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Theresa released Leslie to read the note for herself, crying even before she looked at it. Shirley moved to embrace Leslie next, while Shannon remained closeby, crying bitterly. Shirley held Leslie so close she could feel her breasts pressing against her own. Only under very delicate circumstances would she permit herself to hold another female like that. She heard Theresa's voice behind her, strong and angry, like she knew it would get. "The bitch!" she snarled. "It's that bitch, isn't it!"Leslie nodded her head as she and Shirley released one another. "I checked the overall test scores," she sobbed. "She was second, at 96. ""That bitch!" Theresa stamped her feet. "She has to be first in everything or else she takes it out on everyone else!""Did you show it to the teacher?" Shannon asked. She shook her head. The note had not been signed. When Shannon pointed out that it was clearly Didi's handwriting she said it didn't matter. Didi would deny she'd written the message and there would be no way to prove anything. "That bitch!" Theresa spat.
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"I'll cut out her heart and feed it to the dogs!" She went back to Leslie, embracing her and reassuring her. "Don't worry," she said with angry confidence. "We'll do something to make that cad pay. "Shirley looked on through watery eyes. To their loose friends and acquaintances and the other students on their lunch break, the embrace was clearly a sign of support and comfort, something that took place all the time between girls. But to those closer to the two, there was far more significance to the act. Leslie and Theresa were lovers, a fact they kept as few people as possible from learning. They were not ashamed of their homosexuality, but they received lots of flak for it, both from straight and other homosexual people. It was because of that that they tried to keep their relationship a secret, to avoid those hostilities which neither felt were warranted or justified. After a few minutes' silence, Shannon said, "Tigger's right. We can't just let this go. We have to do something. "Shirley nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. It's time we put that bitch in her place.
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""I'm gonna kill 'er," Theresa growled as she and Leslie parted again, facing all three. "I'll hunt her down and slaughter 'er. "Shirley shook her head, accustomed to Theresa's angry outbursts, which usually fell into the "act now, think later" category. She was bold and outgoing, gutsy to the point of arrogance. But underneath she knew her to be kind, warm, understanding, and even willing to listen to reason. The two had grown up together, friends since they were both seven-years-old. Theresa had always been fiesty, active, and hot tempered. Even at that young age she was quick to challenge anyone who would say her nay, never one to hold back when letting people know what she thought. She'd always had a scruffy, tomboyish look: her dark hair kept short but still somehow musty, her eyes small and narrow, while her face sported a perfectly square jaw. She always wore T-shirts and cut-offs, when there were plenty of nicer clothes in her closet and dresser. Theresa rarely went out without a baseball bat and mit. She'd throw the ball with her two brothers for hours at a time, and it was her siblings who nicknamed her "Tigger," because of her fierce competitiveness, a name that caught on and stuck with her friends. Shirley got her own mit in those early years so she could join them. While it helped to develop her arms and coordination, in the end she found the three threw too hard for her and she gave it up. She and Theresa liked hanging out together.
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They seemed to balance each other perfectly. Theresa was always assertive, while Shirley was more cautious and reasoning. Shirley came from a family that was much more conservative. Her father worked for a successful law firm. Her mother was a housekeeper and the one who spent more time raising their four children, three daughters and a son, of whom Shirley was the oldest. Her parents had set out to make her and their other daughters prim and sweet and obedient, to maintain good grades and possess the ability to get along well with everyone. In essence, they tried to raise the perfect, diminutive daughters. Her father had initially puzzled about Shirley's request for a baseball mit, and even questioned his wife about her friendship with the girl living down the street, whom he saw as being more like a boy than a girl! Perhaps it would be better, he'd suggested once, if she played ball with her own younger brother. But her brother had his own group of friends and saw no room for his sister to fit in. He was a chip off the old block, becoming like his dad: girls did this, boys did that, girls were supposed to be this way, boys completely different. In the end, her father acquiesced to her request for the mit, as long as it made her happy and she would use it. He had a definite soft spot for all his children and indulged them, buying them dolls and toys and fancy clothes, at a time when they were more likely to ruin these fine garments in rough and tumble activities. Unfortunately the mit wasn't used that much. By the time she received it, Theresa had joined the community's little league and was said to have one of the hardest pitches of the entire team! While her brothers could hack it, Shirley didn't have enough stamina to participate for very long. When Shirley reached her teens she encountered her first identity crisis.
