurial, The Stick countered snidely, to say nothing of horny.

We held our war council around the kitchen table, and John got filled in on his role as a representative pubescent male. For a moment he was dubious, but when I pointed out he'd be in the company of an unknown number of horny, curious, presumably naked sixth grade girls, and that maybe this would resolve his sexual ambivalence, his libido took over, his cock rising to the challenge.

Was he really gay? I don't think so. But I was getting a nasty suspicion as to the problems that had driven him out of his home, and it made me feel a little sick.

Our own plan of action settled, we called Judy and her mom and ironed out any wrinkles they had. The biggest wrinkle was John, of course, but Beth explained he had a useful role to play with show and tell, and Mrs. Liu agreed. She would be home, but not in evidence unless needed. Not counting Judy there'd be ten girls there for us to enlighten. Let's see -- ten girls, plus Judy, plus we three -- fourteen people in all.

Wow! Was all I could think. So many, so little time! Apparently Judy had gone a long way toward laying the groundwork for the festivities, judging by how agreeable Mrs. Liu was.

In the end our "battle plan" turned out to be no plan at all, though Beth promised some surprises. At the appointed time the three of us arrived on the Lius' doorstep, sleeping bags in hand -- we stopped by my house for mine and I loaned Carl's to John. The only odd thing was a suitcase that Beth had also dug out of her car.

Other than that we were unburdened by even clothing. Without shoes we wouldn't even have been served at most fast food joints in town!

You know -- no shirt, no shoes, no service? The rule about shirts had been relaxed as Naked In School came in, of course. I guess bare feet are less sanitary than bare whatever else.

Judy peeked around the open door until she saw it was me, and that we were already naked. Only then did she pop out into full view of the street, just as naked. She practically climbed me to give me a delicious hug and kiss before dragging us inside.

"Hi, Beth. Hi, John," she greeted them just as cheerily, but without the hug. John was attempting to hide his arousal, but it didn't work very well, since he had a hard on that wouldn't quit, and I didn't blame him.

Judy is such a delightful little bug! She barely comes up to my shoulder, and she's got no fat. She's not anorexic, just petite. If it weren't for her pecs her chest would be flatter than mine. Her little beige nipples, though, were already aroused.

I didn't flatter myself by thinking that was because of me. The whole situation was calculated to stir everyone's hormones to the boiling point.

You could count her ribs, her tummy is trim, with a bit of an outie for a belly button. If it weren't for her muscular shoulders and torso she'd be as straight as a stick -- no hips, with her immature little pussy tucked shyly between her thighs.

Thanks to my recent development of secondary sexual attributes, I could now state confidently that she has less hair there than I do!

She's all bounce and jitter, and she reminds me of what I was like at her age.

Not that I'm all that much older, or less bouncy these days, I suppose. I'm just a lot taller and ganglier.

And psychologically more mature, of course!

Anyway, Judy's been into gymnastics since she was like three years old or something, which explains her physical strength. She's athletic in a graceful way, without the sleekness of a swimmer. I'd heard her mom got tired of having to drag her down off the top of the refrigerator when she -- Judy -- was only two. I heard the last straw had been when she was three and she jumped from the top of a bookcase to grab a ride on a ceiling fan. No bones were broken, but the ceiling fan came down, along with a chunk of the ceiling.

I might have tried the same thing at that age but we didn't have a ceiling fan, darn it.

"Mom is upstairs. Dad has to work," she explained. "We have this floor and the playroom downstairs. Come on, everyone else is already in here."

It was a small house, and maybe that's why the crowd in the living room made me think of a basket of puppies. The couch and chairs were full, each girl sitting primly, knees together, hands in her naked lap.

That accounted for six of them. The other four took up a good bit of the floor, even with their legs demurely folded, not spraddled out or folded tailor fashion. Someone must have coached them, probably Mrs. Liu.

They all looked up at me with their big, puppy eyes and it was enough to make my heart melt. The fact that they were all so deliciously nude made some other parts of me melt as well. Sixth grade girls are so CUTE!

Most of them were flat. A couple had the start of boobs. They all had fresh faces, and smooth baby cheeks -- on the face, I mean. I couldn't really see their other cheeks, but I bet they were smooth and creamy, too.

Well, maybe. Esther, being a child of color, her cheeks were more chocolate milk than cream. Maria Sanchez, who I knew from class, trended more toward caramel, all over, with nipples like little raisins. Judy's skin had a vaguely olive cast, to go along with her almond eyes, and her nipples were milk-chocolate kisses.

And as you can tell by the food metaphors, I was hungry! Judy had promised yummy stuff, and the house smelled of spicy cooking that had my mouth watering.

Anyway, they were all right on the edge of puberty -- Missy had started just about their age, I remembered, and Mickey even earlier. Their delicate little nipples were stiff already, and they bit their lips nervously. One, the smallest one, was hugging a battered stuffed bunny to her undeveloped bosom. It made me want to gather them all into my arms and just hug them, and hug them, and, well, you can guess where I imagined it going from there.

I knew most of them by sight, but not by name. I was a little surprised Maria was there, since she'd been in Sex Ed class. I guess she was here to help, or maybe just to join in the fun.

"Hi, guys" I greeted them awkwardly. "Hi, Maria. I'm sorry, I'm not sure of the rest of your names. But I'll get you sorted out."

"Don't worry, we'll fix that later," Judy announced from beside me, as all of us sort of shuffled ourselves through the doorway. "See, guys, I told you John would be here!"

Well, they'd been forewarned. That explained the lack of screams at the sight of John. Blushing furiously, he was still futilely trying to hide his throbbing erection. Beth whispered something to him, and he bashfully revealed his beautiful young cock.

The eyes of the girls widened at the sight of it. Oh, were they in for an education!

"How 'bout we head downstairs, where there's more room, and food!" Judy suggested. "Maria, would you bring that stuff from the kitchen, please?"

The coppery skinned Hispanic ducked past us, while the rest broke from their careful poses, and that was enough to get the chatter going. A couple of the girls latched on to Beth, while Judy and another girl took my hands, and one of the bolder ones took John in hand and we all scampered down to the play room.

Ooooo! As we headed down the stairs all those twinkling little butt cheeks made me salivate. The sight of the playroom made me go weak in the knees! And then Maria came dancing down the stairs with a tray of squeeze bottles of cake icing in various colors.

I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. I wasn't sure what they were for. Maybe a food fight? That was a sweet idea.



-------

Chapter 7

A playroom is a playroom, right? I'd been expecting the usual, chairs and a couch, TV, toys and games, stuff like that.

This was a gymnast's playroom. It was like Mom had put a pool and diving board in our basement for me and Carl. (Yeah, right, like that's even possible!) Though the ceiling was too low for anything too gymnastic, like uneven parallel bars or vaulting, there was a smattering of gymnastic stuff, like a balance beam at floor level, and some stuff along the walls, and the floor was cushioned with gymnastic mats, wall to wall! One wall was nothing but mirrors.

It also was a room that could easily be adapted for a sleepover, and had been. In this case, there were soft fluffy pillows everywhere. Wall to wall mattresses and pillows galore. It was one giant bed of infinite possibilities.

We added our sleeping bags to the row already against the wall. Most of them had some sort of stuffed toy or battered doll perched on them.

Apparently Judy had spent the afternoon cooking up some of her ethnic specialties; spicy concoctions of meats and veggies, along with a bowl of rice, were steaming on an electric hot tray in the center of a big sheet in the middle of the room. There were paper plates and, just to tease us there were chopsticks -- in my case guaranteed to result in more food on me than in me -- a stack of paper napkins probably a foot high, boxes of wet-wipes, and a cooler full of sodas to put out any fires caused by the spices.

But before she let us descend on the delicious smelling morsels, she made us pair off, and that's where the icing came into play. Judy herself chose a fluorescent orange shade. She finger-painted my name between my tits, then some impish impulse made her cap my tits with icing.

I didn't object.

When Judy was done on me I took the icing from her and returned the flavor -- I mean favor -- labeling her trimly muscular torso, finishing by carefully sculpting little caps on the pert brown nipples that graced her pecs, while the other kids followed suit on each other.

When we had finished licking our icing fingers clean, we descended on the food. Most of us quickly gave up on the chop sticks and the paper plates. There was a flurry and a tangle of reaching arms and grabbing fingers, and a lot of feeding of each other, including a few air mail deliveries, until Judy put a stop to it as too messy. It was probably the most nutritious slumber party meal ever served, but no one complained. It was good!

I made sure John received a well balanced diet. He had a tendency to concentrate on the morsels of pork and chicken. A growing boy needs his veggies!

Eventually we were reduced to lounging around, burping and picking our teeth. Esther was lying on her back, her black corn-row braids draped on Naomi's smooth, pale thigh -- ebony on ivory -- while Naomi, juggling chopsticks, tried to air drop stir fry morsels into Esther's mouth, with about fifty percent accuracy.

Esther is so beautiful. She could be sculpted of milk chocolate, with dark chocolate kisses for nipples. She looked like the Queen of Sheba, or maybe the young Princess of Sheba, since she was as flat as I used to be, but wasn't anymore. It was a pose that Kathy would have loved to capture on canvas, or perhaps with pastels, or charcoal, on paper.

Some of the names on our torsos were a little smeared, and there were juices on our fingers and faces. The smallest one, Izzy, changed her name to Izzv with a swipe of her finger, before Judy took charge again.

"Izzy, please!" she scolded gently. "You're labeled for a reason. We'll have dessert later."

She mobilized her troops to get things tidied up. And they were her troops. It was obvious Judy was the Alpha Bitch of this pack, and I mean that in the nicest way (we've been studying wolves in one of my classes), and Maria was her deputy. Faces and fingers were washed clean courtesy of boxes of wipes that were passed around. The worst body splotches were mopped up, too, while the icing names on torsos were refreshed as needed. The meal and its crumbs were cleared away in about two minutes, before everyone settled on the mats.

Beth and John and I found ourselves facing a bunch of expectant young faces in a cluster in front of us, and I suddenly realized I had to put my game face on and quit looking at them the way I studied the menu at Cookies'n'Cream. Delectable as they all were, they were innocent kids, looking to us for straight information.

I tried to remember what I wanted to know about sex when I was in sixth grade, and I was at a total loss. Fortunately, The Stick stepped in, reminding me that they could supply the questions. All I had to do -- all WE had to do -- was come up with the answers.

"Okay, some of you we know, but some we don't. Why don't you guys spread out a little bit so we can see your names better."

They formed a sort of a half-circle, while Beth and John and I settled at the focus.

"So, what don't you believe that Judy told you, or what do you want to know?" I asked.

The silence was deafening. The kids looked everywhere but at the three of us. They looked at their hands. Barbara became suddenly interested in picking lint out of her navel. Next to her Cynthia was playing "this little piggy" or something, with her toes. Izzy still clutched her bunny. Even Judy and Maria were part of our audience, and they didn't say anything.

These poor kids were clueless, even after what Judy and Maria had tried to teach them. I began to think that they didn't even know what they didn't know.

I glanced to Beth for help, but found no hope there. This whole sleepover idea may have been Judy's, but I was the one holding the ball. John was studying his fingers again.

Natural born leader my ass. I was stumped. I'd forgotten how young they were. They were barely out of the "Judy and Danny, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" stage of their lives -- if they were even out of that stage at all. They were where I was when I was teasing Carl about running around high school naked and he and Beth first started their mating dance.

Finally Izzv (she'd deliberately poached the tail of the "y" again as a snack) broke the impasse. "I don't understand what all the big deal about sex is. I mean, like, what's the big deal?"

Izzy was a little waif, cute as a bug's ear, with fine light brown hair, big brown eyes in her elfin face, and the attitude of a Yorkshire terrier. She was the only in the group clutching a stuffed animal in her naked lap, her very worn, lop-eared, one eyed bunny. I was willing to bet that she was the youngest in the class, promoted ahead because she was smart.

She had my sympathy. When that had happened to me -- I skipped 5th grade -- at least it put me in the same grade as Missy and we started middle school together. I don't know what I would have done without her by my side during those first cruel weeks.

What's the big deal about sex? Okay, how do I handle that question? Did I even want to demolish her childish innocence?

"You'd know if you had a boyfriend," Angelina sniped.

Izzy flushed. "Eeewwwww!"

"Okay, okay, that's enough of that!"

They subsided and I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I still commanded some respect.

They knew where babies came from. That was covered at the end of grade school, but even if she'd missed 5th grade sex ed I bet Izzy had already been teased beyond the stork story. What Izzy hadn't yet experienced was that flood of hormones kicking in.

So I went back to the beginning, Beth's lecture that first day, made simple. "Some of you are clueless, but some of you are getting an idea of why there's such a fuss about sex. Your whole world is turning upside-down. Right?"

Nods from some, a frown from Izzy.

"You're fascinated and repulsed by boys. You're wanting want to -- to do things -- with them, and they are wanting to do things with you, but no one is quite sure how to start the discussion. You may not even be sure what it is you want to do.

"Sex is, well, like wanting a super fast racing bike so much that you'd steal it, just for a one little ride. You'd like that first ride so much that you'd ride it again, and again, and again, going faster and faster, and sure enough, sooner or later you'd hit a pot hole and go right over the handlebars. And as you flew through the air you'd wish you'd remembered your helmet.

"Sex is like that. You want it so bad you'll try it, even if you know deep inside that you might get in really big trouble. Once you try it you won't want to stop. We're here to provide you with a crash helmet.

"You'll want more and more sex, and the boy will, too, and maybe he'll tell you it's okay, that he'll pull out before he comes, so you can't get pregnant, so you keep doing it.

"I bet Judy and Maria told you that you can get pregnant even if the boy takes his penis out before he squirts his semen in you, and you don't believe it."

Barbara, a blossoming brunette, frowned. "That's what Judy and Maria said, but it doesn't make sense."

"Yeah, that's one little detail they leave out of 5th grade sex ed," I explained. "I guess they think that's a little too graphic."

I turned to John, wondering if he could handle being Exhibit A in a little show-and-tell. I was surprised to see him exchanging shy looks with one of the girls to the right, a pretty blonde whose shape reminded me of Missy at that age -- a little plump, just blossoming -- and his cock was obviously responding to her as well. Meanwhile she was trying not to look at him, and not succeeding at all.

I caught his attention, and reached for his cock. He flinched a little, but nodded it was okay.

Judging by its half-hard state, all these naked pre-teens had him fueled and on the launch pad. Just my touch was enough to initiate the count down. His already warm meat became hot, and began to stiffen and I gave it an encouraging squeeze.

"This is John, and this is John's cock," I explained.

I began to stroke it, slowly and gently. It stiffened further, and he looked happy, and embarrassed. "You like this?" I asked him.

He nodded, but shot the pretty blonde an embarrassed look. She was watching with wide blue eyes.

"What I'm doing is masturbating him. You know that word? He could do it himself, but I enjoy lending a helping hand, and you like it too, don't you John?"

He blushed and nodded.

"He likes the feeling -- and I like doing it -- and he's getting more excited -- and I am, too," I admitted, as I did a visual check on his prick. "Now, if you'll come up, and look at the tip of his cock, you'll see a drop of a clear liquid coming out of it. Come on up, one at a time, starting with Angelina here, so we don't have a stampede."

I squeezed, to push some more out, and stopped moving my hand, afraid he might erupt prematurely. Angelina gave me a bashful look before examining John's seeping penis.

"Move along once you get a look. Eventually he's going to come, but I want you to see this liquid. It's kinda thick, real slippery, and clear as water. It is called pre-come. There's probably some fancy scientific name for it, but everyone I know calls it pre-come. See it?"

How could they not? Leaving a snail trail behind, it slithered down to the crevice between my thumb and his prick.

I increased the pressure a little, and resumed stroking, a little faster. The goo was making a sticky sound as the last of the girls got their look. I ran my thumb over the head of his cock, stroking that oh-so sensitive bulb, making it gleam with his oozings.

"Pre-come makes his cock slippery so it can slide into you easily. But pre-come also usually contains a few sperm, even though he hasn't squirted yet -- are you about to squirt?"

John nodded tensely. He was leaning back on his hands, his fingers clawing the gym mat.

"I thought so.

"So, if he's in your cunt those sperm are, too, eager to find one of your egg cells and do the deed. Oh oh! Here he comes!"

John's cock pulsed in my hand, his hips thrusting, and thick, pearly jets of semen shot up, spattering down on his chest, tummy, thighs, and my hand. The first strong bursts slowly faded to pulsed oozings spilling over my hand and down his prick.

"I know the doctors say it is only a teaspoon or two or three, but it always seems like more," I observed.

I switched on my sarcastic mode. "I'm sure you'd be shocked to learn that boys have been known to lie, or just misjudge and pull out too late, or simply get carried away and forget to pull out.

"Don't depend on them. They're not the ones who get pregnant, you are. Don't let him in without protection unless you want to be called 'mommy.'"

Wide eyed and serious, they nodded.

"That's what Judy and Maria were trying to tell you," I said, licking John's come off my hand.

"Eeewwww."

"Really, it doesn't taste bad," I assured Izzy.

"And you can't get pregnant from eating come," Beth put in, finally helping me out. "It's a little salty is all, and kinda gooey in texture. You've heard of sucking cock? If you suck a guy's cock he likes the idea of you swallowing his come."

"Have you done that?" Esther asked.

Beth smiled dreamily. "Oh yeah," she answered warmly. "Lots of times, with my boyfriend. I like doing it. He likes me doing it."

"But what would sucking him off do for me, other than maybe keeping him from fucking me?" Barbara asked. "I mean, if I'm horny I want something out of this."

"What you want is called an orgasm," Beth said dryly. "Really, the best thing about sex is sharing the pleasure with someone you really care about. You suck him, he goes down on you -- that's when he does you with his tongue and lips. If he's not willing to do that he's not the boy for you. You can even do it to each other at the same time, heads to crotches."

"It's called sixty-nine," Judy put in.

I sort of tried to form the digits in the air with my fingers, showing how they fit together. It didn't work very well. "Get it? Pregnancy is not a risk, and once he's come he'll be more manageable."

There was some nervous laughter, which was encouraging. I was afraid this was getting too serious. This was supposed to be a slumber party. Slumber parties are supposed to be about games, and fun. I was trying to figure out how to change course when Alice timidly raised her hand and I called on her.

"Uh, this is kinda not really on the -- about sex, but -- uh -- Beth, how come you don't have any hair -- uh -- down there?"

Beth looked surprised. "I don't?" She looked down at herself. "Oh, that's right, I don't. Must be because I shave it off."

"You do? Why?" Alice asked once the laughter had died down.

"Because I like the way it feels," she answered. "And Carl, he's my boyfriend, he likes the way it feels, and it feels really good when he goes down on me, and he likes going down on me better when it's shaved. He doesn't like having to wander in the forest to find my grotto, so to speak."

"Oh." Alice was so cute, with her big blue eyes and baby face she looked so young and innocent.

Beth stroked her crotch. "But, oh dear, stubble. I forgot to shave this morning. Where's my overnight case. Oh, there it is!"

She quickly threw open her little suitcase. "My razor. Where's my razor? I know I put it in here!"

Now, I know Beth well enough to know that she is super-organized. I was willing to bet she knew exactly where everything was in that suitcase, and if she hadn't shaved this morning it wasn't by accident.

She began tossing the most amazing variety of sex toys this way and that in front of the girls. There were vibrators and dildos, strange sets of straps, condoms, tubes of lubricants, a pair of what I assume were tit clips connected by a thin metal chain, even a soft leather whip with a bunch of tails.

What had she and Carl been up to lately?

There were even some things I didn't recognize but which somehow looked just deliciously wicked.

"There it is!" She came up triumphantly waving a rechargeable razor. Then she looked down at her naked crotch before looking over at John. "John, would you help me, please?"

Dear John. He looked her right in the face, looked even closer at her face. Apparently between his orgasm and flirting with Alice he'd lost his place in the proceedings. "You shave?"

Beth chuckled, not unkindly. "Not my face, silly. Down there!" She pointed.

"Oh!" John went from pink to scarlet. "I -- I don't know how. I don't shave yet."

She put the razor in his hand. "It's easy."

She reached out and snagged a pillow for under her ass, lay back, and spread her legs wide, wide, wide, the soles of her feet together, offering her pussy up to him like an oyster on the half shell. And by the way, I've eaten 'em -- raw oysters, that is. They look kinda slimy and gross, but they taste good -- sorta like a girl's quim, you might say.

"Go ahead, it's all right. You can't hurt me." She had to reach out and switch on the razor for him -- he was nearly catatonic -- and guide his hand. Once she got him started, though, he was all right, moving around by her feet and leaning forward so he could reach better, frowning in concentration, the tip of his tongue between his lips. She stretched, spreading her arms, arching her back sensuously, her firm breasts skyward, excited nipples all hard and pointy, a non-virgin sacrifice.

The razor buzzed over her skin, and she purred. "Oooooyeah. Don't miss any."

You could hear the razor rasping off her stubble. John was bending so close he had to be able to smell her aroused pussy. I could from where I was.

When he hesitated, Beth guided his hands lower, between her thighs. She used her fingers to stretch the flesh so he didn't miss any crevices or wrinkles, first one side, then the other of her soft pussy lips, guiding the razor down, tipping her pelvis up so at one point, buzzing it around her asshole, which resulted in some interesting convulsions and giggles on her part, her tummy rippling, thighs flexing.

Then she guided the corner of the business edge of the razor right up along the shiny pink ruffles of her aroused pussy.

"That's it," she purred. "Don't stop. Don't stop!" And her voice trailed off into unintelligible garble, with her holding his wrist to keep the razor in contact with her clit, giving herself one heck of a buzz-on -- or would it be a buzz-off?

Oh wow! I couldn't wait for me to need that kind of attention. Sure, I'm eager to have a muff as a sign of my maturity, but I think I'm looking forward to getting off -- I mean getting IT off -- even more!

Taking the razor out of John's hand she switched it off, and just lay there, still wide open, catching her breath.

Meanwhile, some of the girls had never seen a cock before John's. Now they were examining some extraordinarily life-like replicas. I heard one of the vibrators buzz to life, and saw Muriel and Donna with their heads together, giggling. Muriel touched it to Donna's tit, who shrieked and batted it away, giggling.

Cynthia, curled over to look at her crotch, was experimentally poking one of the fake cocks, a big black one, at her slit. At least she knew the where, but not the how. Angelina was running the strands of the whip through her fingers, before experimentally slapping the inside of her thigh with it.

I picked up one of the mystery objects, a cone of black plastic with a sort of flat base attached by a skinnier bit, and suddenly I realized that it could only be a butt plug. Judy was fondling another, slightly smaller one and my pelvic muscles clenched at the sight of it. She looked at me and grinned, wickedly.

I grinned back, nervously. Setting it aside, I picked up the chain with the clips on each end and examined them. They had sort of a thingy so they could be adjusted, so I tried it on one of my finger-tips, and winced.

I took it off, remembering the reason for this whole do, which was to educate the little darlings as to the ways of the world, sexually, that is. But how to do it? We'd gotten a start, but so far all they'd heard was the scary part. What about the fun parts?

It must have been The Stick taking control of my mouth. "How about a game of Truth or Dare?" I asked over the self-conscious giggles and mutters of the girls exploring the toys.

It got the reaction you'd expect -- a chorus of groans. The game was the cliché of slumber parties, right up there with pillow fights, and almost as dangerous, psychologically, at least, and they had these intriguing gadgets to explore.

But what better way was there? They could ask questions, any questions, and we -- me, Judy, Maria, Beth and John -- could answer, and if we didn't' tell the truth we'd be subject to a dare. And we could ask them questions, or present dares to broaden their horizons.

Beth was nodding and Judy was as quick catching on as I expected. "Come on, it'll be fun. Get in a circle, and toss those things in the middle. We can use them for dares."

Beth moved to start the circle. "Asking for truth, the only rule is, no questions about who has done what with whom. After all, our -- uh -- partners, should there be any, aren't here to defend themselves, and they might rather not become gossip fodder."

I nodded in agreement. I couldn't "out" Missy like that, even though half the school already suspected us of being lesbians, which I knew Missy wasn't.

"As for dares," I put in, "no limits."

Tossing all the toys in the middle, we arranged ourselves in a circle. Beth and I deliberately flanked the still unsettled John so we could buffer him from the other girls.

"You go first, John," Beth suggested.

"Uh -- I've never played this. What are the rules?"

Someone snickered, but Judy shot them a glare as she answered. "Don't worry, it's not hard. You ask someone 'Truth or Dare?'"

"If they say 'Dare, ' you dare them to do something, like kiss someone, or something," she added. "Usually when we start we're all dressed, and the first dares involve taking something off until we're naked, but we're obviously already well beyond that point."

"If they say 'Truth' you ask them a question, something like 'have you ever kissed a boy?' They have to answer truthfully, of course," I explained. "If they won't answer, or if they lie and are successfully challenged, they have to do a dare."

"But, if the person who challenged the answer is mistaken, and the answer is true, then the challenger has to do a dare," Beth went on, "and it goes on from there. The person picked asks someone else 'Truth or Dare.' Usually the action moves around the circle, but this time we'll go freestyle. Whoever gets asked, after they've done the truth or the dare, they can ask anyone else, except the person who just asked them."

He still looked a little confused, but I was sure he'd catch on quickly. "Go ahead, ask me," I said.

"Uh -- okay -- uh -- Truth or Dare?"

"Truth," I answered.

"Are you gay?"

That brought a small chorus of "ooooo's" from the circle. Usually these things started off slowly, but John couldn't know that.

"Fair question," I responded. "I don't know."

"But," Angelina put in, "everyone at school is saying..."

Beth pounced. "That sounds like a challenge to me."

Angelina looked like she wished she'd kept her mouth shut.

"My answer is the truth. I don't know. I think I might be bisexual. I like girls, and I like boys. It's not an 'either-or' kind of thing. And, before you carry any tales, I know what people are saying about Missy and me, but I can tell you for sure that Missy is not gay, and if I hear anyone say otherwise, well..." I let my voice trail off, my meaning clear. "Now, you owe me a dare!"

Angelina looked a little worried.

"I dare you to kiss me, lips to lips, for at least one minute," I ordered. I wasn't about to pass up the opportunity, and considering her challenge it seemed only fair. She was a beautiful girl, with skin only a little lighter than Maria's Hispanic copper, with long, straight black hair drawn back in a pony tail, and little raisin nipples.

"But... ," she started, only to go silent when I cocked my eyebrow at her. Then she leaned meekly toward me -- she was sitting right beside me -- and I gathered her in, my arm around her back, my free hand cupping the back of her head so she couldn't escape. As our lips met I sort of leaned back so we fell back and she was half on top of me, her soft skin on mine, her little pebble nipples poking me, our icing smearing sticky sweet between us.

She tried to get away with a closed mouth peck, but I didn't let her. She yielded to my tongue, and it wasn't long before she was fully involved in a tongue swirling, spit swapping, lip mashing, teeth clashing Kiss, and I had my thigh in her crotch. When Beth called time, she wasn't the one to break it off first, either.

Smiling, I gave one of her stiff little nipples a tweak before I let her go. Her chest was heaving, her tummy squirming.

She drew away and sat up, blushing, trying to catch her breath.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it? You kiss nicely. Now, since you had to do a dare it's your turn," I reminded her.

Probably reflexively, or because my kiss had such an impact, she turned to the next girl, Barbara. Barbara chose "Truth," so Angelina asked if she'd ever kissed a girl (she had).

Barbara, instead of just going around the circle, asked Beth "Truth or Dare?"

Beth didn't hesitate to go for truth.

"Have you ever -- uh -- made love to another girl?" she asked nervously.

"I have," Beth answered calmly.

"Who... ?" Barbara started, but Beth cut her off with a raised finger.

"Nope, you can't ask that, remember?"

"Sorry," Barbara looked abashed.

"That's all right. But I can tell you that it was someone that I respect and love, and that made it easy. It was a good experience," Beth continued.

But now it was Beth's turn. "Alice, Truth or Dare?"

Beth apparently had an agenda, picking on probably the most naïve member of the group, even allowing for Izzy's youth. Alice was the only one in the circle sitting demurely, legs together and folded, her pussy tucked out of sight, instead of the more open tailor fashion. Alice's sweet blue eyes got big as saucers, and she gulped. Then she surprised me.

"Dare," she answered in a whisper so soft we could hardly hear it, looking down at her nervous hands.

"I dare you to come over and kiss John, for a least one minute."

Apparently Beth had picked up on the same glances between Alice and John that I had.

Alice turned pink and pinker. I had the feeling she'd just received her strongest wish, and her greatest terror, all at once. She looked around, looked at John, looked at his cock, looked back up at his face, and I swear it was like some kind of tractor beam or hypnotic power went to work on her. She crawled toward him on her knees, and I saw Beth whisper something to John, who looked more eager, and less scared than Alice. He straightened his legs, extended his arms, and gathered her in with a tenderness that made my eyes get wet.

He was smitten. And so was she. The first kiss was tentative, but the next meeting of their mouths was more aggressive, more open. For a moment there was an awkward tangle between his legs and hers, his rampant cock an intruder.

She solved the dilemma the simplest way possible, by straddling his thighs, her butt on his knees. The kiss got hotter and hotter.

Everyone was holding her breath.

John drew her closer as the kiss went on. Her soft chest pressed against his, and his hands slid down to cup her naked, well rounded ass, and the kiss went on, and on, and on as he pulled her up tight against himself, and she didn't even try to resist. His cock slid up until was vertical against her cunt, squeezed against his stomach.

Beth called time, and still the kiss went on. His hands stroked Alice's silky naked back, and her nails raked his as she squirmed against him, humping her naked crotch against the hard shaft of his prick. It wasn't just a kiss, it was an open mouthed, tongue tangling, tonsil tickling snog.

We couldn't help it. We all applauded, and that was enough break the kiss, Alice looked at Beth, worried, blushing, starting to extract herself from John.

Beth grinned. "There's nothing in the rules that says you can't stay there, and keep on kissing. But you do need to pick the next victim."

Alice was so cute! Still straddling John's lap, she looked around, over her shoulder, and picked. "Muriel. Truth or dare?"

"Dare," Muriel responded boldly.

"Oh, dear. Now I need to think of a dare." Alice's brow furrowed. "Kissing another girl? No, we already did that. No way can you kiss John! A toy!"

Listening to her was like listening to a bubbling stream or something, it was so open and fresh and clear.

She put a finger in her mouth and looked around over one shoulder, then the other, at the scattered sex toys. "I don't even know what some of them are! What do you call those things that look like John's -- thingy?" she asked Beth.

"You mean his cock?" Beth asked. "It's called a dildo."

Alice turned bright red, and glanced down at the aforementioned appendage wedged between his stomach and her pussy, looking up at her with its single eye. "Yeah." She giggled. The quiver of her crotch made his prick swell a little more, and she squirmed her cunt against it again. She'd better be careful or Old Faithful might go off -- or maybe that would be Old Face-full, given that it was aimed straight up at her chin. "The pink one."

"The pink one is also a vibrator."

"Oh, goody! Muriel, you have to play with the pink dildo, for -- uhm -- five minutes. Out in the middle of the circle, where everyone can see. With the vibrator -- uh -- vibrating!"

Not exactly shy and retiring, Muriel reached for the very life-like vibrator, and swept aside other things to clear a space, spreading her legs so her naked pussy pointed right at Alice.

The sight of the auburn haired sixth grader handling such a life-like tool was a sight by itself. She had a swimmer's tan -- bikini version -- so her crotch was pale, pale, pale, as well as her tits. She examined the dildo, ran her hand over it, even jokingly pretending to be going to put it in her mouth, but didn't, at first. Then she did, kissing the tip, then she slid the fake dick between her lips.

What a sight that was -- her sweet, young lips wrapped around a very realistic cock.

Drawing it out, slick with her spit, she gave the base a twist which brought the vibrator to life, and she touched it experimentally to her left tit. Her chest was flat, but there was life in her little nubbins. The tip of her tit, already awake and alert, stuck out further as it danced to the vibrator's tune, the base swelling to a puffy, rounded cone on her not-yet-there boob.

Oh how I wanted to suck on it! Chew on it! Tickle her ribs and stroke her sweet flesh. But I can't be a pedophile, I'm not enough older than she is! And, I confess, I was also feeling jealous of Alice's proximity to John's hard on.

Yeah, I like boys. I had my regrets, sure, but last night, that had been one helluva good fuck.

After bringing both her tits to full distension, Muriel was visibly turned on, shining pink ruffles emerging from their hiding place between her soft pussy lips. So she trailed the vibrator down toward her crotch, poking it into her navel along the way, running it around her pussy, teasing herself and us by sliding the vibrator up the insides of her thighs, right to the edge of her puffy pussy lips.

"One minute down, four to go." Trust Beth to be the time-keeper, of course.

Mentally I was urging Muriel on, eager to see her reaction when those vibrations stirred her virginal tissues.

Muriel's smile was tense, her teeth nibbling at her lower lip as she tantalized herself with that buzzing dick. She touched the pink ruffles and visibly shivered.

Her hair trailing down around her face as she looked down, Muriel parted her pink ripples with the tip of the electric prick, wriggled it, wedged it in, just a little bit, slid it up, and jerked when it touched her clit, jerked again, then eased it down again, raising her head, looking skyward as she pressed it into her cunt.

"Two minutes down, three to go," Beth called.

"Uh! Oh! Oh, I want to," Muriel whimpered, working to push the dildo in further. "Oh, I do!" She let out a whine, a little grunt, pushing it into herself. Another little grunt, a wince.

I don't think there was a dry pussy in the room. I made no secret of stroking my own seeping folds.

"Dee, would you help me? Please?" Muriel pleaded.

Why me? I knew what she wanted. But why me? What was I, the designated cherry picker? I remembered how it had been with Missy, that wonderful night we had kissed and made up after I'd been such a shit. But this was different! This wasn't Missy, who I loved more than life itself. This was a near stranger!

It was a big dildo, too, and she was a slender youngster.

But even as I thought that, I was moving, crawling to her. I wanted to see that mechanical cock buried in her juicing young pussy. I wanted to bring her off.

I could smell her arousal, she was wet and ready. I moved up close to her, brushed the hair back out of her face. "Are you sure?"

She hesitated a fraction of a second, and nodded her head sharply. "Will it hurt much?" she asked fearfully at the same time.

I shook my head. "It'll only sting a bit."

"I want it! Oh, I want it! I'm such a wuss!"

"No," I countered. " You're young. You don't have to do this." We were talking softly, but I knew the others could hear.

"But I want to! It feels so good, I want more. Do you think it's too big?"

"No. It's big, but not too big."

"Three minutes down, two to go," Beth called out, and I just wished she'd shut up!

"Do it!" she ordered. "Do it now, before I get too scared."

"Lie back," I said, gripping the dildo threatening the gate to her pussy, the buzz of the vibrator going right up my arm, "and hold my hand."

She nodded tensely. She was so uptight her cunt was probably as tight as a her grip, so I leaned over and closed my lips over one of her lovely swollen, russet nipples, sucking at it as I worked the dildo around at the gate to her cunt. She relaxed, surrendering to her arousal.

I bit her tit, and, at the same time, slid the buzzing dildo in. She let out a little yelp, whether from my bite or her torn hymen, who could tell? Then she moaned, reaching, and I let her take over with the dildo, moving back as she began sliding it in and out of her twat, angling it this way and that. She let go of me to grip it with both hands, working the buzzing fake cock, stirring her quim like a butter churn.

She whimpered, she moaned, she huffed, she puffed, her hips dancing, and she proceeded to come, in full view of the whole room.

She sang her orgasm. That lovely little girl with her bikini tan, her slender, immature hips twisting like a serpent's. Her knees were bent, her heels dug in, those skinny -- well, yeah, they were skinny -- those skinny young legs were dancing to the vibrator's tune.

I think she's a soprano.

Some of the girls had their fingers in their mouths, while others had them in their pussies, even Beth. Lust is contagious. Face it, I think "sexually charged atmosphere" might be the term that applied here.

I think the only two not riveted by Muriel's performance were Alice and John. They were totally engrossed in exploring the depths of each others' mouths, just beginning some tactile expeditions to certain sensitive anatomical regions.

Gad, now I'm even talking like Beth!

When Muriel came back to earth, Beth reminded her she was to choose the next victim. Letting go of the dildo, she extended her arm, pointing blindly. As the fake cock, stained with the evidence of her formerly intact hymen, slowly slithered out of her pussy, she called out "Truth or Dare."

Esther gave a little start at being the target of Muriel's blind shot. "Uh, Truth," she decided.

"Are you a virgin?" Muriel asked, still sprawled in the middle of the circle, slowly and sensuously stroking her naked torso, playing with her still eager nipples, her legs writhing, her pussy pink and swollen.

"Uhm -- as much as you are," she answered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Izzy asked.

Esther blushed. "I've never had a boy -- uh -- in me, but I have -- uh -- stuck something in my pussy, and I bled a little bit."

"Oh." Izzy subsided.

Esther looked at Izzy. "Truth or Dare, Izzy?"

"Truth," Izzy answered.

"Have you ever masturbated?" Esther asked.

Izzy turned bright red, hugging her bunny closer. "No," she confessed defensively.

"Maybe it's time you learned how," I put in.

"But I..."

"Have you touched yourself down there?" I asked.

"Only when I wipe myself," she admitted reluctantly.

"Come on over here," I invited.

"You're not gonna make me a lesbian, are you?"

I laughed. "No. Trust me, that's not the way it works. Come sit in my lap, your back toward me."

She was a delightful little lap-full, I admit. She was still clutching her stuffed bunny. "Let me borrow your hands. What's his name?" I whispered to her

"She. She's a girl. Foofy."

"Nice name. How do you do, Foofy. You can watch from here," I responded just as softly. I took Foofy from her, and set her so she was looking up between Izzy's spread legs with her one button eye.

Then I took Izzy's hands, and guided them over her delicate body. "Feel your little titties?"

"Uh huh."

"See how they stand up when you brush your fingers over them? How does that feel?"

"Sorta tickles," she admitted. "And it makes me tingle."

"Pinch them a little."

She "ooooooed."

I guided her as we awakened her body, and she relaxed and snuggled back against my chest, resting her head on my collar bone. We could see our reflection in the mirrors opposite us, her delicate body nestled against me. Her hands in mine I guided her fingers all over her body, down to her thighs, up to her crotch. Using her fingers, I fiddled them between her immature labia, guided them through her folds.

She wasn't juicing, so I sucked her fingers myself, and moved them back to her slit. "Go ahead, feel yourself. There's nothing dirty about it."

That was all it took. Letting go of her hands, I just cradled her back against my chest as she began to squirm, and watched her fingers playing around in her pussy. She found her clit on her own, and mewed like a kitten, looking up to me. "Sensitive!" she exclaimed.

"Your clit," I explained. "Play with it, gently, however it feels good."

Her hips were moving, and I swear her bunny's single eye was focused right on her crotch as the girl had her first, tentative, immature coming, squeaking her pleasure.

"Wow!" she sighed when she was done.

"See what the big deal about sex is?" I asked.

She laughed. "I'm getting the idea."

"I thought you would."

"My turn," she pointed out as she freed herself from my lap, picking up Foofy. "Truth or Dare, Dee?"

"Truth."

"Are you a virgin?"

"No," I admitted.

"Told ya so," Barbara sniped.

"Beth, Truth or Dare?" I asked. Something about the way she was sitting had caught my eye. Or, maybe it was that she was the only one in the room with real tits. Or maybe it was something in the way she looked at me.

She dimpled at me, obviously anticipating something delicious. "Truth."

Time to air things out a bit. "Have you ever been gang banged?"

Hah! Gotcha, The Stick crowed exultantly. You weren't expecting that one, were you.

"Uh." She hesitated.

"What's a gang bang?" Izzy asked, resuming her place.

"Getting fucked by a whole bunch of boys at once," Barbara explained. "Well, one at a time, or maybe two, but a bunch of them, taking turns."

Izzy's eyes got big and she clutched her bunny tighter.

Which would it be, the truth? Or would I get to hit her with a dare? I was betting on "truth."

"Yes," Beth admitted, turning pink, studying her hands. "I have."

Oh, there was so much more I wanted to ask her, but I couldn't! Questions like "who and how many?" and "did you enjoy it?" Damn! I wanted details.

"Truth or Dare, Cynthia?" Beth asked before she got in any deeper.

"Truth," Cynthia shot back.

"Are you a virgin?"

She hesitated. "No," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean anyone should follow my lead. You've got to remember, you're only a virgin once. Once you've given it up you can't get it back. It's a very special thing."

Out of the mouths of babes. She was what, maybe ten or eleven? I had my regrets, and Cynthia had hers.

"John, Truth or Dare?" Cynthia asked.

Uh oh, I thought.

"Truth."

"Are you a virgin?"

"I -- no," he answered. "Alice, Truth or Dare?"

She was looking a little shaken at his revelation. "Truth."

"Are you a virgin?"

She nodded shyly. "Yes."

Someone tittered, but was silenced by a look from Judy.

Alice was licking at the icing on John's chest, until she was reminded to move the game along. "Judy, Truth or Dare."

"Truth."

"Are you a virgin?"

"Yes." Judy looked at me with those exotic dark eyes -- we were just about opposite each other in the circle.

"Dee, Truth or Dare?"

The Stick made me do it. Blame The Stick. I'd seen the wicked challenge in Judy's look as she'd fondled the butt plug before the game had begun.

"Dare," I answered.



-------

Chapter 8

Judy looked at me with those exotic, dark, almond eyes -- we were just about opposite each other in the circle. It was like telepathy or something. Grinning, she reached out to the cluster of toys, and pulled out what she'd seen me fondling earlier.

"I dare you to let me shove this butt plug right up your skinny little ass!"

That garnered a chorus of gasps, mine included.

Oh shit! That delightfully wicked bitch! Shit, shit, shit! She'd read my mind. The moment I'd figured out it was a butt plug I'd remembered the rectal exam by Dr. Smathers. I'd known I wanted to try it, and she must have seen it in my eyes, or in the way I'd run my hands over it. She wasn't even going to let me do it to myself, she was going to do it to me.

"And keep it there until I take it out," she added.

And make me hold it. She wasn't being malicious. Maybe she was deliberately being the Alpha Bitch, out to show everyone she was still the leader of this pack, but I think it was more because she knew she'd really enjoy doing it, and that I'd love every minute of it. The only question was which of us was going to enjoy it more.

And oh, did I want her to do it! This was going to be so humiliating! This was going to be so sexy! I felt like I was going to melt right down into a puddle as I literally crawled across the circle toward her, head down, my tail between my legs, so to speak.

She met me in the middle, and made a twirling motion with her finger.

Turning away from her, I presented her with my "skinny little ass," as she so tastefully put it, comforting myself that Beth described it as "cute."

OMG. This was so much more public than my visit to Dr. Smathers. Only Mom had been there to witness that.

Not that my mom watching my willing anal penetration, and resulting orgasm, wasn't a big thing, but this was humongous, and I don't mean just the size of the plug!

I also remembered the heights Dr. Smathers' fingers in my ass and cunt had driven me to, and that had been after her G spot diddling had already brought me off once, and very well, thank you. The butt play that had followed was skyrockets and lightning by comparison.

