Frances and Zebulon Mercer, that's us. Married thirteen years, about to be divorced. Frannie is now 42, me 43.
We met in high school as seniors when I transferred in to Morningside High. She the prototypical homecoming queen: tall, pretty, popular, rich parents. I the prototypical nerd: short, singularly unlovely, not popular—practically invisible really—and poor. But, I had one redeeming quality: I carried a Stanford Binet intelligence quotient of one-sixty same as my weight if it matters.
Frances Parker's daddy, Roger Parker, owned a half dozen car dealerships in the state, and had done very well for himself in the business. His wife, Caroline, had died giving birth to Frances, and her dad Roger had never remarried. I'd learn later that Roger and Caroline Parker had been true soulmates: it was impossible for him to love another.
My dad got a job as a janitor at the high school, and thereby the reason why I'd transferred there in my senior year. My mom had died too, a few years before, Cancer, and I missed her terribly. But, dad and I managed. I sometimes helped him out after school if my schedule allowed. He was all for me doing well in school: nothing else mattered. I suppose the good news was that I felt the same way and never let him down. My dad was proud of me, and I was inordinately proud of that great truth.
Okay, so you're wondering how a short, ugly guy, with no money, no car, no social standing, nothing really, except that I was well read; could possibly have hooked up with miss all-everything. Simple I was handy and pliable. Boy was I pliable.
During my senior year I had had no dates whatsoever. None! I had, however, been invited to a couple of parties, attended both, and achieved whatever the male equivalent of wallflower status is. Hell, I hadn't even gotten drunk. I was a disgrace. And then it was May: prom time. I wasn't going. My dad pressed me to ask a girl and to go, but I'd demurred; I wasn't into the humiliation thing.
"Oh, there were a few girls in the same boat as me that I could've asked, and I considered it. But, I couldn't dance, alcohol at that age upset my stomach, and talking and socializing were not part of my skill set; some good news though: I got used to alcohol when I got older—a lot more used to it actually. Oh, but did I mention that I was a straight-A student—yippee-eye-o-kai-yay!
As it turned out, May was also finals month. And, as it also turned out, Frances Parker was not a straight-A student. She was in fact a gnat's eyelash from failing both Chemistry, and this was her second go at that one, and Math-II. Guess who she asked to help her through those two horrendous finals. Yeah, well, I wasn't about to turn her down. Just being around her, smelling her, was wonderful. At any rate she did what I told her to do, and she passed, and I got a kiss for my efforts—on the lips—one of the few kisses from a girl that I had ever gotten; I didn't wash my face for a week.
Two weeks before the prom, she was waiting for me.
"Hi, Zeb, got a minute?" she said.
"Yes, Zeb, Frances, me. Got a minute?" she repeated.
"Yes. For you, of course," I said. She smiled indulgently.
"Zeb, you know my boyfriend, Trey Mitchel, right?" she said.
"I know he's the star quarterback and about all everything else," I said "But, know him? No, we travel in different circles, actually." I got a look from her for my remarks.
"Well, yes, he is kind of the man about campus, I guess," she said. "Anyway, he was going to take me to the prom, but he can't go; has to see his grandma upstate; I think she may be dying or ill or something; Trey wasn't sure. Anyway, I need a date for the prom. You wanna volunteer to help this girl out?"
"Huh?" I said.
"You know take me," she said. I stood there staring at her. I just could not seem to process her words. Helping her with a Chem exam was one thing; I was good at Chemistry, but taking her to a formal dance and the inevitable all night parties afterwards just did not process, not for me.
"Huh?" Now I was repeating myself. She snapped her fingers.
"Look, Zeb, I need a date. I know you don't have one; I asked around. Any of the other guys who might want to take me, and who don't already have dates of their own, are either on Trey's shit list; or they're, quite frankly, afraid of me. You know me. We've worked together on those exams. We're on pretty good terms. Right," she said. "And my dad liked you, trusted you. So whaddya say?"
"Absolutely!" I said, all too enthusiastically. "But, I should tell you one thing."
"What?" she said.
"I'm afraid of you too," I said. She laughed.
"Yeah, right. The school egghead is afraid of little 'ole average me," she said. She was getting a pain in her side she was laughing so hard. I didn't know what was so funny, but I began to laugh too. It was cathartic.