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While her father had set up the role model he thought she should follow that would make her into a "lady," she started finding her own place in her adolescent world. The one thing that had paid off for her was her education. She was an avid reader, and would pick up practically any book or magazine she could find during her spare time. She even tried out her father's law texts, hoping to discover a way of at least understanding the man she seemed to be drawing away from all the time. Her entire upbringing had ultimately left her with a slight inferiority complex. Her father had been the king of the castle, and even though she might protest, his word was always final. It was like he brought his work home with him to create law in the household. It left Shirley well versed, intelligent, and rational, but always with a twinge of self-doubt. This was the stage where she and Theresa completed each other. Shirley had plans and ideas, but sometimes lacked initiative. Theresa provided the strength and will to help see her through. Theresa possessed as much intelligence as Shirley, but she was often given to flying off the handle, leaping before looking. It was Shirley's counsel that would put things into perspective and help settle her rampaging. And then something happened. For Shirley it was unique, for Theresa it was special.
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Theresa recognized that she'd never be like the other girls; somehow she was different: she played different games from the other girls in the neighborhood, they always used words like "flip" and "cute," were obsessed with their Barbie and Ken dolls, and they always wanted to look pretty for someone else, not for themselves. Theresa was not concerned with the neatness of her hair, or showed any interest in dresses and nylons. She had her baseball mit and baseball team. Those were important. The other girls liked to spend time with daddies. Her own daddy wrote for a newspaper and wasn't always around. But she liked spending time with her mommy, being close to her and sitting in her lap and giving her big hugs. And while she knew there was something different about herself, she didn't admit until four years later how very attractive she found women and how much she wanted to spend time with them. She explained all this to Shirley one day in her blunt, don't-beat-around-the-bush style of expressing herself. Shirley, not understanding, went to her parents for guidance. After they advised her that it might not be a good idea to spend time with the girl down the street, she knew that — contrary to their thinking — she had to maintain their friendship. The fact that her parents perceived Theresa as being somehow dangerous appealed to her adolescent rebelliousness. Meanwhile, Theresa turned to her brothers. Playing ball and just hanging out together had created a strong bond between them. She wanted to know what they found attractive in girls.
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When their opinions echoed her very thoughts — not surprising since they were siblings — she knew she'd found out something very important about herself. She had exactly those same kinds of feelings about girls, and she knew she could love them. She accepted herself for what she really was, a lesbian. "She's the one who should be gang-banged," Shannon stated vehemently. "Only she'd probably enjoy it," Leslie pointed out, drawing on the fact that Didi was reputed as "the fuck of Fatherton High," that she'd been with more than ten guys already, at age sixteen, and possibly even some teachers. "Look," Shirley said matter-of-factly. "We can't just go out and kill her. And I don't care how bad a girl is, no one deserves to be raped. "The three faced each other solemnly, then turned back to her. "We all agree with that," Shannon said. "We'd have to do something else to her that she'd hate, but what could that be?""Suffer," Theresa growled. "She won't enjoy that much. "There was a brief silence, until Shirley suddenly had the perfect idea. "Robertson!" she said triumphantly. "Let's talk to Robertson!"2"Come on, Shirl'," Theresa said in a scornful voice.
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"Next to him we aren't even amateurs. ""See my point? Who better to consult than a pro?""Besides," she continued with a grimace, "if he does any favors — which he wouldn't for us — he usually requires a payment, like physically. "Shirley thought about that for a minute, then replied, "Why don't we hear him out first. Maybe we can reach some other agreement. ""Really, Shirley," Leslie argued, "that's like trying to change the laws of gravity. Who knows what that guy would do?""I don't think anyone, certainly not any of us, could think of an appropriate revenge better than he could," she argued. "I was in the same class with him last semester for I. A. ""Yeah," Shannon said flatly, "and he didn't know you from a hole in the ground. ""We weren't friends, but I bet he'd remember me. Why don't I go see if I can set up a meet with him?"The others turned to one another in silence. While it was a good lead, they were not really convinced of its being the perfect solution. Finally Shannon said reluctantly, "What about his fee?" At the very mention of "the fee," Leslie cringed. The others stiffened, aware of the horror she'd endured little more than a year ago. She had not yet met the others at the time, and had just that summer graduated from her junior high school.