This was going to be something else again. This wasn't a finger or two. It was going to be a rude plastic intruder, a big one, wielded by a wise-ass -- or should that be ass-wise? -- 6th grader with an agenda, with a dozen people looking on.

Well, maybe only ten. John and Alice were in their own little world, stretched out together now, muttering sweet nothings as their hands explored each other.

There were some whispers among rest of the group as my head drooped. I looked down under the length of my naked torso, between the little stiffies of the nipples capping my budding boobs and the the cursive "w" of my pussy lips framed between my slender thighs, beyond which Judy was kneeling.

"This," Judy explained to the audience, displaying the evil intruder like this was 1st grade show and tell, "is a butt plug. As I've tried to explain, but you don't believe, the anus is an erogenous zone. It is sexy.

"It is one way homosexual men make love to each other, that and oral sex. In men, the stroking of the penis in the rectum stimulates both the stroker's cock and the prostate of the guy taking it up the rear. Prostate massage can bring on an orgasm. In short, both of them can come that way.

"It is said that some women like being fucked in the ass. We're about to find out if Dee is one of 'em. If she can take this she shouldn't have any trouble taking a cock up her rear."

Oh, was I gonna get her when I had the chance. She was enjoying this way too much.

And you're not looking forward to it? The Stick asked wickedly.

Oh yes, I am, I admitted, both afraid and excited, which was so typical of me. It was the ten-meter platform all over again. The first time I went off that I damn near peed in my bathing suit, and I was about to wet my nonexistent pants now.

Which made me think. When did I last pee? Was I going to be able to hold both the butt plug and what was in my bladder? How much soda had I drunk? Well, too late now to do anything about it.

Impishly, Judy peered at me from between my legs, and wiggled her fingers cheerily at me before she grabbed a tube of lubricant and uncapped it. "To make penetration easier, and avoid damage to the rectum, lots of lubricant should be used, whether it is a penis, a dildo, or a butt plug going in. It should be applied liberally, both to the rectum and the -- uh -- device being inserted, be it living or, as in this case, inert."

She could be real pedantic when it suited her, the little witch.

Oh jeez. The goo was cold as she drizzled it down the crack of my ass and scooped it into my tail. Her finger felt hot as she shoved the icy goop it into my bung.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. I couldn't believe how horny I was, how excited, how scared, how vulnerable, how embarrassed! First it was one finger up my butt, then two. She worked them around inside me, stretching me, probing, working more of the cold, slippery lube up my rear.

I had a moment of terror that she was going to shove her whole hand up inside me. She had small hands, but not that small.

She wiggled her fingers inside me. Oooh that felt good! Had Judy ever done this before, to herself, or someone else? Maybe she was into enemas?

What must I look like? I looked back, but with her in the way I couldn't see my reflection in the mirrored wall. I felt so totally exposed, so slutty. I could see the others watching, with a mixture of concern, lust, and fascination. Every eye was on Judy playing in my ass, preparing to violate my rear door with that monster plug.

Beth thought my ass was cute. What must she be thinking now? Maybe she was envious of Judy? Of me?

I glanced in her direction. She was smiling encouragingly, and fingering her pussy.

Judy pulled her fingers out. "Ready?" she asked, resting her hand at the base of my spine, building the suspense.

Lowering the top of my head to the floor, I sort of nodded.

"What?"

"Yes," I mumbled.

She gave my butt a stinging slap. "I can't hear you!"

"Yes! Go ahead!" Jeez, did I just say that? Oh shit. I found myself whispering that little grace that Beth had pronounced at the dinner table -- "Bless us, oh, Lord, and these, thy gifts, which we are about to receive. Amen."

Oh shit.

The cold, rounded point of the butt plug touched my anus, which winked reflexively, and I moaned as my pussy spasmed sympathetically.

I loved it, that nasty, wicked contact.

The pressure grew.

I remembered Dr. Smathers' advice. My asshole tried to resist, but I didn't let it. I relaxed it, pushed out like I was pooping, and felt the butt plug wedge the muscular ring open.

Ooooh, it felt so good. I folded my arms, my elbows resting on the mat, my head on my forearms, my ass high and accessible. Blatantly so.

Judy was relentless, applying steady pressure to drive the butt plug into my rear.

I groaned, from the depths of my soul, from the core of my being I groaned, and let that cold, hard invader penetrate, prying my asshole open, pressing deeper, driving all before it, until my sphincter -- what a wonderfully nasty word, sphincter -- my sphincter began to sting from being stretched.

Judy curled a hand around my upper thigh as she pushed harder, and I thought she was just trying to steady me, brace me, until I felt her insolent fingers on my pussy. Oh, she was steadying me, all right, but she was also stirring my quim to a steaming froth. Gymnast that she was, her arms and hands were very strong. I began to grunt as the plug gained ground, my anus starting to burn as it stretched to the limit.

She was merciless, and I loved it. I welcomed it. I was a total perv, and at that moment I didn't care who knew it. I lifted my head, my mouth open, eyes slitted, panting. "Ah - ah -ah!" It hurt! It hurt so good!

"AaaahhhhAHHHWHOOOOOP!"

Past the widest point, my anal ring closing around the narrower neck sucked the bulk of the butt plug in, clamping around the stalk, pinching the mass into me, and my head dropped again as orgasmic shudders shook me from one end to the other.

Judy's fingers stroked my naked tail, little vibrations drumming through me as she toyed with the base of the butt plug sticking out of me. I looked back at her, managed a smile in response to her grin, and the little oriental blew me a kiss. She shifted, so I could see the mirrored wall, the reflection of the full moon of my ass, with this big black thing, the butt plug's base, between my cheeks, wide enough to hide the puffy lips of my pussy. Instead of a dainty pucker I had the shining, ebony, mushroom tailpiece of a butt plug. All it needed was a spray of feathers or flowers or something to make my humiliation complete.

The probe settled inside me like a giant, hard turd, stuffing my rectum -- another good wicked word, rectum -- and my insides shifted, adjusting to the unaccustomed bulk. It squeezed my cunt shut, pushing me right to the edge of the clench, clench, clench of a delicious orgasm.

It didn't hurt anymore, and somehow I managed to hold my pee.

Judy fingered my clit and I howled my orgasm to the world. I came and I came. I was still coming when Judy gave me a push, and I toppled on my side. I rolled on my back, feeling the plug shift inside me as the base hit the mat.

My legs spraddled wide, my heels digging into the mat, lifting my pelvis in a fucking motion. I touched my pussy, wormed two fingers into my pinched, sopping cunt, found my G spot for myself, thumbed my clit, letting the whole room watch as I brought myself off again.

I don't know how long I was like that, my groin and my rectum knotting ecstatically, in full view of everyone.

When it finally passed and I relaxed it felt as if the whole room sighed with me.

"Wow, thank you!" I looked up at Judy, sitting beside me now.

"Want it out?"

Oh yeah, did I ever, now that the ball was over. But I knew I'd miss it.

"Yes, please." I turned on my side, butt toward her. I was still in humble mode, and a little fearful of what getting it out entailed. But my body was more than eager to expel it as she pulled. A brief stinging, tugging, shitting and I was left with a very empty feeling.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, Dee and I need to wash up. This must be thoroughly washed," she warned, continuing the lesson, "and I need to wash my hands. Once something -- say a finger or a cock -- has been up your ass, don't let it within spitting distance of your cunt, or you will be dealing with some very nasty infections."

I was on my back again, recovering. Reaching up, I was grateful she helped me get to my feet. My arm around her was as much to steady me as it was a sign of affection.

There was a bathroom off the playroom, well stocked with washrags and towels, as well as a shower. I suddenly realized I really needed that toilet. She washed her hands at the sink while I used it.

"Bend over," she ordered.

I shivered. "Not again!" Then I saw the wash rag she was waving and blushed.

It was warm and soothing as she bathed first my pussy before moving back to my aching butt.

"Thanks." I turned to her, and gave her a hug. She barely came up to my shoulder.

I just had to kiss her. We kissed, and I mean Kissed, tasting each other's breath, and again she practically climbed me to get to my lips. I was thinking that she was as confused about her sexuality as I was about mine.

Or maybe not. Maybe she was just gay.

"I'll get you," I warned her as we returned to the party.

She giggled. "I'm looking forward to it."

Everyone was looking at me as I carefully settled my aching tail on the mats.

Well, everyone but John and Alice. She was milking his cock, he was fingering her twat, while they stared deep into each other's eyes.

Ain't young love wonderful, The Stick commented snidely.

I tried to pick the next victim for a Truth or a Dare. Given a choice, I'd love to get back at Judy, of course -- in the nicest possible way, you understand -- but I'd have to wait until my turn came around again.

I decided to pick someone who'd not had a chance yet. So, not Izzy. Foofy had his nose nuzzled into her little tee tee. Muriel was still recovering from having her hymen disrupted.

I decided it was Donna's turn. She was the invisible girl in the class. You know the one -- average height, average weight, not too pretty, but not ugly. Average academically, she probably never volunteered in class, but answered when asked, adequate in phys ed, but not an athlete, she had her small group of friends.

Her hair was sort of shoulder length, brown, with just a little wave to it. A nice, undeveloped 6th grade body, with a tan that faded a bit, but didn't stop, where a modest one-piece bathing suit would cover. She was almost the same color, all over, but not quite. Interesting! Perhaps a nude sunbather?

And there was something about her eyes. I had the feeling they took in a lot more than you'd expect.

"Donna, Truth or Dare?"

She didn't look startled to be picked. She'd been watching me as if she could see the wheels turning in my head. What would it be, I wondered. Did she trust me enough to choose "Dare?" If not, what "Truth" did I want to hear from her?

She looked surprisingly composed. "Truth."

"What would you most like to learn at this party?"

She blushed a bit. There'd been a lot of blushing going on, in case you hadn't noticed. Not unusual for Truth or Dare, but here it showed all over.

"I'd like..." She drew a deep breath. "I'd like to learn how to -- make love to another girl," she finished in a rush.

"Anyone in particular?"

She blushed more. "Esther," she confessed softly. "I'd like to make love to Esther, if she'd let me."

My, my, my. The Nubian goddess had a secret admirer! "What do you think, Esther?" I asked her.

Esther sank her teeth into her full lower lip, while poor Donna held her breath.

"I think I'd like that," Esther admitted almost as softly as Donna. "Would you teach us, please, Dee?"

Naomi looked a little put out at losing Esther to Donna. She'd been the one dropping stir-fried bits of chicken into Esther's mouth, after all. Strange the attachments that develop at that age. Did we have a love triangle here?

Trust Beth to spot the problem. She semaphored me, pointing.

I nudged the process along. "I need a bit of a break. Naomi, would you be willing to let Beth use you as a subject to demonstrate on?"

Naomi had classic beauty; thick, naturally wavy, shining black hair, pale, pale skin, with a few light freckles, the first roundings of pubescence, eager pink nipples, a gentle swelling to her bosom, a few tentative curling strands of pubic hair gracing her pussy. Her eyes were a remarkable shade of blue.

"I'd love to do it," Beth agreed, standing up, and Naomi looked flattered at the idea of being the object of interest of a high school senior, one already legendary for her sexual experiences.

"Clear away the toys and give 'em room," I directed the others.

My butt still hurt a little, so I was relieved to be a spectator as Beth drew Naomi into the ring. Esther and Donna approached each other hesitantly, a delicately shy mating dance.

"It's as simple as making love with a boy," Beth explained, standing with Naomi, "and as sweet. Begin with kisses and caresses."

She demonstrated, drawing a shyly reluctant Naomi closer, into her arms. They were about the same height, Beth's soft breasts cushioning against Naomi's budding boobs. She cupped the back of Naomi's head, her fingers combing into those thick, black tresses. Naomi bashfully shuttered her remarkable blue eyes as their lips met.

Beth handled her as if she were fragile. The kisses were shy and tender to begin with, little pecks, but grew more urgent, lips working, at first nervously, then more confidently, and Beth drew her down to the mats. They lay on their sides, Beth caressing her, drawing her close.

Mirroring her tutor's move, Donna ventured a deeper kiss with Esther, which the black girl welcomed, as Donna's fingers toyed with Esther's dark braids, their decorative white beaded ties rattling softly. As they lay down together their skin colors complemented like chocolate and cream.

"Touch," Beth suggested. "Feel. Touch each other all over. Don't be shy. Don't touch just the breasts and nipples, but do touch those, of course. And while you're touching, remember to feel. Feel the texture of her skin, the stiffness of her nipples, the lushness of her ass. And feel her touch on your skin, your nipples. It's all about sensations, of touching and being touched."

Of course she was showing as she was telling, her hands roaming over Naomi's lovely young body, and Naomi responded, cupping Beth's more mature breasts, measuring their softness and warmth, marveling at how the eager nubbins of Beth's nipples responded to her thumb's tweak.

Donna and Esther's hands were busy as well, their nipples stiffening on their girlish chests as they ran their fingers over them, as they fondled each other's asses.

"Let her feel your thigh between hers, and vice versa, soft, and smooth, like satin against your pussy," Beth went on.

I became aware of John and Alice settling next to me, apparently done with their initial explorations. Both of them were glowing, and there were crusty remnants on their tummies that testified to their success. Alice was between me and John, clinging to him as they watched the demonstration.

"I'm going to take the lead here. Naomi doesn't have to do anything but enjoy," Beth assured the 6th grader gently. Beth began kissing her way down Naomi's body, nipping at the side of her neck, licking her collarbone, nibbling her nipple, which she suckled on, teased with her tongue. On her back now, Naomi was holding Beth's head, fingers combed through Beth's soft brown hair. Beth's teeth flashed, caught Naomi's stiff red berry, and the younger girl gasped.

"And taste her, too. MMmmm, icing!"

Well, there went the N, the A ... she was relieved of her name by Beth's tongue.

"Taste her all over, and smell her. She's a feast for the senses," Beth explained.

Alice grabbed my hand, squeezed it. I glanced over at John, and he was riveted at the display. I had the feeling he was taking detailed mental notes. Alice was going to be in for a real treat if things proceeded between them.

Meanwhile, Donna was watching with one eye as she duplicated Beth's moves, Esther now lay on her back, accepting Donna's sweet approaches. Donna's teeth nipped Esther's chocolate-kiss nipple, and Esther gasped, flinched, retaliated, pinching Donna's pink titty, tugging at it. Donna enjoyed slurping up Esther's name -- it was a nice long name, after all.

Beth wormed her way lower, teased Naomi's belly button, scraped her teeth on the soft roundness of her tummy, licked down, dodging around Naomi's crotch with its plump lips to lick the inside of her thigh. Naomi's legs spread, her hips rocking, her head rolling from side to side.

Esther responded to the way Donna savored her chocolate-tinted flesh, spreading her legs wide, exposing the soft brown lips between her thighs.

Alice squeezed my hand, and whispered in my ear, her soft body warm against my arm. "Can you teach me how to do John like that? Well, I mean, not exactly like that, but with my mouth -- my mouth on his thingy?"

I suppressed a giggle. After all this she was still too innocent to use the four-letter words. I nodded, and squeezed her hand back in agreement. "Of course, later."

Beth was the master of the tease, but she finally zeroed in on the target between Naomi's thighs. Naomi had a little more meat on her than the other girls, the bulge of her sex was more prominent, her pussy more fleshy, and there were some strands of dark hair curling around her opening.

"Begin by licking around her pussy first," Beth instructed. "Make her wait. Make her beg for it. The groove where her thigh joins her body is a delightful place to taste."

Naomi flinched and groaned as Beth demonstrated. Esther "ooed" as Donna imitated Beth. All of the girls, Beth included, were juicing. She may not be bisexual, but Beth certainly was enjoying her work.

"Then lick the groove between her labia."

Naomi whined.

"Use your fingers to part the lips, and let your tongue slide up along her inner folds which, by now, should be slippery and wet with her delicious juices."

Donna parted Esther's dark labia to reveal glorious petals of shining pink, and I knew an artist that would love to paint that!

"Probe her juicy crevice, let your tongue trace the contours, from the funnel of her vagina, up to the little nubbin of her clit, snuggled in the hood where her inner lips come together. If you want you can even tease the little rosebud of her asshole with your tongue or a fingertip."

Naomi's fingers tightened in Beth's hair.

"And then just suckle, and lick, and nibble at her with your lips. Listen to her, smell her, taste her," and her voice became muffled and she went silent as she concentrated on bringing Naomi to a shuddering climax.

Esther was trying to stuff Donna's face into her crotch by now, her chocolate thighs closing around Donna's head, her hips humping, her head tossing, making her braids dance wildly.

Both Esther and Naomi were coming, thanks to their partners' attention. I'd been drawn in by the action, my fingers playing in my pussy as I watched, but Alice was hugging my arm, and beyond her John had his cock in his hand.

"Wanna have some fun?" I asked Alice. We turned on John and cut him out of the herd again.

"What?" he asked.

"Alice wants to play," I explained. "All you have to do is lie there."

He looked dubious. "Okay," he agreed warily, stretching out on his back, his hard cock flopping up flat against his stomach.

I remembered the first time I'd sucked his cock. Even better, I remembered the first time I'd sucked my brother's cock. It was all I could do to restrain myself from straddling John's legs myself and demonstrating. Better for Alice to learn from doing, darn it.

John was a pretty good-looking kid, especially naked. He was slender, looked athletic, sort of, but then, how muscle bound can a 13 year old be? There wasn't any fat on him, at least. He was real pale. I guess he didn't get to the pool. Maybe he didn't even know how to swim. He was getting the first stirrings of a bush around the base of his cock, a few curling brown hairs that were stuck to his skin, and each other, by dried come. His name was an illegible smear of mingled yellow and red icing.

They'd obviously had a good time while Judy had plugged my ass.

"Straddle his legs, down about his knees," I directed Alice.

She fidgeted nervously, her eyes big as she looked at his hard on. Carl's was bigger, but John's was pretty impressive, and I had to remind myself that Alice really didn't have a lot to compare John to. She hadn't seen the range of dicks that we'd had in our sex ed class. Terrel's big, black dork had dwarfed the other boys' and I'd wondered how far Judy had taken it with him. She hadn't seemed intimidated by it, but I didn't think anything could intimidate Judy anyway.

Alice was a different case. She was as shy and innocent as anyone I'd ever met.

"Okay. Now, pick up his cock -- and start thinking of it that way. It's a cock, not a 'thingy.'"

She giggled nervously and delicately lifted it between her thumb and forefinger. I could see that even that light touch was enough to create tremors in John's tummy.

"See how the head joins the shaft? On the side toward you, the bottom? How there's a sort of a vee from the shaft up toward the slit?"

"Uh huh." She nodded.

"That's the most sensitive spot. Give it a little lick, like that first taste you take of a Popsicle."

I was sitting beside them, and watched as she squeezed her eyes shut and stuck out her tongue. The tip of her tongue just brushed his dick, right on the spot, flicking up to the tip. The way John jerked you'd have thought he had stuck his finger in a light socket.

"Now the Popsicle is melting a little, so you can lick it a bit more firmly," I suggested. Since they'd obviously been diddling around with each other enough for them both to have come, she was tasting his dried semen, though she may not have realized it.

"How does it taste?"

"A little salty," she admitted. "And it smells sort of -- I don't know -- funny. Sort of musky."

"That's the smell of sex," I explained. "Now, give the tip a lick."

John groaned as Alice slurped off the first seepings of his pre-come. She even tried to worm the tip of her tongue into the little slit of his pee-hole.

"Now kiss it, take just the head in your mouth and get it all wet. Don't touch it with your teeth, though."

"Mmmmm," she purred, to my surprise.

"Isn't that a great feeling? That's a cock you're tasting." I remembered Carl's, how warm it had been, the texture and sort of rubbery consistency of his dick-head, the softness of the skin of the shaft.

"Take as much into your mouth as you're comfortable with. Stroke it with your tongue, and suck gently as you take it out of your mouth. Again, don't bite him with your teeth. It's very sensitive, especially when he's excited."

John groaned, and reached for her head, but I caught his hands away from it. If he tried to shove her down on his dick she'd gag, and I didn't want that. "Just let her do it, John."

"I'll try, but, oh jeez does that feel good!"

I was pleased with myself, and proud of her. "That means she's doing it right."

Alice was beyond needing much instruction. She dipped her head again, taking more of his cock this time, the head and maybe an inch or more. "That's it, Alice. You've got it. Take as much as you can, but don't rush, don't try too hard."

Listen to me, the voice of experience! How many cocks had I sucked in my life? Two?

"Mmmmph," she mumbled around John's swollen pecker. "Is he gonna -- uh -- squirt his stuff in my mouth?"

"Only if you want him to," I assured her. "Right, John?"

He nodded. "I'll try to warn you."

Well, at least he said he'd try. I tried to remember what had happened with Carl, but it seemed like it was years ago now, even though it had only been less than a couple of weeks ago I'd sucked my brother off.

"MmmmYum!" Alice was really getting into this, taking more and more of his cock into her mouth, her fingers steadying it.

I just sat back and watched. It was so erotic, her sweet, innocent lips embracing his rude cock.

She didn't need any more lessons from me. Crouched over him like a lioness with its prey she was clamping her thighs around his legs, pressing her naked, juicy pussy against his knees as she nursed on his cock, a blonde babe sucking on an oversized teat.

She pushed down even further, and I heard her choke and gag and draw back. I stroked her naked back, so soft and tender, soothing her, and she sort of purred around the mass in her mouth, and tried again, with more success.

John's hips were working, too, so he had to be getting close.

"I'm -- I'm gonna come!" he warned, and Alice drew back just a moment before his cock erupted, shooting a pearly spurt that spattered the side of her nose. It being the third time he'd come, it wasn't as thick as his earlier eruption, but it still had range.

She held his spouting cock with both hands, watching it shoot gooey spurts that fell back on him, on her hands. Some of the jizz on her face trickled down to her lips and she tasted it, then impulsively leaned forward to close her mouth over the head of his still pulsing penis, sucking up his oozing jism. That stimulated him, his dick pulsing harder, and longer, as she sucked on his still pumping prick.

When she came up for air, his dick finally shriveling, her chin was coated with semen and spit, there was a trail of semen down from her nose, a few spatters in her curly blonde locks. She slid forward over him, up his body, her way greased by the come spattered on his torso. I saw her swallowing as she snuggled against him.

She lifted her face so he could see the mix of spit and come coating it. "That was fun!" she exulted happily.

He hesitated, just a moment, before kissing her, tasting his own semen on her lips and in her mouth.

I looked around, and realized that everyone was watching us, even Naomi and Esther, fresh off their own orgasms. Embarrassed, Alice slid off John and they both sat up.

Judy laughed. "I think some other people could use a bit of clean-up, too. Maybe the rest of us should tidy things up around here."

That pretty much broke up the classroom atmosphere. We'd moved beyond Truth or Dare. Oh well, I'd get even with Judy some other time.

There was chatter and giggles, some poking and teasing as the toys were rounded up, girl juice mopped up. The most recent comers took turns in the bathroom, and I wondered if the towels were going to hold up.

I don't know who threw the first punch, or, rather, who swung the first pillow, but that was all it took. The next thing I knew it was a free-for-all, pillows flailing, a few flying.

Well, after all what would a sleepover be without a good pillow fight? I snatched up a pillow and was whaling away indiscriminately, just like everyone else, of course, when I made the mistake of whacking John a good one from behind, right in the butt.

I admit, it was a cheap shot. However, I am ruthless in a pillow fight. I was quick, I was agile, I was strong, I was tall. I was The Stick! I had perfected the double-sweeping, reverse flail with a half twist which had been known to lift an opponent right off her feet. I was Demolition Dee in the pillow fight arena.

Caught off balance, John went down hard on his hands and knees, suddenly wheeled around, and the next thing I knew I was fighting for my life.

He was berserk! I fell back, trying to regroup, but he bored in and I didn't have a chance. He was a pillow fighting Ninja! He was everywhere at once, and every shot landed, from the left, from the right, hooks and jabs and uppercuts and over the tops, round houses and square houses, kidney punches, rabbit punches, squirrel punches, even pussy punches.

I went down. Me, the reigning pillow fight champeen, went down, and all I could do was curl up, protecting my head, face, and tender parts, while he pounded me into a paste. He was out of control!

He suddenly stopped, panting and sweating, dropped the pillow and ran off. Judy was kneeling beside me as I rolled over. The other girls, all tousled and sweating, were wide-eyed.

"It's all right, I'm okay," I assured them quickly, looking around for John. "Where'd he go?"

Beth beckoned to a corner by the stairs and started to go to him, but I waved her back.

"It's all right, I'll go. I'm okay, and he needs me. He just got a little carried away."

Beth and Judy took over with the others and I went over to the huddled boy who had given me the pillow whupping of my life. He was crying, and I curled down around him and held him.

"I'm sorry," he choked out.

"It's all right," I assured him. "I'm not hurt. It's all right. Hey, it's a pillow fight. These things happen. I'm sorry I caught you so hard from behind. I didn't mean to tee off so hard on you."

He panted, and shivered, and I held him, and felt the tension draining out of him as I reassured him. For the first time when I was around, his carefully constructed façade had cracked. All the rage and frustration and pain had come out, all at once. Maybe Ms. Andrews had seen this side of him, but I hadn't, and it was frightening.

But I was afraid for him, not me.

"I'm sorry," he apologized again. "I don't know what happened. You hit me from behind, and I just ... I don't know what happened."

"Shush. You don't have to say a thing. You just needed to let off some steam. That's what pillow fights are for."

"But, you've been so good to me, and I..."

"You didn't hurt me," I assured him. "Really, I'm fine."

"I get kinda upset sometimes -- stuff at home ... You came at me from behind." And he started to talk, and for the first time I learned something about his home life, and it made me feel sick.

His mom, it turned out, had a boyfriend who wasn't particular what or who or how he fucked, especially when he was stoned on one thing or another, which was most every night, and his mom wasn't much better.

Late one night he had stumbled into John's room. He probably didn't even know where he was at first, and he didn't give a shit anyway, any port in a storm. It was brutal, and painful, and when it was over the guy told John he'd kill him if he told anyone, and that no one would believe him anyway, and that his momma would throw John out if she found out her little boy was a faggot.

Yeah, right. I bet she knew what her boyfriend had done, and didn't do anything to stop it, the bitch.

I was also thanking God that John hadn't seen what Judy had done to me. I didn't like to think what might have happened. God bless Alice for distracting him so well!

And that was just the first night. Apparently boyfriend had discovered something he liked, so when Momma was used up or not available it was John's turn, and always a butt-fuck. A rape.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

I let him talk it out, and cry, wondering if Ms. Andrews knew all this. She must. Maybe he'd finally broken down enough to tell her, and that's why she didn't want him going home this weekend. Who could bear to send anyone back to a hell like that?

They should all be in jail, his mother and her so-called boyfriend should be locked up, and the key thrown away! I was furious hearing about it. No wonder he'd been so angry! If Ms. Andrews didn't see that John's mom and her "boyfriend" went to jail, I would -- I -- well, I didn't know what I'd do, but knives and guns were involved!

The whole idea behind The Program was to stop this kind of abuse, but I guess some grownups just haven't gotten the message.

I just held him while he cried, and talked, until he finally ran down, and I got some napkins so he could blow his nose and wipe his face.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I don't know what happened."

I shushed him gently. "It's alright. That's the good thing about pillow fights, they let you safely work out all those nasty feelings."

I looked over at the others, wondering what they were thinking about all this, but Beth and Judy and Maria were keeping them busy, setting out food, unrolling sleeping bags, so it was alright there, too.

I tried to lighten his mood with a little humor, and give him a chance to regain some control. "But I have to admit my pride is a little dented. I was the pillow fighting champ, but I'm not anymore! I've never taken a licking like that. You're the new pillow fight champeen."

He tried to protest, but I didn't let him. I shook his hand, congratulating him, and sighed theatrically. "It's time. I was getting a little slow, my reflexes are going. I shoulda quit when I was on top. Come on, I'll pass the crown along."

He was embarrassed as we returned to the group, but probably more because I raised his hand and proclaimed him the new champ.

Miraculously, someone even came up with a paper crown from a burger joint. I discreetly beckoned Alice over and Beth whispered something to her. She came up to him and played the beauty queen perfectly, congratulating the new champion, reaching up to put the crown on his head, and giving him a kiss that curled his toes and raised his cock.

"Come on, let's eat," I urged, and we set to on the leftovers from the stir-fry, a little dry from being on the hot tray for so long, but still delicious. Then Maria mounted an expedition on the kitchen, and came back down with a big bucket of Rocky Road ice cream and disposable bowls and stuff, along with squeeze bottles of toppings and a couple of cans of whipped cream.

Which, of course, resulted in another crazy round, with whipped cream and maraschino cherries flying through the air and decorating various parts of various peoples' anatomy, to be licked off, of course, along with the smears of icing that had once been names. That necessitated another round of cleaning up, both the room and the people, before Judy gathered us all in a circle, holding hands, just sharing the warmth of being together.

Bedtime presented me with a dilemma. Lots of people were sharing sleeping bags -- Esther with Naomi, surprise surprise, and Donna with Muriel, Izzy with Foofy -- well, you get the idea.

My logical sack partner was John, but I had a big problem with that, not the least of which was my desire to bunk down with Judy. The bigger problem was that if he had another nightmare he'd expect me to calm him down the same way I had the night before. That I could not risk. No, no, no!

I swear, Beth is telepathic. She came to my rescue by taking both John and Alice under her wing. I unrolled sleeping bag before I went over to Judy. "You and me?"

With a little shiver she placed her hand in mine and let me lead her to my lair. We slid into the sleeping bag, and snuggled together.

"I'm still going to get you," I assured her as I cuddled her, "but not tonight. I'm too tired."

"I can wait," she agreed. "It gives me something to look forward to."

Pillow talk. Nestled together in the sleeping bag, Judy and me, her head tucked beneath my chin, the only light coming from the open bathroom door. There were giggles and chatter around the room, of course.

I was tired, but not ready for sleep quite yet. "When I said 'Dare' you knew exactly what I wanted, didn't you?"

It wasn't really a question.

She giggled softly. "Of course! When you picked up that butt plug you looked like a six year old on a hot day with an ice cream cone in her hand. Did it hurt?"

"Bet your ass it hurt -- or, rather, my ass," I amended. "But it was awesomely wonderful, too. I lost track of how many times I came."

She was silent for a bit, her fingers toying with my tit, little crackles of energy shooting through me from it. "I'm not afraid of pain, you know," she whispered.

"I know." I was tempted to compare broken bones, sprains, strains and scars.

"So, what are you going to do to me?"

I'd been thinking about that. "I don't know yet. It won't be right away, but I will get even."

She shivered deliciously against me. "I know," she whispered. " I told you. I'm looking forward to it."

"So 'm I!"

"Want to go for a run with me tomorrow morning?"

A run. "Naked?" I asked.

"I will if you will," she agreed softly, again with that delightful little shiver, the same kind that I felt at the thought of running the streets naked.

"I don't have any choice. I don't have any clothes with me."

She giggled naughtily. We were quiet, and maybe I even dozed off a little bit.

Sometime, late in the dark of night, I dreamed that I was nursing a baby. I woke up to find Judy sucking on my tit.

How strange. It made me think of my mom. Had she felt that delightful tugging when I nursed from her? Had her cunt reacted the way mine did now? It was such a good feeling.

I wasn't even sure if Judy was awake. Maybe it was just a sleeping reflex. She was -- what? -- ten years old, and strong, but she was still a little girl in some ways, while in less than a week I'd be a real honest-to-gosh teenager.

Around us I heard sighs, giggles, moans. I couldn't identify voices or anything, but it was obvious what was going on. A gasp from here, a whimper from there. A moan -- that was John's voice, a giggle from Alice. Judy was squirming her pussy against my thigh, and I was humping against her.

She sucked harder, squirmed more tightly against me, and I knew she was awake. I stroked her back, feeling the muscles beneath her satin skin, ran my hand down to the tight buns of her ass, wiggled my fingers into her crack, tickled the tight pucker of her little rosebud, and she squeezed my hand between her glutes. She was so strong back there I had the feeling she could crack a walnut.

"I'm glad you invited me to your sleepover," I gasped softly as my orgasm bore down on me.

"Me, too," she answered, her arms around me like steel bands as she ground her body, and especially her pelvis against me, and I against her. She was muscles wrapped in silken skin. My coming swept over me in a sweet wave, and I felt her tightening with her own.

Then she relaxed, and went to sleep in my arms.

I felt a vague hollowness, as if something was missing. It all seemed so empty.

This was certainly the most bawdy slumber party I'd ever been to, with the most raunchy game of Truth or Dare I'd ever played, and I'd had -- and witnessed -- some awesome orgasms.

And Judy was a delightfully compact little armful.

But this was my first slumber party ever without Missy. Judy wasn't Missy. I missed Missy.

I hoped she was okay.



-------

Chapter 9


On tiptoe, feeling delightfully wicked, Judy and I slipped out of the still sleeping house. The cool early morning fog embraced us. Water frosted Judy's pert black pony tail and beaded the fine hairs on my arms and legs, my shaggy head mop, even my pubes. There was a chill that raised goose bumps all over me.

I love early morning runs, breathing air seemingly untouched yet by man or machine, but this was the first time I'd run with Judy, and this was a new neighborhood for one of my nude jaunts. Both things, especially the "nude" part, gave me a thrill.

I didn't even have shoes on. The front walk was cold, damp and gritty under my bare feet. I'd have to be careful of pebbles or twigs, anything sharp. Fortunately, after a summer at the pool, striding along the concrete deck, climbing pool ladders, taking off from abrasive diving boards and platforms, my feet were pretty tough.

After a few tentative paces in place, looking at each other a little nervously and a lot excited, we set out, jogging away from the front porch, turning on to the sidewalk, the morning air sweeping over me, insolently reminding me of my total exposure, teasing my pussy, tweaking my tender titties to stiffness. We looked at each other, sharing a naughty giggle, and I knew she was feeling everything I was.

Thoughts and worries about Missy had mostly faded with sleep, the morning air swept away any remaining shreds, and Judy was nice, quiet running company, not a chatterbox, saving her breath for the run. We started out slowly, warming up sleepy muscles with an easy pace, our little titties jiggling. It was a quiet early Sunday morning, no traffic on the streets. A man walking his dog on the far side of the road gave us a long lingering look as we passed. Judy actually turned to wave, trotting backwards for a few paces, and we laughed.

I have an easy stride. I like to think I kinda flow. I was taking maybe one step to every one-and-a-half of Judy's shorter legs. Without really thinking about it I stretched my legs, picked up the pace. She matched me, and pretty soon what had started as a jog turned into a trot, then a canter.

I was starting to breathe deeper, the warmth from exercising melting my goose bumps away. Judy was chugging along, a smile on her face, her legs pistoning. My feet were starting to burn, so I dodged onto the grass to chill them, wishing I'd brought my running shoes at least. The soles of her shoes on the sidewalk made a chuffing sound, while my bare feet were nearly silent.

She pulled a pace ahead, forcing me to reach a little deeper. The blood was rushing through my body now, my heart pumping. The fog on my skin had burned off, replaced with a thin film of sweat. I drew ahead of her, and the rhythm of her footsteps picked up.

I wasn't panting yet.

As we rounded another corner my feet stung from the friction between skin and concrete. I hoped I wouldn't get a blister and dodged on to the grass again. Judy shot me a sideways look. "You okay?"

I nodded. Of course I was okay, not that I'd ever admit I wasn't to her. She's half my size, after all! Well, no, that's an exaggeration, but I'm a good head taller than the little squirt.

I put a little extra push into my stride and gained the advantage again. Was she starting to breathe hard? The chuff - chuff - chuff of her running shoes picked up and she pulled even, flashing me a grin as she did. I grinned back at her.

The morning fog was evaporating, letting hazy golden sunlight slant through between the houses, the trees and grass gaining an aura. The morning dew sparkled on the lawns and leaves, made shining haloes around our shadows. A spider web on a picket fence held a constellation of gems on its fragile strands.

I'd taken a lead of a pace or two on her.

With a faster chuff-chuff-chuff Judy caught up, pulled ahead again.

I put on a little bit of a kick and drew even. A car swept past with a soft whoosh, a quick toot of the horn acknowledging our exhibitionist scamper. A paperboy on his bicycle, his bag heavy with the Sunday edition, almost crashed into the curb at the sight of us. Then he turned to watch us, totally lost control and wound up in a hedge. We ran on, laughing, as he untangled himself and admired our twitching asses.

The run went on and on, Judy leading me on a route familiar to her, through her neighborhood, jogging in place at street corners for only as long as it took to check the traffic, the pace steadily picking up. First I'd pull ahead, then Judy. We were both breathing harder now, and my legs were starting to burn. Mindful of my stinging feet I was quick to dodge on to the cool, dew soaked grass whenever I could.

Judy maintained her smile, but I saw the tension in her throat, cheeks and jaw. Then I remembered advice from my diving coach: "No matter what happens when you leave the board, in the air, or when you hit the water, always come up smiling. The bruises only show the next day."

I bet gymnasts had the same grin-and- bear-it attitude. I was hurting, a little, and I knew she was hurting, too.

I grinned at her. She grinned at me, and we both ran faster.

Turning on to her street the run became a sprint, my legs stretching, hers flashing, the sweat pouring off us, our hearts hammering, our chests pumping. We were dead even turning on to the walk to her front door. My bare foot skidded on the still wet lawn. I tangled with her, and we both went down in a whirl of arms and legs.

Fortunately we both knew how to fall, rolling across the lawn to sprawl on our backs, panting.

"Beat-cha!" she exulted.

"Didn't!" I puffed out.

"Did!"

"Didn't!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"I did!"

"You..."

She turned on me and pounced and it became a wrestling match, right there on the front lawn, the two of us starkers. We rolled and tumbled, over and over, back and forth, getting covered with grass clippings.

I was taller, but she was quicker. She was surprisingly strong, but my height and reach helped me. First I was on top, and then she was, then I was again. I almost had her pinned but she did some incredible gymnastics move or something and I found myself on my face with her on my back. I bucked her off and we grappled again.

We both struggled for an advantage, and I was totally aware of our naked bodies, sweaty skin against sweaty skin, pressing, slipping, our legs tangling, our faces only inches apart, muscles straining, and I saw the hunger in my eyes mirrored in hers. It wasn't an angry fight. It was a battle for dominance, and, well, yeah, maybe sex, if it came to that.

I was on top. Cocking my head a little, I moved in, she came up to meet me, our lips touched, and the wrestle became something else as we tasted each other's sweat. She was hot against me. We devoured each other, hands roaming, touching tits and butts, and flanks, and with a kick she rolled us over, giving her the advantage.

Damn those gymnasts! The next thing I knew I was looking up at her bare-naked pussy, her knees on either side of my head, and her head was diving between my thighs.

Oh jeeze, my legs happily parted for her, my hips rose, and she tucked into my honey pot with gay abandon, her hot tongue probing my willing cunt. It seemed only fair that I grab her tight ass and returned the favor, my fingers prying into her crack in search of that inviting little puckered crater while my tongue did a merry dance in the slippery folds of her quim, probing the tunnel of her tight cunt before seeking the squirmy slick berry of her clit.

This was no slow, romantic love making. This was raw, raunchy lesbian sex. I was doing my best to stuff my whole head in her crotch, and it felt like she was doing the same to me, right there on the front lawn, with the whole neighborhood watching. I was so close to coming. Sex on the grass...

Alas!

We screamed, desperately untangling, scrambling up, trying to escape the icy spray suddenly hosing us down.

Beth flicked the freezing shower from me to Judy and back again as we tried to escape, dashing around the lawn like demented squirrels. She was gleefully drenching us with the blast from the pistol grip nozzle, varying it from wide spray to an occasional sharp jet that stung where it hit, first one of us then the other. Jeeze that water was cold! She was an equal opportunity sadist, I'll say that for her.

And then, oh God, she nailed me right in the slit with that hard jet. It was like she hit my firing pin with a hammer. I just sort of jammed my fists into my crotch and hunched over while I went off like a rocket. Holy shit! Suddenly I was coming, right there on the front lawn, my whole body spasming.

Beth looked alarmed, and apologetic, until she realized what was really going on with me. The she laughed, sprayed me down lightly once again in a futile attempt to put out the fire, I guess, and then switched to Judy, who at that moment was watching me, and presenting just as tempting target.

Darn it! I was one up on Judy in the orgasm department, but Beth's aim was flawless. Judy went into her own crazy dancing come, until we were both left just standing there, drained, humiliated, shivering under Beth's icy shower.

"I've heard it works on dogs," Beth commented cheerfully. "I could only hope it would work with you two bitches before you totally scandalized the neighborhood. Though I think, thanks to my help, you both got away with public ones anyway. Now turn around so I can get the grass off you."

"Shit that's cold!" I complained as we dutifully turned under the stinging, icy shower that washed away the last lovely traces of our organisms along with the foliage we'd picked up. My hair was plastered down on my head, while Judy's ponytail looked like the south end of a half drowned squirrel. The other kids -- and Mrs. Liu! -- were thoroughly enjoying our performance, waving through the window and laughing hysterically.

"We were just -- sputter -- discussing how much I beat her by," Judy explained.

"How much who beat who by?" I retorted, wiping my eyes, trying to get water out of my ear at the same time, so I was jumping up and down, my head tipped to one side while I squeegeed my eyes with both hands, and I almost fell over.

"Don't start again," Beth warned, turning off the hose, "and don't give me that 'just discussing' twaddle. You'd gone well beyond foreplay by the time I showed up to put out the fires. And then I just poured gasoline on the blaze, and you're both welcome. Call it a tie, you over-sexed doofuses.

"Now, just stand out here and drip while I get you some towels. It's breakfast time. Some of us have Sunday school this morning."

As we stood there the sun touched our bare skin and Judy and I turned like it had been choreographed, blossoming like flowers, spreading ourselves wide to its warming rays. Beth threw us each a towel, and I was struck again by the erotic thrill of doing something so normal as drying my naked body in full view of any stray passers-by. I almost hated to go inside it felt so good.

After a crazy melee of fruit and cereal the slumber party didn't so much end as it evaporated, parents coming to pick up their daughters. Everyone thanked Mrs. Liu and Judy, with lots of hugs. Of Mr. Liu there was no sign. He was probably hiding upstairs, not about to brave this tsunami of hormone laden pre-pubescent girls, and one boy, some of us still naked.

The only exciting thing that happened was when John, still naked, tenderly dressed Alice, from the skin out, touching each of her developing curves and crevices as he did -- first he knelt and she stepped into her panties as he held them, and he drew them up, smoothed them over her softly rounded ass. Then he slipped on the training bra she really didn't need, reaching around her to hook it, taking his time working wrinkles out of the cups, bringing her delicate nipples to full attention.

Then he picked up her demure, pale blue and white plaid church-going dress, and held it as she slipped her arms in the short sleeves. She let him drape it over her head and draw it down her body. After settling it on her shoulders and hips she held her blond curls up out of the way while he zipped it up in the back and, a little awkwardly, did the hook at the back of her neck.

Then he knelt down, holding her Mary Janes, of all things, while she slipped her feet into them, before he stood up again. He used the pale blue plastic holder to sweep the hair back off her face as worshipfully as if he were bestowing a crown on her.

