Chapter 27

I was dozing, lulled by the steady roar of the plane's engines, trying not to think of the next five hours in a coach class seat. Folded like a grasshopper in a too-small box I let my mind drift to a more comfortable time, at the mall, in the front window of Alphonse's Minute Spa, not all scrunched up but sprawling in a chair more appropriate for a gynecologist's examination room than a display window. It was the Saturday after graduation, variously known as "Primp Day" or "Makeover Day" or "Prep and Pray Day." It's the day when grads of both sexes ready themselves for the Spring mating ritual of post-graduation dances.

My special NiS award was with me, where I could keep an eye on it, on the window sill between my spread legs. For now, where I go it goes. I slept with it last night. Given the statue's pose, petite and shapely Beth Finch stretched up on her toes, her back arched, reaching upward with both arms, holding a globe overhead ... well I'm sure you get the picture. As you might guess, given my lusty appetites, before I went to sleep I sheathed that exquisite artwork just where you might expect and pumped it in and out and around until I drowned the figure with the full flush of a glorious orgasm.

I assure you it was a gesture of ultimate respect, and I'm certain Beth, if I tell her, will appreciate the image of being stuffed head first and ankle deep in my cunt. I can tell her she beats the hell out of a hairbrush handle, she'll like that. Out of simple courtesy of course I'd taken her into the shower with me this morning, my soapy hands slipping all over her!

I can also say with certainty, judging by the sounds I'd heard from Carl's room, that the real Beth had thoroughly enjoyed their reunion.

Mom and Elaine? Do you have to ask?

Now I was at the beautician's. Understand, over the years I've gained a real appreciation of pampering. My freshman year, in preparation for the Homecoming dance, Heather McKenzie introduced me to thrift-shop couture and the sybaritic pleasures of being coiffed and waxed, stroked and teased from top to toe and all the wonderful places in between. I learned to lay back and enjoy it.

Besides, sybarite that she is, The Stick would give me no peace if I missed this opportunity.

On a more athletic note, before the first swimming meet of my senior year I'd expanded my Brazilian wax to a full-body depilation. An element of my all-in push for state championships, it was in the noble and self-sacrificing interest of reducing drag. My suffering -- oooyeah! -- had yielded total success, you'll be glad to know. Of course it also meant I got a lot more time to revel in the talented touch of lovely Lalita with her meticulous and exquisitely excruciating ways of removing hair.

She loves her work.

I love her work!

Now, with my graduation and with it the end of my scholastic swimming career, it was esthetics rather than athletics driving me to endure the regimen. Having taken care of my long appendages, arm pits and the like by ripping long strips of stubble off me, my lovely Hindi cosmetologist unleashed her full arsenal to make sure that my playground -- mons veneris, labia majora, perineum all the way back to the darkest recess in the valley of my glutes -- was satin smooth.

Working with one of those head-mounted magnifiers, her nose practically in my crotch, she'd reached the stage of using tweezers to remove fugitive hairs lurking in my most sensitive recesses. Every stinging extraction sparked my libido. She then fanned the ember with a soft warm puff of air from her sensuously full lips before smothering the flames with a warm lick. She insists that her velvety tongue is more sensitive for detecting stubble than her fingertips and who am I to argue? You won't hear me complaining, no siree -- eee -- eeee!

This mopping up of course released additional emissions from my eager tissues, which she was more than happy to lap up as they trickled all the way down to the sensitive pucker of my anal sphincter. The only problem with her oral modus operandi was that it of course stimulated more oozings, requiring yet more mopping up. It was a vicious circle which we both valiantly endured, my pelvis humping, my sprawled legs trembling, my abdominal muscles rippling in full view of the audience beyond the window while her tongue laved my gushing cunt.

It is said there are hundreds of languages spoken in India. Judging by Lalita's labial dexterity she speaks many of them.

But I digress.

Alphonse has also assigned his most skilled staff to prepare the rest of me for my Graduation Balls. My arms spread wide, as if I were being crucified on the altar of beauty, two manicurists plied their trade on my fingers, while pedicurists played "this little piggy" with my toes. Henri, Alphonse's first-string hairdresser, was softly whistling La Marseillaise as he tended to my coiffeur, his phony French accent in full flower.

"Ahh, mademoiselle, vous êtes tres chic! You will be la Belle de la Balle!"

Well, they do say the joy is in the journey. It was late afternoon before I was released to pedal my way homeward, Bessie's saddle marinating in my juices, the air stroking my totally exposed flesh. A light supper, and later, prepping for Lance's arrival, I studied the results of all this cosseting in my mirror. The gawky freshman of four years ago had morphed into a woman of substance. I had filled out, my training adding muscle even as hormones shaped my femininity. My long legs were well-sculpted, my hips gently rounded. I didn't have much of a waist, my dolphin kick having built my abs and obliques, but my butterfly stroke added to my delts and lats and expanded the pecs that backed up my modest boobs.