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She was also just becoming aware of her lesbianism, though experiencing lots of inner conflict over it, and not ready to come out of the closet about it. One weekend over the summer she'd gone to a party at one of her classmate's houses while the parents were out of town. While there, a group of five boys from her class raped her. As soon as the first boy penetrated her, while the others held her down, she'd passed out. When she awakened, only to find another of the boys on top of her, she passed out again. What had made it all the worse when it was over and she finally regained consciousness was that, far from coming to her aid, the boy's violations had only heightened the intensity of the other party-goers' promiscuity and sexual activity. The trauma from that experience had left her vulnerable and fragile in an extreme sense. Since then she had undergone lots of counselling and therapy. While she continued the process of regaining inner strength and a feeling of self worth, she could easily lose both through only mild provocations. In a panic stricken state or under heavy duress her responses became startlingly irrational, like screaming, uncontrollable body spasms, or, as in this case, wetting herself. And if this example from Didi made her think that women were as wicked and evil as men, then what would be left?Shirley thought for a moment, then responded, "There must be more than just method of payment," she said hopefully. "What about money?" The others turned to her with sad looks of hopeless skepticism. "Come on," she encouraged as she dug her wallet out of her purse. "Look, I have forty-four dollars. What do the rest of you have?" This time the trio didn't say anything, just stared ahead with blank expressions.
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Exasperated, she blurted out "Is the cause not worth it!"That finally drew a response. Almost at the same time, Theresa and Shannon rummaged through their wallets, counting bills and coins, and Leslie followed suit. Altogether they came up with nearly one hundred and sixty dollars, which was surprising as none of them possessed any real form of financial independence. As soon as the financial end of the plan was settled, Shirley rose to her feet, saying, "All right. I'll go find Robertson and talk to him. I'll catch up with you girls later. "3Shirley felt out of character — in all fairness, out of her league — with what she was doing. It was really rare for to be this bold and outgoing. At least not to this extreme. Of the four, Theresa was definitely the most outspoken and brash, and even Shannon was usually more willing to make risky moves. Then again, there was more to seeing Robertson than just cutting this deal, and the others knew it, too. She had to admit to herself now that it had been futile, thinking he would help them in any substantial way when the best they could come up with was less than two hundred. It was well known around school that he was for hire, though the shady details of his deals were well concealed secrets. What wasn't a secret was his cover charge. The man was a nymphomaniac, and the exclusive form of payment was sex.
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To expect to get much out of him otherwise was a minimal chance at best. At least that's what she'd heard, though her sources were a far cry from Robertson's own inner circles. But there was more to him still. Robertson was also handsome and charming, dashing and flamboyant, in his own dark, mysterious way. Most girls were easy prey to his seductive manners. His good looks and erratic attire, which consisted mostly of black leathers with bullets and chains, was merely a flair. A lot of the girls who "went" with him were under no illusions. He appreciated them more for their bodies, for their breasts and asses and vaginas than for their intelligence or other talents. In a way that was both peculiar and exciting. It appealed to lots of girls, Shirley figured, just because of the kind of person he was and the image he projected. Every once in a while, if you were in the right place at the right time, you could hear someone from his sanctum sanctorum pass by a girl and say, "There's one of his cunts. "She and the other three had never discussed him before. What they all knew about him was common knowledge, and what they didn't know had never worked its way into their conversations. Shirley knew that Theresa did not feel any particular way about him, while Leslie found him repulsive. For all she knew, Shannon may have already been fucked by him, or was going to be.
