Chapter 6

Wednesday am - Ryan

"Oh SHIT!" It was accompanied by a warm foot in the middle of my back, shoving me out of bed. "C'mon Ryan. We gotta move, or we're gonna be late."

I know, I know ... RIGHT? When a girl sleeps in your bed and does unimaginably stupendous sexy things all night long - you are supposed to wake up to a nice loving, hot BLOWJOB and Sexy Girl part II. It's that way in every internet porn story I've ever read.

I cracked an eye and looked at Rebecca. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't THIS. Her hair was all over the place, sticking straight up, across her face, it was matted down in back and all tangled and stuff. Her makeup on her eyes was all streaked and blotchy. Her lipstick was smeared. She was hopping on one foot, trying to get her thong off - or on, I wasn't quite sure.

I want my cheerleader back. You know, the knockout prefect hot chick with the big rack. Well, ok. She still had the wonder-rack, and it was bouncing around while she was hopping. But - get the picture? She was a mess!! I don't know ... Maybe I'm not cut out for the overnight kind of boyfriend. Not if the girl looks like Friday the 13th in the morning.

From my position, halfway to the floor, I looked at the clock radio on the bedside table. It was an hour and a half before school. I could use at least 60 minutes of that for sleeping. The bitch kept me up all night with sex.

All right. I'm only kidding here. It wasn't so terrible. In fact it was fan-fucking-tastic. The best night of my life. Right in front of the first night I partied with the team after that win two years ago. I fucked Wendy Carmichael in the ass - that was my ass-cherry. Don't get me started.

But Becky was great last night. Sweet and sexy and needy and needing me and demanding that I fuck her and fuck her and fuck her some more. And when I couldn't get it up, she'd give me her boobs to play with or suck me in a devilish, exciting way andSPLOING~ Hello hard-on again.

Not this morning though. I crawled back over the bed and made a grab for her ... Just in fun. And I happened to grab her left bicep, where he old man had bruised her. There was a big purple hand-shaped mark there, and I regretted it instantly. "Ouch! Ryan, that hurts a lot." FUCK HIM!!

I swarmed over the bed and wrapped my arms around her. "I'm sorry, Becky. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I said it over and over and kissed her shoulder real gentle like, and I moved down to kiss her boo-boo. Then I had a great idea!

I moved my kissing up to her neck and sucked a great big hickey on her neck. It took her a moment, but she knew what I did. She shoved me off, and glared at me.

"Look Becky," I tried to explain. "Now when somebody sees the bruise, they'll see the hickey too. And you can tell 'em that I got a little over-excited and they'll never know."

"That's just STUPID. What a dumb idea ... I could never..." And her voice got quieter and she was mumbling on her way to the bathroom. She closed the door, and it didn't slam or nothing, so I knew she probably wasn't mad.

I knew that she'd be in there for a while, so I dragged myself upstairs to use the main bathroom. I did my shit-shower-shave routine in my usual time - for the first time since I don't know when, I didn't have any morning wood. And I was ready to go to school. Just an hour and a quarter to wait. I had my jeans and t-shirt on, so in the unlikely event that Daddy was up, everything would look normal.

And sure enough, he was early. He came out of his room about half an hour later, looking pretty spiff. He had on nice slacks, a polo shirt and a jacket. Very "country club" if you ask me. The puttering around the stove and coffee maker was a little strange. Daddy always has breakfast at the donut shop.

He looked at the clock, then went to the pantry and got out some Instant Breakfast. WTF?! I didn't even know we had that stuff, anymore. Last time I had Instant Breakfast I must have been 10. Anyway, he ripped open two packages, poured the contents and some milk in the blender, like "don't we always do this?" He drained it into two glasses and put it down next to some OJ on the counter. Then he snapped his fingers - seems he just remembered something - and got a straw from the drawer. He put the straw next to the glass that - I guess - was for Becky.

I watched all this like it was an episode of X-Files. What was with the time check before making breakfast? And the breakfast? He never did that. And so many things. I reached for the OJ, but he slapped my hand away. "No, dipshit. You wait for the lady now. The straw, since you seem to know nuttin', is so's she wont have to spoil her lipstick."

With about 20 minutes to go, Rebecca came up the stairs. "Ryan," she said, closing the door and not seeing the domestic kitchen scene arranged for her, "I couldn't find new sheets and..." She looked up and saw Daddy standing there. I looked at him with his big broad smile. And then I looked at her. She was dazzling now that she was fixed up. Hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, her makeup was the perfect, unnoticeable way it always looked. She wore a football jersey with my number - in fact it was my jersey - that came down to well below her pussy line, and a pair of yellow shorts that matched the colored number on the jersey. How do girls do that? My jersey was in my drawer, and she had something that matched the color of the numbering. Unbelievable. She had on some pale-yellow leg warmers and big floppy sox over them. I think they were my sox, too, now that you mention it. Where did she get all those clothes? Somewhere in the bag, I guess. Did she really have all that planned out in advance from last night? My planning for clothes is: is it clean?