No, that wasn't the exciting part. That was touching, yes, but not exciting. The exciting part was when, fully dressed, she went to her knees, her skirt spreading prettily around her. Lifting his half hard pecker with her delicate fingers, she licked it, kissed it, brought it to full extension, and proceeded to give him a blow job that had his toes curling and his head flopping back on a suddenly boneless neck, his mouth gaping upwards like he was trying to catch raindrops from the ceiling.

It was a study in contrasts. Alice was so pure and childlike, dressed for church, with her blonde curls, her wide blue eyes, her baby face soft and innocent, while her mouth was wrapped lewdly around his rudely erect cock.

I wished I could have taken a picture of it.

His hands cupped her head, fingers curling into her golden locks, his hips working as he stroked his rapidly swelling dick to the back of her mouth, and beyond, judging by the choking and gagging sounds, her nose brushing the sparse strands of his developing bush.

She didn't seem to mind. She welcomed it. She didn't draw back, didn't flinch, but took it, saliva drooling down her chin with every stroke, her fingers toying with his balls, until his pecker pulsed, her throat working as she swallowed his load.

Finished, she carefully sucked his shrinking dick clean before she got to her feet, licking her lips, and they kissed a deep, deep, sharing-everything kiss. After wiping off her chin with a delicate lace hanky she was still dabbing at some spots on the bodice of her dress, right next to the circle pin she wore, as she walked primly out the front door and down to the car where her parents waited to take her to church, her skirt swirling around her graceful calves.

As they prepared to drive away, Alice in the back seat, I saw her mom hand her a pair of white gloves. Before she drew them on, with an impish smile on her face she blew John a kiss.

The few of us remaining broke out in applause, laughter, and waves. John was still a little wobbly.

Beth and John and I were the last to leave, and I happily shared a hug with Judy, knowing we'd always be friendly rivals. I reminded her that I still owed her one. She giggled and fingered my naked pussy, the little witch.

Then we piled our stuff and ourselves in Beth's little red car, and John climbed in my lap again for the drive back to Beth's house. Sexed out, my bottom still sore, I wasn't even toying with John's limp dick, not that he had anything left. Alice's blow job had been the last straw, I guess.

"What happens now?" he asked.

"Well," Beth answered, "I'm going to church. I've got a Sunday school class to teach.

"Mom and Daddy want to talk with you two. While you and Judy were streaking around the neighborhood like mad exhibitionists..."

"It wasn't streaking. It was a training run," I protested.

She snorted. "Yeah, right."

"It was. Swimming starts. I've got time trials this week."

"You need to do time trials? I thought you had a lock on the butterfly."

"You swim?" John asked. "Oh yeah, that's right. I think you told me."

"Like a fish, a champ," Beth answered for me, embarrassing me. "She's a diver, too."

"I'm moving up to the 14 and under age group this year. Everyone has to do time trials when they move up."

Beth didn't seem to pick up on the hint that I had a birthday coming, darn it.

"Good luck! Anyway, Mom called this morning..."

"My Mom?" I felt a chill. What if something had happened to them?

"No, MY mom called me, at Judy's house this morning. Your mom called my mom last night."

My heart sank. "I'm in trouble again."

"Why would you think that?" Beth asked.

"I'm always getting in trouble," I confessed dolefully. "I try to do the right thing and mess it up, or I try something stupid and it ends up in a trip to the emergency room."

"Relax," Beth told me. "They want to help."

"Help how? Help who? Who help?"

"How I'm not supposed to say, but I approve. Help who? John. Who help? Your mom and my parents," Beth answered, calmly untangling my scrambled response as she pulled up in front of the house. "Come on, out you get. I've got to scamper or I'll be late."

"You're going like that?" John asked.

She was still naked and I wondered where she kept her driver's license and keys, until I remembered the purse in the back.

"It won't be the first time," she answered. "Grab the sleeping bags and stuff, please, would you?"

We dragged the sleeping bags and her little suitcase of sex toys out of the back seat, trudging up the walk like naked refugees from some natural disaster as she drove away with a merry wave, while I worried.

I needn't have. The Finches threw the door open to us, relieved us of sleeping bags and other stuff, offered us breakfast, which we passed up, and settled us around the kitchen table.

"Your mom called, Dee," Mr. Finch explained as he poured himself some coffee. "Everything is fine. They'll be by to pick you up late this afternoon. If you feel like getting dressed we took the liberty of hauling your clothes out of your back pack, and running them through the washer. They're in the drier now. John's clothes got washed yesterday and are set out upstairs in the spare bedroom if he wants them."

"Thanks." Did I want to get dressed? I'd done some mental counting and realized I'd have to go until next Tuesday or Wednesday to beat Beth's record, and I didn't think that would work. "I can wait for now."

"But the main reason she called, John, was about you." Mrs. Finch poured a cup of coffee, offered it to us, but we turned it down.

It was John's turn to look scared, and he had a much better reason than I did. "What about me?"

Mrs. Finch joined us at the table. "She knew you had a problem."

"You can't go home," Mr. Finch said bluntly, sipping from his own cup.

John hunched his shoulders defensively, shrinking into himself. "I don't want to go home. Not while he's there. I'd like to see my mom get straight, but..."

Beth's parents shared a look. I wondered if they knew what I now knew about John's home life. I wasn't about to say anything to anyone about that, except maybe Ms. Andrews.

Mrs. Finch sighed, stirring sugar into her coffee. "I suppose it's reasonable to say that at this point you don't even have a home."

That brought his head up.

"Your mother," Mr. Finch began uncomfortably, "and her -- uh -- boyfriend -- are in jail."

I managed to restrain myself, but I wanted to let out a whoop and do a war dance around the table.

"It couldn't have been much of a home anyway," Mrs. Finch said softly, taking John's hand.

John just sat there, tears slowly filling his eyes until they spilled over, trickling down his face.

Mrs. Finch gathered him in to her warm embrace, settling him on her lap, and just held him for the longest time, stroking his head while he cried. Not big sobs, almost silently, the tears streaming down his face, staining her blouse. Mr. Finch and I just sat there, except I had to dab at my own eyes.

You could see all the tension just draining out of John. That defensive shell melted away with every tear, exposing the scared little boy inside. Mrs. Finch held him and rocked him and patted him until the tears stopped. Then she tenderly wiped his face with a paper napkin.

Finally he extracted himself from her lap and settled himself in his own chair again, looking mortified, so I gently patted his hand reassuringly.

"Coffee?" Mr. Finch offered, getting up to refresh his own cup.

John nodded, I did, too, then we bowed over the steaming cups, warming ourselves with the hot brew. It smelled good.

"What happens now?" John asked. "To me, I mean."

"That's what we need to talk about," Mr. Finch explained.

"I..."

Mr. Finch cut me off with a gentle wave of his hand. "To a certain extent that depends on what you want, John."

With The Stick goading me, not one to be shut up easily, I spoke up anyway, having rehearsed this speech a million times since Friday. "I was going to say, John, that, well, while I'd really like to have you stay with me, I'd have to ask my mom."

Both of Beth's parents were shaking their heads.

"But I don't think it would work anyway," I went on unhappily. "We -- well, we just don't have the space."

John was nodding, looking unhappy.

"So, it looks like you have to make a choice," Mr. Finch went on. "There's Child Protective Services. They can settle you in a group home -- sort of like a small orphanage with other kids -- until they can find a foster home for you."

My heart sank at that thought. I'd seen the stories in the news about foster homes that were no better than what John had just escaped. I'd heard of kids being bounced from one such "home" to another every few months, even changing schools every time, until they were eighteen and just got shoved out on the street with their clothes and maybe a few dollars, and no place to go.

"Some choice!" I blurted out angrily.

It was Mr. Finch's turn to put his hand on mine. This time I did shut up.

"Or you can stay here with us," Mrs. Finch announced.

My neck popped, and I was afraid John got whiplash.

"We talked with Ms. Andrews," Mr. Finch explained. "She's pulled strings with the authorities, and we're cleared to work in loco parentis, temporarily, while we're screened to become foster parents. I'm assured that will pretty much be just a formality.

"I'm afraid your mom and her -- whatever he is -- are going to be in jail for quite some time. There were drugs. They were dealing."

Serves 'em right, I thought to myself. They should rot there.

"With our boy away at college we have a spare room," Mrs. Finch explained.

I thought I was going to burst into tears this time.

"You mean, really?" John stammered. "I mean, I don't want to ... I don't know what to say. I don't want to trouble you."

"It's no trouble," Mrs. Finch assured him.

I nudged him and leaned close. "You could say 'yes, '" I suggested.

"Okay -- uh -- yeah!" John erupted.

I whispered in his ear.

"Thank you!" he added.

We sipped our coffee, and I made a face. How could something that smelled so good taste so awful? So Mr. Finch shoved cream and sugar in my direction. I guess John was used to black coffee, but this was the first time I'd ever tasted the stuff at all. By the time I was done I had turned mine into something resembling warm, melted coffee ice cream.

As we sat there, discussing this, all the tension just slowly drained out of all of us. Then it was up to check out John's room, however temporary it might be, and he got dressed, so I decided I would, too. My things were still warm from the dryer, and it did feel good to be covered for a change. I guess too much of anything can get boring after a while.

Beth came back from church, and after lunch the three of us young 'uns settled down in her room to tackle our homework. It was hard to concentrate on it. After all, John was still dealing with all the changes in his life. Beth was dealing with him moving into her house and her boyfriend coming home and everything, and I was listening for the doorbell for when Mom and Carl got here, 'cause I really, really, really missed my mom -- and Carl, too, of course.

On the other hand, in another way, I felt light as a feather. I'd been holding John's hand since his Friday melt-down, and now someone else would take over. I was so grateful to the Finches I didn't know what to say.

I'd still be there for John if he needed me, especially at school, but Beth's Mom and Daddy would be here for him, in his new home. And, too, Beth, could handle it better than I could. She was older, more mature than me. She didn't treat me like a little kid, but beside her I felt like one, even if I was almost 13.

I hesitate to mention that, because, even though it is less than a week until my birthday, I don't want to seem to be asking people to make a big to-do about it. But I was going to be a real teenager, after all. That's some kind of a milestone.

Anyway, we were doing homework. Let me set the scene for you.

Stage right, seated at her computer desk, is Beth, a young lady, perhaps 17 years old, petite, modest figure, light brown hair in a simple pony-tail, she's clothed in a trim white sleeveless blouse, modest brown shorts, bare legged, bare footed, her attention focused on the flat screen monitor of her computer, brow furrowed as she stares intently at the screen.

Stage left, leaning back against the headboard of a femininely draped bed, John, a young man of about 13. He is thin, angular, his face pleasant, though his brown eyes are shrouded, lines of strain bracketing his mouth. He's wearing a tee shirt and jeans, his shaggy brown hair needs a barber's skills. His knees are up, a spiral bound notebook braced on this thighs, he is chewing on a pencil, pauses, makes an entry in the notebook, resumes chewing on the pencil.

Stage center, lying on her stomach across on the bed, is Dee, a tall, slender young lady of almost 13 years. Her tee shirt shows evidence of her blossoming femininity, her short-shorts hug her trim buttocks, reveal her long, slender legs. Her tousled blondish hair is short, undisciplined, needs the attention of a comb. Her knees are bent, her feet raised, ankles cross, uncross, re-cross, the toes of her bare feet wriggling.

Her head and shoulders are off the edge of the bed. Arms dangling, she stares intently down at a workbook on the floor. She deftly wields a pencil, her long, slender, graceful arms moving decisively as she scribbles arcane mathematical symbols and equations, swiftly and confidently decoding the intricate relationships of sines, cosines and tangents, secants and cosecants and cotangents.

The silence is -- well, I hesitate to even utter the term -- pregnant.

Offstage: Bing! The first musical chime of a doorbell.

The young ladies, simultaneously chorus melodically "They're here!" as they react, the older girl's chair hurling backwards as she leaps up, the younger girl's pencil flipping upwards into the air, spinning, spinning, spinning, end over end, as she flies off the bed.

Offstage: Bong! The responsive, lower, second chime of the doorbell.

The boy, looking up from his work: "Who's here?"

But he's talking to an empty room. The pencil clatters to the floor, the desk chair thumps back against the foot of the bed. There's already a cascade of eager footsteps down the stairs. From downstairs the sound of a door being yanked open, an explosion of chatter, "Hi's" and "how are you's" and "how was your trip's" and "come in, come in's" and "it's so good to see you's."

Not me. I'm speechless -- for a change, wrapped around my mom's comforting warmth, my head snuggled against her, her arms embracing me. She smells good, sweet, reassuring, comforting.

It's the grownups that are chattering. Beth and Carl's mouths are engaged in what Beth once described as "a mutual, lingual tonsillectomy."

Mom sort of peels me off so she can respond to the Finch's warm welcome, but I maintain my hold on her, not about to let her escape again.

"Oh, John, come on down!" Beth invites him as he hesitates at the top of the stairs.

"We need to talk," she adds to Carl, dragging him up past the descending John.

"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?" I teased. The Stick sometimes makes me feel like a very rude ventriloquist dummy.

"Dee!" Mom scolds gently to general laughter.

"I'll be home... ," Carl begins as he's half-way up the stairs.

"Later," Beth interrupts, hauling him away, her door swinging closed behind them.

The rest of us are ushered into the living room, and snacks and drinks are offered all around by the Finches. I have my bat-sense at work, listening for the sound of bed-springs from upstairs, but instead hear only an occasional muffled protest from Carl.

Curioser and curioser, mused The Stick.

John is introduced to my mom -- I couldn't remember whether they'd met before or not, but it didn't matter. Mom seems a bit confused by my clinging, but doesn't reject me as I remain pasted to her as we sit on the couch.

I just have so much to talk with her about, questions and worries.

A few minutes later Beth's door opens and I hear Carl's heavier tread on the stairs and he sulks into the living room, Beth trailing in his wake, looking unhappy.

Oh oh, trouble in paradise!

Sensing discord, Mom gracefully extracts us, pleading exhaustion, sending me upstairs for my things, with John following so I can bid him a fond farewell. I do, with tender hugs and soft words of reassurance.

"You know Beth," I reminded him, "and her mom and daddy are the greatest."

"I know," he agrees reluctantly, "but you're my best friend. My only friend."

I hold him close. "I'm still your friend, and I always will be. I'll see you tomorrow at school."

"But what if I have another nightmare?"

I eased myself away from him.

"Beth will be there for you," I assured him, "and so will her parents. Okay?"

He nodded dubiously, and let me go so I could re-pack my backpack. I made my way downstairs and we Walkers proceeded to extract ourselves from a dinner offer with mutual promises of getting together again, soon. Carl seemed anxious to escape, leaving Beth standing at the foot of the stairs, looking doleful, without even a kiss of consolation between them.

Oh dear. Were we witnessing their first fight?

The drive home was short. Behind the wheel, Carl was morosely silent, while Mom and I did some inconsequential catching up. Once home Carl disappeared into his room, the door firmly shut behind him, while Mom was busy with unpacking and getting laundry started, so I finished up my homework. Supper was a makeshift affair of sandwiches, and bedtime came early, but only after Mom had a very short consultation with Carl, behind closed doors, darn it.

Have I mentioned that my days of listening at keyholes are over?

There were death threats.

All I know is, Mom came out muttering something about "men!" in that tone one gets when dealing with males on a testosterone rampage. With elephants I believe it is called "musth," and you don't want to encounter a bull pachyderm when he is, so to speak, PMS-ing.

So later I was in bed, alone, in the dark, and feeling lonely, tossing and turning, worrying about all this stuff which I could do nothing about -- John, Missy, swimming trials, trig, Mom, global warming, pregnancy.

Well, that was something I could do something about, The Stick reminded me.

Mom. I needed my mom. When I was little she'd said I could always come into her bed if I had a nightmare, but I hadn't taken advantage of that offer in years.

Well, The Stick pointed out, wasn't the thought of pregnancy a nightmare?

I was still telling myself not to worry, I hadn't yet had my first period.

But what if?

I padded nervously down the hall to her door and tapped softly. She answered quickly, so maybe she hadn't been to sleep. Maybe she was worrying, too. We could worry together, at least.

Setting the book she'd been reading aside, she opened the covers for me, which is how I found myself snuggling against her comforting warmth, her arm around me.

I was nude. She was nude. Mmmmmm. She was soft, and warm, and comforting, murmuring reassurances.

I finally broached The Subject. "I need another appointment with Dr. Smathers."

I felt her stiffen, her stroking stopped, so I explained about John's nightmare, and reluctantly, and delicately, sort of indicated, without really saying it, what had happened, that I needed protection. Being almost as smart as me and Carl, she figured it out, of course

"Oh, Dee."

How could two words encompass such a depth of feeling? Or is a name a word?

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my head nestled on the curve of her clavicle, my arm around her, just below the soft, warm mounds of her breasts.

"Don't be," she reassured me. "You did what you felt was right."

Well, it was nice of her to say it, but I had to admit to myself that my own horniness had overridden my good sense.

"I'll call Elaine tomorrow for an appointment. It shouldn't involve a full exam, so I imagine she'll be able to fit you in."

Elaine? I thought. Since when were they on a first name basis?

I didn't say anything at first, just snuggled against her, reassured.

"Thanks, Mom."

She kissed my head.

"How come you don't date?" I finally asked. Somehow I knew she was still awake. Well, God knows, I gave her enough worries to keep anyone awake.

"Well, I guess it's just that I've been pretty busy, raising you two and putting food on the table," she answered after a while. "And, maybe I just hadn't met the right person."

Did she say "hadn't?" Did that mean she recently had??

"How do you know when you've met the right person?"

She sort of shrugged. "It's just a feeling, I guess."

My hand sort of slid upward to the underside of her breast. I was remembering having my tit sucked, the twinges it gave my pussy. "What was it like to nurse me?"

"Like when you were sick?"

"No. I mean breast feed me. You did, didn't you?"

"Oh yes, I most certainly did," she assured me, her tone warm. "It was wonderful."

I cupped her breast. I wasn't really sure where I was going with this. Well, yes I was, but I was afraid of what her reaction might be. I snuggled my head down toward her other breast, until I felt her nipple on my cheek. She smelled good, warm and sweet. Was this how it was when I was a newborn?

My thumb stroked her nipple, which reacted predictably, coming to attention.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I was just wondering, what it was like when I nursed on you," I whispered softly, just before my lips found her nipple.

"Dee!"

It wasn't sharp, or angry, or fearful, that "Dee" she came out with, and her hand came up to -- maybe push me away -- but she didn't. Instead she stroked my head.

"Oh, Dee."

With as much a moan as a sigh, I sucked on her tit, some memory from very deep inside me stirring. There was no milk to be had, of course, but there were good feelings of safety, and comfort, and love. Her nipple expanded as I suckled, and I squirmed more tightly against her, bare skin to bare skin.

She wrapped her arms around me, drawing me even closer, showering little kisses on my head, and I purred, squirming just to feel her texture against me, my thighs embracing hers. She shifted me, us, so I was more on top of her, my thigh between hers, hers between mine.

I sucked harder, hugging her close, my fingers toying with her other tit, pinching and tugging at it, my hand cupping the warm mass of her breast. She had wonderful breasts, firm and full, capped with dark areolas, mature nipples, nipples that had suckled me and Carl as infants, so they were experienced, strong, reassuring and generous.

We snuggled closer, her hips shifting, her damp crotch pressing against my thigh, while I nursed on her sweet tit, safe in the circle of her arms, her soothing hands stroking my back, down to my ass.

Without really thinking about it I humped my crotch against her thigh, even as I pressed my leg against her pussy, against her wiry bush. Her hips moved, too, rubbing her crotch against me.

I squirmed closer, still sucking, sucking, sucking at her tit. If my teeth bothered her she gave no sign of it, unless that was why she was moaning softly, sighing, squirming.

I was feeling it, too, my body warming, warming, melting. Our mutual rhythm speeding up, gaining strength, hips humping, humping, humping against each other as the very primitive hungers of a mature woman and a maturing girl steadily built.

Satisfaction crested, our release washed over us, a soft wave that rocked us warmly and gently and we held on to each other, unashamedly sharing the unconditional love and pleasure of mother and daughter.

At some point I was vaguely aware of my mouth relaxing, releasing her swollen breast, and I slept in my mother's comforting embrace.



-------

Chapter 10

I woke up in Mom's arms, her fingers combing through my crazy mop of hair, tugging at my scalp. It was a wonderful way to wake up, even on a school day. I let her know I was awake by snuggling closer to her, enjoying her smell, warmth and softness.

And, in The Stick's usual tactless way, my mouth fell open and stuff spilled out.

"Are you gay?"

Mom's hand stopped for a moment, then resumed combing my tangles out. "Would it make any difference if I were?"

"Of course not," I assured her. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"I don't mind."

She answered after a minute. "There was a time I would have said 'no.' But now I'm not so sure. I think there are many kinds of love. And love, both spiritual and physical, is precious, wherever you find it. Now, I think it's time you got up. You've got school and I've got work. We can talk more over breakfast."

"What about Carl?" I asked as we got untangled. My crotch was all sticky.

"He's already up and out. I heard him leave, in a huff -- a small, four-wheel-drive huff."

"A four-wheel-drive what?"

Then I figured out what she meant, and giggled. Last night I'd figured out what had him so upset, so I said it.

"He was expecting a hot welcome from Beth, after being away from her for all of two days, and she shut him down."

Mom nodded. "And he blames you."

"Me? Why me? I didn't do anything."

"Nothing but saddle Beth with John. With John hanging around, how could she feel free take your brother to bed?"

I felt a pang. "Oh. Yeah."

"Carl will get over it. Though I bet he'll want payback."

"And payback's a bitch," I reminded myself dolefully.

She laughed and tousled my hair. "He can be ingenious. My bet is Beth will be here this afternoon or tonight, so be prepared. Now, up you get. I'll see you downstairs."

She gave my naked butt a little pat as I scampered away.

I was dabbling with my cereal when she settled opposite me with her coffee. We were both dressed, me for school, her for work.

"About last night," I began hesitantly. "I'm s..."

"Dee, please stop apologizing for things that don't require an apology," she interrupted.

"I'm s..." This time I cut myself off, and managed a wry smile.

"I needed it. I enjoyed it, too," I confessed. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," she assured me. "And believe me, it was a pleasure. I once told you you could come to me anytime. That hasn't changed."

She thought for a moment. "But I'm concerned about you. Anything you want to talk about, aside from a doctor's appointment?"

I shrugged. "It's just that everything's been coming at me so fast lately. I really, really missed you, you know. I miss Missy, too."

"I'm sorry you and Missy are on the outs. And I'm really sorry I wasn't here for you."

Her hand on mine was reassuring. I was glad she didn't pry into what had happened between Missy and me.

"Wasn't your fault. You were gone before the fit hit the shan," I pointed out, using our family spoonerism to deprive the cuss jar of a quarter. "And what about you? You have to juggle so much, with work, and Carl and college, and then I keep goofing up..."

"As for me, well, I'm fine," Mom interrupted. "Better than ever, in fact. And as for you goofing up..."

"It's just that, well, stuff seems to happen when I'm around."

"And it's a good thing you are. What would have happened to John if you hadn't stepped up?"

I shrugged. "Don't know. Probably nothing good. But if it wasn't for Beth's folks I don't know what might have happened, either."

I took a deep breath, and confessed, "I didn't really think the whole thing through when I said I'd take care of him. But, well, he was such a wreck. I mean, like, he said he couldn't go home, and he was crying, and then Ms. Andrews said he couldn't go home and she didn't want to involve Child Protective Services. I didn't really stop to think what would happen to him afterwards, after Beth's mom said it was okay for that night. If they hadn't taken him in after Judy's party I don't know what would have happened."

"We'll have to think up some nice thing to do for them," Mom decided. "And yes, things have been coming at you real fast lately. I guess it comes with being an almost teenager. Maybe now that you're through the whole Sex Ed thing we can get back to what passes for normal around here. When should I try to get you an appointment with Elaine?"

Elaine again. I wondered if maybe something was going on there. I hoped so. Mom had been alone for so long, except for Carl, and me, and I don't know that I'd been much help, especially lately. But she'd just said she was better than ever. I let that thought drop for now.

"Well, not today, I've got time trials this afternoon."

"Tomorrow, if she can fit you in. Now finish your cereal and I'll drop you at school so you aren't late. Did you find your suit?"

"I must have left it at school."

"Well, I hope so. There's no time to find you a new one today."

So she dropped me off in front of school and I walked in the front doors and almost tripped over my own feet at the sight of Missy coming out of the girls' room. She'd gone topless! I did a double take, and corrected myself.

Let's just say that she was stretching the limits of both elastic and decency.

She was flouncing around in a short shift.

No, not a "short shrift." That's something that you give, or are given, and I'm not quite sure what it means, except that I know you don't want to be given it. In this case a "shift" is a simple dress.

And, maybe technically what Missy was wearing wasn't a shift, but it sure was short, ending too many inches above her chubby knees. It was basically a dress, if you dare call it that, of light cotton paisley. It looked vaguely familiar, but it wasn't something of hers I'd ever borrowed. It was strapless, elastic clinging precariously to what, on her, passes for a bust line.

She doesn't really have much in the way of cleavage, you understand. No Grand Tetons there yet, just gentle foothills framing a shallow valley. She's only 13 for Pete's sake! Granted, she's got more up there than I do, but a lot less than Mickey of the Magnificent Mammaries. Now that girl has something to hang a strapless dress from. With Missy the dress was left with a tenuous dependence on friction. As it was, she was bare almost down to the nipples.

I tried not to gape as she passed by. She either didn't see me or deliberately ignored me, so I fell in behind as she headed down the hallway. From the back she was covered to maybe, just maybe, a couple of inches below her well rounded butt.

In short, it was short.

Very short.

What had happened to my sweet, demure, shy Missy? Had she been taken over by some strange force from outer space? For the last week she'd been progressively shortening her skirts by rolling them up at the waist, but this was redrawing both of the borders of decency!

Now, I grant you, in a community which has, so to speak, embraced the Naked in School Program, it is very hard to establish a meaningful dress code. Okay, maybe you can try to enforce "no gang colors," -- good luck with that one! What's a "gang color" anyway? -- but how do you define "decency" or "provocative" when you've already got kids running around the halls naked?

Not that this has happened a lot in our Middle School. Though I have to admit to having displayed myself in these halls of learning on certain occasions. But, it was strictly in the line of duty, an effort to bring sexual enlightenment to the masses.

Oh, I know Beth called me an exhibitionist following my nude training run around Judy Liu's neighborhood, but look who's calling me an exhibitionist! There's going to be a bronze nude of her, done by a blind sculptor no less, in the high school's courtyard, and a pastel of her aroused vagina hangs in the hall outside the high school's art studio.

But getting back to Missy, whose back I was seeing more of than was decent. The whole effect of her -- thing -- was somewhat ludicrous. I mean, both upstairs and downstairs there was either too much of her limited charms showing, or too little. Somehow she was more naked than if she was naked.

I wondered how she'd gotten that thing past her very conservative, overprotective mother.

Further detracting from her display, she kept having to adjust the thing. As she sashayed down the hall it steadily slipped lower, gravity overcoming friction. So she'd pull up on what must be loosely called the bust line to avoid a nipple show. But tugging upwards had the inevitable effect of raising the southern boundary, thereby revealing the underside of her buttocks where they pooched out below her panty line. What was visible from the front I choose not to speculate.

Whereupon she would then tug downwards on the hemline, attempting to maintain the mystery of her lower feminine charms. As you'd expect that inevitably threatened to expose her nipples. So she'd reach for the bust-line again.

From the rear it looked like a stork's mating dance. Arms up, elbows out like wings as she tugged the top up. Arms down, wings folded, as she adjusted the hem down.

Up, down, up, down, all while trying to swish her hips, which made the hem of her garment reveal flashes of her panties, much to the enjoyment of most of the male population. I didn't like to think of the show she'd give if she had to bend over to pick something up.

And what is it with boys, anyway? Hadn't they already seen all that she had to offer when we emerged from our Sex Ed indoctrination to display our charms in their entirety in the lunchroom? In spite of that, she had their tongues hanging out so far they looked like overheated Bassett hounds.

She passed Horace and his bunch, which triggered an eruption of rude comments, pokes and guffaws, while Mike, poor Mike, could only trot bravely alongside her. Boys coming in the opposite direction cranked their heads around, their chins dragging on the floor. As for we of the more sophisticated sex, if looks could kill half the girls would be up on charges of premeditated murder, and if scorn was a criminal offense that would take care of the remaining fifty percent.

I cruised to my locker, trying to maintain my dignity, all the while praying that Missy wouldn't whirl around and attack me. If she'd learned of the slumber party -- not that there'd been a lot of slumbering -- she'd be hurt that she hadn't been invited, given her former status as my BFF.

Or, maybe not.

I sighed as I contemplated the mess in the bottom of my locker, a heap of clothes and shoes and papers and books that was already, this early in the academic year, beginning to resemble an archeological dig. Maybe geological. The bottom layers may have begun turning into coal. But I tried to cheer myself up. By spring, if things continued, maybe the coal would be turned into diamonds down there.

Missy's and my relationship was probably fossilizing down there as well. All the evidence pointed to her having moved beyond our former intimacies, and I don't know why I kept hoping otherwise. She had enthusiastically embraced heterosexuality with Mike, and now seemed to be exploring -- what is it called? Not polygamy, that's guys with multiple wives -- well, whatever it is called when a woman encourages the attentions of multiple males.

Call it "slut-dom."

I knelt down and began my excavations. I hadn't been able to find my racing swimsuit at home and could only hope it was here. Of course the other question was, would it fit? The way I had grown I had the feeling it would be even less demure than what Missy was flitting about in. If I could pull it up enough to get the straps over my shoulders the crotch would probably vanish between my labes like dental floss, while the top would dip low enough to display my budding boobies.

Suddenly I smacked my forehead.

Not because I remembered where I'd put the suit, that was still beyond my reach. I remembered where I'd seen Missy's outfit, and realized how she had gotten that so-called dress past her mom. It was actually a skirt! Missy had bought it at a clearance sale last year on one of our jaunts to the mall.

It was a very simple thing, with an elastic waist. To get it past mommy dearest she had simply walked out the door with it on as a skirt, the way it was meant to be worn. With it and one of her simple knit tops, probably bearing her hypocritical circle pin, her mom would have been delighted at her daughter's modest and very feminine attire.

Somewhere between her home and here -- maybe even in the school's girls' room just before I arrived -- Missy had taken off the top and pulled the waist of the skirt up to her armpits. And there it hung -- or is it hanged? -- instant dress -- sort of. I could only shake my head at her ingenuity. Before she got home she'd don her knit top and the "dress" would become a skirt again, which it was already threatening to do on its own anyway.

And somewhere between school and home, I was reasonably sure, she'd find time to dally carnally with Mike, her mother remaining none the wiser, convinced her daughter was still as pure as the driven snow. I wondered how the condom supply was holding out. I wondered where she was in her monthly cycle. I wondered if she had yet dallied with others. She was certainly doing her best to encourage their interest.

I resumed my dig, to no avail.

Nope. No swimsuit. Which left me with an exposure problem that, in some ways, dwarfed Missy's display. On the other hand, there was a certain honesty to total nudity, especially for swimming, and since it was at the high school, which had The Program, skinny dipping wasn't uncommon. I was contemplating that when the bell rang and I was thrust into the school day.

As I turned to dash someone gave me a swift swat on my butt, and Judy Liu trotted past, throwing me a mischievous wink and a smile. I found a moment to chat with Alice and give John a hug -- they were stuck on each other like peanut butter and jelly. No longer was he tying his fingers into knots, she had one set his digits firmly interlaced with one set of hers.

I took the chance to whisper to him that I, of course, had told no one of his new situation or what had led to it, which seemed to reassure him. On the drive Mom had told me the newspaper only had reported a drug bust, but since John's last name was different from his mom's there was no obvious connection. I hoped that held, or his life would be hell around school.

Speaking of PB and J, when I took my lunch to my thinking spot I saw them there and steered away to another quiet nook, rather than intrude. I was alone, again.

I tried to tell myself that solitude was nice. It was safe from the turbulence of sex and violence. But I was lonely. Where had all my friends gone? It was bit of a jolt to realize I'd been so fixated on Missy that they'd sort of drifted away.

Big mistake, The Stick scolded me. So, I vowed to change my life. Tomorrow I'd have lunch in the cafeteria!

The afternoon was more of the same-old same-old, and then it was off to the pool, my heart beating hard at the thought of racing again.

Now, let me fill you in on how swimming is run in our town. In the summer, at the community pool, there is an age group swimming program, where I am -- ahem -- a star, thanks to my natural talents and the skilled training of Coach Zoble. At the end of the summer just ended I collected five pool championships in the twelve and under age group -- butterfly, freestyle, breaststroke, backstroke, and diving -- and four county championships. At the counties I was third in breaststroke, which I hate anyway.

But I don't like to brag.

When school is in session the high school pool is the venue. The high school has a swimming team, of course, where my brother, Carl, is a star distance swimmer. Coach Zoble, being an enterprising sort, also coaches the high school team, so he instituted a school program for kids from the various grade and middle schools in town to train people up for the high school team. Our practices have kids as young as seven and up to fourteen in the usual two-year agegroups, eight and under, ten and under, and up to fourteen and under.

Thus, he is the local swimming Czar, though we just call him "Coach."

The high school team has its own practices, though during preseason we middle-schoolers form sort of a JV to scrimmage with them sometimes, just for the fun of it. This year I was hoping maybe to even win a race or two against big kids. Have I mentioned that I'm very competitive?

After the mandatory "shower before entering pool area" I wrapped myself in my biggest towel, which was about as demure as Missy's dress, and ventured out into the delicious, familiar, steamy, chlorine scented air.

I was late, as usual. Coach's whistle tweeted and little kids flopped off the starting blocks to splash their way down the lanes as I surveyed the scene. Moms were there, cheering their darlings on as they flailed the water like baby ducklings. The stands were filled with the usual crowd of doting moms and a few dads, while the swimmers gathered in little clutches on the deck, everyone in their team suits -- except me.

Oh well.

Even though the girls and boys practiced together there was the usual voluntary segregation. After my experience in Sex Ed I was more aware of how the preteens and early teens began to interact more, but not really intermingle. It must be instinct or something. The preteens were engaging in their tentative mating dance, the girls giggling and flirting, the boys swaggering and boasting.

"Where's your suit, Walker?" Coach called as I lingered on the pool deck.

I explained my situation.

"Why don't you try the Lost and Found?"

The thought of exploring that putrid pile was almost enough to make me gag. I'd need a gas mask before I delved into that. "Can I, you know, skinny dip?"

For some reason my eye had caught the one boy who stood alone, on the fringe of the pack, obviously a newcomer not yet accepted. He was almost as tall as me, and something about him gave my heart a flutter -- and some other organs a twinge as well. He was tall, and blond, and fit. I hauled my attention back to Coach Zoble

"There's no rule against it, but I think you'll regret it," he warned.

He sounded his whistle. "Ten and under freestyle, ten and under, girls and boys freestyle up next."

Which left me to join the giggling gaggle of girls. I knew most of them, of course. We came from all over town, but we'd been swimming together here or at the town pool for years. There weren't too many from my school, which was more into soccer. Deliberately keeping my back to the boys, I did a quick show and tell, flashing my body at the girls when they asked about my suit. That, of course, triggered a gale of squeals, which I shrugged off.

"I wish I had the guts to do that," one of them commented.

"You'll find out what it's like when you get into The Program in high school," another pointed out.

"Eeeewwww!" the first protested.

I tucked my towel around me again. "Relax, you get used to it. What's with the new guy?"

"He transferred in to North Side at the beginning of the year," one of the girls from that middle school explained. "Kind of a loner."

"He's yummy," Sue-Anne simpered.

"He's fourteen," someone else pointed out. "Kinda old for you, Sue-Anne."

"He's still yummy," Sue-Anne insisted.

So, he was a year older than me. I had to agree with Sue-Anne, he was yummy. He had a shock of blond hair almost as undisciplined as mine, and a crop of freckles. He had the build of a swimmer, slender, good shoulders, muscles sheathed with what Coach called an adipose layer, a thin padding of fat that acted as insulation It gave him a sleek look. He was obviously nervous and bored as he paced around, shaking his arms out.

"All right, all you older kids, get back out of the way. Take seats someplace until I call your group," Coach ordered. "Timekeepers, pay attention!"

There was a mass migration towards the bleachers, and somehow I found myself huddled next to the new guy, swaddled in nothing more than my biggest towel and the chlorine scented air of the pool.

Honest! I didn't plan it that way. It just sort of happened.

The Stick reminded me that I am Tall. I am Slender. I am Sexy.

I huddled. Beneath my towel I was naked, and this guy did something to my insides that I hadn't felt since Mike had rejected me for Missy.

Come on, The Stick scolded me. Say something! Remember what happened 'cause you couldn't talk to Mike?

I remembered. But, like what should I say?

I decided to start with something easy, like my name. I thought I could remember it. Then maybe we could talk swimming.

I summoned my courage, my heart racing, my skin prickling.

"Hi. I'm Dee."

"Greg," he answered shortly.

Well, at least it was a start. He didn't run away. I didn't run away.

"What's your event?"

"Butterfly," he answered, "and individual medley."

"Really? Me, too." I could tell he was looking at me while trying not to look like he was looking at me, shooting me little side-long glances, and I was doing the same thing to him.

"Fourteen and under?"

He nodded.

"Me, too. Just turned, or will in a few days, that is. My birthday is Saturday."

"Happy birthday."

"Thanks." I picked at a loose thread at the edge of my towel. "I dive, too."

"That's nice."

I was conscious of the heat of his thigh beside mine, and couldn't keep from checking out his racing suit, wondering what it hid. He was probably checking out my towel, wondering what it hid. I tried not to do the Missy two-step. You know, tug up at the top, down at the bottom. My nipples were stiff, the terrycloth of the towel scratchy on them.

"Butterfly and IM," I mused. "That's sort of the usual combination."

Individual medley is two hundred meters, two lengths of the pool in each stroke, butterfly, back, breaststroke and freestyle, in that order. Older kids do a four hundred meter IM, too. I've tried it, but I'm not ready for it. It's good practice, though.

He shrugged. "You gotta be good at butterfly to be any good at IM. Not everyone can do it."

"You any good?" I asked. "At butterfly, I mean?"

He shrugged. "Guess so."

I pointed to the list of pool records. "That's me, twelve and under record."

Shit! Why'd I say that? I'm bragging! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

He glanced up. "Not bad."

I decided I'd already said too much, and he didn't seem that interested, so I shut up. We sat and watched while the coach ran through the ten and unders so he could dismiss them and their parents and concentrate on the older age groups. There were always more of the little ones, but the ranks started to thin when you got up into the twelve and unders, especially boys, what with other sports like Little League, summer youth soccer, and in the fall and winter scholastic soccer, basketball and football.

With the youngsters gone there weren't many of us left, more girls than boys. At least most of us weren't saddled with our moms or dads, though I wouldn't have minded my mom there.

Coach was only using four of the pool's six lanes -- I guess that was all the stopwatches he could come up with. He was putting the girls in lanes two and three, the guys in four and five, so it was pretty much girls against boys in each event, which was fine with me. None of the girls wanted to race against me, and I enjoyed beating the boys.

"You gonna swim like that?" Greg asked at last. I'd felt his eyes on me as our events drew nearer.

"Like what?"

"You got a suit on under that?"

"No," I admitted.

"Naked?" His voice cracked.

"Yep. Couldn't find my suit."

I heard him breathe a soft "shit" to that announcement as we were called up. I unwrapped and he tried not to stare, but I could feel his eyes on me, on those stupid little titties of mine, and my pussy, with its few little wisps of hair.

Sure enough, Coach put me in lane three, and Greg in lane four.

Which is how I found myself stark naked, my toes curling over the edge of the starting blocks, with this yummy stranger right beside me. Of course I'd skinny dipped before, every chance I got, but I hadn't raced this way, and it hadn't been with a guy that made my pulse race.

So we're naked, The Stick said, so what? Maybe he'll be distracted by our feminine charms.

Not that I wasn't distracted myself. He had my pulse racing. He was almost as tall as me, with the long, smooth muscles of a swimmer, good shoulders, impressive pecs, flat tummy, slim hips, long legs, and there was a visible reaction at his crotch, a fairly impressive one.

I kept inventorying his attributes! What was it with me?

I was so engrossed with him that I almost missed the "set" command, and was a tick slow off the mark.

It was when I hit the water in my racing dive that I discovered the reason to regret my lack of a suit. Certain relatively new and sensitive protuberances strongly complained about the impact with the water, even though I didn't belly flop but did a shallow dive the way I'd been taught.

Shit that hurt!

Trying to ignore the pain I managed to get in my usual two underwater dolphin kicks before I came up swinging to discover I was already half a length behind. Not behind the girl on my left, I always beat her. Behind him -- behind Greg! Shit!

Ignoring the ache in my tits I concentrated on closing the gap with my usual fast outward lap. I mean, I just kept my head down and flew.

Because that was what butterfly is like for me, flying. The butterfly, done right, is a glorious stroke, effortless, almost as fast as the freestyle. The arms come over, hands go in, I pull hard and a wave passes down my body, from my shoulders to my waist, to my hips, until my legs whip down in the dolphin kick and the cycle begins again. They call it the dolphin kick for a good reason. Just like a porpoise, my whole body is involved. It feels like I'm flying.

This was a fifty meter race in a twenty-five-meter pool, so I didn't even bother to breath until I hit the turn at the far end, when I grabbed a quick breath and kicked off hard. I'd made up about half the distance on him, so I really dug in on the return, three strokes - breath, three strokes - breath, two strokes - breath, getting a little winded -- breath.

I was getting winded, but I was gaining on him.

My arms and shoulders were burning. If my tits still hurt I was too busy to notice that, or the water sluicing over my naked flesh, barely heard yells of the team as I gained and gained and gained. He was not going to beat me. He was NOT going to beat me. He -- was -- NOT -- GOING -- TO BEAT ME!

My arms came over on the last stroke and my hands slapped the wall a good half-second before his did.

And the crowd went wild!

Well, not really. It wasn't much of a crowd, but the girls whooped, and they outnumbered the boys.

I caught my breath. "Nice ... race," my voice trailed off. He was already up and out of the water.

Nice ass, I thought as he stalked over to the timers. They showed him the watches and he shot me a look before storming off to the locker room.

Well, if he had enough breath left to get out of the pool that fast he hadn't tried hard enough, I decided.

Then I started to hurt.

"Shit!" I muttered under my breath, looking down at my throbbing tits. They were hard as marbles, and I swear they were pouting at me. I boosted myself out of the pool and padded over to wrap myself in my towel. My nipples really bitched about the terrycloth while I checked the timing charts.

I was a bit off my twelve and under pool record, but not bad considering how little training I'd been doing. If I hadn't had that tall stranger pushing me I wouldn't have done that well. I was only a couple of seconds off the girls' fourteen and under record, and I wasn't even thirteen quite yet, so I promised myself I'd have that one by season's end.

I went over and sat next to Gail Devers, a backstroker. "What's with that guy?" I asked her, waving vaguely at the locker room.

"Greg? He got beaten."

"So?"