Though she hated to think of her friend as a "cunt," she had to confess to herself that she was far from being an altergirl. Shannon had two boyfriends, one in a regular relationship and another she'd met only last month whom she'd instantly went head-over-heels for. She kept that fellow dangling on a string, which made Shirley cringe, because he seemed like a really nice guy, hardly deserving of that kind of treatment. So far Shannon seemed to be enjoying it, which made her cringe again. In fact, now that she thought about it, it almost made sense that Shannon had been fucked by Robertson. Shirley had expected more of an enthusiastic response from her, and its absence was a possible indication that she'd be embarrassed to be seen near him. Seldom did Robertson show interest in girls he'd screwed, unless, she supposed, they came back for seconds. But certainly not in any romantic context. Shirley remembered spending several of her Industrial Arts classes — a subject she had not excelled at — daydreaming about him in ways she had not drempt about any other guy before, in a mixture of amorous romance and bizarre perversions. This encounter was going to be a far cry from a chance to do business. It offered her the opportunity to get closer to him than she had ever thought possible. Robertson's two hangouts were punk hall, where his more interesting friends were found, and the school's I. A. wing. It was in the latter that she found him, clustered with six other unconventional students.
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Gathering her courage, she stepped up behind him and tapped his shoulder. "Excuse me," she said straightaway as he turned, "my name is Shirley. We were in the same I. A. class. I was hoping . . . That is, I want to discuss a venture with you. "He stared at her coolly for several seconds. Without a word he signalled for her to follow as he lead her away from his group of friends. 4They went to the cafeteria, an unusual place to discuss things of this nature, she thought, especially with the lunch-time throng surrounding them. As if to emphasize the point, before two words were out of her mouth, girls both young and older came up to talk to him, one after another. He told each of them politely yet firmly that he was busy at the moment and they would have to see him later. Shirley could plainly see the adoration on their faces when they approached him, especially in the younger girls, and the disappointment when they were turned away.
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When they noticed her sitting attentatively across from him, their expressions took the forms of disdain and contempt, sorrow and pity. No doubt a lot of these girls had fallen into Robertson's traps. Some, of course, had expected him to hand them their fondest dreams and wishes on a silver platter. Instead they'd only gotten screwed. She knew why they looked at her the way they did. It made her uncomfortable, not because she feared getting "screwed," for she knew what to expect if she did, but that perhaps she really wasn't prepared for the repercussions of her actions. When they were finally alone, he faced her and asked what he could help her with. She explained slowly that she and three of her friends wanted to get back at another classmate who'd wronged them and they'd like his help in doing that. When he asked who it was and she answered with Didi's hated name, he nodded his head in understanding. "That tart," he said, a phrase which somehow surprised her. The simple word, and the way he spoke it, made it almost sound sophisticated. "To be honest, I'm surprised it's taken this long for anyone to come to me about her. So what would you like me to do?"This also surprised Shirley. She'd thought he had a list of cruel tortures from which to draw upon. That he wanted her input was astounding!It also left her stumped, for the four of them hadn't thought of anything themselves.
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But all she had to do was think of Didi and what she'd done to Leslie, and the things she'd done all year, to get her brain working. She felt a deep, primal hatred for her, she wanted to see her suffer, to stand humiliated before the others. She told this to him, then added, "But we agreed that, no matter what you decide to do, we don't want her raped. That's too much blood on our hands. "Robertson suddenly laughed, the sound scornful. "You must take me for a real sick puppy," he scowled. Shirley found herself completely unprepared for this response, and more and more at a disadvantage with him. All of the rumors and stories, she suddenly realized, weren't true. She'd seriously misjudged him, and now that she was involved in a plot with him, where she didn't know what to expect, she wasn't sure she wanted to be. Before she had a chance to react to his ridicule, he moved on. "Two things," he said. "First, when and where are we to set this up?"Again Shirley was stumped by something else that hadn't been discussed. Then she remembered: "At my place, this weekend. My family's planning on going to the beach, but I'll beg off. I'll have Shannon tell Didi I'm having a party and invite her.
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They have a pretty cold relationship, but they at least talk. ""But will Didi trust going to your place?""Sure," she replied with growing confidence. "If Shannon tells her I'm having a bash, so there'll be lots of people. " She took a scrap of paper out of her purse to scribble her address on it, then handed it to him. "Good. There's something else, I don't know if you realize it. I don't do this for charity. There has to be a . . . fee for my services. "She searched his face and posture for some indication of what exactly he meant by payment. Now that he had her second guessing her assumptions about him she was no longer sure what his fee involved. She'd expected him to do something brash and direct, like sliding his hand along her thigh as a clue. Although not exactly pleasant, she almost hoped he would.