She looked hot ... Um. Well, let's say Mr. Meat was standing at attention.

"Umm ... hi," she said in a little voice, directed at Daddy.

"Since my son is clearly thunderstruck at your beauty," that got a smile from her. I hadn't noticed how she had these really white teeth, with just one a bit crooked. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Mike Wylie. And you're Rebecca Tomaslovic. Very glad to meet you. Have some breakfast. I'm afraid you don't have time for a regular meal."

I looked at Daddy. First, he knew her last name. Second, he didn't pronounce it with VICK and the end, but with VICH, like she preferred. And C, what the heck happened to his Texas way of speaking? And "thunderstruck" - where did that come from? What was that about "regular meal"? I can't begin to tell you how weird this was.

Becky sat right down, picked up her Instant Chocolate Breakfast in a glass, and took a little sip. She was making little nothing remarks in between sips. Her hand was kinda covering up the bruise on her arm, but the hickey was very noticeable. Daddy caught on right away. "I'm sorry my son marked your neck, but on you, it looks good. It'll go away in a few days." She moved her hand up to her neck, self consciously. The purple handprint showed up like a fart in church.

"Ryan, you did this?" He pointed to the bruise. "You should be more careful!! You never hurt a woman."

"Oh no. Ryan didn't..." Becky started to say.

But I overrode her. "Daddy, I didn't mean it. It was an accident. I didn't mean it. I was just ... over excited."

He turned to look at me. With the eye that Becky couldn't see, he winked at me. "Just be more careful in the future. See that it doesn't happen again." He sounded real stern.

We were about finished with this "nutritious breakfast on the go" and none too soon. Now we WOULD be late. I grabbed Becky's notebook PC and her and pulled her to the door. "Gotta go, Daddy." And we were out the door.

Whew. That whole morning had been - what did the English teacher call it? - surparealistic. Or something.

Wednesday am - Lisa

Well, it's Wednesday. According to the published statistics on the OANIS (that's the Online Annals of NIS), Wednesday is when more virgins lose it than any other day. I considered my prospects: dim at best.

I buttered my English Muffin can drank my juice. It didn't seem very likely that my "romantic partner" and I would hook up. I wondered what the statistics were for meathead narcissist and sexually retarded, confused girl who could beat up anybody.

That was depressing. I was sexually retarded. I mean. 19 and never screwed? That would fit the definition, I was sure. And confused. Yea, I guess I was. I was interested in anybody that would do me. Period. But on my terms. Not those gropers in the halls. Rudy was nice, tho. He has a nice long thing too. Penis. COCK ... at least you can use the right word. It was bigger and seemed to be thicker than Ryan's. Neither one of them had the get-lost-in-them slate gray eyes that Prescott had.

ACK. I was dripping tomato juice on my English Muffin. Got lost in remembering all the boys and the feelings. AND I had a date with the eyes tonite. Assuming that wasn't just a joke. I didn't think it was a joke. Not to mention that Rudolfo was part of the 'thing' in the weight room yesterday. That was awesome. They had me pinned down ... and the towel was a little rough on my titties ... and the fur was ... mmmmmmm ... Shit. I was dripping again, but this time it wasn't tomato juice on my muffin. It was the OTHER muffin that was dripping. Or at least starting to.

I gathered up my stuff - really just a jacket - and drove to school. It was warmer today, and I didn't have such a hard time getting out of the car. I skated thru the Stripping Post, early again, and headed for homeroom. I sure hoped that homeroom was a little less exciting than yesterday.

Everybody seemed to have a little stroke for me today - all reasonable requests, I guess. Stroking on the face, or neck. Lots of soft stokes on my tits - they really got me "at attention", but the strokers didn't even dawdle. Well, one did: he came up from behind and put both his hands on my nipples and said "Guess who." It was a Latin voice, and I knew who was playing with me. I looked down and his big black hands were gently tugging first on one nipple then the other. Then somebody else started toying with my (admittedly sparse) pubic hair. THAT was a girl; she had pink hair! And I was getting hot and wobbly kneed. Then one boy wanted to take a picture of me, posing and standing over him, so my torturers stopped. That was weird. He looked straight up between my legs and must have seen that I was getting swampy down there.