She looked at me like I had two heads. "By a girl?"

"Oh."

"Yeeeaahhhh! Oooh!" she responded sarcastically.

I thought it over, and shrugged. "I gotta go check out Lost and Found for a suit."

"You think you distracted him?"

I giggled. "No! But it hurt my titties. If Coach needs me, tell him where I've gone, and that I'll be right back."

Thinking about it, maybe beating Greg hadn't been the smart thing to do, but I could never deliberately lose a race, to anyone. If he was going to take it that way, tough.

Lost and Found wasn't as stinky as I'd feared, since somebody had washed everything. I found my old racing suit there. But holding it up to me told me that trying it on would be like trying to cram ten pounds of mud in a five-pound sack, or maybe a five foot stick in a four foot box, so I gave up on it, and dug farther. In the end I wound up with a totally mismatched boy's bottom, which was a bit baggy, and a girl's top that was a little tight, but at least I was decent every way but esthetically, and my tits wouldn't be exposed to the impact.

I wasn't matched up against Greg again until we got to the IM as the last event.

He surveyed my suit.

"Like it?" I asked, posing like a model.

"Well, at least it's not as distracting," he allowed.

"On your marks!" Coach called.

We curled our toes over the edge of the blocks.

"Meet me at the finish," he whispered.

"I'll be waiting for you," I answered.

"Set!"

I was all business this time, coiling myself for the start.

"Tweet!"

This time my tits didn't scream with pain when I hit the water, and I was off and away on the butterfly leg, two lengths of the pool. I went out the way I always did in the IM, breathing every third stroke since it was a 200-meter race, smooth and graceful as a real dolphin.

I didn't even see Greg until I hit the first turn and discovered I was a full length ahead of him!

I just kept my usual pace, what I consider easy, though my split for the butterfly leg of the IM isn't all that much slower than when I was doing straight butterfly. I was a length and a half ahead when I flopped on my back for the backstroke laps. With my face out of the water I could see Greg's wind milling arms beyond the splash from my kick, saw him gaining on me a little so I pulled harder.

Flip the turn, push off hard, stroke, stroke. He'd drawn even with my feet.

Stroke, stroke, stroke, my feet churning the water as Greg slowly pulled up. Pull harder! Hold him off! I added a little wrist flip to every stroke, trying to squeeze out just a bit more speed.

Flip! Into the breaststroke leg.

Ugh! The breaststroke is like battling through molasses! Every move is calculated to create the maximum resistance. You have to bob up for a breath with every stroke. It looks stupid, and you're pushing a chest full of water every time. Your hands can't come above your shoulders, so on the recovery they're fighting the water. Drawing out your knees and spreading your legs is like throwing out an anchor, while closing your legs for the frog part of the kick strains your groin. It just feels so slow!

And, if you've ever watched a frog, they do it differently anyway, pushing back with their big, webbed feet.

I sneaked peeks. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Greg gaining on me with every stroke! Dammit! He was good!

Come the breaststroke turn he was almost up to me. He was ahead when we hit the wall for the turn into last two freestyle lengths, and I was getting tired!

Put your head down and dig, I told myself. As a kid I'd trained and trained so I could breathe on either side, three strokes and breathe left, three strokes and breathe right. Nobody to my left, Greg to my right, and I was a quarter of a length behind coming into the last turn. Flip turn, drive off the wall hard, hard, hard. Now I skipped the right breaths, breathing on my left with every other stroke, concentrating on beating Greg.

It became a mental chant. Beat Greg, Beat Greg. Pull harder, kick, kick, kick, pull harder, stroke, stroke, stroke. I was gaining. Inch by inch by inch I crept closer.

The last half of that last lap was a battle between me, him, and exhaustion. Shit he was good! The last few yards just I kept my head down and drove for the wall as hard and as fast as I could, slapped the wall and popped up, and only then did I hear the screaming from the small crowd of swimmers that were left.

I was looking at Greg, and he was looking at me, and we were both totally bushed. "Nice race," I panted.

"Who won?" he gasped.

Coach was looking down on us from the deck. "It was a tie."

"Shit!"

That was from both of us. We ducked under the water and came up face first to get the hair back off our faces.

Oh well. I dragged myself out on the deck and rolled over on my back, my chest heaving. He stood up first, and reached down, so I took his hand and let him help me to my feet, trying to ignore the thrill his touch gave me, sternly telling myself it was nothing personal on his part. He was just helping me up, after all!

"Nice race," he said as he let go of my hand.

"Thanks. You, too," I answered, blushing, wishing he hadn't let go so quickly.

Sheesh! What is wrong with me? I'd just met him.

And he's a BOY, The Stick pointed out.

Yeah, he sure was, I couldn't deny that. I thought about it as I showered and dressed. A boy! As I trudged homeward I was remembering my first time with a boy, with Mike and Missy, and my second time, with John, him still in the throes of his nightmare, not really even aware of what he was doing, though I sure had been enjoying it.

I was still wrestling with all this when I made my way in the back door to the kitchen and got my usual cookies and milk before heading upstairs. Beth's car was out front, so I tried to tip-toe past Carl's partly open door.

"Hi, Dee!"

Busted.

I looked into Carl's room, to find them both naked, no surprise there, lounging back against the headboard of his bed, obviously having just recently done the deed. Oh jeeze. Not that I minded, but I was already half turned on from the memories of Mike and John I'd been combing through on the way home. I'd been planning on a nice session with the handle of my hairbrush, and now this?

"Want me to close the door?" I asked hopefully.

"Nope. We've been waiting for you." Beth was stroking Carl's naked thigh, her fingers inches away from his limp, come coated cock.

"You owe us," Carl pointed out.

"Owe you what?" I asked innocently.

"A come," Beth answered. "Each of us."

"Both of us," Carl added unnecessarily.

"But, uhm, didn't you just have one? Both of you? Each of you?"

"Twice," Beth answered with a giggle, fingering Carl's dick. "Three for me."

"But that doesn't count," Carl added. "You still owe us, each of us."

"Both of us," Beth added pertly.

Their stress on the "each of us -- both of us" was starting to get to me. I dropped my backpack with a thud, not sure exactly how to handle this. "Uhm -- How'm I supposed to do that?"

I was feeling a definite tingle as my mind explored the possibilities. All of a sudden I didn't feel as tired as I had after the time trials.

Beth let her fingers trail up from her shaved pussy toward the sweet mounds of her modest breasts. "Why don't you get out of those clothes and we'll show you."

My hands were shaking as I pulled off my tee shirt. It wasn't but a moment before I was as naked as they were, rubbing my arms because of the goose bumps suddenly popping up all over my body.

For some reason a vision of Greg flashed through my mind and I felt like I'd touched a live wire.

But Beth had my attention. She was toying with her nipple, which had immediately stiffened eagerly. Her eyes glittering, she beckoned me over with one finger, her middle finger, while slowly, oh so slowly and sensuously opening her legs. Her pussy was flushed, the inner lips shining juicily, still aroused from the fucking Carl had given her.

As if I hadn't already gotten the point, Beth licked her lips, then waggled her tongue at me, while pointing down at her still steaming cunt. I felt my own pussy softening and melting at the very thought of diving into her sweet grotto. I'd been there before, as she had visited mine, and I'd loved every minute of it.

But before I could move she swiveled around on her butt and lay back so her head was hanging off the edge of the bed.

"You can start with a kiss here," she said, pointing to her puckering lips, making kissing noises, "and then work your way down."

I guess it was to be ladies first. "Ooookay," I agreed, kneeling on the floor so I could give her an affectionate peck before diving in for a real good, slurpy kiss as she lay there, her head upside down.

She tasted of sex.

She curled her hand around the back of my neck to return the favor, our tongues toying with each other as we swapped saliva. I knew Carl was watching and could only assume he was enjoying the show, so I cupped Beth's right breast, my thumb stroking her nipple to life.

I loved kissing Beth, she's so sweet and welcoming and responsive. Okay, so maybe payback is a bitch, but that didn't mean I couldn't enjoy it with two of my favorite people in the world. From her mouth I worked my way slowly to her ears, the side of her neck as she willingly offered her jugular to my mouth, where I sucked, and bit, feeling very vampirish as I did.

She was reaching around me, her fingers tickling my back, the back of my neck, making parts of her I'd never explored accessible, so I even ventured to her armpit, my lips working, a faint stubble raking my tongue, a slight musky scent filling my head. I'd never before explored another person the way I did her, and I savored it.

Then it was on to her tits, which I suckled on, happily, my tongue playing with her rubbery nipples while my teeth bit playfully down on her warm flesh, wringing soft moans from her.

To lick further down her torso I had to shift my position. Rising up I could survey her naked display. She has such a lovely body, petite, delectably feminine, with firm boobies, responsive nips, soft curves, satin skin, a faint, wonderful scent, the soft rise of her mons.

I licked down the center of her chest. She tasted of sweat, and sex.

As I stood so I could reach she guided my legs so I was straddling her head. As I leaned over her I felt a touch on the back of my head and realized Carl was stroking my hair as he watched. But what was he getting out of this, other than a voyeuristic thrill?

Somehow I knew he'd find a way to take his turn.

I was getting near Beth's pussy, nibbling at the soft rise around her navel, then lower on her tummy. I remembered how Carl had aroused me that first, wonderful time, and tried to make it as good for Beth. My lips and tongue explored the crease between her torso and her thighs and she spread her legs even wider. I licked and bit at the inside of her thigh, slowly approaching the hot heart of her sex, my mouth watering in anticipation.

Beth was nudging my legs apart, spreading them, then cupping my ass to draw it down, and her face came up between my thighs and I realized I was going to get a thrill I hadn't really anticipated. Oh, I was looking forward to tasting Beth's gooey goodness, but now she was going to return the favor.

Oh my!

Because my legs were so long I had to adjust as she pulled on my butt, trying to draw it down to her mouth. I wound up bracing my thighs against the side of the mattress, my toes digging into the floor for traction so my feet didn't slip out from under me, afraid I'd come down on her face and either break her neck or smother her with my pussy.

Unwilling to put it off any longer, I moved toward her welcoming twat, my head engulfed in the wash of rich smells rising from her already heated crotch. Beth's feminine scent mingled with a muskiness that it took me a moment to place. Then I remembered the blowjob I'd given my brother and realized I was smelling Carl's come. He'd screwed this very cunt before I'd gotten home -- twice, no less -- and I was about to dive into a mingled pool of his jism and her juices.

My mouth watered at the grossness of the thought. I was such a perv!

I nibbled at her soft, tasty outer lips with their sticky coating of half-dried come, tongued her inner ones with their slick coating of juices. I could see a pearly seeping of Carl's come creeping down from her cunt, and licked at it, even though it was close, so close to the pucker of her asshole. I was getting more and more into this whole scene, my own pussy blossoming as Beth explored my inner petals.

A touch at my ass startled me, and I realized Carl had slipped off the bed and was behind me, caressing my butt. He gave me a spank, just hard enough to sting lightly, and I grunted into Beth's pussy. Judy had swatted my tail, too, before she'd lubed me up and shoved that lovely butt plug up my rear.

Oh oh.

Carl leaned over me, his body hot against my back. He licked my ear.

"Beth told me what happened at the slumber party," he whispered wickedly in my ear, his breath hot. "How much you liked what Judy Liu did to you. How she jammed that big butt plug up your skinny little ass, while everyone watched."

Oh shit. I was mortified that he knew what his little sister had done, the comes, the butt plug, but I couldn't stop my licking at Beth's twat. What have I done? What am I doing? I'm only a little girl!

You're almost a teenager, The Stick reminded me. What's done is done. You started down this road. You wanted it. It's too late to back out now. Relax and enjoy it. These people love you, and you love them.

Oh shut up! I told The Stick. I know all that. I'm busy.

And I was, busy scooping out the rich gravy deposited in Beth's pussy, savoring the tang of her juices mingled with two loads of Carl's musky, salty, slippery come. Beth was even contracting her cunt, pumping it out where my lapping tongue could scoop it up.

Something touched my asshole and I moaned.

"I know you're not protected," Carl observed almost clinically as his finger teased the tender dimple of my sphincter. "If I use this hole we don't need to worry about you getting pregnant."

Oh, how very thoughtful of him to think of that!

Oh God! I was going to take him up my ass, and I knew he was looking forward to it. As for me, I was torn -- no, no, not really TORN torn; Judy had done no lasting damage -- torn between anticipation and fear.

Something cold touched my tail, pressed in, wedging me open, and I felt something cold squirting up into my rectum.

Lubricant, I told myself, from a squeeze bottle. As he withdrew it he added a chill squirt to my puckering bung, and spread it around with his finger. Oh jeeze, even that gentle touch felt good.

Trying to lose myself in Beth, I pressed my attack on her quim as she burrowed into mine, her lips seeking my clit. I realized that as she ate me out her face had to be bare inches from where Carl was preparing to shove his cock up my ass. She was going to get a real close-up view of my buggery.

Well, at least I was paying them back simultaneously.

"Gimme!" Beth said, taking a break from my pussy. She was doing something behind me. I took a brief look down my body, and saw that she was stroking Carl's fully recovered cock. It was ready and raring to go where no man had gone before.

It glistened. She was greasing him up! He had his hands on my hips, and I felt his prick nuzzle against the gate to my well-lubed passage, aimed there by Beth.

His girlfriend was guiding his cock into my ass!

He pressed in, and seeking distraction I dove back into Beth's pussy to suck out more of their delicious mixture. Beth resumed licking me and I abandoned her sweet well and sought her clit, giving it a long, slow lick that made her hips surge. My lips nibbled at that slippery little pearl as the head of Carl's cock slowly pried into my rear, wedging open my reluctant sphincter as I pooped out to loosen it for him.

Oh jeeze that felt good! There was the friction, the stretching, the pressure, his cock hot and meaty and alive, not cold and hard like the butt plug had been. Of course, at its fattest his dick wasn't as big around as the plug, so he wouldn't be stretching me so painfully, but his dick was longer, and he was taking his time, wriggling it slowly in my rear.

I suckled on Beth's clit like it was a tit, my tongue toying with it, my nose buried in her sopping twat. I found that I was eye-to-eye, so to speak, with Beth's puckered rosebud and knew she had to be watching her lover's dork sliding into my tender young anus.

My god, what a threesome we were. My brother was buggering me while his girlfriend watched, and ate me out, and I ate her out.

I felt his cock slide through my sphincter, driving everything before it, until Carl's hips came up against my ass and I knew he was full depth in me, and oh did it feel good.

He drew out, slowly, slowly, slowly, almost all the way out, and pistoned back in, and I was in heaven. This went far beyond anything I'd ever felt before. Beth was stoking the flames in my cunt with her tongue and lips, and I regretted that all I could for her was to return the favor.

No! Wait! There was one more thing.

I found the crater of her asshole and I wriggled my bird finger into that tight gate. My way was well lubed by the flood drooling down from her pussy, so I penetrated her tail easily, her sphincter hugging first my first knuckle, then the second as I shoved it into her shitty depths until my palm cupped her butt. Drawing my bird finger out, I added a second finger, stretching her open, shoving both digits in until my hand again jammed against her ass. I began to pump my fingers in and out of her in time with Carl's strokes up my rear, and I lost myself in my own pleasure even as I felt the muscles inside Beth's rectum and vagina clenching.

I was coming, a long, slow swelling rush of a coming the lifted me up, swept me along, and I feared it would end too soon.

But Carl, oh Carl. This was his third round, and he was ready to go a long, long time, and I didn't mind it one bit. Every slow stroke pumped another wave of pleasure through my whole body, his pace slowly picking up. I was whimpering into Beth's pussy, her legs closing and opening around my ears, her hips churning her pussy against my face as I ate her out and wiggled my fingers in her tail.

Then I heard Carl grunting, his cock pulsing, and I realized he was unloading his hot come into my ass, and my own coming went up yet another notch. I felt his cock pumping jizz into my rectum. My pleasure soared, pulsing, pulsing, pulsing, my muscles straining until I at last slid down the other side, my mouth going slack, spilling spittle and jizz back on to Beth's swampy pussy, my stinky fingers slithering out of Beth's anus, while my own cunt's and asshole's spasms slowly faded, leaving me drained. Carl slumped over my back and the three of us lay there in a soggy heap, panting, until Beth pushed at us and we rolled off her, Carl's cock slithering limply out of my flooded butt.

For a while all we could do was lie there in a gooey tangle, Beth on one side of me, her head by my hips, Carl on the other side, breathing on my face. When we were finally functional again, sharing a shower to clean up, the vote was two to one that I'd repaid my debt in full.

"Can I request a re-count?" I asked hopefully, even though I was tired and my bottom hurt.

Laughing, they held me under the spray in an attempt to drown me, and then spent a lot of time making sure I was really, really clean, all over, inside and out, while I did the same for them.

While we were in there Mom called and left a message to say she wouldn't be home until late, and that I was to do my homework, and not to wait up for her.

But she didn't say why, darn it. Not "why my homework" but why she was out late, and not to wait up. What was she doing? Was she with somebody? Who?

Oh, I hoped it was with Elaine!

So anyway, still naked, of course, the three of us had sandwiches together, then Beth gave Carl a long, lingering good-night kiss before leaving to soothe John's pain, and I trudged up to do my homework.

Ugh.



-------

Chapter 11



I tried to stay awake, even though Mom had said not to. I really tried, and I think I might have made it, but it had been a busy day, so the next thing I knew some idiot was trying to sell me a car. The same idiot is always selling the same car, every morning, over my clock radio. I'm not sure why I haven't tuned to a different station. I guess I find his voice comforting for some reason.

I whacked him into silence, and rolled over, my face in my pillow, trying to grab at my dream, my flying dream, one I have all the time.

It's my favorite dream. In it I am naked, always naked, and I'm on the three meter board, with everyone watching me as I take my usual three paces, raising my arms gracefully as I step up into the air, to come down right on the end of the board, feeling it bend with my weight, my toes right on the edge, the board gritty under my bare feet.

It lifts me back up and I'm launched into the air, my body as light as a cloud, the air touching me all over, tugging at my hair, stroking me as I gracefully fold into a tight pike, legs straight, toes pointed, head touching my knees for a leisurely front one-and-a-half flip, my favorite dive.

Only I look down and see there's no water in the pool!

The first time I'd had that dream I'd snapped awake in a cold sweat. But I'd learned, somehow, or maybe it was my subconscious had, to control the dream. Now, instead of panicking I simply unfold from the pike, spread my arms, and fly, soaring gracefully over the stands filled with people gaping up at me in awe.

But this time there'd been one big difference. The people in the stands had all had the same face, a freckled face with a shock of blond hair, blue eyes, and a shy smile.

It was Greg! Only at first I didn't remember him ever smiling at me like that. Then I remembered his hand in mine as he'd helped me up after our tie in the IM, and he had been smiling! Not a big smile, just a little sideways tilt to his lips.

Having him invade my favorite dream really rattled me, so I tried to think of something else, and I guess I dredged up something out of the night. Maybe I hadn't been as soundly asleep as I thought, because I had a vague memory of light spilling into my room from the hallway, soft footsteps, and a feather-light touch of lips to my cheek, a whispered "good night," wine scented breath warm on my face.

That was a nice, warm memory, even the scent of wine. Mom drinks only wine, and not a lot but I love the sweet, fruity smell on her breath. But I also vaguely remembered another scent from that moment, sort of perfume but not really, vaguely familiar. Mom never wears perfume! She said some clients don't like it, and besides it's expensive, forcing me to scratch that idea off my list of possible Mother's Day gifts.

It was definitely a feminine smell, but not my mom's. She must have picked it up from someone else!

I was hugging that thought to me when there was a soft knock at my door, Mom's voice reminding me it was time to get up. I answered, my butt giving a twinge as I swung my feet out of bed. Well, at least I didn't need a shower this morning, not after the one I'd taken with Carl and Beth the night before.

But I did need the bathroom, and not just to pee, so I made a dash and that was when I discovered that pooping involved ridding my body of some unfamiliar fluids along with the usual waste. Ew!

I wiped really, really carefully, 'cause my butt was tender. That was a feeling that triggered a memory that made me giggle as I scampered back to my room for some clothes.

I schemed as I dressed (underwear, loose tee, floppy shorts, reverential [that's holy] sneakers, no socks). Finished, my campaign carefully planned, I put on my (imaginary) Sherlock Homes cap, picked up my (imaginary) magnifying glass and snooped down the stairs, seeking clues, preparing to carefully lay the traps with which I would discover The Truth.

Good! The chief suspect was present.

Clue number one; Chief Suspect was at the stove, humming cheerfully, abusing some eggs.

Mom rarely hums.

Carl was already at the table, reading the morning paper. After everyone else has read the paper and it's all sloppy and loosely folded I read some of the funnies when I have a chance, and the advice to the lovelorn so I know not to offend people by talking or texting on my (nonexistent) cell phone at the dinner table.

But this morning there was other game afoot.

Sneaking -- well not really sneaking, not while she's working with hot stuff on the stove -- moving up behind Mom I lightly gripped her waist from behind. I sort of went up on my tippy-toes, glad to be able to top her shoulder. She turned her head and I leaned and gave her peck on the cheek, and a careful sniff, confirming my suspicion from my morning memories.

She smelled just a little bit different!

"Morning Mom," I greeted her cheerily. "You sound happy this morning."

"Do I?"

"Uh huh. Have a nice evening?"

"Oh yes!"

"That's nice."

Carl was eyeing me over the top of the paper with that "I know what you're up to" look he gets when he knows I'm scheming.

"Do anything special?"

Mom shot me a shy look. "Oh, this and that."

I fiddled with the toaster. "And how was Elaine -- I mean, Dr. Smathers?"

"Oh, she's... ," Mom stopped, gave me a sharp look, "That's Dr. Smathers to you, young lady. She's got you on her schedule this afternoon. I'm scheduled for an exam and she'll squeeze you in with me. I'll pick you up at school, but it'll be late. I've got the last appointment of the day. Think you can find something to do around there without getting in trouble?"

Mom suddenly had an exam scheduled? I wondered if she made it last night.

My schemer kicked into high gear down another track. "Can you pick me up at the high school instead? I've got something I want to do up there, and Beth or Kathy will be around, too."

"Okay, the high school it is," she agreed. "But stay out of trouble! Want me to call Beth and tell her to expect you?"

"Okay," I responded cheerily, bringing the toast to the table as she finished up the eggs. I'm sort of still on probation, but I didn't mind her checking up on me. I'd caused her enough worry lately.

In terms of what happened with Mom last night I knew that was all I was going to get from her, but it was enough.

It was elementary, my dear Watson! Her blurted "Oh, she's..." when I'd deftly slipped in my " Elaine -- I mean, Dr. Smathers" question was all the evidence I needed. While she'd avoided confirming who she was with last night, it was obvious she had been with the good doctor, as I suspected, and judging by her mood I was willing to bet that Stuff had Happened!

Good Stuff.

Inside I was giving a fist-pumping "yessss!"

And now she'd dropped another plum in my lap. I wanted to do a little bit of snooping around the high school pool office to find out more about Greg, and maybe I could kick around a little with Beth and Kathy at the art studio as a bonus. Maybe I could even do some modeling for Kathy!

"And how was your day yesterday?" Mom asked. "Did you square things with Carl?"

By her tone that was not an innocent question. That was a "getting even" question. Payback.

Carl snorted softly from behind the newspaper. I blushed.

"I did. With him, and with Beth," I confessed.

"With both of us," Carl added, the paper rattling as he turned to the next page.

"With each of them," I countered wryly.

Carl stifled another snort as we echoed his and Beth's comedy routine.

"Let's just say all debts were settled to everyone's satisfaction," Carl concluded.

"Simultaneously," I couldn't resist adding.

Mom brought a bowl of steaming scrambled eggs to the table. "I don't think I want to know the details!"

"Uh huh," I agreed, spreading some jam on my toast, shifting my tender bottom a little on my chair, thinking it was probably just as well, too, that I didn't know what she'd done last night. All this sharing is wonderful, but at breakfast? I reached for the spoon to dish me some eggs.

Besides, my imagination was having such a good time with it! She was happy, and I was happy that she was happy, and she was happy that I was happy and Carl was happy. And Carl was happy that ... Well, you get the idea.

All that "happy" lasted until I'd just about gotten to school.

Now, normally I tolerate school as one of those unfortunate interludes that intrude on Important Stuff, like swimming and diving. Oh sure, I have my friends (whom I had been neglecting) and activities, but some of my classes were less than stimulating.

But my main problem this day was Missy. She was carrying on again, outside school. It reminded me of one of those nature programs, where they show the mating rituals of some sort of herd animal. You know, the female moose, or whatever it is, is in heat and looking coy, while a bunch of males are competing for her favors, bumping heads, tangling antlers, jostling, stamping and snorting.

Only, in this case the female, Missy, was making more of a mating display, though one less blatant than yesterday, while the males were becoming more aggressive, poking and tickling our local moose in heat, snatching away the baseball cap that was part of her attire, making her leap and reach for it, which, thanks to her abbreviated shirt, exposed the bottoms of her boobies and her ribs and flanks to their fingers.

Meanwhile, her buttocks were making a bid for freedom from her abbreviated shorts.

I had the feeling it was about to get really ugly, but I saw Mr. McGreevy, the assistant principal, moving in and decided to let him handle it. Instead I opted for tunnel vision, putting on blinders, looking straight ahead as I penetrated the cool corridors of scholarship. Maybe it was a mistake, but I was afraid if I tried to talk to Missy I'd say something really hurtful, so I avoided any eye contact with her throughout the morning, which wasn't easy, since we shared so many classes.

I did notice that Mr. McGreevy had invoked the Dress Code, which resulted in Missy at least putting on the skirt she'd undoubtedly used to smuggle her ass exposure past her mother.

Lunch was another challenge, of course. True to my vow of the day before, I was seeking out my friends at our usual table, even though I was afraid Missy would still be included in that group. I was even more worried that they'd reject me, since I'd been ignoring them. I'd hardly eaten with them since this whole sex ed thing came up, and I felt guilty.

Mercifully, Missy wasn't a problem. From my lofty perspective I was able to scan over the heads of the lunch line and caught sight of her ahead of me, still with Mike, at least. Considering her flirtations I could only attribute his enslavement to testosterone overload.

Instead of heading for "our table" she and Mike headed out for a little confidential tete-a-tete, or some other more intimate interaction. I spotted John and Alice, they were kanoodling off by themselves, so he was well in hand.

To my relief, when I arrived at the table for what had been my crowd, until I'd gone stupidly ga-ga over Missy, and distracted by John, they happily made room for me. It was like being welcomed home. Cindy was there, with her blonde good cheer, and roly-poly Fran with her big laugh, Peggy with her warm and generous heart, and Inez, endlessly curious.

They didn't scold me, didn't ask me about John, though they did want to know what had gone on at Judy Liu's party. Apparently there had been some pretty wild rumors flying around about that. I pretty much soft-peddled the activities, particularly my anal adventure with Judy, while pointing out John's new relationship with Alice as a Good Development.

Mercifully everyone seemed clueless as to John's new residence and the fate of his mother. The talk was all about his new girl friend, of whom everyone approved.

Once off that topic a lot of the chatter was about Missy and Mike, of course. While the others had no solid evidence, the general assumption was that they had done It, and were doing It regularly. Being I had been more than just an eyewitness to their First Time, I kept my mouth shut. Missy was doing fine trashing her own reputation. Everyone knew that Missy and I were on the outs, and assumed it was 'cause Missy had stolen the boy I'd never had -- little did they know. They tried to get me to talk about it, but I dodged the issue. Instead we all mourned the loss of Missy to the Dark Side.

If nothing else, thanks to Carl and Beth's Sex Ed class and a lot of gossip, Missy was being seen as a bad example. At least in that way the class had accomplished its main goal. The whole student body was a lot more knowledgeable with regard to the consequences of behavior like Missy's, and was generally disapproving -- well, the female half was, at least. The male half was too busy drooling and rutting.

I felt bad because she was making such a fool out of herself. I was still scared for her, too.

Meanwhile, speaking of drooling and rutting, out of the corner of my eye I was seeing Horace and his crew, thick as thieves, laughing crudely, snorting milk out their noses. Something about that made my bad feeling feel worse.

"How'd the time trials go?" someone asked.

I was grateful for the change of subject, but my mouth was full, so I sort of shrugged. Anyway, that was better than sounding like I was bragging.

"I hear there's a neat new guy on the team from North Side," Cindy announced. "His name is Greg something."

I managed to avoid choking and reached for my milk.

"Did you meet him?" Inez asked as she toyed with a lock of her curling black hair.

"I hear she beat the pants off him in the time trials," Fran said in her throaty voice. "And she did it naked."

Cue the tweens' chorus: OoooooOOOOOOooooo!

"Greg who?" Inez asked. "What's his last name?"

I didn't want to admit I didn't even know, so I quick took another bite of my lunch.

"That must have pissed him off," Cindy chuckled, toying coyly with her hair.

I gulped my bite down.

"I didn't even know who he was," I confessed. "I just hate to lose to anyone. Anyway, in the IM Coach said we tied."

"I bet that pissed him off even more," Cindy observed, laughing.

I didn't mention that it kind of pissed me off, too. Ties are so wimpy.

"I guess you can kiss that romance good-bye," Fran pointed out with one of her rich laughs.

I just kept my mouth shut, and shrugged, remembering the feel of Greg's hand in mine when he helped me up from the deck, and his shy smile. He'd smiled, so he couldn't have been that pissed off, could he?

And anyway, what was with me? Why was I feeling like this? He's a boy, and I'm a -- what?

Then I remembered how I'd once felt about Mike, and it was pretty much the same feeling, only this time at least I'd had the courage to introduce myself and talk with Greg a little. He had a nice voice, seemed pretty cool, when I wasn't beating him. He made my heart speed up, and my insides squirm.

"So, what's happening with your birthday?" Cindy asked, and all I could do was shrug.

"Mom hasn't said anything. I usually leave all that stuff to her," I admitted, a bit put off that there hadn't even been a hint. "She's been awful busy."

I didn't add that I hadn't been making life easy for her.

I was a little surprised Cindy asked me. Usually Mom involves my friends in her little plots, and somehow she's always managed to swear them to secrecy. She liked to surprise me, like the time she rented the roller skating rink and invited the whole class, and no one spilled the beans, not even Missy! I was totally blown away.

"You could do something," Fran pointed out. "After all, you're going to be an official teen-ager. Take charge, for a change."

"Time's short," Inez warned.

"I bet Mom has something planned. She always does." I tried to feel as confident as I sounded. She'd been awful busy lately, and I sure hadn't helped at all. But she'd remember. She was my mom!

I let the chatter swirl around me while I finished my lunch, then excused myself to escape any more questions, not sure myself what was going on inside me.

The rest of the afternoon went pretty much as the morning had. I heaved a sigh of relief at the closing bell and headed for the high school, trying to tell myself I wanted to talk to Coach about my diving, knowing I really wanted to learn more about Greg, if I could pry it out of Coach without being too obvious.

First I tracked down Beth to tell her where I'd be. As I expected, she was in the art studio, only this time she was the artist, while Kathy Powers was the model, dressed in nothing more than soft light and the rich scent of oil paints and turpentine, reposing on what I suppose is called a divan. The sight of Kathy posing nude was enough to swing my pendulum back to the gay side. She's tall, trim, and fit and I just wanted to grab her and start sucking on her firm boobs.

I was always struck by how open and bright the studio is. On the curving outside wall, windows reach from the floor to the high ceiling, with different curtains and even blinds that can be drawn for different lighting effects. I know when Beth posed during her week in The Program, they'd all been wide open, so anyone walking by outside could see her. Today gauzy curtains were drawn, bathing Kathy's body in a light that softened her curves and added a gently romantic atmosphere.

She looked good enough to eat.

Her bright smile when she saw me made my heart flutter just as hard as Greg's shy smile had in my dream.

"Hi, Dee! Nice going yesterday!" Nothing shy about Kathy.

"What'd I do?" I asked naively.

"You beat the boys, of course. Way to go!"

Kathy reached to high-five me, which made Beth protest, frowning, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she dabbed at her canvas.

Oh great! The whole world knew.

"I just caught him by surprise. And anyway, I think my being naked kinda rattled him."

"That's not the way I heard it," Beth muttered. "Don't move, Kathy! I heard you spotted him a half a length lead at the start, and then blew the doors off him in the last three yards."

"Maybe you're right. You being naked rattled his balls, most likely," Kathy teased.

"Not likely," I snorted, flapping my arms and looking down at my barely-there bust and hips.

"Trust me," Kathy retorted. "You're beautiful."

This from an admittedly gay girl who was hooking up with the well rounded Stephanie. Who's she kidding? Still, I was thrilled she thought that of me, or maybe she was just being kind. She made my heart go pit-a-pat again.

"Anyway, Beth, I'll be at the pool for a few minutes. I wanna talk with Coach, if he's there."

"Okay, we'll be here for at least an hour more. Kathy, you want to come and look at this? What am I doing wrong?" She sounded frustrated.

I couldn't help wondering why Beth was learning how to paint, since she was going to be a doctor, but that's the way she was. She'd study anything that caught her interest, and keep at it until she'd mastered it. She'd always been like that. I'd heard it was her piano teacher that gave up on her when she was eight, not the other way 'round. She won't admit it, but she still plinks out some simple tunes on her family's piano sometimes, and she sings in the glee club.

I knew where the pool was, of course, but if I hadn't my nose could have led me there, that humid, chlorine scent was perfume to me. I heard a splash and coach's voice, so I toed off my sneakers outside the pool doors before I went in. Shoes were allowed, but I preferred the feel of the damp, cool deck under my bare feet.

Olivia, the lead high school girl diver was just sloshing up the ladder when the pool door banged shut behind me, her short dark hair with its bleached blond tips streaming back off her face. She gave me a cheery wave as she tugged the front of her snug diving suit up on her firm tits, the bottom down on her muscular butt. Then she was all business, totally focused on Coach.

"That's better, much better," he encouraged her. "Remember, delay starting your twist, and tuck your arm this way."

He demonstrated, and I watched as carefully as Olivia did. She's a compact girl, probably six inches shorter than me even though she's a high school senior this year. She outweighs me, but it's all muscle.

Divers have to be strong. If you're flabby, or even just relax too soon, hitting the water can do real damage. I once saw a simple back-flip go wrong -- not big wrong, just a little wrong -- and end a career. It was practice, or the guy probably would have worked to pull it out. As it was, he gave up on it and relaxed. When he hit the water he tore up his knee. And that was off the low board.

Olivia is awesome off both the three-meter board and the tower. She'll probably get a scholarship for her diving. I wondered if maybe someday I could do something snazzy with my hair, like her blond accents. Maybe a Mohawk, or purple or something, if Mom would let me.

Coach dismissed her. "That's enough for today, Olivia. Come on, Dee, I've got something for you."

I followed him to his office off the pool deck and he flipped something at me as he sat down at his desk. As usual, it was busy, with careful stacks of paper. I snagged the suit out of the air. For a second I thought it was my old one from the lost-and-found, but checked and it was a larger size. I held it up to myself and decided it would work.

They weren't one size fits all, but they were stretchy, so it wouldn't droop because of my lack of boobs. Since they fit like skin, some of the girls hate them -- not me, of course.

"It's used, but it's clean," he explained. "I warned you you'd regret not having one on, didn't I."

I nodded. "But I can't pay for this today," I apologized.

Swimming wasn't one of those sports that brought in money, so even the hand-me-downs cost a bit.

"I'll wash the things I took from Lost and Found and return 'em," I added.

He waved a hand. "You know I trust you. Have a seat. Nice job yesterday. You put Greg in his place."

"I didn't mean to do that," I answered, feeling awkward about it, the way everyone was talking.

"It's a good thing. He thinks he's a real hot-shot -- came here thinking he'd immediately be a star. It'll motivate him to work harder so he can be. He told me his time yesterday in the IM was a personal best, thanks to you."

"Oh." I didn't feel all that good about that, but that was Coach's way. He'd create rivalries on the team to boost performance. It was kind of awkward sometimes, but it got results. The fact that Coach saw me as a rival to motivate a boy a year older than me gave me mixed feelings.

I couldn't help wondering if that IM had really ended in a dead heat. Stop-watches don't lie but people have to click them, and Coach, on the other hand, sometimes tailors the truth to suit his goals.

He switched topics. "I want to talk to you about diving."

"So do I. How soon can I start? I can't do it today, but tomorrow?" The thought of getting back on the board made everything brighter.

"You've grown," he commented.

"Well yeah." I thought that was pretty obvious. Besides, he'd been measuring me over the summer.

"You're what, thirteen?" he asked.

"This Saturday," I agreed.

"And you're five-six, five-seven already?"

"Yeah." I was kinda proud of that, though it was a pain when it came to my wardrobe, and it bothered me a little that I towered over all the boys in my class.

"And still growing."

"Yeah," I agreed, wondering where this was going.

"Divers aren't tall," he stated bluntly.

I felt a chill. "Some of them are."

He shook his head. "You're already as tall as I am," he pointed out. He's a former Olympic diver, by the way. "Olivia is seventeen, and she's topped out at five-two. Lougainis is only about two inches taller than you already are. You're probably headed for close to six feet."

"But..." I was getting scared.

"To put in the language of physics, you already have a high a polar moment of inertia."

"Say what?" I asked.

"You're like a long stick, rather than a ball. It makes it harder for you to rotate. And then you've got to control those long arms and legs. Remember the problems you were having over the summer?"

"I can tuck tighter than anyone," I pointed out. "You said I have the tightest pike you've ever seen. You said I just need to get used to the changes."

"And I could be wrong."

"Or you could be wrong now." I was getting really scared.

He was nibbling his bottom lip, just looking at me. "I need you as a swimmer. You're the strongest butter-flyer I've ever seen, male or female. You put a real licking on Greg Anderson yesterday in the 'fly."

Thanks for reminding me again, I thought, secretly sort of proud of it, but only sort of.

"Pick up how he's so good at breast stroke and you'll be unbeatable at IM."

"I'll work harder than anyone you've ever seen! I can swim and dive, both. Please!"

God I hated to beg, but all I saw was a big, dark hole in my life if I couldn't dive. "Let me try."

He sighed. "Of course I'll let you try. I'll work with you as long and hard as you want."

I felt a wave of relief. "You'll see," I vowed. "You'll see."

He smiled wryly. "I'm sure I will. Now, what else can I do for you?"

I wanted to ask him about Greg, but decided that was a silly thing to take his time up with, thought about asking if the IM was really a tie, but decided I didn't really want to know. Anyway, at least I now knew Greg's last name -- Anderson -- and I knew roughly where he lived, since he went to North Side Middle School. That was where the town library was, and I was already up to stage two scheming on checking Greg out, maybe actually seeing him in a more social setting. If I had the nerve.

Well, nerve had never been a problem with me. Except, of course, when it came to boys. But I had a lot more experience with them now.

All of two of them? The Stick pointed out, and one of those is an emotional cripple?

That's not nice, I scolded silently, sorry I'd even thought that.

Aloud I thanked Coach for the suit, promising to have the money at the next practice, and headed back toward the art studio, trying to dispel that black shadow he'd cast, clutching desperately to the suit he'd given me, and the fact that he'd still work with me. I'd show him!

Beth was cleaning up and let me see what she'd done. Kathy had been in a classic pose, sort of like that girl in the movie Titanic, demure but not trying to conceal any of her charms, with a little hint of a smile, just enough to show her dimples. Beth's painting wasn't bad, but didn't have whatever it was about Kathy's that made them great.

Kathy was standing there, casually nude, naturally graceful. Gosh she's pretty, but not in a silly blond, curvy way! She's just yummy!

"How'd you like to paint me?" I blurted out.

Damn, my glands were in overdrive again.

"I'd love to. When would you like to pose?" she asked, obviously interested, but probably not quite the way I'd meant. I blushed, trying to blame The Stick for my lack of tact, but it didn't work.

"I mean -- paint ME," I confessed, waving my arms to indicate myself. I almost stripped off my clothes right then.

"With those water based body paints," I added, just to make sure she understood exactly what I meant.

I managed not to add "delicious" to that description of her paints, though it was what I was thinking.

Kathy's dimples deepened, and she laughed, to my relief. She wasn't offended, at least. "You offer a very tempting canvas. Now, if Beth had let me do her for the football game last year..."

Beth was carefully cleaning her brush. "I thought my makeup crew did a great job!"

Her crew had been her parents and brother and my brother, and Stephanie, and she'd been a dramatic scarlet and gold from head to toe.

"They did, indeed. You were, to put it mildly, striking. But I could have added just that little je ne sais quois that would have made you a masterpiece," Kathy pointed out. She's no more modest about her talent than she is of her body, or I am about my swimming, for that matter. I wanted to say that she could 'je ne sais quois' all over me any time she wanted, but didn't.

But even as she told Beth this, she was looking at me, a calculating gleam in her dark eyes, and I felt a little shiver. Damn, I was getting even hornier!

"Ah, there you are." Mom bopped into the studio, looking all professional in her working clothes. "Hi Beth, Hi, Kathy. Kathy, have you thought about what I suggested?" Kathy's nudity didn't faze Mom, of course, though I noticed she did give the tall artist an appreciative look.

"Hi, Mrs. W. I think we can work something out. I just got a great idea. We'll talk. Call my cell when you have a chance."

Kathy did the phone thing with her hand.

"Ready to go, Dee?" Mom asked, nodding.

"What did you suggest?" I asked, hastily stuffing the suit into my backpack, wondering what they were talking about.

"Come on, Dee, we don't want to be late," Mom said, practically dragging me away.

"What thing?" I insisted.

"Just some little art project," Mom answered vaguely. "Nothing to bother your head about."

I grumbled, but subsided. It wasn't like her to have secrets from me -- except around my birthday, of course. Anyway, she seemed a bit hyper, chattering about this and that. I would have said she was excited -- but excited about visiting her gynecologist?

Or was it that the gynecologist she was going to see was Elaine -- I mean Dr. Smathers? I felt a little twinge myself, remembering how my first gyno exam with her had gone. The good Doctor had certainly known how to push all my buttons!

But this appointment was just for Mom's exam, and my birth control pills. Still, maybe...

I threw my backpack in the back seat and took the passenger seat, fastening my seat belt as she started the car. The radio was on, and Mom was singing along with some old love song. I'd never heard her do that before. She has a nice voice.

We took a different route than the first time, and suddenly I realized that Mom's office practically backed up to Dr. Smathers' office on the next street over.

Hmmmmm. Maybe that explained how it had gone so quickly from "Dr. Smathers" to "Elaine" between them. A few cozy lunches together, maybe? And then, last night -- what had gone on last night? Was that why Mom was so eager to have her exam? And what were the rules about doctors treating close friends? What if they were already more than just close friends?

I tried to figure out a deft way of prying, but before I came up with anything we were pulling into a parking space. Before she got out Mom checked her reflection in the rear-view mirror, patting her hair into place and -- and checking her teeth?! I was beginning to get a real interesting feeling about this whole thing, even though I fully expected to be relegated to the waiting room while the exam took place.

Maybe I could listen at the door.

Oh, I know, I said my eavesdropping days were over, but in this case I felt there were extenuating circumstances, especially if nobody could catch me at it.