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It would spell things out a lot more clearly for her. She also found this new element of him, the unexpected complexity of the man, to increase her attraction for him. She wanted him to put his hand on her thigh, to slide it up, precariously close to that sensitive area. Unable to guess what he wanted, she told him that she and the others had pooled their finances. But he stopped her before she had a chance to reach in her purse again. "That's fine," he told her, "but you can't give it to me here. I don't want people seeing. " He rose from his chair and indicated for her to follow. "Come on. "She was nervous about his blatant display. In front of so many other students, wasn't this just as obvious, and far more presumptuous, as a simple payment. Oh, yes, she knew it was. Much more deliciously obvious!She willingly allowed herself to be lead away from the cafeteria, down the hall towards the northwest corner of the school, where the gym, punk hall, drama room and stage, and swimming pool were. They all carried possibilities, she thought, but what they offered most of all was privacy. It was the biggest possibility that dominated her thoughts.
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She knew now why he'd taken her to the cafeteria. He'd done it intentionally, to show her, through the example of all the girls who fawned over him, just what she was in store for, to dissolve any false perceptions she may have had, and what she could expect afterwards. 5There were not many lockers down this way, and so the clusters of students in the halls dwindled. Those that were there took notice of them as they passed. She was distinctly aware of the girls watching her. Jesus, she might as well strip down and give herself over to Robertson right then and there. Even before anything had happened she'd become a slut and whore, just another cunt. That's how they saw her. What the hell? She was just doing what she was supposed to. After all, every girl wanted to be fucked by Robertson!He lead her past the doors leading to the bleachers overlooking the gym. They were quickly running out of places to go as he lead her down the stairs to the main floor. Then he surprised her by leading her down the auxiliary stairway to the swimming pool. The passage was enclosed by wire fence and usually padlocked. There was direct access to the pool from both the girls' and boys' locker rooms, and the school didn't like the idea of students entering the pool area during class, especially boys watching while the girls had their lessons, so this area was cordoned off. It was just another indication of the diversity of the man, of his resourcefulness, the pull he had.
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Of course the fence surrounding the stairs was sometimes open, for maintenance and cleaning, and swimming lessons were offered at the pool. During these times the auxiliary staircase was used. But Robertson wouldn't bring her down here during any of those times. He wanted privacy, and she got the feeling that if he couldn't guarantee it he wouldn't bring her here. They descended the entire staircase and followed the hall halfway down to where the door leading to the pool was. Shirley had never been through this area, and was amazed by how bleak and desolate it was, not at all like the rest of the school. They were standing next to one another, and she turned her head to look into his eyes. There was no mistaking his confidence, of being in total control. That impression frightened her. Of course she'd known, or imagined she'd known, of his self assuredness. But here it now was, facing her, the real thing, and it made her nervously insecure. Her own willpower was insignificant compared to his. These realizations, despite what was obviously supposed to happen, made her physically move away, backing up until her back leaned against the wall. Her mind was floating amidst a mixture of passion and fear. Robertson watched her for a minute, then started rubbing his fingers against his temple in obvious irritation and slowly turned away.
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Shirley knew she'd done wrong, and quickly moved to rectify the situation. "I'm sorry," she pleaded. "Really, I am. I don't know what came over me. I'll do anything. What do you want me to do?" He remained where he was for a minute, not doing anything. "Here," she said, digging into her purse, "here's the money. " Perspiration crept under her arms and collar and her hands felt clammy. She felt like every move she made was wrong. "Whatever that can afford, y'know," she stuttered. "Whatever you can do for me. "Robertson moved quickly, like greased lightning. He spun back around to her. Only this time his pants were undone, his penis sticking out at her, long and hard. It caught her off guard.
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She was stunned, shocked, horrified. In the back of her mind she knew something like this would happen, and yet it sickened her. A plethora of responses raced through her body, mixed messages and crossed signals. One of the astonishing things that happened through her overwhelming discomposure was a contraction of her bladder, so that urine squirted through her panties, dripping onto the floor under her skirt. This response was completely unique to her, and an unsettling feeling came over her because of it. She became aware of her urinary track, felt the burning pressure of holding the rest of it in.