Any parent knows what the term prom means—expenses, big expenses, and those for both the boy and the girl. I knew my dad would fund my date; hell, I didn't have any money, but I was going to feel mighty guilty asking him.
I called Frances two days before the night of the prom just in case, just to confirm; but I only got her dad. He said she was out getting her dress fixed or something like that. So, I left him a message that I would pick her up at seven; he said that he'd deliver the message. We knew each other casually from the times when I had helped Frannie with her exam prep.
They were sitting in his dad's Cadillac's back seat. They'd been making out for some little time; The windows were steamed up.
"I am so glad you got back in time," she said. "And, your grandma's okay." said Frances.
"Yeah, she's got diabetes, Like I said, and it was touch and go for a few days, but she will be okay now if she sticks to her doctor's orders and takes her meds. My aunt Helen is staying with her for the foreseeable future. Anyway, she's okay.
"Hey, but I'm glad to be back too. We're going to the prom, right?" he said.
"You betcha stud. I was so disappointed when you thought you couldn't make it. I mean I wasn't upset or anything; your gramma is a first priority; but well, anyway, I'm just glad you're back."
He reached over to her and began unbuttoning her blouse. She smiled him her encouragement. He peeled the fabric from her shoulders. He hefted one breast then the other. "I've missed these," he said.
She giggled. "I missed your touch," she said. She raised her breast toward him. "Suck on this one, okay."
"Your wish is my command," he said. He suckled on the fleshy mound for some moments; then, switched to the other.
She pushed him away. "My turn," she said, as she unzipped his pants. He raised up to allow her easier access so that she could pull his pants down. She did. Reaching inside his underpants, she wrapped her hand around his seven-inch sex engine. She smiled. "I think junior wants me."
"More than you can possibly imagine," he said. Leaning forward, she licked the precum from his cock. She looked up into her boyfriend's eyes. "Warn me when you are about to cum. Okay?" He nodded.
She let the tip of his cock slip between her lips. Sucking on the glans for some moments, she gloried in his discomfort as he fought to endure the tickling sensation that her doing that always caused him. Then she let his cock slide deeper into her mouth and throat as she began sucking him in earnest.
"It was some four or five minutes before he shuddered and mouthed the warning that he was about to cum in her mouth. She let his dick slip from her mouth and began jerking him off furiously. His spray hit her in the face. She plucked a gob of it from her right eye with her index finger and licked it clean.
"God that was wonderful," he said.
"Glad you liked it," she said.
I arrived six minutes early. No, that's not right I didn't just arrive; I arrived in style: tux, corsage, and limousine; I'd even had my hair styled if you can believe it. The chauffeur opened the door for me and waited while I went up to get my date. Jesus was I nervous—never before and never since anything like it, not even on my wedding day.
"Hi Mr. Parker," I said, as he opened the door. He gave me a funny look.
"Zeb?" he said.
"Yeah, it's me. I look a lot different tonight don't I?' I said, smiling to beat the band.
"Well, yes, you do; but what, what are you doing here? He said. I frowned.
"To pick up Frannie for the prom. You know, I left you the message Thursday," I said. He actually looked shaken.
"Zeb, Frances went to the prom with Trey. I was sure she told you about her change of plans," he said. He looked beyond me to the ride I'd hired. "My God! That girl didn't tell you did she!"
I was sick to my stomach. I hadn't originally planned to go, but because of the chance to go out with Frances Parker, my dad had laid out $500 plus for my big night. I think all of the blood in my body rushed to my face at that moment.
"Zeb, I'm sorry, boy. If I had known that she hadn't contacted you—I—I'm sorry," he said. "Look, come in, please. You and I need to talk."
"No, no, I think I need to go," I said. "I need to go now!" I turned to leave, but two steel hands gripped my shoulders and all but yanked me into the house.
"Zeb, sit over there. I can see you're—distraught. I know you had to put out a ton for this special night, and don't worry. I will pay you back every cent. And, I can assure you I will be taking it out of the hide of our little princess," he said. I shook my head.
"Mister Parker, I can't take your money. I'll just chalk it up to experience and get on with things," I said.
.... There is more of this story ...