My luck looked good. We walked into a vacant waiting room, the receptionist's space behind the tall counter was empty, tidy as only a cleared desk can be at the end of the work day. There was the usual smell of disinfectant, the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, a couple of tacky end tables and a coffee table covered with some dog-eared out-of-date magazines, with racks of brochures about STDs and stuff on the wall and on a corner table.

The phone rang, four rings and cut off -- answering machine, I thought. The place was deserted.

"Hi, hello Dee," Dr. Smathers greeted us, popping out from the hall that led to her little office and the examining rooms and stuff. She brisked her way into the waiting room, gave Mom a light touch as she passed her. "Let me just lock this so we won't be disturbed. Ethel had to leave early." She flipped the sign over on the door and snapped the lock.

"Come on back, I'm all ready for you." She whisked away again.

She locked the door? Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice said, after falling down the rabbit hole.

"Both of us?" I asked.

Dr. Smathers popped her head back out. "Why not? I often have daughters in when their mother's being examined, so they'll know what to expect when their time comes."

"But..."

That was Mom.

"No secrets," Dr. Smathers said cryptically. "Remember?"

Dr. Smathers had already disappeared again, so I followed Mom, just in time to see the good doctor disappear into the examining room with a flip of her white lab coat. Was she barefoot? The coat came down to about her knees -- nice calves, I noticed, bare -- but she was wearing little slipper thingies on her feet. There was no sign of a blouse or sweater in the vee of the lapels, and when the coat parted around her legs there was no sign of a skirt.

No, she couldn't be naked under there, I thought.

The room hadn't changed from when I'd had my exam, but it had only been a week. There were the usual medical things, a table with drawers, cabinets, a full-length mirror on one wall with a poster of a naked woman, full frontal, right beside it.

"Why don't you start undressing, darling -- not you, Dee, that's not necessary, unless you want to. You can just sit here on the examining table and we'll take care of you first. That way we won't have to rush your mom's exam."

She was very brisk and professional, except that "darling," I thought.

Never one to miss a chance to get comfortable, I was out of my stuff in a moment. Mom glared at me, semaphored with her eyes, and I dutifully hung my clothes on a hook on the wall. Surely she didn't think I was trying to move in on Dr. Smathers. Then I boosted my bare little tushy up on the foot of the table, its endless roll of crinkly paper cool under my butt.

"Now," Dr. Smathers went on, fussing with some things on a stainless steel tray on a little stand, "I discussed it with your mom, and we suggest going with an implant. What do you think?"

"What's an 'implant?'" I asked dubiously, as I watched Mom fumbling as she undressed, carefully hanging up her conservative jacket, fussing with the buttons on her blouse. She was making quite a production of getting out of her clothes.

"This is an implant," Dr. Smathers explained, holding up a little plastic packet with what looked like a match stick in it. "It goes in under the skin of your arm, above the elbow, and gradually releases birth control hormones into your bloodstream. There's no pills to take, nothing to worry about. You're not bothered by needles, are you?"

"No." How could I be, after the various stitches and stuff I'd gotten myself into? I didn't really like them, but needles only stung a little bit, and only for a little while, not like a broken leg.

I took the excuse of looking at what Dr. Smathers was holding to lean closer to her, and breathed deeply. I was sure hers was the smell I'd scented on Mom. I felt very smug that my detective work was being confirmed. The something that had happened last night had been with this woman!

"I'll spray on a little local anesthetic anyway. The implant releases hormones that suppress ovulation and change the chemistry and viscosity of the mucus in your womb and cervix to block sperm. Even if an egg should be released and be fertilized it is unlikely to implant in your uterus. The implant is safe, very effective, and you don't have to remember to take a pill. It's good for three years, when it can be replaced, and it can easily be removed at any time."

Mom was down to her bra and panties -- a very sexy, lacy bra and panties set, pink, not one I'd ever seen before. Her nipples were dark shadows through the lace. She was rubbing her arms nervously, though the room was certainly warm enough. Her mouth was open, lips slightly parted, looking plumper than usual, and her thighs were squirming restlessly.

Mom was horny!

"Okay," I agreed, more than a little distracted, and also relieved I wasn't going to have to remember to take some stupid pill every day.

While Dr. Smathers scrubbed my arm with something cold that smelled, and fussed with things, I sneaked peaks at Mom. She was fidgeting, still in her bra and panties. Then I felt a sting, and watched as Dr. Smathers slid the little stick thingy under my skin and out of sight, using a sort of hypodermic sort of a thing. After a quick swipe over the puncture with moist cotton and then with what looked like a nail-polish brush that left a shiny spot she slapped a little bandage on me.

"Now, there may be a little inflammation at first, a little swelling, and it might hurt or itch a bit. Try not to scratch. If the inflammation gets worse, or there's any discharge, call me immediately. Okay?"

I nodded, flexing my arm, feeling only a little ache. Now what? I wondered. No worries. Would I go as crazy as Missy? I didn't even know if I was straight or gay, and I didn't want to do it with just anyone, though sometimes it seemed like I did.

"Okay. Can I swim?" Today was Tuesday. I had swimming practice Thursday, and Greg would be there.

"Just give it a day or two to heal up," she answered, sweeping things away and turning her attention to Mom in her sexy underwear. "Very pretty, darling, but why are you still wearing it? Did you want let me help you?"

Mom nodded shyly, twisting her hands nervously in front of her crotch, and if I'd still had any doubts about their relationship they would have evaporated at that moment. My mom was smitten!

She blushed as Dr. Smathers went up to her and released the hook between the bra cups. I'd never noticed how dainty the doctor was, especially her hands, until she pushed Mom's bra aside, her fingers casually brushing over Mom's lovely round breasts, making them jiggle. Mom shivered, her knees trembling as her nipples stiffened from the delicate touch.

Dr. Smathers drew the bra down off Mom's arms, almost embracing her as she did, and flipped it over a hook on the wall. Her hands were trembling as started to kneel to deal with Mom's panties, but the white coat interfered.

She was as hot for Mom as Mom was for her!

"Oh, this is silly," Mom protested, unbuttoning Dr. Smathers' coat and tossing it over another hook, as eager to get down to it as the doctor was.

Dr. Smathers was naked under the lab coat! A lovely, lovely naked, lightly tanned except for brief bikini marks. She was smaller than Mom, with a petite frame, but surprisingly full breasts, breasts whose pink areolas were puffed up, the rosy nipples stiff like pencil erasers. Her neatly shaped bush was reddish, so her ash blond hair was probably natural, or close to it.

She was yummy, and as smitten with Mom as Mom was with her, judging by the way she lightly touched Mom's nipples. Going down on one knee, she drew Mom's panties down even as Mom stood there sort of trying to cover her breasts with her forearm, her hand going to her crotch as she blushed. Dr. Smathers brushed that hand aside and leaned forward, drawing a deep breath, obviously savoring Mom's scent, sliding her hands with the panties down the outsides of Mom's thighs, the panties clinging for just a moment to Mom's pussy before they pulled away, the crotch visibly damp.

Mom had shaved -- or maybe been shaved, maybe last night! Her pussy lips were full and rounded, with a teasing hint of pink ruffles lurking shyly between them.

Dr. Smathers rose to her feet and took Mom's hand, and I quickly hopped off the examining table.

But Dr. Smathers didn't lead her to the table. Instead she guided Mom to the full-length mirror. Mom was like a blushing bride. She looked better than the woman in the poster. Mom's breasts were fuller, her hips more rounded, her bare pussy more delectable, her legs more graceful.

"Your mother has beautiful breasts," Dr. Smathers pointed out softly, standing behind Mom, her fingers lifting and playing with the fleshy mounds. "Come, I'll show you how to examine your own breasts."

When I get them, I thought wryly.

You're getting them, The Stick assured me.

I could feel my little titties stiffening as I moved over to stand next to Mom. Comparing my reflection to hers was like comparing a stick figure to the Venus de Milo, except Mom had arms, of course. Even the poster woman looked sexier than I did, with my skinny arms, skinny legs.

Well, no, it wasn't quite that bad. Swimming builds muscles, on my arms and shoulders, my back, my pecs, my thighs, all over. But still I didn't have my mom's mature curves, and Mom's pussy was softer, more rounded, and more inviting than my kinda skinny lips.

All under the guise of showing me how to do a breast self-exam, as she called it, Dr. Smathers demonstrated on Mom, how to raise her one arm, to palpate that breast, then the other. That's what she called it -- palpating. I'd call it fondling, myself, as I sort of imitated on my silly little swellings. But I couldn't help notice that Mom seemed to be enjoying the process a great deal, letting her head tilt lazily, her lips parting, her eyes glazing. I watched the breasts I'd suckled from as an infant, that I'd nursed from just the other day, being lifted and manipulated.

Dr. Smathers was closer than close to Mom, snuggled against her tush. She was whispering to my Mom from time to time, and Mom would squirm, giggle even. Mom's hand reached back to stroke Dr. Smathers' naked thigh.

This wasn't an exam, it was a seduction.

When she was done fondling Mom's breasts, including tweaking the nipples to even fuller stiffness, if that was possible, she slid her hands down Mom's sides to her hips, and planted a kiss on Mom's back that made Mom shiver.

Mom let herself be steered to the table, Dr. Smathers' hands guiding her, an arm around her waist, the other hand on Mom's shoulder, their hips bumping. Guided by the gynecologist, Mom sat on the edge of the table, and when Dr. Smathers lifted her face for a kiss, they kissed, not a silly "air kiss" or a peck on the cheek, but a full, lip-to-lip kiss, though I didn't see any tongue action at first, hands on each other's cheeks, but that slowly changed, Mom sliding her hand around to cup the doctor's -- Elaine's -- head with her hand, the doctor embracing her nude patient, soft breasts to soft breasts.

"No secrets," I heard Dr. Smathers whisper again as she helped my mother turn to lie down on the table, just before she dipped to taste my mom's lips again.

"No secrets," Mom agreed, looking at me as I stood nearby. She held out her hand to me, and I took it, gave it a loving squeeze.

It was such a joy to see Mom so happy, tears stung my eyes. I tried to look all mature and reassuring, while my insides were doing handsprings. Yeah, I'd made love to my mom two days ago, a gentle, discreet, snuggling love, but this, I knew, was going to be a whole 'nother thing! This was two lusty, mature, loving women, one of them more than knowledgeable, a trained professional, the other a willing student.

No secrets.

Dr. Smathers made tender love to my mom as she worked her way down, from lips to neck to breasts, sucking, nibbling, licking, pausing only to adjust the examining table, the noise of the metal stirrups swinging up to latch, sounding rude. After the stirrups were adjusted, Mom let Dr. Smathers guide her feet to them. Mom was so exposed, so vulnerable, so willing, her chest rising with every breath, her breasts full and firm, flattening a little, sagging out to the sides slightly, her nipples stiff and eager.

Mom looked into my eyes as the doctor took me by the hand, guided my touch over the breasts that had fed me. I loved feeling the warmth of them, the texture of her skin, the resiliency of the fleshy mound, the raisin hardness of the nipples. Dr. Smathers was talking more about how a woman should examine her own breasts regularly, the procedure, but to tell you the truth I wasn't really listening. I was marveling at the soft, warm mass of Mom's lush breasts, the stiffness of her nipples, so different from my immature little peaks.

Would my tits someday know the suckling of an infant? What a wonderful thing that must be, to give life.

Mom was panting softly, her pelvis was squirming a little, and I could see the muscles in her thighs flexing as Dr. Smathers moved away so she could work -- if you wanted to call it that.

I was remembering my own exam, how Dr. Smathers had manipulated my body, the feel of her touch, my fingers retracing on my own skin the route she was taking on Mom's body. My pussy was hot and leaking. From where I was I couldn't see Mom's bare cunt, but I could smell her arousal easily enough.

I was as much admiring Dr. Smathers' body as I was watching my mother. Smathers was small, but shapely, her butt smooth and round, and my fingers itched to explore it, but of course I didn't. Her breasts jiggled as she massaged Mom's abdomen, probing and stroking. Mom's leg flexed and she groaned softly as Dr. Smathers' fingers probed below Mom's navel, over toward one thigh, then the other.

"Stroke her body," the doctor invited. "Feel how soft her skin is, the muscle tone. Don't be shy."

Mom put a hand on my arm as I did as I was told, like the good, obedient child I was, feeling her satin skin.

Hah! I was a lust-ridden, horny pre-teen (barely), and more than willing, sliding my hand down, stroking the warm swelling of Mom's belly, teasing her navel. While I played, Dr. Smathers washed her hands yet again before she drew her stool up between Mom's spread legs. Teasingly, she licked the sole of Mom's foot, even nibbled at her toes, extracting a soft cry from Mom.

Unbidden, I moved down behind the good doctor so I could watch. I expected her to pull on tight latex gloves, but she didn't, her naked fingers gently spreading Mom's lips to expose the glistening pink flower of her pussy.

By now all subterfuge of the "examination" was gone, of course, so when Dr. Smathers leaned forward to kiss Mom's twat I wasn't surprised. Mom's hips reacted and she reached for Dr. Smathers' head, her eyes closing as she rolled her head on the table and moaned.

Dr. Smathers drew back, toying with Mom's pussy as she called me closer. "Let me see your hands," she whispered to me.

Puzzled, I held them out, embarrassed a little that my nails were so short and plain, until I noticed that hers were just as closely trimmed as mine. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she told me to go over and wash my hands really, really well, all the way up to my elbows.

I didn't know for sure what she had in mind, but I wasn't about to miss out on whatever it was. The water was hot, the soap had a medicinal smell to it. I even scrubbed my nails with a brush the way I'd seen her do it.

As I was washing up the exam resumed, so to speak. I heard the click of the speculum, a whimper from Mom. By the time I was done Smathers had taken her swabs and they were safely stored in their little tubes and set aside, the speculum was out of the way, and her mouth was back at Mom's crotch, her tongue and lips working the gooey valley. Mom was moaning and moaning, tossing her head, her pelvis working like a belly dancer's, her fingers in Dr. Smathers' hair, guiding her mouth to her clit.

Smathers didn't mind concentrating on Mom's clit, because her fingers were at work in Mom's vagina, at least two of them stirring around the opening. Her whole hand was glistening now, and there was a tube of lubricant on the table by Mom's butt.

Oh my!

Fascinated, I watched as Dr. Smathers worked a third finger into mom's cunt, and I was remembering how she'd probed and played in my cunt with just two fingers. It was all I could do to keep from mushing my clean hands in my own twat. As it was I let one finger tease my little clit berry.

I gulped as the doctor worked a fourth finger into Mom' hole, sort of curling her hand, her fingers together, twisting her hand this way and that, while Mom's soft moans grew louder.

"Oh, please," Mom groaned. "Please!"

"More?" Dr. Smathers asked teasingly, wiggling her fingers.

"Please," Mom whimpered. "You know what I want. Do it! Do it! Do it!"

"More?"

"Yes, more!"

"And Dee?"

"What about me?" I asked.

Mom gulped. "Her, too, if she wants. Yes, her, too."

"You'll see," Dr. Smathers answered me, licking her lips, her own breathing quickening.

Dr. Smathers fitted her thumb inside her fingers, and kept working her hand around, like you would work a screwdriver, maybe, and pushing, and as I watched her hand slowly, slowly, slowly stretched Mom's cunt farther open, and her hand began to work farther and farther in, more and more of her fingers disappearing inside Mom.

Holy Shit! It was good her hands were small. Her whole hand was working its way into my mom's vagina! And Mom was loving it!

I was hovering right behind Dr. Smathers by now, practically breathing down the back of her neck. Reaching back blindly, she handed me the tube of lubricant. I looked at it stupidly for a moment, my brain trying to fit itself around the idea that was forming in my head. Surely she didn't need it anymore.

She looked back at me, semaphored with her eyes, nodded toward my right hand, the tube of lube.

Did I want to do what she was obviously suggesting I do?

Oh yeah! My guts clenched at the very thought of it.

Should I? Oh wow. Mom was obviously really, really into it! She'd said "yes" when Dr. Smathers had asked.

And why should they have all the fun?

By now, Dr. Smathers' left hand was wrist-deep in my Mom's cunt, the cunt that had given birth to me!

Mom was gargling, her hips humping, her fingers tugging at her nipples, her head rolling from side to side, belly muscles convulsing.

I drizzled lube all over my right hand, inside and out, until it was running down my arm. I held my hand where Dr. Smathers could find it, and she drew it forward as she slowly eased her hand out of Mom. Remembering how she'd done it, I folded my hand together to form sort of a spear point, my thumb snuggled in amongst my fingers.

"Now Dee," Dr. Smathers told my mom.

Mom was already open after being plundered by Dr. Smathers, so my fingers slid into her hot tunnel easily at first. At Dr. Smathers urging, I rotated my wrist, working my hand around and in and out of that hot mitten of Mom-meat, pushing a little further in each time. I was up to my second knuckles already, and Mom was grunting, her hips actually trying to push down on my hand, trying to get more of me in.

My hand was more slender, my fingers longer than Dr. Smathers. It went in easily.

She knew it was me, Mom did. She wanted it. I obliged her, working my fingers in, up to the widest part of my hand. Somehow Dr. Smathers ducked out from in front of me and I found myself alone at the foot of the table, plunking my naked ass down on the stool still warm from the doctor's naked ass, my face inches from my mom's dilated pussy, her distended clitty just begging for attention. But, just as my hand vanished inside the same hole I'd once come out of, Dr. Smathers was up on the table, swinging her leg over, straddling Mom's face. I backed my head out of the way so Dr. Smathers' mouth could go to work on Mom's clit again, leaving room for my hand still in her cunt.

I was feeling my mom's insides! I had my hand in her hot, slick vagina! My whole hand was buried in her twat, her live, slippery flesh embracing it right up to my wrist. I pushed a teeny bit more, felt a sort of rubbery bump at the end of her vagina with my fingertips and realized it was her cervix. And beyond that gate was the uterus that had given birth to me. I tickled it with a finger and she whined. I poked at the dimple in its center and she flinched. I wiggled my fingers, played with her and she reacted, a living, breathing sock puppet.

Without really thinking about it, I closed my fingers, making a fist that stretched her even more and I realized from her reaction that my knuckles were putting pressure on her G spot, so I gently pumped my hand in and out of her, fist-fucking her, sometimes spreading my fingers to stretch her more.

Mom went wild, her hips rising and falling, and I could see her pulling Dr. Smathers' butt, dragging her crotch down on her own face so she could give as good as she was getting, at least in terms of clit sucking. Dr. Smathers rode Mom's bucking pelvis like a cowgirl, her mouth locked to Mom's clitty, and I was fingering my own pussy with my free hand, while I pumped the other in Mom's cunt like a piston.

The whole scene was so wild my own orgasm burst over me before I realized and I almost fell off the stool. Bracing myself, I let it storm over me, wave after wave, vaguely aware of my mom's cunt clenching at my pistoning hand.

I was still coming down, aftershocks rattling me as I felt her relax, and knew she'd had enough, so I relaxed and slowly drew my hand out, opening my fist so my finger slid easily out of her stretched opening, watching her cunt slowly contract, juices pouring down over the pucker of her asshole. Dr. Smathers settled her whole face in Mom's crotch, and I heard her sucking up Mom's juices as Mom did the same in Elaine's pussy, the two of them relaxing in their carnal afterglow.

Together they lay there, head to crotch, catching their breath and snuggling.

Looking at the hand that had been buried between Mom's legs, I licked some of her juices off it, and compared their taste with my own juices from my other hand.

There were, indeed, no secrets.



-------

Chapter 12



Good ol' Carl was oblivious, buried in the newspaper again for some class he was taking, while

Mom and I shared secret smiles over breakfast, both of us still dealing with what we'd shared in Dr. Smathers' examining room. Of all my experiences since sex ed I thought maybe that topped them all -- not that I'd want to be on the receiving end of a fisting, at least not until I'd been stretched by having a kid.

Which, in itself was a scary thought!

But the memory of wearing Mom on my hand like a sock-puppet was enough to make me cream in my rompers. The way she'd reacted as I'd wiggled my fingers, made a fist in her hot, soupy cunt, while Dr. Smathers had sucked and tongued her clit, well, if I could feel half of what Mom seemed to feel I'd never complain.

Breakfast done, we split, off to our daily assignments -- Carl with Beth to high school, Mom to work, me to school via bicycle for the first time in a while. I reminded her I had the library after school, she reminded me to ride carefully and wear my helmet, the way she always did.

Now I was out and away, the ride sweeping away all the cobwebs from my mind.

I started out slowly. The breeze up the legs of my loose shorts teased my naked crotch. I don't know why I didn't put on underwear today -- well, maybe I did. Anyway, I was enjoying the bicycle ride for reasons other than the air brushing my naked pussy. It was the first time I'd been on my bike since Missy had gone her hetero way and left me pining. After deep contemplation, I'd come to the conclusion I was pining more for our lost friendship, Missy's and mine, than for the brief interlude of sex we'd enjoyed.

And you believe that?

I told The Stick to shut up.

For years Missy and I had walked together to school because it gave us time to chat and giggle together, gossip and tease. As kids we'd run and skipped, played games with the cracks in the sidewalk, kicked pebbles down the path, raced to the next corner. It was about a twenty-minute walk, the way we did it, but worth getting up a bit earlier so we could share our secrets and our hopes and dreams.

Now all that was gone and I missed it. The walks since had been so lonely. I'd avoided Missy's street, and Mike's, making the walk even longer, and been constantly on watch to avoid them if they strayed from their usual route.

Today the bike avoided all those problems, shortening the time while at the same time letting me lengthen the route, no watchfulness necessary, giving me a feeling of freedom. I loved the sensation of speed, the wind stroking my cheeks -- even Those Cheeks, when I lifted off the seat to pedal harder, the air blowing up my shorts. The wind whispered in my ears, toyed with the hair not restrained by my helmet, tickled the wisps on my bare pussy.

I savored the flex of my legs, the strain on my thighs and calves as I stretched my muscles. I'd been neglecting my running, and bike riding was a good alternative.

Now I was warmed up. Standing on the pedals, I leaned into it, making Old Bessie fly. Old Bessie was only a three-speed, bought at a police auction, but I didn't mind. That made me work harder, a good thing. After I'd fixed it up and oiled it, under Carl's tutelage, I'd out-pedaled Missy on her fifteen speed, even on hills.

The tires hissed on the pavement as I rounded a corner, my legs starting to burn. I deliberately took an even longer route this morning, one that put a couple of hills in my path, so I was puffing when I pulled up behind the school, my legs warm and rubbery.

It felt good.

I felt good.

I had another reason for biking today. I needed to return the overdue book to the public library. It was too far to walk, but not too far to bike.

I'd even broken my metaphorical piggy bank to try to pay the fine. I hoped they wouldn't throw me behind bars or put me in stocks on the village green to be pelted with rotten fruit. I'd computed the fine, long multiplication, if that's a valid math term, and resigned myself to being a pauper until I was in college.

Maybe I should get a paper route, or take up baby-sitting. I was old enough now. I think the paper route, rather than baby-sitting, though. More exercise, and I'm not good at dealing with puke. Money, on the other hand...

After I locked my bike to the rack I headed for the school's back door, grateful to be missing another of Missy's front door performances. The back halls were just beginning to fill, and I had my head in my locker, trying to make sure no other library books were lurking down among the ancient relics and fossilized assignments when someone tapped me on the back.

Of course I rose up and whacked my head on the double hook they have screwed under the top shelf.

"Sorry," Mike apologized as I backed carefully out, holding my head, blinking tears out of my eyes.

I inspected my fingers, grateful not so see any blood. Scalp cuts bleed a lot, and that would have meant another trip to the nurse's office. Last time I'd been there she'd threatened to use her desk stapler to close my next laceration, no matter where it was or what the cause. She's a PA or something and licensed to do minor repairs. I'm glad she's a good seamstress or I'd look like I was put together with zippers.

I also took a moment to try to get my addled brain working. I don't think I'd exchanged two words with Mike since that mad threesome I'd shared with him and Missy in my bedroom. He'd been stuck on her like chewing gum on the heel of her shoe ever since.

"What do you want?" I didn't mean it to come out the way it did -- hostile -- but he was not high on my list of favorite people at the moment. Sure, not long ago he'd been my unrequited love.

"Unrequited." Good word. Language arts does have its uses.

But after all, he'd stolen my girlfriend! They got each other and I got nothing.

"Never mind." He turned away, head hanging, and my heart went out to him. Missy's shenanigans had to be getting to him, and besides that, I couldn't forget that he had taken my virginity, and he'd been the boyfriend I'd longed for but never had.

Taken my virginity, hell, be honest. Engulfed in a perfect storm of horniness I'd thrust it upon him, though in the end he'd been the one doing the thrusting, aided and abetted by the now notorious Missy. But I'd been a more than willing receptacle.

"No, wait!" I reached out to him, touching his shoulder. "I'm sorry. Lemme finish here and I'll walk with you."

Extracting the stuff I needed from the locker, I slammed and locked it and joined him in a trek toward homeroom.

"Bitch!" he muttered under his breath.

I knew who he was referring to, of course -- or should that be "to whom he was referring?" Language arts is also a pain.

"What's she done now?"

"She likes making me jealous." He was furious. If he'd been a girl he'd 'a' been crying. "She does it on purpose!"

"No she doesn't," I argued, some remaining shreds of loyalty making me defend her.

"She does!" he fired back, stopping. "I heard her say so!"

"You're kidding!"

He shook his head. "No, I'm not! She was horsing around with Horace and his crew, and she said it to him, looking right at me when she did! 'I like making him jealous, ' she said. 'It's fun!' She's taunting me!"

"That bitch!" I swore, resuming our slow way down the hall. "I'd say she deserves being dumped."

"But I love her!"

"Still? Even after that?"

He nodded miserably.

I thought of trying to tell him what he was feeling was coming from his balls, rather than his brain or heart, but figured that wouldn't fly. I was still having trouble telling the difference between lust and love myself.

This whole sex thing was so complicated.

"You still, uh... ?" I pantomimed, poking my fuck finger through a circle I made of the thumb and forefinger of my other hand. Even a moron would have known what I was asking.

He nodded. "We found a private place between here and her house. There's an old mattress..."

"I'd rather not know," I told him, my mind recoiling from the image of them, naked, tangled on some grody, stained old mattress in a grungy alley. But I did want to know one thing.

"How's the condom supply?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes she gets impatient. I try to pull out. I know it's risky!" he snapped before I could say anything.

"Sometimes she comes real fast," he went on, "and I pull out and finish myself, but not on her -- 'Mommy might find the evidence, ' she says. And she won't suck me. Says it's icky, but I love eating her, even after we've fucked!"

"Whoa! Too much information!"

"Sorry," he apologized. "What should I do?"

Who does he think I am, Dear Jenny? She's our school paper's heartbreak columnist.

"Dump her!" I answered with no hesitation. "She doesn't deserve you."

I had a fleeting surge of joy at the thought he'd be available to me, but it was gone as quick as it came. That chance was long past now. Too much water had gone over the bridge, or under the dam, too much spilled semen, whatever.

"But I love her."

All I could do was shrug. He wouldn't listen to me. He was -- what's that expression? -- getting his ashes hauled regularly, even as she tortured him. Talk about dysfunctional relationships. Ick indeed.

At that point the bell rang and as we went our separate ways we had to drop the whole subject, to my relief. I didn't see how his talking to me had done him any good. It sure hadn't improved my mood at all. I was angry with her like I'd never been angry before. Mike didn't deserve this kind of treatment.

I was puzzled, too. This wasn't the sweet, shy Missy I'd known nearly all my life. She'd turned into a hormone driven witch! Whoever had chosen her for sex ed had made a big mistake.

I couldn't forget her parents had agreed to let her take the class because she told them I was taking it. She hadn't asked me before she used me, but I had to admit if she had asked I would've said "fine!"

I hadn't known of the demon lurking inside her. Maybe an exorcism...

Someone rammed me from behind, hard, a fist to my kidney.

"You stay away from my boyfriend!"

Rubbing my back, I turned toward Missy's venomous hiss to respond, but she was already pushing her way through the crowd.

Shit! She'd obviously seen me and Mike talking. Shit! She's got half the middle school boys tripping over their tongues -- and other appendages -- and accuses me of trying to steal her "boyfriend."

Bitch!

I managed to immerse myself in my morning classes, even though my stomach had turned into a sick, sour knot. By lunch hunger had loosened it, until I caught sight of Missy in the hallway, clinging oh-so-hypocritically to Mike, nibbling on his cheek, pressing his arm to her soft, warm boob, tucking his hand not-so-discreetly to her crotch when she thought she could get away with it. He was blushing and squirming in the throes of a torrent of testosterone, betrayed by the bulge in his trousers.

Ick!

At least the sight of A. J. and Mickey talking earnestly lightened my mood. Of all the unlikely couples to emerge from sex ed they took the cake. Even though he was the perfect geek, 6th grade division, and Mickey had all the fixtures of the ultimate 7th grade sex-pot, a teen-age boy's wet dream come alive, they communicated on a whole different level, both intellectually and emotionally.

And her whole attitude had changed. It was as if by tapping her intelligence he had somehow freed her of using her precocious physical development to get attention. He saw her as a fascinating brain which just happened to wrapped in a sexy body, where everyone else, me included, had been totally distracted by the packaging. I smiled and waved at them and she drew me in, telling me excitedly about their project for the science fair.

I only understood about every third word, but agreed it sounded fascinating and that I'd be rooting them on. Turns out they were having some sort of a design problem, and since it resembled a problem from last night's trig homework I came up with a possible solution! I was glowing when I walked away from that one.

And in the lunch line Judy Liu was with Terrell, and I had this mad image of the little gymnast swinging like a monkey from one of his big black arms, even though he was a musician, rather than a jock.

It felt good, too, to have my crew at lunch welcome me again, and this time we were enthralled by a rumored relationship between the girls' phys ed teacher and the new assistant librarian, a perky blonde just out of college who looked as feminine as all get out. But who was I to question sexuality? I squirmed a little bit, but no one brought up my previous relationship with Missy. I know there had been suspicions about us, and the rumors of what went on at Judy's sex ed sleepover had only stirred the pot further.

They were true friends. They accepted me for what I was, or wasn't.

"So, you want to hang out with us at the mall after school today? I saw you on your bike," Cindy asked.

I felt a pang at missing the fun, but had to shake my head. "I've got a book overdue at the library," I explained, still skating around the real reason I was going there.

Peggy eyed me shrewdly. "That wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that Greg lives in that direction, too, would it?"

"It's where the library is," I pointed out defensively, "and I do have an overdue book."

Waaaay overdue I reminded myself.

"Liar, Liar, pants on fire," Cindy teased. "Look! She's blushing!"

I could feel it, of course, and couldn't deny it. "Well, if I should happen to run into him..."

Fran guffawed, and Inez tittered.

"I want to talk to him about tomorrow's practice," I insisted primly. "If I should happen to see him!"

"IF you should happen to see him," Fran observed snidely.

"Just in case," Inez added.

"And practice for what? There's a nice park around the library," Cindy pointed out.

"There are some neat places where you can get a little privacy -- for talking about practice, of course," Peggy added suggestively.

I was more than pink by this point. "You guys! All I know is his last name is Anderson, and that he goes to North Side, so he lives in that area. What are the chances I'll run into him? One in a million?"

"And he's cute," Peggy teased.

"And he's seen you naked. You got anything on under those shorts?" Inez asked.

I flamed red.

Fran laughed. "What do you bet she's gone commando today?"

They all laughed.

"And don't forget, you beat him in a race," Inez reminded me. "You'll be lucky if he gives you the time of day."

"We tied in the IM after that, and I was whipped so he helped me up off the deck afterwards, and he smiled at me."

So I exaggerate -- I wasn't THAT whipped. So sue me. He had helped me up -- his idea -- and he had smiled at me, sort of, I think.

Cue the chorus: "OooooOOOOOoooooooo!"

What could I do but laugh along with them as we all gathered up our lunch debris. "Anyway, have fun at the mall. I really do have a book that is way overdue."

"Say 'hi' to Greg for me when you see him!" Fran challenged.

"He doesn't even know you exist," I pointed out.

"You could change that, if you wanted to," she explained. "Tell him I'm not such a great swimmer, but I'd be happy to be his P-F-D.

"Personal Flotation Device?" I asked.

Fran is a large girl. Well, truthfully, she's -- uh -- rotund (thank you, lang arts, again), and the image of her bobbing on the waves, with Greg riding her like some sort of inflatable toy cracked us all up. Even Fran herself was laughing as we high-fived.

"I was thinking Personal Flirtation Device," she countered, still laughing.

"But you want him for yourself, so I bet you won't," Fran concluded as we dumped our trash and returned our trays.

"Probably not," I agreed, grinning.

Gosh I loved those guys -- and Not in THAT way, as good, loyal friends!

We endured the usual barrage of snotty comments as we passed Horace's Herd -- or should that be Horde? -- on the way out of the lunch room. Of Missy and Mike there was no sign, and I wasn't sure if that was good or bad. One of these days one of Mike's little wrigglers was going to get loose in her when an egg was headed downstream and then there would really be hell to pay, if something worse didn't happen sooner. Like maybe a boy whose chain she yanked one too many times would take her up on the offer, whether she liked it or not, and he wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

What was she thinking?

That was easy. She wasn't thinking, and I had to admit I had more than a little experience of what can happen when the hormones are storming. Twice I'd done it, and afterwards, both times, I'd regretted it. What is it they say? Sin in haste, repent at leisure? Something like that. Well, at the rate Missy was going she'd be repenting from now until graduation -- college graduation, if she made it there.

I was conscious of a little bit of an ache in my arm where my new implant was doing its thing, as if to remind me it was there. My tits were a little tender, and I suspected the implant was the reason -- I'd read the pamphlet Dr. Smathers had given Mom. Bigger boobs was a potential side-effect. Maybe I was finally going to get boobs. Better two bulges on my chest than one in my belly.

Oh, having the implant gave me a little feeling of security, but made me even warier of my hormonal driven urges. Irony is another gift from lang arts. How ironic that now that I am safe I'm even more afraid of partaking of the joys of the flesh.

The afternoon was a roller coaster ride of terror and anticipation. Would I see him? What would I say to him? What would he say to me? I was totally wired as I pedaled toward the library. Would I see Greg? Would he see me?

Well doh! If I saw him I'd make sure he saw me -- wouldn't I?

Shit! I was behaving like a blushing virgin! Which I could never forget I no longer was -- a virgin, I mean. I still blushed like a stoplight. Judging by that you'd never guess I'd already done darn near everything I could do with all the openings I had available, with both males and females.

God, just thinking about that romp with Beth at my cunt and Carl up my ass, or then the one with my mom and her gyno, fisting, of all things -- got me all gooey. And then, when I combined that with my memory of Greg's shy, wry smile and his nice slender body, well, goo changed to gush. All of a sudden my lack of panties didn't seem like such a good idea, since there was nothing to catch my secretions but the crotch and seat of my shorts, and they were khaki. They'd show the leakage for sure. I'd look like I'd peed in my pants!

I rose up on my pedals, hoping my pants would bag away enough to avoid getting soaked, and so the wind could dry them if it was already too late.

As a result of my weight on the pedals I roared up the gravel path toward the old mansion that served as our library. Hitting the level area where the bike racks were located, I braked my bike's back wheel into a crazy slide, scattering gravel like buckshot as I dismounted. A double skip and I rolled it into place in the rack. I'd locked the lock, and only after I'd buckled my helmet to my backpack did I look up to find I was facing my wanted poster on the libe's bulletin board.

My wanted poster! I mean, a wanted poster for me!! I was wanted! It said it, right over my picture, in big, bold, block letters -- WANTED!

I broke out in a cold sweat.

It was a new display, a collage of wanted posters. Wanted for failure to return books, they read, with mug shots and all.

Maybe somebody's idea of a joke? There was even a reward for information leading too and blah, blah, blah.

Shit!

And it was undeniably me, right in the center of the bottom row.

Oh it was a blurry picture from last summer, out of the newspaper after one of my swimming triumphs, but it was undeniably me, the unruly, straw-like, chlorine- and sun-bleached hair, the freckled, sunburned nose, the innocent blue eyes -- except it was a black and white picture.

I was about to look warily around like the felon I was, fearful I'd be spotted, when hands from behind closed firmly around my upper arms, drawing a wince when a finger pressed on my newly implanted implant.

"I suggest you come quietly, Miss," a deep voice warned

I squeaked!

The grip on my implant arm relaxed and I turned to lose myself in Greg Anderson's twinkling blue eyes while he tried to look serious and efficient. He was as tall as me! That was so neat!! I was so tired of looking down on the boys in my class. And, has hard as he tried to look serious there was that little smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. That Smile! Oh gosh.

"You got her! You got her!"

Bouncing up and down next to him was a short, impish, dark-haired girl with a bright smile and cheeks that just invited being pinched. Sticking crazily out of the sides of her head, short, blue-streaked ponytails flapped giddily up and down, adding to her wacky charm. She was totally excited.

"He's had this place staked out ever since they put your poster up!" she exulted.

"It only went up day before yesterday," he grumbled, letting go of me and I felt a pang. "There's a reward," he confessed, embarrassed. "I figured you'd show up, sooner or later, to return the book."

"But he's been talking about you ever since you beat him. You beat him, didn't you? Mister Hot-Shot butter flyer got beat!"

I eyed her. She reminded me of myself when I was her age, which I guessed was about ten, which wasn't all that long ago. I felt a twinge of envy. I'd wanted to make some of my hair pink, but Mom wouldn't pay for it.

Physically she was totally unlike Greg, stockier, but not fat, probably never would be as tall, duskier skin tones instead of his blond freckled complexion. She was wearing a pink tank top that showed just the bumps of perky nipples, no foundation under them yet. She had a bright smile, nice cheeks that you'd want to pinch, and a teasing flash in her dark eyes. Not blue eyed and blond like Greg at all, but something about the relationship...

"Let me guess. Sister?"

"Only a stepsister," he responded irritably, but that didn't faze her in the least.

She planted her fists on her hips and glared up at him. "Well, you're only a stepbrother," she pointed out.

"True. Her name is Alexandra, but we call her Drindy, except when she's in trouble, that is."

"Not Alex?"

"That's a boy's name!" she protested with a pout.

"Not that I'd ever forget it," he assured her, tousling her hair affectionately. "She's very much a girl."

She looked up at him and I could see she felt about him the way I felt about my brother. She adored him, and he adored her. Physically they were as different as night and day, the product of different parents but they were family.

"There's a reward. If I bring you and the book in they'll forgive one of my fines," he explained, getting back to my "arrest." "You got the book with you?"

I nodded. "In my pack. You get fined a lot?"

He gave me that little quirk of a smile that made me go all funny inside. "Yeah."

"Better get the cuffs on her," his sister warned. "She looks tricky!"

Greg and I looked at each other, and it was like telepathy the way we decided to humor her. Dutifully, I turned my back and put my hands behind me. I didn't resist when he took me from behind by the wrists.

"I've got her," he announced.

"I'll go quietly, Sheriff," I responded humbly, hiding a smile that was as much caused by his touch as our silly charade.

"You carry the backpack, Deputy Drindy. Be careful with it. My bet is it's got the loot in it," Greg ordered gruffly.

To say I was kinda enjoying this whole scene is putting it mildly. How was it his touch had such an effect on me? And here I'd been worrying what we'd talk about.

"How old is she?" I asked him, not softly enough.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here. I'm ten, I'm not deaf!" she retorted. "Ooof! Whatcha got in this thing, gold bricks?"

"Don't I wish!"

"She's ten, going on twenty -- but emotionally I think she's a case of arrested development."

"She's the one who's 'rrested," Drindy countered.

I suppressed a giggle, remembering how I'd been at that age, tired of being thought "a kid." Come to think of it, I was still tired of that, but I had a birthday coming up and I'd be a teenager, at least.

He perp-walked me up the path, holding my wrists behind my back as if I were cuffed, Drindy trudging along behind, grumbling about my pack. Some kids coming out the door stepped aside, staring at me, but I held my head high, rather than trying to hide my face the way most perps do. Maybe it was just his grip that made me feel all hot inside, but I liked testing my muscles against his strength, and having my arms behind my back did kinda push out my chest, what there was of it, which wasn't a bad thing.

He marched me up to the circulation desk, and it was just my luck the head librarian had descended from her lair on the second floor to man the desk. She frowned at me. "You got her!"

"We got her," Drindy confirmed proudly, taking half the credit, "and the goods are in here." She swung my backpack up on the counter with a THUD!

It was all the three of us -- librarian, me, and Greg -- could do to keep from laughing at Drindy's officious tone. Marie (she's the Head Librarian) is a sweet, thoughtful, helpful, and very soft-spoken woman, with a core of steel. I think she was genetically programmed to be a librarian -- super efficient and organized, with a sweet voice that barely rises above a whisper. Her words come out as if they were each carefully selected, her diction precise.

"You'd better get it out for her, Drindy, she might have a weapon in there." I could see Marie struggling to conceal her smile, her eyes twinkling. She's slender and pretty, though her hair is graying and she's probably fifty.

"No weapon, but here's the loot," Drindy announced, extracting the book.

A quick scan with the wand and the computer beeped accusingly at me. Greg released me and I started digging in my pocket.

"You're lucky," Marie told me. "You only owe us five dollars."

I looked up, astonished. "I do? But I multiplied it out..." At twenty five cents a day I was clutching three times that, and ready to try to establish a payment schedule for the rest.

She smiled that gently sweet smile of hers. "There's an amnesty in effect. Though if you'd lost the book you would have had to buy it," she explained. "That's a thirty dollar book."

I gulped and unwadded a five dollar bill from my stash. "Glad I didn't lose it!"

"Thank you. I am, too," she said, taking the money and putting it in the cash drawer. "I'll make sure your poster is taken down."

"Oh, could I have it?" Drindy asked eagerly. "The poster, I mean."

Marie laughed softly and looked at me.

"Sure," I agreed, flattered.

"I wanna put it up on my dart board!"

I thanked Marie, grateful for getting off so lightly.

"I thought that was a bulletin board," Greg commented as we headed for the exit.

"Not the way I use it!"

"If you start getting sharp headaches it means she's into voodoo again. What can I do?" he asked me wearily.

"Might as well give up. I have an older brother and he never managed to tame me," I pointed out, wondering where we went from here. I suddenly felt all shy again. "Now what?"

"Can we go someplace a little more private? I wanna talk about sex," Drindy announced loudly as we left the library.

My jaw hit the sidewalk, and I saw Greg turning a delicate shade of pink.

"Alexandra! What did I tell you?"

"You said not to ask about you-know-what, so I didn't!" she protested with the unbreakable logic of the ten-year old.

Greg was heading toward red, and I was afraid purple and manslaughter -- or sister-slaughter -- was next.

"I told her not to ask you about, well, about your experience teaching sex ed," he sputtered.

"And I didn't," his sister pointed out. "I just said..."

"We heard what you said!" he and I chorused.

I was in danger of exploding as I tried not to burst out laughing. Without really even thinking about it, I put my hand on Greg's arm, feeling a little shock as I did. It may not have calmed him, but it sure distracted the two of us for a moment.

"So you heard about that, huh?" I asked him.

"Uh huh."