She was more distracted by what was happening right in front of her, this grotesque display. She forgot who she was with, her attention focussed entirely upon his tool. "What are you doing?" she blurted out at him. "What's the big worry?" he replied in an innocent tone. "I'm just doing what comes naturally between a boy and girl. ""Go away," she exclaimed. "Put that cock back in your pants and leave!""I want to find out something first. ""And what's that?""Just how hot you are for my cock and balls. ""What a horrible thing to say!""No, it isn't.
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I can tell, just from the way you're looking, that you're turned on by them. " As if to accentuate the point he gently stroked his erection in his hands. "It's all in your imagination," she told him, her voice growing weaker. Her eyes were locked on his peter, his words were mesmerizing to her. Her back pressed against the wall as he advanced on her, his member looking bigger and bigger as he approached. Suddenly she understood why he was called Robertson. "Nonsense," he replied, his voice convincing, "you're real hot for this. I can see it. Why don't you reach out and touch it?" He continued to gently stroke himself, making the offer more appealing to her. "We just shouldn't be doing this," was her final plea. "Of course we should. It's only natural. It would be a terrible injustice not to. You'll really regret it if you don't. "Her will finally defeated, she did what her body ached for, reaching out her hand and gripping his ram-rod.
It felt hot and firm in her hand. She was overwhelmed by a sheer, savage thrill. A longing her body had learned to suppress all at once sprang to the surface. All of her senses were heightened and her skin tingled with anticipation. She realized that her initial response came from an outdated stereotype of how women should respond to outright come-ons by men. That was what took place in her forebear's era, when a long, drawn-out, wooing courtship was to take place before a woman gave her consent. But that was as outdated as her father's 8-track player. Her generation no longer considered it necessary. A girl was allowed to acknowledge her own deep, carnal desires, and to act on them. The realization, like a revelation to her, caused her tension to ease, so that her body relaxed against the wall. In the process, the rest of her bladder discharged itself. She noticed only momentarily, not really caring as it ran down her legs and pooled around her feet. "That's it," he sighed in a quieted voice, "that's a wonderful experience. " "I can hardly believe this is really happening. It's so unreal," she sighed.
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She didn't know if he was referring to her stroking his erection or of her peeing her panties. To be honest, neither did she. It was nice, at least, not to worry about holding it in. "It's as real as ever," he said with full confidence. "More real than a lot of what you're learning here every day. ""It feels so good. ""For both of us, honey," he said. "Just wait, though. It's only the beginning. "Without slowing her stroking motion, she looked up at him and said, "And just what did you have in mind, Robertson?"In response, he gently reached over, slid her skirt up the sides of her legs until he had ahold of the elastic waistband of her soaked panties. Slowly, he slid them down, over her hips and thighs and knees until their heavy wetness caused them to drop to the floor, landing with a soft splash into her accidental discharge. She looked deep into his dark eyes as he leaned closer to her. His breath was warm and sweet and tickled her sensitive skin. His lips drew closer to hers, barely brushing them in a gentle kiss which drove her absolutely mad. He moved his face to one side and began nibbling and sucking on her ear-lobe.
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In a heated frenzy she pulled him even closer with her hand. She felt she could not be complete without him, without it. She ached for his closeness, for their union. With her skirt gathered around her waist, his hands burned against her naked skin. Her legs spread involuntarily, she arched her back a little and thrust out her hips imploringly. The moment came as an enormous shocking relief to her body. She'd thought to guide him in, yet with one easy movement he glided himself past the folds of her labia and up into her vagina. The moment seemed to last forever. It felt as though time slowed to a near stand-still. Her inner heat erupted as he reached up, farther and farther, until his body pressed right against her. His arms encircled her, moving up underneath the back of her dress to unclasp her bra. His hands pressed and fondled her breasts, forcing even more exciting sensations through her body as he brushed her engorged nipples. Her response, in a half-delerium, was to embrace his body tightly, nearly lifting her legs off the ground as they gripped fiercely around him. Their thrusting grew stronger. His mouth dropped to her neck, where he began a vigorous, hot sucking.