"Ever since he met you he's been stalking you," Drindy explained, earning another glare from him. "He's been asking everyone what they know about you. Turns out you've got quite a rep!"

That gave me a tingle, and a blush.

"And what do you want to know about sex?" I asked her, trying to be serious and professional.

Drindy flapped her arms, bouncing up and down on her toes, her ponytails flipping and flapping like -- well, like pony's tails, the blue locks flashing in the sun. "Everything! I don't know anything!"

"Dee, I don't..."

I smiled at him and his sister. "Really, I don't mind. It's about all I've been dealing with for the last two weeks." Then I flushed myself. "Unless, that is, you'd rather not -- uh -- go that route, considering, well, that we just met, sorta."

Shit! Now I was gonna scare him off.

"Uh -- I dunno," he stammered.

"Pleeeaaase?" Drindy begged. "I'm such a dork about this stuff, and you know how Mom is about talking about stuff like that, and she's always so busy anyways, and the kids in my class are full of bullsh..."

"Drindy!" Greg cut her off before she'd owe a quarter to their cuss jar.

"Mom's not comfortable about talking about sex," Greg explained. "Dad's not much better, for that matter."

Shit! Now I was getting myself into a student-teacher kinda thing with Greg, which was NOT at all what I wanted. And his sister was gonna be there just to totally screw things up between us. I mean, it's not like I was eager to jump on his pole. Well I actually was, I think, but I wanted to get to know him, and now all he'd see me as was a -- what do they call it? -- a sex surrogate!

I also suddenly realized what a trial I'd been to my own brother when he and Beth were -- what's the word I want? -- courting, that's it, like John Alden and what's her name.

That's when I decided that when Fate is dealing it out, payback is especially the bitchiest.

"Come on, I know a neat place," Drindy announced, tugging on her brother's hand.

Greg took mine, which was a nice thing, his grip was firm and warm and felt real good. We formed a train with Drindy in the lead, dragging us along, the backpack in my free hand bringing up the rear. She hauled us across the lawn to a big tangle of shrubs of some kind, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and then slithered through the branches. Greg and I looked at each other, shrugged, bent low and crawled in after her.

It was shady and cool, the ground carpeted with dried leaves and twigs. A few small bugs and dust motes danced in beams of sunshine that dappled us.

Drindy looked like an eager little forest elf beneath the boughs, her blue-striped ponytails and shoulders speckled with bits of leaves. I picked a twig out of Greg's hair and he brushed a leaf off my shoulder as we looked around. The bushes closed in overhead, but there was enough room to stand. Beyond our little refuge we could hear children playing, people talking. It reminded me of when I'd drape a blanket over a card table to make myself a private place to play.

Of course I'd known about "secret" places in the park. All us kids did. Missy and I had played hide 'n' seek more than once around here when we were supposed to be doing research for school. The little kids used them for games, the big kids for other stuff. I guess today we were getting into big kid territory ourselves.

"Okay, where do you want me to start?" I asked, getting rid of my backpack.

Greg gave me a teasing wink. "Why don't you get naked. That's the way I first saw you."

I was suddenly self-conscious at the thought, which was ridiculous. After all, he'd seen me naked already. But something about doing it now, here, with his sister watching made me fidget nervously, my insides all hot and squirmy.

"You met her naked? You didn't tell me that!" Drindy's eyes were wide.

"She was naked. I wasn't," he explained. "I think she did it to distract me. That's how she beat me."

"It is not," I argued defensively. "I was so distracted myself I was half a length behind off the blocks, and I still beat you, fair and square. And anyway, I wasn't naked on purpose. I'd lost my old suit -- turns out I'd outgrown it anyway -- and hadn't gotten a new one."

"Kewl!"

I made a face at her. "I don't recommend it if you're gonna do a racing dive."

"She's into soccer instead of swimming," Greg assured me.

"I swim! I just don't race. Soccer's more fun. Otherwise I'd prob'ly beat you both."

Greg and I shared a good laugh over that one, and even Drindy giggled. "Well, I might if I were bigger."

I smiled at her. I was really beginning to like this youngster.

"So, how about we get naked together," Greg suggested.

"Me, too?" Drindy asked fearfully. "In front of you?"

She was looking at her brother.

"You've never been naked in front of him?"

She shook her head, her ponytails flapping frantically. "Nuh uh! Have you been naked in front of your brother?"

"More times than I can count," I assured her, not about to go into all the other things we'd done together. Even so, I was going all bashful at the idea of being naked in front of Greg for some reason. Something about this was twisting my innards into a knot, in a good way.

I mean, he's just a boy, after all. What was there to be afraid of? I'd been naked in front of the whole school!

But still...

If Greg knew what I was feeling, or if he was feeling the same way, he didn't show it.

"Come on, let's all get naked," he urged. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

If that isn't the oldest line in the history of kid-kind I don't know what is.

Greg was already pulling his shirt up.

"Uh -- no, but -- well..." Then I took a deep breath. Good grief! It wasn't as if I'd never done this before. What about at home? What about in sex ed? Why was I being such a dork? I skinned my shirt off, exposing my underdeveloped chest. For a moment I defensively cupped my budding boobs, conscious of the hard knots of my nipples, and their sudden sensitivity.

"Come on, Drindy," I urged her. "I don't want to be the only girl."

"I'm going to be the only boy," Greg pointed out as he attacked his belt.

"Well don't invite all your friends!" Drindy fired back as she pulled her tank top up. "And if you ever tell anyone we did this I'll pound you!"

She stripped the shirt off, exposing a chest that was already almost as developed as mine. She was slender, sort of, but not skinny. If she did decide to pound Greg he'd regret it. This girl was fit! The tan-lines made it obvious what during whatever sunning and swimming she did she wore a one-piece suit. Unlike her stepbrother, she tanned while he freckled, a lot like I did.

"I'm getting ahead of you guys," Greg pointed out, shoving his jeans down to reveal a pair of tighty-whities that were strained by the hard on he was sporting.

Strange how different today felt from the first time we'd met, when I'd been naked from the start. I couldn't take my eyes off him, even while I was unbuttoning the waist of my baggy shorts, suddenly exquisitely conscious of my total lack of underwear. I wished I'd worn some sexy panties -- not that I had any.

If stuff like this kept up I might even find myself at Victoria's Secret!

I looked toward his stepsister, who was struggling with the waist of her shorts -- they were tight, like she'd grown a bit lately, which she probably had. When the waist popped open the zipper almost did itself, revealing cotton panties with teddy bears on 'em.

My shorts were loose, slithering down my thighs, unceremoniously exposing my nakedness, and my hands went to cover my pussy as Greg's eyes widened. Meanwhile, I was staring at his strained jockeys, the thrust of his dick, a telltale stain of moisture right at the tip where the fabric was clinging to the helmet of his prick.

"Aren't you gonna... ?" I sorta gestured and he flushed a bit, shot a look toward his sister, who was now down to her childish panties, and staring at him, at the pole stretching his underpants. If he'd let it slide up it looked like the head would stick out the top like a periscope.

"Okay. On three, both of you at once," I challenged. "One ... two..."

"Three... ," Greg joined me, shoving his underwear down, his cock leaping free to bob in the air.

Drindy shoved her underpants down around her ankles and immediately covered her -- uh -- privates, as they used to say, her tan darkening with a blush. Her shyness was so adorable!

Greg was trying to hide his hard on, totally unsuccessfully. I gave up on hiding my own naked pussy, realizing just how ridiculous that was. He'd already seen me, for gosh sakes! Greg looked at me and dropped his hands, exposing his cock.

It was gorgeous, slender but not too slender, straight, a pale shaft with a purple cap emerging from a collar of skin -- he wasn't circumcised -- his balls snuggled up at the base in their dusky sack. He had a thin bush of light reddish hair. He wasn't as big as Carl, but bigger than Mike or John, and I couldn't help wondering what it would feel like inside me, blushing at the thought.

"See, nothing to it," I said to Drindy. "We're naked. Feels good, doesn't it?"

She bobbed her head tensely, ponytails flying gleefully, still staring at Greg's cock.

Spreading my shorts to sit on, I took Drindy's hand in mine as I folded my legs Indian fashion. "Now, what do you want to know? Here, sit on my shirt so you don't get dirt on your butt."

"He's so big!"

I looked at it again as he spread his own shirt and joined our little triangle. "Not really. I've seen bigger."

"Are you a virgin?" Drindy asked.

"I don't..." Greg tried to stop her.

"It's all right," I assured him. "It's not something you usually ask someone," I told Drindy.

"Sorry," she apologized, looking abashed.

"Really, in this case it's all right. When it comes to talking about sex, well, honesty is important."

I took a deep breath, dreading Greg hearing this. "No, I'm not." I looked at him. "Sorry," I apologized. To my relief he sorta shrugged, and looked embarrassed.

"I am," he admitted bashfully. "A virgin, I mean."

"I should be. I kinda wish I was," I confessed, "but after sex ed, well, stuff happened."

I turned my attention to Drindy. "You know what having sex is?"

"Uh huh. They taught us in school. He -- the boy, I mean -- puts his thingy..."

"His penis, his cock, his prick," I filled in.

"In my -- uh -- cunt, and squirts his stuff..."

"Semen."

"Semen in me, and that's what makes a baby. Does it hurt?"

"It may, the first time, but not always," I admitted. "And not for very long. Then it feels real good, except if you don't want to do it and the guy is raping you. I guess that really hurts. It's never happened to me."

"What does it feel like to have sex?"

I pondered that one. "How do you describe a feeling?" I asked aloud. "It feels good. Could you describe, to someone who's never tasted ice cream, what a hot fudge sundae tastes like?"

She shook her head. I loved the way her hair danced.

"Have you masturbated? You know, played with yourself? Tickled your tee tee? Fingered your pussy? Be honest now." I used the words quite deliberately to assure her that there were no limits to this discussion.

She shot Greg a guilty look, then looked down. "You mean, like..." She touched her little slit, actually parting the lips a tiny bit with her fingertip.

I nodded, and looked at Greg, and he nodded. "I have, too." His voice cracked.

"There's nothing wrong with that. It's one of those secret things that almost everyone does, but no one talks about," I assured them, almost quoting my own mom word-for-word from a talk with her when I was about Drindy's age. I realized this was almost like reliving my own childhood, seeing the curiosity, the anxiety, the excitement in her young face. I wasn't that much older than Drindy, and I was younger than Greg, but I felt ancient next to them.

"Well, it feels a lot like that, but even better, with the right person," I went on. "He's in you, and stretches you and fills you, and..." I broke it off before I boiled over myself.

I saw her shooting looks at Greg's rampant cock. I could almost feel her curiosity. I looked at Greg, and he looked at me, and that telepathy thing seemed to work between us again. He was almost as unsettled as Drindy. Somehow I knew; being older he didn't want to seem almost as inexperienced and innocent as his little sister was. I made a motion with my hand toward his cock, and flicked a glance to Drindy, and he caught on. He blushed, made a face, but nodded reluctantly.

"Would you like to touch him?" I asked her gently.

She started to reach for him, but pulled her hand back, shaking her head, folding her hands in front of her naked little pussy. If she'd known how much I wanted to actually lick it she would have fled in terror, probably.

"When it comes to sex, wait until it feels right. Don't let anyone push you into anything. Ever!" I warned. "Your boyfriend may tell you he loves you, but if he doesn't stop when you say stop, he's lying. May I?" I asked Greg. He nodded tensely, and I could see his cock jump in anticipation as I reached for it.

"It's nice, hot, hard on the inside, with soft skin covering it," I told Drindy as I curled my fingers around Greg's stiff dick. I was thrilled that I was touching him, my own heart racing. "The end is softer, more sensitive. It feels good, but you have to be gentle."

He was oozing pre-cum of course, so I explained what that was, drawing the foreskin back spreading the clear oozings over the plummy head, drawing a gasp from Greg.

Drindy hadn't taken her finger from her little pussy, and out of the corner of my eye I could see her wiggling it in her slit, near the top, near her clit. It made my own mouth water, and my pussy, even though I was thrilling to the feel of Greg's cock in my hand.

"This is like the way it would be stimulated if he was in a girl, moving it in and out of her," I explained, moving my hand gently up and down his shaft. "It's probably the way he masturbates."

He nodded tensely.

"I like doing it. There's a special feeling to giving someone else pleasure. It makes me go all hot inside, even though he's not touching me. It probably feels even better for him when I do it than when he does himself. Doesn't it?"

Leaning back on his hands, he nodded. "But, what if I, you know, come, in your hand?"

I smiled, my own excitement rising at the thought. "I'd like that."

And that was all it took, that and two more strokes.

"Oh shit!" he gasped. His dick pulsed in my hand, and come erupted, shooting straight up to spill down over the head of his cock, drooling down over my hand, hot and sticky, the musky scent swirling in the soft air currents of our shady corner of the world, while outside kids laughed and played and adults talked, oblivious to our lusty exploration.

His sister's eyes were a big as saucers as she watched. Her finger was busy in her pussy, wiggling and wiggling, her hips squirming. She was so engrossed in Greg's spurtings I don't know if she was even aware of what she was doing to herself, but it was obvious her body was. Her budding nipples were swollen and stiff as she pinched them with her free hand, and she was whimpering, her ponytails quivering, her legs squirming.

If Greg hadn't been there I know I would have been hugging her, but Greg was and I was thrilling to his eruption, my own pussy clenching hungrily. I milked him dry, his slimy pecker slipping in my grasp as he grunted and gasped, his eyes closed, his hips working. His spurts eased to pulses, the pulses faded to oozings and his cock began to soften.

"Oh God that was good!" he gasped, pushing my hand off his withering, slippery dick. Without really thinking about it I brought my gooey hand to my mouth and began to suck it clean.

"Eeeewwwwwww!" Drindy exploded, making a face.

I looked at Greg slyly, remembering what Beth had said in sex ed one day. "It does taste better straight from the source," I teased, and saw him swallow hard.

"Really, it doesn't taste bad," I assured Drindy. "Here, take just a little fingerful of it. It's clean, has a little bit of protein but it's non-fattening, when taken orally, that is, but not if taken -- uh -- cuntally," I joked.

She took a gooey, creamy blob, brought it to her lips, sniffed warily and then licked it delicately. She made a face. "It's kinda salty. And it smells funny."

"That's the smell of sex."

"Oh." She thought about it, wiping her finger on her naked thigh. "I don't really like it."

"You may feel different about it when you're older," I answered, looking at Greg as I carefully slurped his tasty juice off my fingers. At least he didn't look disgusted.

Oh, I had SO much I wanted to teach him. But not right away. I wanted to get to know him better first. I'd never felt this way about a boy before.

I checked my cheap watch. "Now, that's enough sex ed for today. I've got to be getting home."

"You gonna go like that?" Drindy asked.

"No," I answered with a laugh, getting up. I shook the leaves and stuff off my shorts and pulled them on as she got up, then picked up my shirt and did the same. Greg got up, his limp dick drooling, so I playfully caught the drip and sucked it off my finger, embarrassing him. He danced awkwardly until he got his underpants on.

When we emerged from the bushes, Drindy ran off to where some friends were kicking a soccer ball around, her mind flicking from the mysteries and pleasures of sex to the art of the soccer kick as only a ten-year-old's could. Greg and I walked toward my bike, and I thrilled when he took my hand.

"See you tomorrow at practice?" he asked when we got near the racks.

I looked at him -- not looked DOWN at him, or UP at him, looked straight AT him! I suppose someday I'll look up at him, if I ever stop growing. "Wouldn't miss it. I'm gonna beat you again."

He grinned. "Wanna bet?"

Abashed, I shook my head, suddenly feeling all shy and silly again. To my surprise he used his grip on my hand to pull me a little closer, leaned toward me, and it was like I had a magnet in me, making me lean toward him. We didn't even bump noses! The first things, the only things that touched were our lips, and I felt like I'd kissed a live wire. My toes curled! I'd never felt a kiss like this before! And it was just lips touching, no tongue. I held my breath for the longest time before he drew away.

"See you tomorrow," he promised, and I felt a pang when he let go of my hand, though I managed to turn away.

"See ya." I had trouble unlocking my bike my hands were shaking so. I thought of inviting him to my birthday party, but how could I? I didn't even know if there was going to be one.

That hurt. Surely Mom would ... but what if she didn't? And I didn't want to leave, but I had to.

He watched as I strapped on my helmet, shrugged on my backpack. I almost went for another kiss, but flushed and turned away to get my bike out of the rack instead, wishing I was feeling his arms around me.

My heart still racing, I mounted Old Bessie, gave Greg a wave, and sailed down the hill, feeling like I was flying, feeling like I was leaving a piece of me behind, all awash with a whole big mess of feelings.



-------

Chapter 13

I flew to school the next morning.

Well, no, not really, but I don't think my feet touched the ground more than three times, and I wasn't on Old Bessie, either. I ran, I skipped, I bounced, I swooped, my arms out like wings as if I was a bird -- sorry, that should be "were a bird" -- subjunctive case for a statement contrary to fact -- thank you lang arts -- NOT. The sky was bluer, the grass greener, the air fresher than I'd ever seen or smelled or tasted before.

I was going to see Greg today!

My heart took flight.

He was going to be at swimming practice! I could almost see his sparkling blue eyes, his shy quirk of a smile, feel his hand warm in mine, his lips...

School brought me down out of the clouds with the bump of a crash landing. There was some kind of a feeding frenzy going on. Girls were screaming and running, while boys were tangled in a milling swirl on the front lawn.

And -- what else? -- Missy's shrieks were rising from the eye of the cyclone. I could hear her, but I couldn't see her through the scrum. Her bra took wing and fluttered down to dangle limply from a light pole. Her top, I think it was, was already draped over a nearby shrub. Shouts of "get the cunt," and "gimme a shot at the slut" stung the air.

Correction. It was a mating frenzy, if there is such a thing. Shit! Missy had cast her chum on the water one too many times and males in the testosterone fog of puberty were tearing at her clothes, judging by the scraps I could see being flung around.

There was no sign of the teacher usually stationed at the door to monitor our arrival. Without even thinking about it, I grabbed Mike, who was dithering helplessly on the fringe of the mob of sex-crazed boys. "Go get help!"

"But..."

It was all I could do to keep from slapping him. Instead I turned him toward the school's front door and gave him a shove. "Get help! Anyone! Even if it's only the janitor!"

Most of the girls had either fled in terror or were huddled like musk ox facing wolves.

I saw that on a PBS documentary one night.

I dove into the mess, using my head, shoulders, elbows, knees, feet, every tactic that had ever gotten me yellow and red carded in my ignominiously brief soccer career. Someone grabbed at my backpack and I shrugged out of one strap, swung the pack by the other and sent that someone flying before I lost my grip on it.

"There's another of the sluts! Get her!"

Oh shit. They began to turn on me and I lashed out in defense, then pushed on. A hand grabbed the collar of my shirt -- not a T this time, but an actual blouse to show Greg I wasn't a tomboy, much. I had a head of steam up and buttons flew like buckshot as I tore out of it, leaving me topless.

Bra? What bra? What for a bra?

I tripped and went down and when I tried to scramble up my shorts were yanked down around my knees with a ripping sound. I kicked free of them. Moments later my most sexy panties (for Greg, of course, which aren't very sexy, I admit, and I hadn't planned on letting him actually see them anyway) went the way of my shorts.

Shit. Naked again. So what else is new? And now Greg would never see my nice blouse or panties. Shit.

Reaching the eye of the storm I found Missy down on her back, with Horace between her legs, grunting like the pig he was, his naked butt two pasty white blobs wiggling madly up and down and around and around like his pecker was lost. He had one hand under himself. Obviously he was trying to Do The Deed only he couldn't find the hole.

I latched on to his greasy hair and yanked. The jerk screamed as I threw him away. Missy was down to the same bare skin I was, a pink splotch on the trampled grass. Tears had turned her raccoon mask of mascara into tiger stripes, while Horace and his crew, along with other sex-crazed adolescent males scenting blood in the water, sought to reach her naked flesh.

Diving on top of her I tried to shield her from the twerps. When someone grabbed my arm I swung and he went staggering back. Someone yanked at my foot and I kicked, then I managed to tangle my legs with Missy's, clutching her shoulders, doing my best to weld the two of us together, pussy to pussy. To get at her they'd have to go through me!

Which, of course, is what that idiot Horace tried to do. He landed on my back, using words like "fuck" and "cunt" and "slut," which pretty much exhausted his vocabulary, his cigarette breath making me gag, and his cock, lacking a softer, moister target, tried to wedge its way into my naked ass. I clamped my butt cheeks down tight -- Judy's not the only girl with a tight ass. When he hooked an arm around my throat I reflexively jerked my head up. I didn't mean to hurt him, I really didn't, but there was a very satisfying crunch against the back of my skull and he howled as he released my neck and rolled away.

Face to face with a dazed Missy, very conscious of her naked body beneath mine, I think I came up with an old movie line, something like, "We've got to stop meeting like this."

She wrapped her arms around me and bawled, and all I could think to do was muffle her with my mouth, planting kissy-kissy kisses all over her face, while memories of tender and erotic interludes flashed through my mind. Shit! I still loved the feel of her in my arms, her body against mine. I wanted to engulf her, but now was certainly not the time or the place. Hands were plucking at me, trying to pry me off her while more shouts of "cunt" and "slut" flew.

Suddenly John was standing over us, swinging my pack with the same ferocity he'd swung the pillow at Judy's party, only this time at everything that moved. Considering the weight of my pack it was assault with a deadly weapon. Everyone fell back, leaving me atop Missy, belly to belly, legs tangled, arms clutching each other. My naked pussy was grinding against hers, but I don't think she was finding it at all sexy at the moment. As for me, well...

Then Ms. Andrews's voice cleared a path, the crowd parting like the Red Sea. I tried to untangle myself, but Missy was having none of it. She clung like an octopus.

"Well, isn't this a fine how-do-you-do! I leave you children alone for a few minutes and this is what you get up to?"

She disarmed and calmed John.

I managed to struggle free enough to try to defend our reputations. "It's not what you think."

"And who's responsible for this?" She pointed to Horace, whose nose was streaming blood.

I felt a little surge of guilt at that, but only a little one. "Me, I guess. I think that was the crunch I heard when he hit the back of my head with his nose, I mean, the back of my head hit his nose."

"Just for the record, I liked it better the first way," Ms. Andrews noted dryly. "Remember to describe it that way if it goes to court."

She pointed to Inez, doctor wannabe, handing her a hanky. "Here, take this to keep from getting Bozo's sorry blood on you. Please take him and his remodeled schnozz to the nurse's office to see if she can straighten it out. Tell her to keep him there until the principal's ready to deal with him.

Ms. Andrews then pointed at Denise LeFevre, noted eighth-grade clothes horse. "Go to the office. Find something to cover these two love birds. Try the lost and found. Bring it to -- no, wait -- I'll meet you in the school office. Mr. Morris needs to know what's going on, the sorry sucker" -- This last under her breath -- "I don't like to think of the paperwork this is going to generate."

"We're not..." I tried to correct her "love birds" remark, get free, but Missy was still too upset to do more than whimper and cling to me.

Ms. Andrews pointed again, to Judy Liu this time. "Get that bra down off the lamp post, and then gather the rest of Missy's scraps for the rag bag, Dee's, too."

Judy scampered up the post like a monkey after a coconut.

The cavalry arrived, late, as usual, heralded by the plaintive tweeting of the whistle of the single, aging security guard the school district had grudgingly assigned to us. Judging by the streaks on his uniform he'd probably been eating a powdered sugar donut in his cubbyhole -- right by the front door, I might point out -- apparently oblivious to the melee.

"You two, and John, my office, now! Wait for me there." Ms. Andrews ordered us, in a tone that would have had a five-star general hopping. She turned her attention to the puffing security guard. "You, take names. Get statements. Put that notepad to some use other than tic tac toe. When you're done meet me in the office, please."

As I helped Missy to her feet my heart sank. I hadn't been in a fight since I was seven, when Charlie Gratz stole my chocolate chip cookie. I might have willingly parted with my peanut butter and jelly sandwich (whole wheat bread), but not the cookie. It was home-baked by Mom!

She was sure to hear about this and I'd be grounded for a month, maybe the rest of the school year.

So I found myself again in Ms. Andrews's office, again stark naked -- well, not quite, I still had shoes on -- Missy on one side of me, John on the other. Missy was huddling close, shivering and crying in my arms, while John, still dressed but rumpled, pale and sweating, was hunched over, weaving his fingers into an impossible knot. I could only hope this wasn't a major setback for him.

The little elephant on Ms. Andrews's desk was smiling at me, the snot.

"Of all the dumb-ass times to call a staff meeting, just when you savages are arriving," Ms. Andrews muttered, closing the door behind herself. "Sorry, pardon my French."

She handed me some clothes, including Missy's rescued bra. "We couldn't find anything that'd fit you, Dee. Your mama's on the way."

My heart sank further. Getting Mom out of work was the worst. What if she was showing a house? Or negotiating a contract? I was going to be grounded for the rest of my life.

"My Mom?" I asked fearfully.

"Not your mama," Ms. Andrews countered quickly. "Her mama." She gestured to Missy. "I know your mom is busy, Dee. I'm not gonna drag her into this and get you in hot water just to get clothes to cover your delicate body. Think you could handle a day naked in school? Unless you want a blanket, that is."

Oh oh. Missy's mom. The cat was out of the bag.

"I'm sorry," I apologized.

"What for?" Ms. Andrews seemed genuinely surprised. "It didn't take much of an investigation to clear you. You did just what I'd expect of you. You're a hero."

I shook my head, holding up the bra. It had been cut. "Might want to check Horace for a knife," I suggested, then looked at Missy, who was about to dissolve into a puddle. She was fumbling with a blouse that was too big for her.

"I should have told you what was going on," I confessed.

Ms. Andrews shook her head. "I should have seen it. And I understand why you didn't. She's your friend."

"I don't think so, not any more," Missy sniffled sadly. It was the first words I'd heard out of her since I'd thrown myself on top of her. Actually, since she'd told me to stay away from Mike after punching me in the kidney.

"What do you mean? She dove into that mob after you, didn't she?"

"It was all my fault," Missy wailed, throwing the blouse down.

"I am your friend, always and forever," I assured Missy, putting my arm around her. "No matter what."

"Even now?" She looked at me with sad puppy dog eyes. "Even after all I've done?"

"Even now. That's what BFF means," I assured her, my heart breaking for her. "I'll always be here for you."

She nodded dismally. "Thank you," she whispered, tears leaking down her cheeks again as I hugged her.

"Can we have a few minutes alone?" I asked Ms. Andrews.

"Sure. Come on, John, we'll go get you situated."

"Thank you." I almost teared up myself at her kindness.

"You and your mama are gonna have a talk," Ms. Andrews warned Missy. "She'll be here in a few minutes."

Missy snuffled and nodded.

The door closed softly behind John and Ms. Andrews, and I held Missy while she cried. When she started to run down I reached for the box of tissues so I could wipe off her makeup and she could blow her nose. "Let's get this gunk off you. You don't need it. You're beautiful without it."

"I don't understand," Missy moaned. "Why are you doing this for me after I've been so mean?"

I put my hands on her cheeks, made sure she was looking into my eyes. "Because I still love you, and I don't mean just That Way. I love you as a friend, and BFF means Best Friend Forever. You're not getting rid of me that easy. Now, what happened?"

"I was just having fun, and all of a sudden Horace grabbed me. He called me a cock-tease!"

What could I say to that? I slowly and gently wiped around her eyes, revealing the true Missy, the one I knew and loved. "Well," I noted, "at our age boys don't always think with their heads. In Horace's case I don't think he thinks at all."

"I told him 'no!' He didn't stop. He was gonna ... gonna rape me! An' everyone thinks I'm a slut! That I've already fucked him! He told his buddies. He said he was gonna show them how it was done, what I was good for! I've only ever done it with Michael, he's the only one! An' now they think we're all sluts. Oh, I've ruined everything."

She was still leaking tears, and I gathered her in again, loving the feel of her soft, warm body against mine. I held her, and kissed her head, conscious of her warm breath on my bare torso, her face near my eager tits.

"He's a pig," I assured her, relieved to know that at least she'd been true to Mike.

She was so warm and soft against me. I breathed in her scent, stroked her satin skin, fighting the urge to kiss her, to toy with her titties to feel them react. Yeah, I was getting turned on, I admit it. I did still love her That Way, but that was not her way.

"Come on, let's get you dressed before your mom gets here."

She fumbled with the ugly blouse from lost and found. It shoulda stayed lost. "Aren't you gonna get dressed?" she asked.

I shrugged. "With what? There's nothing that'll fit me. If it's still around somewhere my blouse has no buttons, I heard my shorts tear when the mob got them, and my panties are probably a trophy in some dork's pocket."

I heaved a sigh. "No sweat. It's like high school -- 'The Program' for me today -- sort of a warm-up for next year, I guess. Naked in School. It's not like I've never been naked here before."

"Me, too," she vowed, throwing the blouse away.

"You don't have to," I pointed out.

"I'm gonna do penance," she stated grimly. "If you go naked, I'm going naked."

"But what about your mom?"

She made a face. "It's time she learned what kind of a daughter she has."

I smiled at her. "Well, she's going to see the real you. Remember, she's your mom, she loves you and wants to do the right thing."

"Well, she's gonna have to learn ... oh, she'll be so disappointed in me!" She teared up some more.

I gathered her in again. "She just needs to catch up. Sometimes when I do something crazy, Mom reminds me to be patient with her, that she's always a step behind, trying to catch up to me."

There was a soft knock on the door and Ms. Andrews stuck her head in. "You two decent? Missy's mom is here. Oh, I see..."

I got up and grabbed my backpack. "I'm okay, but you'll take care of Missy? Her mom's gonna want to kill her."

Missy looked terrified and grabbed my free hand. "Stay," she pleaded.

I shook my head. "I can't. This has to be between you and your mom. Right, Ms. Andrews?"

Ms. Andrews nodded, still blocking the door. "I'm the referee. No hitting below the belt. And you've got class," Ms. Andrews reminded me as she stepped aside, the class bell going off as she did, doors banging open, kids flooding the hall.

Missy's mom was right outside the door, of course. I almost walked into her. She stepped back in alarm.

"You're naked!"

I looked down at myself. "Why, yes I am, Mrs. Wilson. Nice of you to notice. It's good to see you again, too, you look very nice. But you'll have to excuse me, I have a class to get to."

She was as neatly turned out as ever, not a hair out of place, yet. She started to say more, but I just kept on walking rather than risk another of her tirades.

Then I realized it was between first and second periods already, the halls were jammed with kids, and I was the only naked one in the whole bunch.

Oh my.

Then I bumped into the Penguin -- sorry, I mean Mr. Morris, the Principal. He's bald, and kinda round, with a sharp nose -- a stuffed shirt with a clip-on bow tie -- and he gave me a fishy eye, up and down my naked body, like he'd never seen such a thing before. Well, maybe he hadn't. He missed our Show and Tell in the lunch room.

"Miss Walker, you're naked!"

Well doh, I thought. Talk about being a step behind the action, he was more than a whole city block behind, as usual. "Talk with Ms. Andrews about it, sir."

He harrumphed something about a note going home and let me by. Shit, as if I didn't have enough to worry about.

I could feel people looking at me. It's amazing how sensitive naked skin is, especially when everyone else is dressed. Mercifully, Mickey of the Marvelous Mammaries appeared to provide a welcome distraction. For a change I was glad she drew more attention fully clothed than I did naked, and her kindness gave me a warm feeling.

"I heard what happened. How's Missy?" she asked. "I hear she got raped."

Oh great! Like we needed that rumor!

"No, she didn't! Horace tried but couldn't figure out how. She's okay, but her mom is in Ms. Andrews office with her," I answered.

"Uh oh."

"Yeah, big uh oh."

"Everyone says you're a hero!"

"Oh, please, not you, too," I groaned. "All I want is to blend into the woodwork, but here I am wandering the halls in my birthday suit."

"Want my sweater?" she offered.

I couldn't help it. I laughed, the tension draining out of me. I'd been holding myself together and only now realized how close I'd been to hysteria. I laughed and laughed while she looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Which maybe I had.

"Like that would work!" I pointed out when I'd gotten control of myself. "You're a foot shorter, and, if I may say, shaped somewhat differently."

She giggled and put an arm around me. The feel of her against me was warm and comforting.

"Anyway, thanks. I'll see, maybe there's something in the bottom of my locker -- a pair of panties, at least."

"Why would you have a pair of panties there?"

"Oh, you know, in case of emergency," I admitted.

"Still no period, huh?"

I blushed. "No."

"But your boobs are blossoming," she observed, making me flush again, this time with pleasure.

"I got an implant," I confessed, flexing my arm, then when she gaped at me I realized how that sounded. "Not in my boobs. In my arm. Birth control. It's a side effect, I hear."

"You mean you're... ?"

"I'm protected," I answered vaguely. "Better late than never."

"You've done it?" She sounded surprised.

Oops! Amazing. I'd done it with Mike and with John and the word hadn't gotten out yet. There were at least two boys -- call them gentlemen -- in this school who could keep their mouths shut. I nodded reluctantly.

"What's it like?"

"You mean you haven't?"

She turned pink and shook her head. "A.J. and me, we don't think we're ready. We've -- uh -- done other stuff, but not that." She giggled. "He says I taste good. I like how he tastes, too."

"That means you're smarter than me," I confessed.

"Who with?"

"I'd rather not say. And please, let's keep it between you and me. Don't go spreading it around."

"Oh. Okay."

"Let's just say it was unplanned," I admitted. For some silly reason I was trying to hunch into myself, hide the parts of me that were normally covered. I was painfully conscious of being the only naked one in the school.

"I've got an idea," Mickey announced, unbuttoning her sweater.

I looked at her. "What are you doing? I told you, that won't fit me."

"How about you have some company? A. J., c'mere, it's 'get naked day.'"

"Cool!" He began undressing. Mickey was already down to her bra on top, skirt on the bottom, and that dropped around her ankles as the kids milling in the hall stopped and stared.

"No, wait, you don't have to!"

But they weren't listening to me. A. J. dropped his shirt, and took a moment -- well, more than a few moments -- to help Mickey out of her bra. Gosh she had the most gorgeous boobs. She scolded him gently when he worshipped them with his fingers and mouth for a moment, but he just grinned, his eyes sparkling through his thick glasses.

Terrell and Judy were passing, saw what was happening and grinned, quickly joining in the strip, and I realized that they were doing it for me and melted a little inside. It was like the time a girl was undergoing chemo and everyone in her class shaved their heads.

I guess it must have been my magnetic personality. The next thing I knew The Dirty Dozen, less Missy and John, were having a reunion right there in the hallway, all of them shedding their clothes. Even Mike was there, looking grimly determined as he stripped.

"Hey, guys, you don't hafta," I protested.

"What, and miss the fun?" Judy asked impishly, baring her petite, muscular body.

I was still remembering the stinging "slut" and "cunt" calls from the riot, and I got an idea. "Hey, gather 'round, huddle up."

"What's up?" John asked, having joined the group.

"Oh, good, you're here too. How are you doing?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "Under control," he admitted wryly. "What's up? Why's everyone naked?"

"So Dee's not alone. She lost her clothes in the riot," Mike explained, shoving his tighty-whities down and stepping out of them, his dick flopping merrily free.

"Missy's kinda put a blot on our reputations, and what the whole sex ed thing was about, don'tcha think?" I asked.

"Yeeahh!"

"Well doh!"

"Everyone thinks we're sluts," Maria Sanchez agreed. "The bitch."

"Well don't hate her too much, she's in Ms. Andrews's office with her mom."

That got a sympathetic "OoooOOOOOooooooo!" from the gang. That was regarded as a fate worse than death, especially knowing Missy's mom the way we did.

"Anyway, Missy's finally realized she's been making a fool of herself, and she almost got raped for it," I pointed out. "Right now I suspect Ms. Andrews is trying to keep Missy's mom from stuffing her daughter in a box and nailing it shut until she turns eighteen. Meanwhile, we've gotta do some damage control."

"What? How?" they asked.

"How? By walking tall, and being proudly and innocently naked," I answered. "No sex, no teasing, no flirting, no showing off, just being us. Anyone says anything, ignore 'em. They put a hand on you you tell 'em 'no, ' maybe slap their hand if you have to, but don't start a riot. We set a good example. Got it?"

They looked at each other, looked dubious. Then I saw the light bulbs going on over each head, and John started stripping.

"Remember who we are. We're proud! We're strong! Who are we?" I urged them.

"We're The Dirty Dozen?" John ventured.

"You got it!" I put my hand into the center of the huddle. "Who are we?"

"We're The Dirty Dozen!" they erupted, right on cue, slapping their hands down on mine.

"We're the Dirty Dozen!" we chanted. "We're the Dirty Dozen!"

The other people in the hall stared at us.

"So get your clothes to your lockers and get to your classes," I ordered. "And don't take any guff from anyone. Just stand tall."

"Easy for you to say!" Judy Liu giggled, looking up at me.

Laughing, I patted her on the head, then gave her bottom a swat as we scattered. Boy she has a nice ass!

"Slut," one of Horace's crew sneered to me as I went into my next class, and I turned on him, gave him The Look.

He flinched, then stuck his lip out pugnaciously. Breaking my own rule, I leaned close to him, backing him up against the doorframe, and said, very, very quietly. "You seen your buddy's nose? I'd be happy to arrange yours the same way." I was smiling. It was not a nice, friendly smile, and he turned pale and gulped.

I knew he had a younger sister he teased unmercifully, but you picked on her at your own risk. He defended her like a she-bear defends her cub.

"How would you like someone to say that to your sister?" I asked ominously. "Think about it, and don't you ever use that word, or the 'c' word to any girl in this school again. Ever!"

I pulled away.

"Have a nice day," I wished him sweetly.

I left him standing there, sweating and, I hope, thinking. He was the one who'd called John a faggot. I'd noticed he'd stopped doing that after his little talk with Anthony Fazzone, the gay high school football star, so he was trainable.

I sailed through the morning, catching sight of my troops from time to time, all of them carrying themselves with dignity. I saw a few digs and jibes, but they slid off our naked bodies. Someone pinched my fanny and got his hand slapped for his trouble. By lunchtime the insults had faded out. Even Missy was handling herself with dignity, though her mom had made her dress, having brought nice clothes for her. Mike, proudly naked, was at her side. They held hands, I noticed, and that made me feel good.

"I'm grounded," Missy admitted dolefully to me in the lunch line. "I'm gonna miss your party."

"What party?" I asked.

"Your birthday ... oops. You do know your mom's going to do something for you," she said awkwardly. "Don't you?"

I felt a surge of hope. "She is?"

"Uhm -- I don't know. She always does," she added lamely.

So! Mom was doing something. I felt better.

"Come on, Mike, let's sit over there. I don't wanna see anyone else." She fled, before I could grill her for more details.

Tossing me a sweet smile and a shrug, he trailed along after her, after all that had happened still totally smitten with her. I wondered if he realized it was going to be a long time before he got any from her again, if Missy's mom had her way. I figured Missy was destined for a chastity belt if she wasn't already wearing one.

Meanwhile, my mind was racing with the certain knowledge that Mom had something up her sleeve for Saturday. My suspicions were hardened by the sudden hush when I appeared at my usual lunch table. There were whispers and giggles, and signs of notes being stuffed away out of sight. Something was definitely Up.

How my mom does it I have never figured out, but she somehow slips invitations to the people who matter most to me, swearing them to secrecy, and puts together a wonderful party without me ever finding out about it in advance.

She was doing it again, which both cheered me and frustrated me at not knowing what she had planned. Usually the cake was some fantastic creation loaded with icing, a real work of art, the party in a setting I'd never dream of, and she always suggested the neatest presents, usually stuff the kids made themselves instead of expensive toys that break in a week.

Then they were chattering at me about what had happened before school, about the weather, about Greg, about Horace's newly contoured nose, which required an emergency room visit, about everything but my birthday. Rumor was I'd beaten Horace in a fair fight, so I had to explain how his attempt at strangling me had backfired on him.

They still thought it was cool. I felt guilty about it. I hadn't meant to break his nose. Everyone expected the disciplinary committee at their Friday meeting would suspend him for a week, which I felt would do no good. A week without school? He'd love it. My behavior was to be excused as justified.

Then they said his dad had been called away from his job to sign stuff at the ER, and that meant Daddy's belt was going to get a real workout, and I felt even worse. Mom had never, ever spanked me, even with her hand, and I sure had given her reason enough over the years. All a beating would do to Horace was make him meaner, the poor snot.

He'd also get a month of counseling with Ms. Andrews, though. If anyone could get through to him she could.

"So, what about Greg?" Fran asked.

"What about him?" I asked, trying to be cool and innocent, even as I heated up at the mention of his name.

"What about him? You've got swimming practice this afternoon, don't you? Will he be there?"

"Oh, I s'pose," I responded casually as I felt my ears turning pink and I fiddled with the straw in my milk, remembering our little seminar in the park with his sister.

"So, you gonna swim naked with him again?" Inez asked, so I made a face at her.

"No, I am not! I've got a new racing suit -- well, a hand-me-down one. And if I can get there early I'm gonna do some diving, too."

As usual, that diverted the conversation to speculation about how I had the nerve to do something so crazy. Not that soccer wasn't dangerous. Inez was always sporting some interesting bruises and she had spent one whole summer on crutches.

We were gathering up our stuff to leave when Fran suddenly yanked out her cell phone and flipped it open. "Who? Oh, yeah, Greg ... What's that? ... Okay, I'll tell her, but she's not gonna be happy. You know she's got a mad crush on you!"

I blanched.

She was looking at me as she flipped it closed.

"What?"

She looked doleful. "That was Greg. He says he can't make it today. He's got a date."

I felt what little blood that was left drain from my face, right along with my fondest hopes. Then I remembered, and the blood flow reversed just as fast. "Hey! You never have your cell on in school!" I challenged her. "And how would he get your phone number anyway? He doesn't even know you!"

"Gotcha!" she crowed triumphantly. She laughed that big hearty laugh of hers, and everyone joined in but me, for a moment. But given her wonderful, booming laugh, even I had to go along with her, even while I was trying to glare at her. "I had to do it, just to see the look on your face!"

"You got me." I was blushing again. "Have I told you guys lately how much I love you?"

Peggy gave me a hug. "We know. We feel the same way about you. Now come on, lets get out of here."

For a change we didn't have to run the gauntlet of Horace's Horde and their snotty cracks as we dumped our trash. With him not around the group seemed to have disintegrated.

The afternoon was a roller coaster. One minute I'd be high as a kite at the thought of seeing Greg, the next I'd be worrying that he wouldn't be there, or he wouldn't want to talk to me, or I would worry about what I'd say to him.

At the same time I was worrying about my diving, too. I hadn't been on the board in weeks, and what if Coach was right, I'd gotten too tall? My arms, legs, torso -- everything was longer. I still stumbled sometimes 'cause my feet weren't where I expected 'em to be. My center of gravity had probably changed.

My mind was everywhere but where it should have been. More than once a teacher caught me dreaming and I was deliberately called on. When that happened all I could do was blush and ask them to repeat the question. I was doodling hearts with "GA" in them in the margins of my notebook when I was called up to deal with a trig problem.