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She moaned loudly (not too loudly, she hoped!), the touch of his wet mouth thrilling against her skin. All of these sensations were coalescing inside of her: a molten flow which had so far lain dormant was building quickly towards eruption. With every deep, smooth thrust of his hard erection she felt it getting hotter, like a kettle about to boil over. Suddenly his thrusts became short and fast. She heard him breathing harder, heavier, each exhale accompanied by a deep moan. She feared his coming too soon, of not allowing her the ultimate release she longed for. But her fear only added to her passionate tension. She gripped him harder, like a vice, forcing her body to match the intensity of his. Suddenly he pushed up against her. He seemed frozen in time, his neck arched backward, his arms tensed around her upper body, his hands flattened against her breasts. She was there too. Her body had been moving rhythmically with his, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. She thought she heard her own voice crying out "Oh, yes. Oh, yes!" She only needed . .
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. He released his breath slowly, exhaling in a slow groan. She felt the quiver reflex of his cock inside of her. That single, brief movement was all that was needed to send her burning tidal wave cascading over. Her heart raced, all her muscles tensed as they never before had, and she swam as never before in a steaming pool of ecstasy. They held each other close for several minutes after it was over. Shirley did not want it to end, ever! She did not speak — words seemed useless right now — allowing, instead, only soft sighs of satisfied pleasure to escape her mouth. She was covered with perspiration, felt incredibly warm throughout her body. She became aware, as his penis slowly slid out of her, of all kinds of new feelings coming from down there. She was practically soaked! And not because she'd peed. Her vagina dripped with fluid, more even than during her wildest fantasies. The entire area, her pubis, inner thighs, in between her buttocks, they all felt wet and slippery. His body slowly drew away from her's as it did he kissed her once again. This time it was deep and passionate, their mouths on fire, tongues exchanged, slithering in and out. Finally he stood up straight, doing up his trousers and straightening himself out.
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She did not move so quickly to fix herself, preferring instead to let the moment linger, to allow herself to feel the passion of her own body as long as she could, not to let it slip away so quickly. She looked down at herself. Her shirt was rumpled and creased, her bra handing half-way out of it, and her skirt was still gathered around her waist, revealing her swollen pink vagina. Underneath her the puddle of urine had trickled down the hall towards the access to the swimming pool. The souls of her runners were no doubt wet and sticky, as were her socks. "I'm all wet," she stated when she looked at him with an embarrassed smile. Very practically, he reached into his jacket and drew out an old, ragged dishtowel which he handed to her. "I use that for blowing my nose," he said with nonchalance. "Thanks," she said as she took it, though not very gratefully. "Just a sec," he said. She stopped, watching him as he bent over to pick up her wet panty from the floor. He very firmly rung it dry, apparently not caring about getting her pee on his hands. Then, before leaving, he took her money from his pocket and gave it back to her. "I don't need this," he said. "You'll get your revenge, and I promise you it will be sweet.
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" Without another word, her panties held in a tight bundle in one hand, he walked away. INTERLUDEShirley had not felt the same since her love affair with Robertson. That's what she convinced herself it was. Perhaps he was not given to courting and showing in the afterglow of love making, but she had felt so much more than she had expected to. Her body had undergone metamorphosis from its contact with his. His driving force, so savage and primal and uncontrollable, forced a radiant energy to explode in her own. She had contracted his Phoenix, a fire within that would not be denied. Yet denied it was. She had not had contact with him since that day, despite her own yearning. A lot of the reason was preserving her own self image. She was scared of what the others would think if she started going off to spend time with someone she'd previously never interacted with. And there would be no mistaking, as conspicuous as Robertson was. She'd been controlling the glow she felt while at school, literally submerging it within herself. If the other three saw anything they did not mention it. While doing all she could to keep the intimacy of the encounter a secret at school, she was the exact opposite at home.
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As soon as she got inside the door she went to her room and behind its locked door spent hours dreaming and imagining and remembering. She crosses and re-crossed her legs, hugged her arms around herself, slid her body different ways atop her bed. And at night, when all was quiet and everybody else in the house was asleep, she would draw back the covers so that she could smooth her hands over her naked skin, her fingers moving farther down until they reached there, where she would touch and stroke and caress until her inner burning was satisfied in a series of deep sighs and tightly contracted muscles. It was not the same as when she was with Robertson. The experience of it, the feelings and sensations involved, were different, not as good, though sufficient. 6It was late in the afternoon when Didi arrived at Shirley's house, accompanied by a noticeably dishevelled Shannon. Shirley barely had time to say hello to her guests before Didi brushed past them both, giving the interior of the house a quick and immediately disapproving appraisal, and headed in the direction music could be heard from. Shirley gave Shannon a knowing glance, to which she responded by rolling her eyes wearily towards the heavens as a sign of hopeless surrender. Shirley gave her a reassuring, almost wicked smile and signalled for her to follow. They hurried towards the stairs that lead down to the rumpus room, only a couple of paces behind Didi. Shirley was high strung with anticipation over what was going to happen. She looked for the same response from her friend, but, judging from her body language, detected only exhaustion. All three reached the bottom of the staircase and entered the large, well lit rumpus room. Two chesterfields faced each other, one against each wall. Another chair sat near one of them with a side table beside it.
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Against the back wall was the entertainment centre, and beside that a full bar with a long mirror spanning the wall's entire length. Along the wall opposite the bar stood a large pool table, with a rack of cues alongside it. Leslie and Theresa both sat on the sofa beside the side table, close, though not right next to each other. Both looked at the three as they entered. "Hi, there," Shirley pretended cordiality, "Shannon's here. And you both know Didi. "They acknowledged Shannon in kind, although their affirmation of Didi was far more cool. Didi stopped short as soon as she saw Leslie sitting in the room. She stared at her, a mixture of disgust, confusion, and misunderstanding crossing her face. Leslie looked towards her with a cold expression, then turned her gaze away. Didi glanced uneasily at the others, who acted as though nothing was out of the ordinary. "Come on in," Shirley said in a friendly tone as she stepped past her. "I snuck the keys to the liquor cabinet. Want something to drink?""Yeah, sure," Didi responded in a vampish accent, no doubt attempting to regain her composure, "just a beer for now. " Slowly, keeping a cool eye on the other two girls, she slinked further into the room in an exaggerated manner.
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Her dress was bright red, the skirt riding more than half-way up her thighs, while the top was merely two straps crisscrossing the front of her body and ending in a loop at the back of her neck, leaving her back fully exposed. She wore matching high heeled shoes and black stockings, while a string of white pearls hung down between her breasts. Her blonde hair was brushed back, leaving a feathered effect on the top of her head. Her lips were covered with bright pink and her eyelids with dark blue. The rest of her face was a ghostly mask of white. Her light blue eyes contracted suspiciously as she took a seat on the second sofa, while Shannon joined the other two on the first. "Is this all that's arrived so far?" Didi asked with a sneer that did little to cover her nervousness. It was evident that she detected a trap. "Some others have arrived," Shirley replied as she made her way towards the bar, brushing her hand along the wood panelled wall. Suddenly she made a light rapping along a door set into the wall and which was not obvious from the other side of the room. The door opened as she passed, and Robertson entered, followed by another, taller man named Theodore Dane, a grade twelve student from their school. Though not as flamboyant as Robertson, he was equally known around school for his voracious sexual appetite. Theodore was a name that only appeared in the school yearbooks. Teachers and students normally called him Ted, although he was most commonly referred to around the school as Great Dane, because of his incredibly harry body, most noticibly on his chest and hands, although he was reputed to have a huge overabundance of hair everywhere else, particularly his ass. If he didn't shave he would have a full grown beard in a week.
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Another name whispered by some of the more adoring young girls was "Teddy Bear," which someone had overheard one of his girlfriends call him one day. He was dressed in black leather jacket and pants, large black cowboy boots and a dark muscle shirt. While Robertson's hair was long and wavy, his dark hair was cropped short. He wore a pair of large sunglasses, even though he was indoors, and a large gold chain hung from his neck. Robertson wore his usual, recognizable attire, covered with silver studs and bullets. Both also wore leather gloves. Didi looked absolutely shocked by their appearance and could barely croak a salutation. It was obvious by the way she shifted her body that she held both in high regard and was clearly attracted to them. Both had only returned her greeting when the door opened again and two more people stepped into the den, and a female voice rang out, "There you are. I've been waiting so long to meet you. I've heard so much about you. "
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