Mercifully, the brouhaha over the morning madness seemed to have faded away. No one called me a hero, at least to my face. Horace, back from the ER, stayed on the far side of the hall when he saw me, looking like a clown with the bandage on his nose, and the beginnings of what looked to be two black eyes. I didn't know I'd hit him that hard! I guess maybe his face had been moving forward when my head moved back.

I got a few pats, not rejected as long as they were above the waist, and not on my front, and one attempted fanny pinch that earned a cocked eyebrow and shaking finger from me, but not my "bird" finger.

After the closing bell I did the naked scamper up to the high school. I love being naked. I think I may have been naked more than I've been dressed. I like being naked indoors, but I love being naked outdoors even more -- the sun, the air, even the rain, if it isn't too cold. I feel like my whole body is in touch with the universe.

I trotted in a back door near the pool, getting some interesting looks from the departing HS kids. I had the feeling the freshmen and soph guys were even looking at me as potential fresh meat, which gave me a tingle. Heck, they had all the NIS girls to compare me with, and the fact that I was getting second looks was a compliment as far as I was concerned.

And who should I run into on my way to the locker room? Kathy Powers. Have I mentioned that she's tall, and fit, and cute, and smart, and talented, and gay? I guess maybe I have. Anyway, my face lit up at the sight of her, and I saw her light up at the sight of me! She's got this bright, bright smile, perfect teeth, and cheeks and dimples and -- sigh! She was wearing a soft brown sweater that hugged her delicious boobs -- no bra! Was that her nipples I saw perking up? -- and trim slacks that hugged her hips so closely there should have been a visible panty line, unless she was wearing a thong or -- blush -- none!

"Dee! I hoped I'd see you here!"

"You did?" I skidded to a stop, and managed not to just stand there and gawk.

"Uh huh! You're going to practice, aren't you? I want to do some studies of you." She joined me, her stride matching mine.

I felt a pang. "I was going to do some diving before swimming practice began."

"That would be great. I don't want you posing. I want to see you doing, get a feel for what you do, how you do it. Can I watch? Would that bother you?" She was carrying a sketch pad and some pencils.

"Uh, no," I assured her, wondering if maybe I was telling a teensy weensy lie. I mean, well, usually I can blot spectators out of my mind when I'm diving, but if the spectator is her, well, I wasn't sure.

"Look if it'll bother you..."

"No, no, no." Damn, she could read me like a book. "I'll be okay."

"I'll stay way in the back, and you just do what you usually do. Don't change a thing. It'll be like I'm not even there."

"I'm sorry, I gotta get my suit on."

"Oh, that's okay."

"Diving without it kinda hurts."

She gave me a fond look. "I bet it does. Why are you naked? They institute The Program in middle school?"

"Uh, not yet. Sorry, gotta rush," I answered vaguely, not about to blab about the morning's disruption. God only knows what rumors were already going around.

"Okay," she responded, in a way that told me she knew more than she said. Meanwhile, I was in a tizzy. Oh gosh, Kathy was there, and Greg was coming. I could feel my pendulum doing conniptions, whatever they are.

"That's fine. I'll be in the pool -- I mean, I'll be around the pool. I'm not really dressed for swimming."

"Oh, you could skinny dip!" Shit! There goes my mouth again!

She laughed. "I think that would make it hard to sketch. Wet paper and all, you know?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. See you in a few." I sought refuge in the locker room, though there wasn't really any good reason, since I was already naked and was just going to get rid of my shoes and pull on the suit that was in my backpack. But I needed a minute to gather my wits or I'd belly flop for sure.

I ventured out into the pool area as warily as a mouse coming out of its hole. I breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Coach there, getting stuff ready for practice. "Can you keep an eye on me, Coach? I want to do some diving."

"Sure can, Dee."

Our voices echoed in the big room. There was the soft gurgle and slop of the pool in the gutters -- somehow it was never completely calm. I tried not to see Kathy, on the back row of the bleachers, sketch pad in her lap. She was down at the far end of the pool, the deep end, and I felt self-conscious as I walked down there myself, clutching a towel. My heart was hammering.

Tossing the towel away, I got up on the board. The high school only has a one-meter board, of course. The high board and the platform are at the town pool. The boards non-skid texture felt comfortably familiar under my bare feet. I walked out to the far end, feeling it flex under my weight, turned, and paced off the right distance back, finding my starting spot. From there I turned and took my usual three careful steps, stepping up into the air on the last one, coming down on the end of the board.

THUMP!

It bent, then lifted me into the air, rebounding to smack and bounce off the fulcrum as I flew up, and I came down on it again, the familiar "THUMP, whacka, whacka, whacka, THUMP" echoing around me as I bounced a few of times, then I tilted a little bit forward the last time and was launched out over the water. I did a lazy tuck into a somersault, untucked, and splashed down, embraced by the cool, chlorine-scented water.

It felt like I was coming home.

Back up on the board, I bounced some more, getting comfortable with its tempo, before I killed the bounce, absorbing it with my knees. Back at my step off spot, I visualized my dive, the feeling of lifting off the board -- straight up, don't lean forward! -- hips rising, folding into my open pike -- arms out like wings -- the pool whirling around me, the far end coming into view when I'd start to straighten out to enter the water head first, hands together, thumbs interlaced, body straight, toes pointed, an arrow striking the target.

I stepped out, reminding myself not to jump, but to step up into the air, then down, staying vertical, letting my weight bend the board, then up, letting the board do the work, lifting me into the air, swinging my arms up as I did, then my hips came up, my head and torso forward and down, leading me into the one-and-a-half somersault, my arms spread even with my shoulders, fingers together and pointed, feather-like, my head almost touching my knees, toes pointed. Until I spotted the water, opened out, hands up and forward above my head and...

SPLASHDOWN.

I felt it. I'd over-rotated, my calves slapping the water instead of following cleanly through the hole my hands had made in the water.

Drat!

Back up on the board.

This time I under-rotated. I was still unfolding as I entered the water.

Shit!

Again.

Over-rotated, not as much, but still...

Then I was off angle to the side.

What if Coach was right?

I was still at it as the team began to file into the pool. I was panting a little, frustrated, trying to get a handle on a body that didn't feel like mine. I could feel them all watching me now as I fought myself. When Coach called time on me I took one last trip down the board, deliberately leaning forward this time, let it throw me high and far, tucking as I went in the water to do what we called a watermelon, sort of a rolling cannonball designed to throw the most water as high and far as possible, then I stroked down to the shallow end, submerged, and rose by the ladder, face up to let my hair stream back.

Coach looked concerned but didn't say anything as I sloshed up on the deck, Kathy handing me the towel I'd forgotten at the far end. I'd even forgotten she was there. I thanked her and she faded into the background again as the team settled in the bleachers, Greg being careful to be next to me. Neither of us said anything, we just looked at each other, held hands, and blushed.

"Okay, before I forget," Coach began, "special team practice, Saturday afternoon, mandatory!"

"But Coach," I began, "That's my b..."

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing, never mind, sir," I answered quickly, my mind whirling. "Special practice" and "mandatory" in the same sentence meant no excuses.

"Be here at two," he added, and we nodded like bobble head dolls, Greg giving my hand a reassuring squeeze, shrugging as I looked at him as if he had the answer.

Shit! Coach was going to screw up everything!

Then coach divided us into four mixed teams, using his own voodoo system, and set us to work doing wind sprints, each team to its own lane.

Urgh!

What are wind sprints? It is like an endless relay race, probably created by that guy who tortured people during the Spanish Inquisition -- what's his name -- Torquemada. Take off when the guy in front of you touches the wall, do the laps, then back to the end of your line to do it again. We start out with each team member doing a single 200-meter "sprint" -- 8 lengths of the pool is not a sprint, in my mind. Then we each do, say two or maybe four 100-meter sprints -- 4 lengths -- at Coach's whim, then we finish up with 50-meter sprints -- two laps -- as many as time allows, as hard and fast as we can. By the time we're done some of us are puking in the gutter.

Wouldn't you know it, the way it worked out this time, Greg was in the lane next to mine and we started off together. Ya think Coach set it up that way? Bet your ass he did. So, just about every time I launched myself off the blocks Greg was right beside me. Since the two of us do the individual medly Coach had us mix things up, leading off with Greg and me and two backstrokers in the water, everyone else going from the blocks after that. Greg and I led our teams off by doing the 200 IM, starting with two laps of back stroke, then butterfly, breast and free, then for the rest of the sprints Coach had Greg and me changing strokes each time we cycled around so we were doing endless medleys, butterfly, back, breast, free. It was brutal.

Have I mentioned that Coach is a sadist? But I guess all good coaches are. As usual with wind sprints, by the time we were finished everyone was gasping, coughing lungs out, some even throwing up, our legs and arms like rubber. Greg and I were barely able to crawl out of the pool at the end because we, of course, had insisted on racing each other, just as Coach intended. I think it was a draw on that score -- I beat him at butterfly at least once, and he beat me at breaststroke, well, more than once, darn it, and we pretty much tied in back and freestyle.

Together we helped each other up off the deck and leaned on each other as we made our way toward the locker rooms. When he didn't let me go, but dragged me in the direction of the boys' room, I tried to protest, but he gave me that sly smile of his.

"I want a little personal time with you," he pointed out.

"In the shower?" I asked, feeling a thrill at the thought, knowing I didn't want to shower in my suit, hoping he didn't, either.

He paused us at the door as the other guys pushed past. "Well, after yesterday, I thought, maybe, that was acceptable?"

"But the other guys... ?

"You think they'll mind?"

I managed a giggle. "No, but..."

"But they only get to watch," he assured me, dragging me after him.

So that's how I found myself in a wide-open shower room full of boys happily watching closely as I peeled off my suit. Then Greg and I lathered up our hands and proceeded to wash the chlorine off each other. I luxuriated in the heat of the shower, the feel of his hands as he lathered up my hair, then worked his way downward over my body.

Oh gosh that felt wonderful as he toyed with my tits. He was awfully good at it.

"You ever done this before?" I asked suspiciously.

He stopped, worried. "No, am I doing it wrong?"

I put his hands back on me, and resumed returning the favor, pinching his stiff nipples between my fingers, loving the feel of his soapy skin. "You're doing just fine," I purred.

I couldn't help noticing that there wasn't a limp dick in the room, thanks, I assumed, to our co-ed display. Either these guys were going to have to relieve themselves or we'd have an epidemic of blue balls. So, when we got that far I started stroking Greg's rock hard cock in my soapy fingers, and nodded to encourage the other guys. Most of them hesitantly took up their own dicks as they watched what I was doing.

If they didn't already know how to masturbate they were getting a crash course. I guess I'd just taken sex ed in middle school on a field trip. Call it "outreach" if you want.

Oh, there were a couple of guys that tried to ignore us, a couple others that turned their backs, but I could tell what they were doing from the way their arms moved and their butts flexed. This shower turned into one big circle jerk. Meanwhile, Greg was exploring my corresponding regions, his finger slithering shyly along my slit. I finally reached down to encourage him to venture further in, careful to make sure everyone got a good look.

It wasn't long before we were moaning and groaning together, right along with the chorus from the other guys. The base of his fuck finger was stroking my clit, while the tip of it shyly probed my vagina. The exhibitionism, the sensuousness was all just too much for me and I started to come like mad, leaning against him, my head against his until we both turned and kissed, and kissed, and kissed as I felt Greg's cock spasm, and his hot jism spattered on my thigh.

Around us there were gasps and groans, and I knew that gallons of come were swirling down the drain, and all because of ME!

And, well, Greg, too, I guess.

When we were done and the place had cleared out, with suitable mumblings and blushings among all, of course, I had to explain to Greg why I didn't have any clothes to get into. I gave him a brief, sanitized version of what had gone on -- some sort of riot, and my clothes had gotten torn off, yada yada yada and so I came to practice naked. He complimented me on my courage for being naked all day, and I blushed modestly -- if one can do that while naked.

I was surprised to find Kathy waiting for me as we emerged from the locker room. She dimpled cutely at me as I said goodbye to Greg, a scene right out of Romeo and Juliet. He had to run or he'd miss his bus.

When I apologized for keeping her waiting, she pooh-poohed it. "I wanted to ask you, no, tell you to be at the studio here at eleven o'clock Saturday," she explained. "It's the only time I have free to paint you. You've got to be there."

"Saturday morning, that's my..."

"Birthday, I know, but it's the only time I can do it. We'll be done in time for the team meeting, I promise. Okay?"

I nodded, trying to get my head around my birthday the day after tomorrow. Team meeting + this + mystery party.

"Okay," I said, my addled wits trying to tell me something.

"Okay. Gotta run. Hug!"

I happily pressed my naked self against her clothed one, wishing she were naked, too, and then she was away and I was trying to sort myself out as I shrugged on my backpack and headed homeward on my weary legs. Then I jammed to a halt as the gears in my brain engaged with a ringing clash. I remembered that cryptic exchange between Kathy and Mom, something about an art project.

I took two steps down the hall and slammed on the brakes again. What if that somehow meshed with "Birthday?"

I bet it did. Kathy knew I wanted her to paint me more than anything.

Two more steps and I stopped as another gear engaged.

Team Meeting.

Insert sounds of gears grinding again, the smell of burning rubber.

Kathy + Mom + art project + team meeting + my birthday =?

I started walking again. No, Mom couldn't have rigged things with Coach, too, could she? That would mean the whole team would be there, at the pool, for my birthday party? And how many more of my friends? At the pool?

Couldn't be.

Still ... what if... ?

I wandered home in a daze as I contemplated the possibilities.

Holy shit! What a birthday party this might be. I tried not to get my hopes up, but what if?

Holy shit.



-------

Chapter 14


What can I say about Friday? TGIF? As I woke up I could only view it as a day to get through to get to my birthday. As it turns out, there was more getting-through than I anticipated.

I've been suspended from school next week. But that didn't come until the end of the day, so I'll begin where I left off yesterday.

When Mom got home I told her what had happened, chapter and verse, from Missy's rescue to swimming practice, even my poor diving. She'd hugged me, and listened patiently, and only when I'd relaxed with her arms around me did I realize how stressed I'd been. Later, at bed time, she tucked me in, and, for the first time in years, she read me the story of Winnie the Pooh and the Heffalump, my favorite, using her different voices for Pooh Bear, and Piglet, just like old times, and I slept.

Sometimes it's good to feel like a little girl again instead of an almost teenager.

Of course Carl had heard about my allegedly heroic act, but he was distracted by a recruiter from Stanford that had been nosing around the pool. Could it be that he'd get an athletic scholarship there? Wow!

This morning Mom heard me alert The Dirty Dozen, so she knew why I was wearing nothing more than a tee, shorts and shoes. Like it or not, I knew we had to deal with the aftershocks from yesterday morning -- the rumors, the snide backlash from the twerps, the fear that it might happen again, of some other girl going through what Missy had gone through. This was the only way I could think of to defuse the situation.

Note the word choice -- "defuse," not "diffuse," which means something entirely different -- but I won't go into that right now.

By the time I got to school, half The Dirty Dozen was there, the others quickly arrived, and we huddled up. I told them we would be NIS until the Neanderthals got the message that girls are people, too, not just some sexual toy for them to mess with. Missy had done the "flirt and tease." We were going to demystify the biology and teach proper deportment by being "in-your-face" about how boys and girls are different.

"How long are we gonna do this?" John asked a little anxiously as he stripped off his shirt.

"Until we decide we've made our point, that we're in charge of our own bodies," Mickey answered, already down to her undies -- very ladylike lace, I observed.

A. J. was ahead of her, his appendage waving freely in the morning air. "You know, some of the girls seem to have the same attitude as the Horaces of the world, that we boys are nothing more than living dildoes."

"Goes with the hormonal imbalances we're all suffering," Maria Sanchez pointed out philosophically. "One of the things we need to teach is to learn to control these urges."

"My mom says I've got to keep my clothes on," Missy confessed unhappily. She'd already apologized for the trouble she'd caused, only subsiding when we gave her a group hug. "She says I've done enough showing off."

"You look really nice," I assured her sincerely. She had on a modest, pleated, navy blue skirt, a ruffled white blouse beneath a navy blue sweater, but, I noticed, the circle pin was gone. She was a junior version of her mom, right down to her dainty shoes.

"Same program as yesterday," I reminded them. "Pride and dignity, take no guff but no riot. Ready to go?"

I put my hand out, and they followed. "Who are we?" I asked.

"We're The Dirty Dozen! We're The Dirty Dozen! We're The Dirty Dozen!" we chanted before turning to face the school day. I noticed that the couples that had formed up during sex ed were still together, A. J. hand in hand with Mickey, Terrell with Judy Liu, Mike with Missy, Al Butler with Judy Greene, Bill Harris with Maria Sanchez. I led the way with John. There's nothing like shared trials to unite a group. We marched two by two, and the crowd at the front door parted to let us through. We were cheered by most, the few wisecracks and whistles quickly shut down by scorn from the majority. That bucked me up a bit.

I wished Greg was holding my hand instead of John.

Once inside we went our separate ways, nude figures among the clothed. After Thursday's turmoil, the morning went smoothly. The lunchroom gang kept shooting me sly looks, whispering to each other and giggling. They knew more than I did about what Mom had up her sleeve and were joyfully teasing me without letting any secrets out.

The afternoon was similarly calm, except I was summoned to Student Court after classes. "And wear some clothes," Ms. Andrews instructed. "I talked with your mom. She can't make it, so I'll be your defense attorney."

I felt a chill. I'd seen the court in action, but never as a participant. "Do I need one?"

"You do," she warned ominously.

So I was glad to have her by my side when I was called in. What had been the conference room converted for sex ed had been reconverted into a courtroom. At the table was a panel made up of two students, two teachers, with a "judge" in the center. Usually that was the school's Principal or Vice Principal, but this time it was Mrs. Lawrence, the District Superintendent.

Oh oh.

Horace's case was heard first. In addition to a bandage on his nose that covered the middle of his face he had two very impressive black eyes. With them he was looking daggers at me. He testified, heaping lie upon excuse until the whole reeking pile had my blood boiling. Ms. Andrews kept her hand on my arm to keep me from leaping up with "I object!" like I'd seen lawyers do on TV.

Mercifully, the court disposed of his bull swiftly. He tried to argue that "she [Missy] was asking for it" and that I'd broken his nose deliberately. Didn't work. The panel didn't even send us out, they just huddled briefly and whispered. In the end he got a week's suspension, to be served in the school's detention room, under close supervision until his father -- who was present but looked uncomfortable and didn't say much -- picked him up at the end of the work day. At least they were smart enough not to leave the little creep unsupervised at home all day. He'd probably burn the house down if they did.

When it was mentioned that a sexual assault charge might be sworn out against Horace by Missy's family, the lawsuit threatened by Horace's father evaporated.

Then my case was called. I was accused of brawling. Ms. Andrews tried to get the brawling charge tossed out on grounds of self-defense, but that was denied. Ms. Andrews also questioned the wisdom of the Penguin -- I mean, Mr. Morris -- calling a staff meeting for when we students were arriving for the opening of school.

"That is being addressed by the School Board," Mrs. Lawrence responded icily. "There seems to have been a failure of proper supervision."

Uh oh. The Penguin was in hot water.

After that -- well, I won't bore you with the testimony from various witnesses. Missy teared up and tried to blame herself. I told the truth as I saw it. My explanation of how Horace's septum got deviated was accepted. Horace's witness said I was psycho, which I took offense to. I blushed through some totally over-the-top accounts about my brave, single-handed action saving Missy from a brutal rape.

Horse feathers, I thought! Remembering his contortions, I knew now Horace couldn't have accomplished the act even if Missy had a big sign on her that said "insert here" with an arrow pointing the way. Brave? If I'd stopped to think I never would have done what I did.

One of the teachers chastised me for taking things into my own hands instead of seeking help -- it was more a speech than a question, I thought. I also thought he was right. Michael pointed out that I'd sent him for help, even though it meant admitting his own failure to protect Missy.

Then we were sent out while the panel deliberated and I worried.

When we came back in, I was informed I was suspended beginning Monday. In view of my previous good record, and subject to Mom's approval and assurances, I could serve my sentence at home.

"Oh, and Miss Walker, no more naked in school," the presiding judge -- uh -- Superintendent ordered.

Darn! That hurt. Besides that I liked being naked in school I really thought it would help.

"May I dissent, your honor?" Ms. Andrews surprised me.

"Speak your piece, Ms. Andrews," Mrs. Lawrence agreed.

"First off, I want to acknowledge my own failures in this unfortunate incident. I will accept whatever disciplinary action the board deems appropriate, and henceforth take a more active role in this program.

"Which goes to my dissent. I think Dee has the right idea, getting the kids acclimatized to nudity, to the differences between boys and girls, by being NIS. What triggered the problem wasn't nudity, it was just the opposite; Missy's deliberate teasing and flirting.

"What The Dirty Dozen are doing is removing the mystery. There were no incidents today, and even the ignorant few who reacted with wolf-whistles and cat-calls were put in their place by the general populace. I think The Dirty Dozen should continue to carry the flag, as it were, as long as they deem it necessary. I promise I will monitor the situation closely."

Mrs. Lawrence drummed her fingers on the table for a moment. "Very well, but we expect you to react quickly, should problems arise, and if there are any further disruptions the program will be promptly terminated."

"Understood, your honor."

I heaved a sigh of relief for Ms. Andrews, while what Mrs. Lawrence had said got me thinking.

The gavel came down and at that point The Stick took control of my mouth. "Sir -- Ma'am, uh -- your honor, may I say something?"

I could feel Ms. Andrews tense up beside me. Madam Superintendent nodded warily.

I took a deep, shaky breath, wondering just what it was I wanted to say, then let The Stick handle it.

"With all due respect, this entire incident grew out of the sex ed program given by my brother and Beth Finch, under the supervision of Ms. Andrews. First, let me make it clear, I'm not blaming them for what happened. They did what they said they would, and did it well, and I am strongly in favor of the program continuing. But..."

"But... ?" Mrs. Lawrence prodded.

I took another deep breath. "But, while they taught the physical aspects of sex -- in depth, you might say..." -- that brought a few nervous chuckles -- "and covered things like gay sex, sexual identity, sexual attitudes, stuff like that, the -- well, I guess it's the emotional issues -- should have been addressed more thoroughly.

"They told us about our hormonal storms, I guess you could call it -- why we were feeling so confused and everything -- but not how to handle them. When the class ended, we were basically turned loose to 'educate our peers, ' with no real guidance. It was decided -- no, that's not right -- I've been told I'm a natural leader -- I'm not sure I like that, it's a lot to put on a twelve-year-old, but I guess it's what I am, because, before I was even told that, I decided, all by myself, to lead.

"I didn't do a very good job of it. In fact, I botched it up."

I looked at Ms. Andrews. She was frowning at the floor.

"I should have gone to Ms. Andrews for help as soon as I saw where Missy was headed. But I was as much swept along by my hormones as Missy was by hers, and she's my friend. I didn't want to tattle on her.

"That's an explanation, not an excuse. I screwed up. I'd hate to see this experiment ended because of it. Instead I'd like to work with Ms. Andrews or whoever takes it on, to help fix it. That's all."

I didn't get any applause, but I did get a thoughtful silence, and an encouraging pat from Ms. Andrews.

"Thank you, Miss Walker. As to your 'botch, ' as you put it, we do not hold that against you, given your youth and inexperience. We will take your suggestion under advisement. If there is no further business, court is adjourned."

So I got suspended. Shit. Mom was going to have a cow, and I saw myself on bread and water for a month. But that teacher was right, I should have found an adult and maybe Horace's nose wouldn't be bent out of shape. I should have put a halt to Missy's shenanigans right away.

But still, being suspended hurt, and I wondered how Mom would take it. I'd gotten detention from time to time, but never suspended before. I tried to be philosophical about it. I'd survived my grounding, I could handle a week of house arrest, and it didn't start until Monday so maybe, just maybe, my weekend wasn't threatened.

At home I hung my head in shame when I told her. I felt I'd let Mom down and said so.

Instead of being angry she gathered me into a warm, loving hug, and assured me she didn't feel let down. That made me feel better, and then, well, I began to get angry as I told her how the trial went.

God, why can't I make up my mind these days?

"It's not fair," I finally wailed. "They know I tried to do the right thing. Missy was in trouble. What was I supposed to do? I sent Mike for help, but I thought Missy was -- was about to get raped right then! I couldn't wait!"

She kissed me and cuddled me. "No, you couldn't wait, and yes, it's not fair," she agreed.

"Then why... ?"

"Because they have the whole school to think of, not just you. If they let you off, even though you meant well, the Horaces of the world will think they can get away with anything as long as they have what they think is a good excuse. They'll say something like 'I thought he was going to hit me so I hit him first.'

"You broke a rule -- you fought. It was justified. But they can't make exceptions to their rule. It's one of those zero-tolerance things. It's not fair, but life itself isn't fair."

"Are you upset with me?"

"No, darling, I'm proud of you. But I also understand why they're doing what they are.

"So, you'll be stuck at home, starting Monday, so it won't mess up your weekend." she added with a gentle smile, and my spirits rose. " It's house arrest, but I won't put you in solitary confinement. You can have friends over when I'm home, use the phone, the computer, and use the time to keep up with your studies, though you'll miss a couple of swim practices. I'll get the lessons from your teachers. Okay?"

"Okay." I sniffed. "I'm sorry I screwed up."

She kissed me. "You didn't screw up. You just got caught up in something. I imagine the ones really being raked over the coals are Mr. Morris and Ms. Andrews. He really deserves it. I'm not sure Ms. Andrews does, though she certainly dropped the ball, don't you think?"

"But she's so nice. I should have gone to her sooner."

"But it's her job to know, and she missed it. It's not your fault."

I know she said it, but I had trouble accepting it. I slogged my way up to my room to try to understand.

Later I came back out. She'd said it wouldn't mess up my weekend, but I was curious, too, about what she had planned for tomorrow. Whenever I sort of accidentally drifted past she'd be on the phone, either listening not talking, or she'd wave me away with a playful frown or wink. I did catch the word "birthday" at one point. Finally she retreated to her office and closed the door.

So, I went to bed ignorant and anxious, about Kathy, about whatever might happen. To get to sleep I used the visualization trick I'd used when I'd been working out how to combine the butterfly stroke with the dolphin kick.

Over and over again I visualized my front one-and-a-half pike, feeling it in my whole body, trying to figure where I was going wrong. As I did, remembering how the dive felt now, how it used to feel, I felt my mind adjusting to my changing, still growing frame. By the time I slid into sleep I was nailing it perfectly every time, at least in my head. It's way more productive than counting sheep.

I was so relaxed I actually overslept. When I dragged myself out of bed on my birthday -- MY BIRTHDAY -- the house was empty! No sign of my favorite breakfast -- homemade whole wheat waffles made from scratch, with real maple syrup (hot), lots of butter, and a rasher of bacon.

Sure, I could have cooked all that for myself, but what's the fun of that? So I had a bowl of cold cereal, alone. <<sniff>> At least there were funny birthday cards from Mom and Carl, and a sweet one from Missy, and a flowery one from an aunt I'd never met, with a five dollar bill inside.

Bother. That meant I'd have to thank for it.

But, not being one to miss an opportunity, I also snooped for any hints as to birthday presents, or indications as to what Mom had planned for the afternoon. First stop, her computer.

There was a Post-it note on the monitor -- "Don't bother. I changed my password."

Curses! Foiled again.

With time running short -- I was due at the art studio in an hour -- I did a cursory search of all the usual hiding places, to no avail. Then, bearing in mind the probable (and hoped for) activities and festivities, I retreated to the shower and made sure my body was stripped of all grunge and the few superfluous hairs I had.

Yes, I did wear underpants, though I didn't anticipate having them on for long, if Kathy and I were on the same wavelength. By the time I got to the studio I was, shall we say, damp? No -- moist. Well, perhaps sodden is the appropriate word, thanks to my vivid imagination. The hallway to the art studio was shadowy and mysterious on a Saturday morning, the only light from the exit door at the end, and the door to the studio near there. That oasis drew me on.

I fell into Kathy's welcoming arms, burying my face in her smock, savoring the warm scent of oil paints mingled with the tang of whatever it is she uses to clean her brushes, with a hint of the dustiness of chalks or pastels. Did I dare tip my head and pucker? I did, and got a fond peck for my troubles. She knew how I felt about her and eased me gently away with a sort of "let's not rush things" manner.

"Happy birthday!"

"Thank you."

"I hear you got suspended."

I flinched. "Not until Monday. And this is my birthday. I don't think of anything unpleasant on my birthday. It's like a natural law."

"Sorry. Did you have some breakfast? Want anything to eat?"

"Uh uh." I wanted to get down to business. "I mean, no, thank you. Should I?" I asked nervously, plucking at my tee shirt, suddenly shy. I hate to admit it, but she intimidates me. She's so confident!

"May I help?" she asked, obviously tickled by my eagerness.

I blushed as she took the hem of my shirt and drew it up to bare my torso. I was suddenly, painfully aware of alertness of my nipples, of how skinny I was. Raising my arms, I let her draw it off over my head, tousling my fly-away hair. Then I reached for the waist of my shorts.

Stepping out of my shorts, I wished I'd worn sexier panties for her, keeping my thighs together in an effort to hide the tell-tale wetness at my crotch. If she noticed, she said nothing as she knelt and drew them down, holding them while I nervously danced out of them and toed off my shoes.

I felt so deliciously, wickedly naked. From the soles of my feet, up my long, long legs to the puffy pussylips nestled between my thighs, to my eager titties, my slender throat, right to the mop top of my hair I was gloriously naked.

She rose and took my hand. "Come over here, where the light is better." The gauzy curtains were closed, so the light was soft and almost shadowless. I shivered delicately from the touch of the air and delicious anticipation.

"You're going to paint me, right?" I asked fearfully as I stepped up on a low platform. "I mean, me, my body?"

She smiled that lovely smile of hers. "That is what you want, isn't it? I could do a painting OF you, if you'd prefer."

"Oh no, no, it's what I want." God, I felt like a total klutz!

"Fine. Now, we'll start by preparing my canvas," she explained, picking up a bottle. "This will protect you from the paint, so you won't itch, and stabilize it so it won't just wash off easily. Let's keep your hair out of the way." She took a hair band and confined my blonde mop, making it stick up so it didn't droop down over my forehead and ears.

And so it began, her soft, strong, warm hands spreading the lotion over my face, avoiding my hair, as I closed my eyes. I could feel myself warming to her touch. Oh gosh!

"You have lovely skin." Her voice was warm, and close, and she was being very thorough, her fingers tracing the curves of my ears, even behind them, the sides and back of my neck. I kept my eyes closed as I luxuriated in her gentle touch.

"Thank you," I whispered shyly, closing my mouth quickly so she could spread the cream on my lips and chin, my throat and neck. The lotion was oily, with a light scent, but no flavor. Was she going to use the edible paints on me? Did I dare ask?

My shoulders, my arms, my back received her attention. Oh, please, my chest, my shy little breasts, I prayed.

Oh yes! When she touched them my tits were so hard they ached. She had to be aware of my excitement! I was a toy in her hands.

"What will I be?" I asked, thinking maybe she'd see me as a bird, or maybe a dolphin?

"It's a surprise," she answered, her hands sweeping my ribs, down to my waist, "like the best of birthday presents."

"I have swimming practice," I reminded her, my mind racing out of control. What if she wasn't done in time? Would I go to practice wearing the paint? I'd hate to have it on for so short a time, but I'd feel foolish, I think. What if she made me a clown? She'd said it wouldn't just wash off, though, so maybe I could swim in it.

"Plenty of time, and I'll finish with a fixative," she assured me. "It'll be good for a about a ten minute dip, or so. Afterwards just a little scrubbing, or a lot of licking, if you prefer, will get the paint off."

A lot of licking! I liked that idea.

Then she was doing my butt, her fingers working into the crack, even touching my asshole, and I shivered.

"Sensitive," she observed.

"Yes," I whispered shyly.

"And here, too?" Her impudent fingers moved around to my front.

"Oh yes!" I almost melted as she fondled my pussy. She was very thorough there, nudging my thighs apart, cupping my crotch in her hand, her fingers even touching that sensitive place between my pussy and my anus, parting my pussy lips enough that she felt my wetness. Then her hands slithered down my legs while I struggled to catch my breath.

I steadied myself with a hand on her shoulder and touched bare skin! I opened my eyes. When had she shed her smock? She was as nude as I was, and a zillion times more beautiful, her breasts firm half globes, capped with conical areolas, peaked with nipples like little pencil erasers. She was well muscled but not muscle-bound, sleek and smooth with a controlled grace.

She finished with my feet, even the soles and between my toes. When she stood I could see she kept her pussy bare, not even a landing strip.

She looked good enough to eat.

After wiping her hands on a rag, she wheeled over a little table with a rainbow of pots of paint on it. "Finger paints," she explained.

"Oh wow!" I thought she'd used brushes, or maybe a sponge or something.

She dipped the tip of her finger in bright red. "Edible," she assured me, licking some of it off, "and tasty."

She offered me her finger and I sucked it clean. "Cherry!"

"And lemon, and lime, and orange, and grape, and others," she added, wheeling the table around behind me to begin on my back. "Now, all you have to do is stand there."

She began at my neck, below the hairline, and I tried to figure out from her touch what her plan was, but couldn't. Sometimes she worked with a single fingertip -- I felt the scritch of a closely clipped fingernail -- sometimes with all her fingers, her whole hand. The paint was cool, her touch warm. A delicate, soft brush tickled the inside of my ears.

I thought I could feel when she blended one color into another. Other times it seemed she was carefully edging one tint up against another. She worked her way down the length of my back, my butt, down my legs in long, flowing sweeps that curled around me. She had me holding my arms out from my sides as she tickled my ribs.

When she started down my arms I tried to look, but she gently turned my head away. "Don't look, you'll spoil the surprise!" She had me raise my arms and fold them behind my head so she could do my armpits, then straighten them, so she could do the length of them, my hands, even my fingers.

"Okay, time for a little break while we let that dry, and then I'll work on your front," she announced wheeling the table around. "Want a snack?"

I was looking around for a mirror, but they'd all been turned around. I could see my arms, of course, but it didn't really tell me anything, the swirls of bright colors sort of spiraling down toward my fingertips, reds and oranges, yellows, with flickers of blue and green, but none of it made any sense to me.

"Let me feed you so you don't mess up your fingers," she cautioned, popping a grape in my mouth from a bowl of fruit and cheese. She playfully teased me and we laughed and chatted. A little worried about poaching on someone else's turf, I asked about Stephanie. It turned out she had just returned from auditioning at the Curtis Institute in Philadelphia.

"Is that good?"

Kathy smiled a little wistfully. "It's one of the best in the country. I'd be so happy for her to be there..."

"But it's a long ways away," I finished for her.

"It is. We've talked. I have another year here. We're young, still growing and learning. We've agreed were not exclusive. She knows you're here this morning, and why," Kathy admitted. "She wanted to be here, but I wanted you for myself." She flashed a wicked smile. "I'm greedy. She'll be at your party."

My party! I wanted to ask what she knew about it, but she went on about Steph.

"Before Beth, and before I came along, Steph was confused about her sexuality. Now she's more confident, knows what she is, accepts it, her parents do, too. She'll blossom into a fine musician and find her niche. She'll find herself a life partner, I hope."

"But what about you?"

Her look to me was speculative. "I'm open to possibilities. What about you?"

I shrugged. She was being honest with me. I couldn't do otherwise. "I'm only thirteen."

It was a delicious shock to realize I could say that now -- not "twelve" or "almost thirteen." I was really thirteen years old!

"I don't know yet," I admitted. "I like girls," I shot her a flirtatious look, "but I sort of have a boyfriend at the moment, too."

"Lots of time to decide, to explore your options. I'll be glad to help," she added, in a tone that made me shiver again. "But let's get back to work."

"But, what am I going to be?" I asked as I moved back to where she'd had me.

"Anything you want to be," she answered, misunderstanding my question.

"No, I mean this?" I sort of waved my arms to indicate myself.

"I'm just revealing the real you," she answered cryptically. "Close your eyes."

"But..." Her finger on my lips silenced me, and I tasted cherry.

"Close 'em," she insisted. "I need to do your eyelids. And keep them closed while the paint sets."

"Yes'm," I agreed. When I wobbled -- it's hard to stand for a long time with your eyes closed -- she slid something over where I could put my hand to steady myself.

She went on painting me as I stood there, her hands filling in my front -- only she was skipping the Good Parts -- my tits, and then my crotch! She knew how turned on I was, what I really, really wanted, but insisted on teasing me, the lovely witch.

"Okay, you can open your eyes, and I want you to lie down on your back," she directed.

Now this was more like it! I stretched out, suddenly aware of how tiring this all was. I was afraid that by the time she got done I was going to be too exhausted to party, so I consciously tried to relax. I was surprised when she knelt, her knees next to my ears, and then sat back, looking down at me, upside down from my perspective. "Now we get to the good parts," she said teasingly.

"You mean..."

"Shhhh." Again that cherry touch at my lips. From there she dipped the fingers of both her hands in paint and toyed with my tits. The gurgle of her rinsing her fingers signified a change of color, a scratch of her fingernail flicking my nipple to fire.

"Oh my." My eyes closed and my head rolled.

"Oh yes! These lovely little berries!" She was leaning over me, and I was slowly heating up as she fingered my nipples, scratched them, stroked the gentle mounds of my suddenly super-sensitive breasts.

I groaned. Being her canvas was better than I'd even imagined it.

I peeked. She took more paint, again orange, and feathered it with some black, I think? Then I lost track as she stroked my breasts, painted trails down my torso, probed my navel, ventured closer to my pussy.

"Bend your knees," she whispered. "Open your legs."

Oh yes! I opened like a flower for her, and I remembered how she'd done a wonderful pastel of Beth's pussy in art class. She was leaning farther over me, her fingers tracking the crevice where my thighs joined my pelvis, making my tummy wriggle and my pussy leak.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" she asked with a teasing giggle as she lightly fingered my pussy.

"Oh yes, Kathy, please," I moaned. "Don't you?"

"I've wanted you since the first time I saw you," she confessed. "I wanted you to model for me -- still do -- I wanted to paint you just like this, and I hope you'll let me do it again. I want to eat you up!"

"Oh yes, eat me up, please!"

She set my pussy ablaze with the touch of her breath. Her fingers explored between my thighs, my pussy, my buttocks, and without her even asking I curled so she could play with my ass. Was she still painting me? Even there, too? Oh, I hoped so, I hoped so, as I felt her finger teasing my tender pucker. By this time I was looking up at her oh, so tempting pussy. Reaching up I cupped her firm butt, and drew her down to my lips, her lovely musky scent making my mouth water.

"Oh you sweet thing," she murmured, her fingers parting my pussy. "So beautiful! You're warm, and wet, and pink. I must taste you!"

"Yessss," I said, and my own tongue reached for her slippery scented folds. I savored her tangy juices, my lips nibbling at her hot flesh.

She slowly licked the length of my slit, from my clit, past the gateway of my vagina, all the way to the heart of my anus, where she lingered, teasing my back door with her tongue tip before returning to venture into the welcoming funnel of my cunt.

What could I do but return the favor? Kneading the firm roundness of her buns I dove deeper into her steaming twat, sucking down her juices, fingered her asshole. I probed the hot tunnel of her cunt with my tongue, my nose millimeters from the earthy gate between her buttocks.

Her lips closed on the berry of my clit and I wailed into her crotch and searched hungrily for her pleasure pearl to torment it with lips and tongue, and for the longest time I was awash with the blazing pleasure, wave after wave of it, feeling her respond, her body writhing as I ate her out and she ate me out, her fingers probing me deeply, both cunt and ass, until at last we could take no more and together we slumped wearily, panting, head to crotch as lingering aftershocks rocked us.

Once we got untangled, after a cuddle, she giggled. "Now I'll have to touch you up!"

"You look like the cat that ate the canary," I countered as she helped me up. "Your cheeks are yellow and orange. I guess I know what colors you used on me down there. And it looks like you've got two bull's eyes on your tummy from my tits."

"Well, there's not enough time for you to lick me off now," she laughed, reaching for her paints. "Maybe later."

I loved every little touch, especially since my most intimate area needed the most repair.

Finally Kathy shook an aerosol can. "Close your eyes, this will fix the paint. Remember, a short swim and you'll be a sweet treat, should anyone want dessert." She started with my face and worked her way down.

"Can I see? Can I see?" I was jittering as she finished the last chill sweeps of fine mist on my feet. I wanted to ask her about the party, too, but I was more excited about seeing her work.

"Close your eyes," she ordered, and I heard a soft rumble. "Okay, now you can look."

She'd turned a full-length mirror around, and I gasped. My feet and ankles started a deep violet, almost black, shading to an intense blue on my shins that slowly transformed into swirls of scarlet and orange and yellow up my torso, neck and head, mostly yellow, crowned, of course, by the shaggy mop of my chlorine bleached blond hair. She pulled off the hair band and my locks fell into their usual pompom disarray.

But it wasn't as simple as I'm making it sound. The red and orange and yellow mingled in subtle patterns, and there was more, here and there flecks of violet, blue, green, just little flickers and flashes, slivers and sparks, flashes of sparkling silver and gold, shadings and contours that seemed to shift and move as I squirmed. It wasn't what I'd expected -- she hadn't highlighted anything, like my nipples or pussy. It all flowed together, and it reminded me of something, but I couldn't think what.

"Put your arms up, your hands over your head as if you were diving into the water," she whispered from close behind me.

I did, and it all slid into place. I was a fire, a single slender flame! I remembered, then, the swirl of the pep rally bonfire, how the flames had danced upward, orange and yellow, with flickers of blue and green and red constantly moving, dancing, sparks flying up into the night sky. Even as I stood still it looked like I was shifting, swirling with every excited breath.

My blue eyes stood out from my mask of orange and yellow. My blond hair feathered in with the shades of pale yellow on the insides of my arms where they came close to my ears. How had she done that? When she'd done my arms they'd been nowhere near my head. Somehow she'd seen how it all would go together when I stood up straight with my arms up.

"Move your arms out, as if you were doing a swan dive," she suggested.

I did, and I changed, from a flame to a bird -- a firebird! -- my arms like wings! I flapped them slowly, sinuously, my fingers feathered.

Then I couldn't stop myself. I whirled and threw my arms around her and showered her with kisses. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You made me beautiful!"

She kissed me back, then slipped out of my embrace so she could step back. "You are beautiful. This is you, how I see you, all the fire and life in you. I hope you never lose it.

"But this won't last, so I need pictures." She reached for an expensive camera, and the next thing I knew I was posing for her as she snapped away. I kept looking at myself in the mirror as she posed me, unable to believe how she'd transformed me. She was still taking pictures when Greg suddenly appeared at the door.

"Holy shit!" was all he said at the sight of me.

I looked at myself, looked at him, saw the wonder in his eyes. He seemed to be struck dumb, then shook himself.

"Uh, Dee, practice?"

"Oh shit! Kathy, I gotta dash!"

"Tell them five minutes," Kathy said to him, and he turned to someone in the hallway. I heard a familiar, impatient voice, then the sound of bare feet scampering away. What was Drindy doing here?

"I'm sorry, I lost track of time," she apologized to Greg.

"She's beautiful," he breathed in a tone that raised goose bumps on me.

"Thanks."

I remembered my manners. "Oh, Greg, this is Kathy. She's an artist."

"She certainly is!" he agreed. "Uh, pleased to meet you, Kathy."

I blushed, again, not that it was visible under my coat of paint, and leaned up to her to give her another kiss. She was still taller than me, but I was getting closer. "Thank you."

"No, thank you," she answered softly.

"Come to the pool. I have a gift for you," I whispered. "Bring your camera."

"Wouldn't miss it," she responded. "Boyfriend?"

I nodded shyly, took Greg's hand and we headed in the direction of the pool, the hall floor cold under my bare feet. "How'd you find me?"

"A little bird told me where you'd be," he answered.

"A little bird named Drindy?"

"You heard her, huh? Yeah, someone told her to look here."

"Uh, yeah." I was wondering how I was going to explain my reservations about her being here. "What's she doing here? This isn't going to be your normal, everyday birthday party, you know. I have a certain -- uh -- call it reputation."

He slammed on the brakes. "Birthday party?"

"Yeah! You aren't you here just for..." Then I remembered. I'd never told him about the party. I'd never even told him when my birthday was!

"SHIT!" I exploded, my heart sinking into my well-painted toes. "Oh shit, oh shit, shit, shit."

He touched me, shyly, gently, then more firmly. "Wait, Dee, what's wrong? Someone's having a birthday?"

I was almost crying. How could I have been so stupid? Mom couldn't have arranged an invite for him 'cause she didn't even know he existed! I'd been holding him close to my heart, a secret treasure. Oh, Mom knew I'd beaten him at practice, but not who he was, or how I felt, or how to contact him. Shit, shit, shit.

"I am," I muttered. "Today is my birthday, and I didn't invite you 'cause Mom always does these things as a surprise and I wasn't even sure there was gonna be a party or where or when, or if you'd want to come, and now I've gone and ruined everything and you hate me, and..."

"Happy birthday," he interrupted gently.

"How can it be when I didn't even invite you to my party!" I wailed. "Now I've gone and insulted you and ruined stuff, and, oh shit. I mean shoot!" I corrected myself before the cuss jar overflowed.

"May I come to your birthday party?" he asked wistfully. "I don't have a present for you or anything, but I can get one."

I bit back tears. Swallowed hard. Tried not to snuffle. "Would you, please, please, please come to my birthday party? I think it's going to be after practice. It's s'posed to be a surprise. It always is. An' you don't need to bring a present, just you being there is all the present I want from you, and..."

He drew me close, and held me, and the warmth and affection melted away the last of my misery. "I'd love to. Is that why you're -- whatever that is?"

"It's paint," I explained. "Body paint. Kathy is a super artist, and this is her birthday present to me, part of it," I added, thinking of the good loving. "When my arms are up all the way I look like a flame, but when my arms are out I'm a bird, a firebird. She's a genius."

"No doubt about that. You are beautiful! Come on, let's get to practice before Coach suspends us."

A cute face, bracketed by blue-streaked ponytails peeked around the door to the pool, then disappeared. "They're coming! They're coming! And wait 'til you see what Dee has on!" Drindy shrieked, and all Greg and I could do is look at each other and laugh at her enthusiasm.

Then we were into the humid, chlorine-scented air of the pool and there was a cacophony of applause and whistles at the sight of me, and all I could do was stand there and blush a blush that no one could see through the paint job. Even Coach was stunned for a minute, while I self-consciously posed, raising my arms slowly so I transformed through firebird into flame.

Coach quelled the uproar with a quick tweet on his whistle. "Okay, and thanks for coming, I've got an of announcement. Uh -- Dee, very impressive, but I think you're out of uniform again."

What could I do but nod, exquisitely aware that the only thing between me and the world was a coat of paint.

"Okay, anyway, this is going to be a very short informal meeting, but I wanted you all together for an important announcement. As you know, I pick two swimmers to be co-captains each year, and this year I was in a real quandary. I pick senior members of the team, and base my choice on ability and leadership qualities. One pick, to me, was obvious, but the other was harder. Usually I pick long-time team members, but this year the senior boy, in terms of both age and ability, is a newcomer. I discussed this in private with the boy's team, and they concurred with my choice, even though it meant Billy Dwyer loses his chance to be the boys' captain this year. I promised him a shot next year, since he has a year to go yet."

I held my breath. Billy should have been a shoo-in. If it wasn't him...

"Greg Anderson is my choice as the captain of the boys' team," Coach announced.

I found myself bouncing up and down applauding.

I felt him stiffen in surprise. "Me? But..."

"You," Coach insisted. "In the short time I've known you I've seen your leadership, and the boys all agree. Give him a round of applause."

So Greg stood there and shuffled his feet and blushed.

"And the other one, the one there was no question about, the girls' captain is Dee Walker!"

I stood there while there was an explosion of applause and cheers. I'd been so involved with so much other stuff I'd never even given this a thought. Then I was being mobbed by the team, until Coach whistled us back to order.

"And I apologize for dragging you all out here, but knowing the grapevine around here I wanted to make the announcement today before you heard it somewhere else. Those of you who want to can stay and enjoy the pool. Use the buddy system, since we don't have a lifeguard on duty. I'll be in my office."

"Wait, Coach, please?" I interrupted. "I won't be like this again, ever, and I want you to see something."

"All right," he agreed amiably, and followed me down to the deep end and the diving board, the rest of the team following along.

I think they all knew what I had planned.

"This isn't going to mess up my pool, is it?" he asked warily.

"No, sir," I assured him, hoping Kathy was right as I stepped up on the board. I saw Kathy in the back row of the bleachers, camera at the ready. She gave me a nod.

There was a hush as I centered myself. No warm up this time, no practice bounces, but I knew, just knew...

Three steps and I was up, my arms rising like wings, then back down on the board as it bent under my weight, arms driving down, compressing all that energy, gathering it in, then lifting again as it rose with me and I lifted off.

I soared, spread my wings -- my arms, I mean -- as I dipped into my pike, fingers feathered, toes pointed, legs straight, the pool beneath me, still and blue and glassy. Snapping out of the dive at the exact right time, my hands above my head, I arrowed into the water's wonderful, cool, welcoming embrace with what, to me sounded like almost a hiss from my flames.

Nothing in this world feels as good as when you rip a dive.

Well, almost nothing. In my limited experience, it's a close second to sex. At that moment, if my tits hurt I didn't even notice.



-------

Chapter 15


Pushing off from the bottom of the pool, I practically exploded up the ladder, a flame rising from watery ashes.

Okay, it wasn't really quite that dramatic, but I was stoked.

The team was cheering me like crazy -- Greg especially, I happily noted. His little sister Drindy was bouncing all over, her blue striped ponytails flapping wildly, and I was confident I'd resurrected my diving career.

Up in the bleachers Kathy held her camera up to me, so I knew she'd captured it all. It was digital, so I hoped she'd actually caught a movie of it.

"We need to work on your feet," Coach told me, smiling. Smiling! "I'll see you in a week."

That brought me back down to earth with a thud. Not the "work on my feet," that was typical Coach speak. And anyway, he was smiling! I was ashamed about the "see you in a week" thing.

"You heard about my suspension." I hung my head.

"I was notified, and I also heard, third-hand, what you did to earn it. Pick your chin up off the ground. Knowing you, I doubt they exaggerated. Enjoy your week off and then we'll talk."

He knew what to say to make me feel better. I wanted to hug him, so I did, and he didn't know where to put his hands, seeing as how all I wore was a coat of paint. For a moment he hesitated, then he wrapped his arms around me and we shared a good squeeze.

There was a breathless hush. I'd violated God only knows how many rules with that naked hug. But, hey! It's my body, isn't it? I can press it against whoever I want, as long as they don't object, and he didn't.

I leaned my head back to say something and suddenly I was in the dark -- totally! Letting go of Coach I grabbed for whatever it was my head was in, but someone grabbed my hands, forced them behind my back, and bound them. Before I could do anything I was spun around, tossed like I was a feather, only to land like a sack of potatoes over someone's shoulder.

Have I mentioned Coach is small, but muscular, like a gymnast?

I had one thought, of course.

Birthday!

The team was screaming, laughing and applauding. Jeez, was the whole world in on this?

I was carried away, ass-up and feet-first, ignominiously draped face down over someone's shoulder, bouncing and flopping like a rag doll, a strong arm wrapped around my thighs. I could only kick from the knees down! The familiar pool atmosphere vanished, and I was in the cooler, drier corridor, then outside where breezes and sunshine brushed my painted flesh, especially my upraised naked tail! I wondered if Kathy had painted feathers there.

There was something incredibly sexy about my helplessness.

I was unceremoniously dumped on my back across the back seat of a car, my legs were folded up. Bodies jostled in, doors slammed, and we were off, with me still hooded, in the dark, you might say, pinned down by someone sitting on my stomach. I couldn't pretend to be terrified, or outraged, not when I heard a familiar giggle from the person bouncing excitedly on my gut. I could almost see her blue tinted ponytails flipping. Fortunately she didn't weigh much.

Greg was there, too. I heard him talking. "Yeah, mom, a birthday party ... The girl I told you about ... Yes, mom, there will be adults there ... no beer, right mom ... later."

A short, twisting ride, some starts and stops, and after the last stop I was hauled out of the car, still hooded, again over someone's shoulder, cool outside air touching me all over, the sun hot on my butt, then it was a crazy, jostling run, with Drindy cackling gaily, me kicking and flapping and puffing and cussing from the jostling.

There was the sound of a gate opening and slamming, a gust of laughter and shouting, my hands were freed, and the next thing I knew I was sailing through the air -- oh shit, what was I going to land on? -- an ignominious tail-first splashdown in cool, pool scented water. My diver's reflexes kicked in fast enough to avoid all but a nose-full of water. My feet touched bottom and I kicked up, blowing water out of my nose as I fought my way out of the bag.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!"

"PPPHHHHTTHHAAAAH!" I spat, wiping water out of my eyes to see all of my best, best friends lining the pool, gleefully enjoying my predicament. Behind me Carl was standing on the edge of the pool, puffing, with a shit-eating grin on his face. Obviously it had been his shoulder I'd been draped over. He hadn't done that with me for a couple of years, and never before with my wrists tied!

I turned around again. The Dirty Dozen was there, save for Missy and Mike. John was holding Alice's hand-- she from the infamous sex ed party -- plus all my lunch buddies, some with boyfriends, a few from the swim team, and Steph and Mom and even Dr. Smathers. All I could do was laugh along with them, I was so happy and touched to see them all there for me.

I had no idea where I was, but given the cast of characters, I decided that could wait. I figured the first order of business was a little payback.

"Thanks a bunch, bro," I sputtered, holding a hand up for a lift out of the pool. Only, when he grabbed me, I grabbed back, planted my feet on the side of the pool, and pulled.

"Gotcha!" I yelled triumphantly as he sailed over me, flapping into the water, arms and legs every-which-way, with a titanic splash.

The gang enjoyed that even more.

While he floundered, I waded calmly over to the steps and, wrapped in my dignity and my coat of paint, walked up out of the water. At least I was dressed for a dip -- or, rather, undressed. Carl was fully clothed. For a moment, I posed, this way and that, turning around, raising my arms overhead so I looked like a flame, then down like wings, so everyone could admire Kathy's artistry as they applauded. Then I bowed, deeply, quite deliberately mooning my brother.

Then I saw Mom, Beth and Dr. Smathers seating themselves behind a table, trying, not very effectively, to look serious. Uh oh. Looked like some kind of a court.

"Diane Walker, how do you plead?"

I giggled.

Well, how seriously could I take the "judge" in the center? It was Beth, my brother's petite little GF, adjusting an old-fashioned string mop on her head like one of those wigs British judges wear -- without the handle of course, I mean the mop, not the wig! -- oh, you know what I mean.

And that was all she was wearing, her perky little boobies glowing in the sunlight, her nipples stiff. The mature women flanking her were just as naked. Everyone was naked -- even the lunchroom gang and their boyfriends, a brave bunch since this wasn't their usual attire -- except...

I turned to look at my escorts, Carl, Greg and Drindy, of course, and Kathy, camera in hand, with that great, wide, beautiful smile of hers. Yup, they were still dressed, Carl looking somewhat sodden, waist deep in the water but grinning.

I turned back to Beth and my brain kicked into gear, drawing on my civics class about trial by jury. "What are the charges?" I asked.

Next to Beth, on her left, was Mom. Gee, her breasts were beautiful and full! She made a great show of unrolling a long scroll. "Summoned before us here today is Diane Walker, henceforth to be referred to as 'Dee.' I hereby I do swear and affirm, that on this day of this month exactly thirteen years ago, after long and wearying labor, Dee emerged from my own body. Therefore, be it known to all here present, she is hereby charged with being a teenager as of this date!"

Tumult and booing from the assembled multitude, along with squishing dripping sounds as Carl slogged his way out of the pool and sloshed across the deck, his sneakers going squelch, squelch, squelch.

"And does our medical expert concur?" Beth asked, turning to Dr. Smathers on her other side.

"Having personally examined the defendant in depth and thoroughly within this last month," Dr. Smathers announced very formally, reading from her own scroll, "and being properly appraised of her impending birthday, it is my professional opinion that she is indeed one Diane Walker, known as 'Dee, ' and she is, indeed, in accordance with the information on the Birth Certificate I have closely analyzed, thirteen years of age on this date!"

Again a raucous mix of cheering, catcalls, booing and hissing as if I were a felon -- this from some who were experienced teenagers themselves, the hypocrites.

"How do you plead?" Beth repeated formally.

What could I do but shrug? "Guilty, I guess."

"How says the jury?" Beth asked formally.

"Guilty, guilty, guilty," the blood thirsty mob chanted.

"It being the unanimous verdict of a jury of your peers that you are, indeed, now officially guilty of being a teenager, you are hereby endowed with all of the rights and privileges and responsibilities thereunto and appertaining. Therefore, it is my solemn duty to pronounce sentence upon you. It is the judgment of this court that you must now formally receive the appropriate disciplinary action in anticipation of the wild and wanton acts to be expected from you as a teenager in the future."

Uh oh. That sounded ominous. As if I hadn't already indulged in -- what did she call them? -- wild and wanton acts.

"Uh, what does this disciplinary action entail?" I asked warily.

"Beat her, beat her, beat her!" the undisciplined mob, my friends, chanted.

Beth pounded for order, not very effectively since she was using a toy rubber hammer. Her smile was more than a little bit wicked, as were Mom's and Dr. Smathers's. "The Charter of BAPOOT, the Benevolent And Protective Order Of Teenagers, mandates that the inductee must be properly and rightfully struck forcefully upon the buttocks with the bare hand the appropriate number of times in recognition of her new status, the aforesaid spanking to be administered by the executioner of her choice, the appropriate number of strokes being thirteen, plus one to grow on."

OOOohh my! I was going to get my birthday spanking! I'd had those before, of course, usually from my brother before breakfast. But this was a more formal sentence, and here I was, naked, in front of a crowd.

Oh my!

"Did you say I get to choose the -- uh -- executioner myself?" I asked, playing for time, my whole body tingling.

"We did," Beth affirmed.

Oooh my. Who did I want to do the spanking? I ran my eye over the assemblage.

Judy Liu? She looked entirely too eager. And anyway, I owed her already, and I had plans for her!

Carl?

Naaaah. He's my brother. None of the adults, and not Kathy, she'd had her way with me already today, and I with her, of course.

Really, there was only one obvious choice.

"If it please the court. May I have a last request before I name my choice and accept my punishment?" I asked the court respectfully.

Beth huddled briefly with Mom and Dr. Smathers, then nodded. "You may."

"I believe certain people here are in violation of the dress code for my party. I ask that everyone be as naked as I am."

Greg and Drindy looked at each other and gulped.

Well, if they were going to hang around with me they might as well get used to it. Carl was already getting out of his soggy clothes, and Kathy had stripped during the proceedings. Nudity was nothing new for them, but for Greg and Drindy, being naked in a crowd wasn't something they were used to.

I cocked my eyebrow at Drindy and her brother. Granted, Greg was only wearing his team racing suit, but he wasn't naked.

Beth snickered. "It is the judgment of this court that all who are not naked forthwith are in danger of being found in contempt, punishment for which is to be tossed fully clothed into the pool."

Drindy, fidgeting, looked worried. Greg bent to whisper to her, and she shook her head, ponytails whipping. He whispered again, and she squirmed, blushing. Greg pointed across the deck. Drindy looked over at The Dirty Dozen, some of whom, the sixth-graders, were little older than she was, with bodies as immature as hers -- no curves, little breast buds, puffy little pussy lips. Maria Sanchez, slender as a reed, nodded encouragingly, and walked over to ease Drindy's shirt up encouragingly.

With a theatrical sigh, Drindy raised her arms, letting Maria strip her shirt off, as her brother stripped off his swim suit. As Maria gently drew Drindy's shorts and panties down the younger girl gave a sexy little shiver, her nipples stiffening eagerly as she tried to cover herself. As before, my mouth watered at the sight of her shy cleft, but Greg's greater maturity was what attracted my eye more -- that is to say the stiffy jutting out from his groin. Yum!

The thought of being bent over his lap, his hand smacking my ass, made my bottom pucker. I pointed. "I choose Greg Anderson as my executioner."

I wish Kathy had recorded the series of expressions that he ran through -- surprise, concern, horniness, anxiety, eagerness, almost matched by the rise, fall, rise of his hard on.

He blushed like a fire truck.

A chair was moved out to the center of the pool deck, and Greg was directed to it. He was obviously nervous, and aroused, and embarrassed, as he sat down, his pecker standing straight up from his lap.

I made a real show of marching to my doom, head high, conscious of my dramatic appearance thanks to my paint job. Actually, I didn't march. I sauntered, I strutted -- oh, I just showed off. Reaching him, I paused dramatically.

"Do your worst," I challenged him nobly, back of my hand to my brow. And then I slowly lowered myself across his bare thighs, feeling the stiff rod of his hard on against my hip. Oh boy!

"Whatever you do, don't be a wimp," I whispered, "or this crew will take it out on you."

Oh gosh, did I really say that? Oh shit, I felt desperately exposed and vulnerable, the sun hot on my naked, painted butt. And oh wow, was my pussy creaming!

Hesitantly at first, them more boldly, Greg had a lot of fun stroking and feeling my ass, his fingers poking into the crack, even, making me squirm.

"The witnesses will count the strokes," Beth commanded in her most judicial voice.

Slap!

"One!" Drindy counted tentatively in support of her brother. The others knew better.

"Harder," I whispered.

"Doesn't count," Beth announced. "Not hard enough."

"Told you," I whispered, wriggling on his naked lap just to feel him. I sneaked a hand under and tickled his thighs.

SMACK!

Wow! That one stung!

"One," counted the crowd.

"Harder," I muttered, flexing my cheeks, reaching to find his balls, but the chair was in the way.

WHAP!

"YOW!" I yelped, jerking.

"Two!" the gang responded more enthusiastically.

Oh shit, I was already getting really turned on!

"Better," I encouraged him.

SMACK!

Shit! Oh gosh. Wow. Yum. And that was only three.

"Take your time, executioner," Beth ordered. "Enjoy the moment."

He did. Greg was really getting into this, lingering between strokes, taking the time to fondle my butt. His fingers crept tantalizingly close to the center of my joy, teasingly touching my butt hole. I let my legs part, encouraging him, but he held back from probing my oozing pussy, darn it, and I couldn't reach him at all.

He alternated his strokes, first one cheek then the other, taking plenty of time to cop a feel between them. My tail began to burn. The blood was running to my head, I was kicking my feet between every stroke, and I was getting more and more turned on. I tried squirming against him, tried to get some pressure on my pussy, but couldn't. I was intensely aware of everyone watching me get my paddling, knowing they could tell I was getting hornier with every stroke. I was squealing now with every blow.

"Ten!"

I was close.

Fondle, fondle, fondle. Nnngggg.

"Eleven!"

Closer!

Touch. Stroke. Poke! Wow!

"Twelve!"

"YEEOWCH!" Still closer. C'mon, give me more, give me more I pleaded silently.

Diddle, diddle, diddle.

WHACK!

"THIRTEEN!"

YowWowshoot! So near but yet so far! And one to grow on! Please, one more to grow on!

Or come on, as the case may be.

Tease, tease, tease.

"And one to grow on," Beth ordered.

YESSS!

Whack!

NNNNGGGGGHHHH, shit, so close, so close, so close, but no cigar.

But still fondling my seared butt, Greg leaned over and kissed my ear, and that was almost enough, but still not quite. I wanted to jump his pole right then and there, but my blazing butt demanded some relief. Scrambling off Greg's lap I dashed for the pool and did a sloppy front flip off the edge to hit the water ass first, yet again, and I swear I was engulfed in a cloud of steam. The cheering crowd joined me in the pool and, after being tossed around and ducked, it degenerated into a massive water free-for-all.

But I had sort of a mental clock ticking away in my head. Ten minutes to wash off the fixative, Kathy had said. One minute in the pool at school because of my dive. Another minute here, after Carl launched me off his shoulder. By the time my mental clock reached about seven the spray had died down and I shared a watery hug with Greg, hot, slick skin to hot, slick skin in the cool pool water. I lightly licked my arm, tasting orange mixed with lemon. The paint was ready to come off!

And anyway, I was getting hungry. After all, my birthday breakfast had consisted of a bowl of cold cereal, and Kathy had only fed me some fruit and cheese.

I saw Stephanie emerge from the house with a platter, followed by Kathy with another one, and realized it had to be Steph's house. I knew her folks were well off -- she owned the gelding that Beth made her dramatic pep-rally entrance on, after all. The swimming pool was no surprise.

"Let's eat," I urged Greg, taking him by the hand.

"You're not mad at me?" he asked fearfully.

What could I say? I turned on him and wrapped him up like the birthday present he was, and kissed him, really, really kissed him, a spit-swapping, tongue-tangling, lip-locking sucker of a smooch.

Cue the chorus: WOOOoooooOOOOOOO!

"Does that feel like I'm mad at you?" I asked as we bumped foreheads, my excited titties brushing his naked chest.

"You're sweet," he told me.

What could I say but, "Aww shucks."

He licked his lips. "No, I mean you're really sweet!"

"That's the paint," I giggled. His once again stiff cock was trapped between us beneath the surface of the water. But my timing, and our stomachs were taking priority over our crotches so we dripped our naked way to the buffet, trailed by the rest of the gang.

"Plague of locusts" is a weak cliché compared to what happened at the table when The Dirty Dozen and all the rest of us descended upon it. There were heaps of sandwiches, mounds of chips, even some carrot sticks and, of course, gallons of soda.

The last, naturally, resulted in the rude eruptions you'd expect from a bunch of kids. Started by the boys, of course, it soon turned into a belching contest. In the end, Drindy put the boys to shame, rattling windows two blocks away, and she won by acclamation.

"Someone's here to see you," Steph whispered to me as the cheering died down. "I do believe you're ripe!" she added, impishly licking my ear.

Oh yeah! "Excuse me," I said to Greg. "I'm needed in the house. No, you stay put, I'll take care of it."

"But you'll miss dessert," he protested.

He's such a gentleman! Little did he know I was the dessert. I gave him a coy wink and followed Stephanie into the house. She pointed, and I followed her directions to the living room.

Uh oh! Even from the back I recognized Missy's mom. She was standing, appraising the painting over the mantel. She was as impeccably turned out as ever, a trim knee length skirt, white blouse, stockings, low heels. No Casual Saturday for her. I bet even her gardening clothes were ironed and creased.

I was suddenly very aware of my nudity. Drawing a deep breath, I braced myself. "Mrs. Wilson? You wanted to see me?"

She spun around, and my appearance obviously startled her. "Oh, my! Uh. Very striking," she observed.

"Yes'm," I agreed. "Thank you. Kathy Powers did it. She's a real artist. I believe the painting over the mantel is hers as well."

"Marvelous! I'm -- uh -- sorry to intrude on your party," she stammered. She was obviously uncomfortable, but didn't seem angry. "Missy sends her regrets -- she -- well, I just couldn't let her come. Not after what she'd done. I'm sure you understand."

"Yes'm." And I did, though I felt a pang. If I'd pulled what Missy had I'd have been grounded until I was 18. I hoped she wasn't as hard on Missy as that.

"This is hard for me."

I nodded.

"Missy and I, we've talked. She told me that you tried to stop her. She's sorry she was so mean to you, and says that y ... you were right."

I nodded again. I didn't hate the woman. Didn't even dislike her. But I wasn't going to let her off the hook, either. If she hadn't been so stiff-necked, more willing to listen, Missy might have confided in her.

"She told me, too, what you did for her, that you saved her from -- uh -- being raped."

"I don't think it would have come to that, though it certainly was attempted," I admitted.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"She's my friend. It's what friends do."

To my surprise, Missy's mom stepped close and suddenly hugged me. "Thank you."

For a moment I just stood there, stunned, then hesitantly put my arms around her, and felt her shaking. Was she crying? I held her close, feeling the person behind that stiff facade. When she let go and stepped back I suddenly realized my paint was more ready than I'd thought.

Uh oh.

Wiping tears from her cheeks with her fingers, she saw where I was looking, and looked down at herself. For a second I thought she was going to faint at the smears of orange and yellow and red that had rubbed off on her white blouse, her beautiful skirt.

"Oh dear!" She actually managed a laugh. "I guess I deserved that."

"No'm, I'm sorry it happened," I apologized. "It's water soluble, and I've been in the pool. It should come off easily."

She dabbed at it, got some on her fingers, went to suck it off, and looked surprised. "Sweet!"

"Uhm -- it's edible," I admitted.

"Oh! I -- I'd rather not know the details." She went to her purse on an end table and dug into it, taking out a carefully wrapped little package. "This is from Missy. She found it in a shop months ago, and knew you'd love it. She saved her allowance to buy it for your birthday. Please, won't you take it?"

"Of course I will. Thank you." I was biting my lip, blinking back tears, my voice husky.

"Well, I'll be going. Happy birthday."

"Thank you." I wanted to say more, or maybe it was The Stick. "Mrs. Wilson, Missy's a good, sweet, wonderful person. Give her a chance."

"What should I do?" she asked, almost desperately.

I thought about what my mom did so well for me. "Listen to her without judging her."

"That's what Ms. Andrews said. Missy and I -- we're going to be meeting with her again." She laughed nervously. "A little family therapy, I guess."

I nodded. "Ms. Andrews is a very kind, wise woman. I think what Missy needs most, right now, is just for you to listen to her. We're all growing up, and we need all the help -- all the understanding -- we can get."

Mrs. Wilson nodded. "Thank you," she whispered again. "Have a nice party."

She hurried away, leaving me standing there, looking at the little package from Missy. I knew if I opened it right now I'd cry a river.

"Dee? Are you alright?" Stephanie asked.

"Oh, yeah, thanks, Steph. Could you put this someplace safe for me, please?"

"Sure." She took it from me. "Ready to be dessert?"

"Oh yeah!" That got me back on track.

"How do you want to handle it?"

"I've got an idea to get it started. Is the table cleared, and do the guys know I'm edible?"

Stephanie nodded. "I told Beth to pass the word about the paint."

As I stepped out onto the sun-washed pool deck, I felt a real tingle at the thought of what I was about to do. Everyone saw me coming and conversation died. I walked straight to Judy Liu, and saw just a flicker of concern in her almond eyes.

"Truth or dare, Judy?"

"Dare," she challenged confidently.

I giggled, a tense, horny giggle.

"I dare you to kiss my sweet ass."

That brought a roar of wicked laughter, especially from The Dirty Dozen.

Sauntering to the head of the table I turned on Judy. I beckoned with a crooked finger. When she was beside me, I grinned, and bent slowly over to press my aching tits to the cool plastic tablecloth, squirming erotically.

Oh, I do so much enjoy being sexily naked!

"Come on, Judy. Kiss my ass!" I ordered her huskily. "You know you want to."

Judy went around behind me. She knew exactly what I was asking. I flinched at the touch of her hands on my cheeks, felt kisses and nips on each bun, felt her press them apart. I felt her breath on my crack, and shuddered at the first touch of her lips to my crevice, then the first, tentative tickle of her tongue right on my sweetly painted pucker.

"Mmmmmm," I purred. "Make sure you get nice and deep. Get every bit of the paint out. Taste me."

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, was I going to enjoy this. Kathy had gone deep with the paint. I'd enjoyed the way her finger drilled into my tail, pressing the cold, wet, edible finger-paint deep, deep, deep. I wished I could see Judy now, with her face pressed to my butt. I could imagine it, Judy bent over at my tail, her own cute naked body in the sun, her nose in my crack.

Then I realized that Kathy had her camera, and knew she wasn't about to miss this opportunity. I'd see Judy humbled. Maybe I'd blow a copy up and hang it in my room.

Oh, I wasn't vindictive. I didn't hate Judy -- anything but! Humiliation was part of the game! When she'd jammed that butt plug up my rear at the party, part of my horny pleasure was the knowledge that everyone was watching my humiliation. I was just returning the favor, and we both were loving every minute of it.

Oooooo! Me especially. The warm stroking of her tongue as she slurped away at the delicious paint on my bung was pure sensuous ecstasy. I stretched my arms out and gripped the edge of the table. "Deeper," I moaned. "Deeper."

She paused, and I felt her hot sigh, and knew she was contemplating this with mixed feelings of fear and hunger and disgust and desire. She wriggled her tongue at my rear gate, and I relaxed it just a teensy weensy bit. Don't think I didn't remember the awesome feel of Carl's cock penetrating my ass, how I'd granted him admission. I was more than willing to grant Judy's tongue the same access.

She wriggled the tip of her tongue into the crinkly pucker, and I purred like a pussycat. Yum, yum, yum.

Then someone began licking my right hand, and someone else my hip. I was being turned into a smorgasbord! There was hot breath at my ear, and a tongue going to work there, too. I opened my eye to discover it was Greg! I smiled and twisted my head enough to kiss him, let his tongue explore my lips and mouth before I relaxed and gave him my ear again. Eventually he moved away to sweeter pastures and someone else took his place.

Meanwhile, Judy was slowly gaining ground. Oooogoody! She was as bold as I'd hoped, not afraid to explore further. I yielded to her probing tongue as it wormed its way into my sphincter. My pussy was creaming like mad, and suddenly, somehow, there was someone under the table, lapping at my pussy!

Ohshit! That was enough to send me over the edge, and I knew Judy was feeling the pulsing of my coming with her tongue buried in my ass. The delightful little witch proceeded to pace her own probing in time with the spasms of my tail-hole, the clenching of my pussy, reinforcing every delicious wave, probing just a tiny bit deeper with every pulse.

Someone's teeth scraped my ribs, someone else was licking my armpit, while a tongue made long swipes on my back. I was surrounded, engulfed. I was being eaten alive and loving every minute of it. There were so many mouths working at me I lost track. But the focus of my pleasure remained my ass, as Judy dug in with gusto, squirming her face in my crack even as her tongue drilled my butt, until I simply could not take it anymore, my legs curling, closing, squeezing her out while my whole body convulsed with my orgasm.

When I finally went limp, there were hands all over me, lifting me, turning me over, moving me so I wound up on my back on the table, my legs sprawled off the end so the hungry crowd could continue their feast on the front of my body.

Oh, I was going to miss that lovely paint job so much, but I was so enjoying the process of it being swept away by their loving tongues. I looked, and marveled at my wonderful friends, so eager to partake of me. With Kathy coaching her, Drindy gave me an impish look, and nipped at one of my nipples, sending sparks through my whole body.

She learned fast, the little rascal. Leaning farther across me, she gave the other one the same treatment, her ponytails dancing with her giggles while I jumped and jittered with every nip. When she finally backed off, by lifting my head, I could see her brother between my thighs, familiarizing himself with the intricacies of my pussy. He stroked me.

"Oooo that was nice."

He looked up at me, his face inches from my twat, his fingers even closer.

"Oh yes, touch me there, gently, lick your fingers first."

He did, watching my reaction.

"Taste me. Go ahead, taste me!" I could see him hesitate, then tentatively lick.

"Wow! A little further up. ZOWIE. Don't stop now!" I was floating on wave after wave of pleasure. His lips closed on my clit -- Beth was whispering in his ear -- and the skyrockets went off again, until I eased him away from my hypersensitive folds.

My neck was tired so I let my head back down while the crowd finished, seeking out every little bit of paint. Even Frannie, and Inez, Peggy and Cindy, the whole lunch gang, their boyfriends, the people from the swim team, late arrivals, were taking licks at me, washing my face, my neck, my shoulders and torso, my thighs. The Dirty Dozen had a rough time finding someplace to slurp, so they enjoyed each other as much as they did me.

I was a toy in their hands by now, boneless, limp, totally awash in the sensuous tongue bath. The licked my ears, my face, my arms, between my fingers, sucked on my toes, even the soles of my feet.

"Can we turn her over again?" Judy asked. "I wanna make sure I didn't miss any in her ass."

Oh, that wicked little witch! She explored my butt-crack again, from pussy to spine, teasing my anus until I couldn't take any more and had to get up. They helped me to the pool on my wobbly legs. For a moment I teetered on the edge before I plopped face first into the cool water and rolled around, sluicing off their saliva along with any lingering traces of paint they might have left.

When I surfaced, I saw that they were all engaged with each other, most in the pool. Judy, that little oriental nymph of a gymnast, was wrapped around big, black Terrell in a lip lock, his big musician hands cupping her tight tail, his fingers digging into the crack, of course, while she squirmed ecstatically against him.

The rest of The Dirty Dozen had paired off, as well, and were suitably entangled, though none of them, I noticed, were actually fucking. It was so cool to see skinny little A. J. -- well, his cock was anything but little -- wrapped up with Mickey of the Marvelous Mammaries, her plushy breasts squashing against his bony chest. She was clutching his ass as well.

Drindy was in the cluster of my lunch buddies and boyfriends, enjoying their attentions, giggling and wriggling, her soggy ponytails gleaming in the sun. It was too bad there were more girls than boys, but they were making do, playing with each other's budding bodies as well as Drindy's, no holds barred, you might say.

Greg, in his shy way never one to be in the crowd, was sitting on the edge of the pool watching me, his legs dangling in the water, so I paddled over between his knees and hooked my arms over his thighs. He delicious cock was right in front of my face, and it seemed only fair that it get some attention from me.

After all, payback doesn't have to be a bitch.

Looking up at him, I licked his dick from base to tip. Apparently his activities on my behalf had stimulated his libido (I've learned what THAT word means in the last couple of weeks!), because there was a muskiness and saltiness to his savor, and he was still hard as a rock. Poor baby, if I didn't do something for him right away, he was going to have a severe case of blue balls! I just couldn't possibly let that happen!

I pursed my lips over the plummy, spongy head of his cock and sucked gently, drawing a spurt of pre-come from the slit at the tip.

"Are you sure?" he asked nervously.

"Don't you want me to?" I asked between licks.

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure, if you want to."

"Oh, I do! I really, really do!" I engulfed the knob of his prick with my mouth, slurped my way up off it. "Tell me, did you enjoy licking me?"

"Heck yeah! I mean, that was so hot! It tasted so -- I can't even describe it. You were hot, and juicy, and I could see how much you were liking it, and that only made it better for me. I almost came without touching myself!"

"Well then," I mumbled around his delicious hard cock, "you know exactly how I feel."

"But, what if I come," he stammered.

"I told you the other day, didn't I?" Slurp! "It's even better straight from the source. Now don't bother me, it's not polite for me to talk with my mouth full."

"Oh, gosh!" he sighed.

Oh, yum! It was scrumptious, hot and tasty, and I savored new, fresh waves of pre-come mingling with my saliva, coating his warm meat. I loved the feel of his flesh against my tongue. I could get about half of him in my mouth, and that was enough, especially since I could use my tongue on that specially sensitive spot just below the cap. I used the fingers of one hand to stroke the rest of his shaft, while I fondled his balls with my other hand, looking up to see him watching me.

"Oh God," he moaned, his eyes closing.

I slurped and sucked, stroked and fondled, and I knew he couldn't last long. I had plans for a bit later, and I wanted to make sure I took the edge off now.

"I'm gonna," he gasped. "I'm gonna..."

Oh, he sure was! His hips were working, his butt was clenching, and my mouth was more than ready for his thick, gooey load. I felt the first pulse with my tongue and lips before my mouth was filled with his hot jizm, my head swimming in its rich, musky scent. He was grunting and gasping, his balls drawn up tight, and just knowing I was giving him that wonderful feeling only made it all the sweeter as he filled my mouth with his delicious come, squirt after hot squirt, some of it escaping from my lips to drool down my chin, some over my fingers.

There was a last, lingering squeeze from his groin, and I did my best to keep it going as long as I could, until I'd wrung him out, his pecker reluctantly softening. I sucked him clean. Then I looked up at him and let him see me swallow his delicious cream.

"Sheeeeeit!" he gasped, his arms sliding out from under him so he was lying on his back on the pool deck, panting, while I carefully licked off the last tasty oozings from his shriveling cock, the spill from his balls.

"Ice cream and cake!" Mom called.

Never let it be said that we teens let our carnal desires interfere with our appetites for high-calorie food! I was treated to a serenade of "Happy Birthday" accompanied by Terrell on a keyboard and Steph on flute, before I blew out thirteen candles on a gorgeous sheet cake.

The icing incorporated one of Kathy's quick sketches. She must have done it at Thursday's practice. With a few graceful lines she'd somehow caught me in mid-air doing one of my racing dives off the blocks, head between my arms, all stretched out, my feet slightly scissored. She'd done me nude, instead of with the racing suit pressing my modest boobs flat, so they projected like gentle cones, capped with turgid nipples. It's amazing how erotic a few graceful strokes of her charcoal can be. I wondered if I could entice her into doing a portrait of my pussy.

"I have the original, Dee, if you want it," she offered, seeing my interest.

"What if I want it?" Greg asked, a little offended.

I giggled.

"I'll turn it into an etching and run off a few copies," Kathy offered. "Might even make a little money off it. Or maybe silk screen it as a logo for the swim team's warm-up sweats?"

"Cool!" Greg and I both agreed, me totally flattered, of course.

Then we turned our attention to the cake itself. With some of Greg's flavor still lingering in my mouth I quickly discovered that ice cream, cake and icing and cum are a delicious combination.

And after ice cream and cake there was a concert by Terrell and Stephanie, and we sang some songs as the sun sank slowly in the west.

As the party began to calm down I was getting more and more wound up with my plans for Greg. Taking him by the hand we moved down away from the house, toward the diving board end of the pool. The pool lights were on, a few people paddling around or nuzzling in the shallows, the water making the lights dance.

For a while we sat on the board, talking as I leaned against him, his arm around me, his body warm against mine. Then we started necking, and petting, of course, his hand toying with my tits, my fingers stroking the side of his neck, down to his chest where his teeny nipples, too, responded to my touch. Then I slid my hand down farther, feeling his gut tighten as I got closer to his cock. He was already stiff -- boys are so eager, I love it!

The kisses got hotter, and wetter, the hands bolder. It didn't take much to encourage him to explore my oozing cunt. I was ready, oh so ready, but I didn't want to hurry.

I could hear the talk, and laughter, the gurgle and slop of pool water in the gutters, some sighs and groans, and whispers from the far end of the pool. I could see Kathy and Stephanie cuddling as Steph played a soft, mournful song on her flute, and knew they were thinking of the future, when Steph would go off to wherever -- Curtis, I hoped -- and Kathy would stay behind to finish high school. I loved them both so much I had a fleeting thought that maybe, before Steph left, the three of us could get together.

I am SO wanton I felt a wave of guilt and virtually attacked Greg. He responded in kind, and there was a sort of wrestling match, the board flexing under us, but I knew what I wanted, and he wasn't sure, so I had the advantage. In the end he was on his back, his head at the outer end of the board, I was straddling his legs, the board wide enough to give my knees a purchase on either side of him.

Leaning forward over him, we kissed, his hands gently exploring my front and sides, tickling in a nice way. I moved closer to my goal, his cock against my crack. We painted each other with our juices.

"Do you... ?" he asked, and of course I knew what he meant.

"Do you... ?" I asked.

"I've never..."

I kissed him, my tits just brushing his chest, little points of fire. "I know." I didn't say I had, not wanting my history intruding.

"Yes, I do," he sighed.

"Yes," I agreed, rising to my knees, tilting his cock up, the head stroking my crevice, brushing against my juicy tissues.

"Oh God!" he gasped, reaching for my tits.

"Yes!" I lowered myself, teasing myself with the tip of his hot prick, slippery with pre-come. "Oh yes, yes, yes."

Slowly, slowly, exquisitely slowly, I lowered myself on Greg's wonderful hard-on, engulfing him with my hot, slick flesh, loving the feel of his bulk filling me for the first time. It was so different from my time with Mike and Missy, all hurried and horny, or with John, quick and hard, driving to a swift peak, him barely conscious. This was slow and sensuous and loving as I slid down his pole until we were together, my crotch pressed against his pubic arch, his pole throbbing within me.

Leaning forward, my hands on either side of his head, I began slowly rising, then sinking, just a little bit at first, slowly. His hands found my breasts, my swelling, growing breasts, my rock hard tits digging into his palms.

My moves picked up, rising higher, dropping faster, the board responding as diving boards will, sinking and rising, and I raised my head and laughed with the joy of it, my body finding the rhythm of the board, his hips rising, thrusting, working all together to get him deep, deep, deep inside me with every stroke.

Bump, bump, bump we thumped together, the board and Greg and me, thumpa, thumpa, thumpa. I dropped my head, my lips finding his and we kissed and humped, until we were on the edge, the very edge, and then tumbling together into our comings, my eager young cunt clenching around his hot, pulsating cock, his come spurting into my clutching pussy, filling me to overflowing with his hot semen until the last clenches and pulsings finally faded to aftershocks and quivers, and I lay atop him, my body almost melting into his, our sweating flesh together as we cuddled.

"Happy birthday," he murmured in my ear. "Happy birthday."

As we cuddled in the afterglow, the board's bouncing fading, I suddenly realized the only sound was the lapping of water in the pool, like the whole world was holding its breath.

Greg and I were, of course, in full view of everyone.

And suddenly everyone was applauding! Not yelling and screaming, but clapping their hands. Stephanie blew a jolly rising trill on her flute into a sweet, sweet melody, and I flushed to realize that everyone, everyone had watched us, even Mom. Especially Mom.

Blushing furiously, I rolled us off the board, landing in the pool with a splash, where we hugged and kissed, our legs tangling as we treaded water.

I found out later that Kathy, ever the artist, had had her sketch pad out, and captured us in a quick series of thirteen clever sketches she calls "Dee 13," beginning with Greg and me talking and cuddling, ending with the two of us interlocked, rolling off the board in a silly, useless attempt to hide from everyone.

The one I like best, which she later turned into a beautiful, impressionist oil for me, is the one where you can see Greg's cock half-way into my pussy, my back arched, just a little, my head thrown back, my expression one of pure ecstasy, the night sky overhead, his hands on my tits, as I slowly lowered myself on to him that first time.

I know that is the "first time" that I'll remember all my life.


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The End
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Posted:  2011-03-03
Last Modified: 2011-12-16 / 10:06:09 am
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