The stick is dead, long live The Stick! my alter ego exalted.

You betcha!

The ruby pendant glowed richly in the valley between my tits as I fastened my necklace. The matching earrings brought out the highlights of my blonde hair, accenting the smooth column of my neck and the muscular breadth of my shoulders. Turning and looking over my shoulder I checked the effect.

From the back I looked like a goddess.

Vanity thy name is woman The Stick scolded.

If you got it, flaunt it, I retorted.

Hearing the doorbell, then the sounds of my moms greeting my escort, my heartbeat quickened. Drawing a deep breath, I picked up my little clutch purse, teased a lock of hair back into place, checked my minimal makeup one last time, slipped my feet into my barely-there low-heeled strappy silvery sandals and was ready to venture forth.

At the last minute, after a short dither, I snatched up my trophy and brought it with me, though I was torn. Showing it off felt like bragging, but I was so proud of it I couldn't leave it behind. Besides, Beth would be at Steph's post-dance party in the flesh. In the melee after graduation I wasn't sure she'd had a chance to really appreciate it.

Then, too, I wanted to share the glory with my friends, who had so much to do with what we'd accomplished.

Give me time and I can rationalize anything.

As I left my room I felt the way I did on the starting blocks before a race. Although Lance and I had been dating since my junior year I couldn't help wondering what his reaction would be to my current appearance.

The effect on him was everything I could have hoped for. His eyes flicked from the foot-high trophy in my hand -- no disapproval there -- to me, scanned me up and down. His eyes widened, his pupils dilated, his jaw dropped.

"Holy shi... ! Seriously, that's what you're wearing? My God you are beautiful!"

"Thank you, sir. So are you," I assured him. In his tux he looked good enough to eat, which I fully intended to do before the night was out, after I'd peeled him like a banana, of course. He slipped a sweetly scented Baby's Breath corsage on my wrist before we met in a kiss and an embrace that hinted of pleasures to come. I could feel him straining against his reproductive instincts and knew we had to get out of there before he threw me over his shoulder and carried me off to have his way with me.

"Pictures, pictures!" Elaine insisted, so Lance and I posed while flashes went off. As I blinked away the spots left behind I noticed both of my moms were wiping their cheeks, so I just had to go to them and hug them and kiss their tears away before fleeing into the night.

"See you tomorrow," Mom choked out. "Have a wonderful time." I saw Elaine gather her in as we headed out to Lance's car, and not for the first time I gave thanks that they had found each other when they did. I'd seen the bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge. Since Lance and I weren't coming back here tonight I knew Elaine would be sipping the bubbly out of Mom's navel -- and other intimate recesses.

Oh, the games that they play!

The gym was already filled with beautiful people but our arrival at Central High's Graduation Ball did not go unnoticed. Tall and athletic, we're quite a couple. I momentarily flashed back to my first high-school dance, when I'd been the keystone in the Terrific Trio. With the statuesque Kathy Powers on one arm and Greg Anderson on the other we'd gotten a hell of a reception.

That had been a lark, but this was different. Familiarity reduced the shock value, of course, and this was a bittersweet time of celebration and parting.

I was so proud to be on Lance's arm! Unlike the guys wearing ruffled shirts and flashy dinner jackets with satin lapels, Lance was subdued and dignified, his marvelous physique filling his tuxedo's cream jacket to perfection, his shirt pleated rather than ruffled. His studs and cufflinks, in keeping with my jewelry, were rubies. The bow tie and matching cummerbund were a rich wine red, the crisply creased black trousers had a narrow black satin stripe down the seam, his shoes were polished to a mirror shine.

His garishly striped and mismatched socks were the perfect frivolous touch to go with my multi-colored toenails. As I triumphantly held my trophy high the crowd formed a lane, applauding us, and I felt a pang, knowing that come fall our class would be scattered like dandelion seeds.

The gym had been transformed into a wonderland of pastel and white crepe paper. The overhead lights dimmed and a cliché rotating mirrored globe indiscriminately sprayed colored dots on the walls, the floor, the attendees in their formal finery, while romantic candle-like lights glowed on the tables. All this was the work of Shelly Winthrop, Kathy Powers's successor as resident artist and decorator. Shelly had applied her own special romantic touch. The decor lacked the edgy creativity of Kathy's Halloween-themed Homecoming soiree but was more appropriate to this more formal occasion.

Mrs. Devers looked so good in her little black dress I wanted to unwrap her like a candy bar. She looked me up and down, discretely but suggestively licked her lips and gave an approving nod and a knowing smile.

My pussy puckered at the memory of that wonderful interlude we'd shared not so long ago.

Naturally the gang gathered and Lance and I led them to an out-of-the-way corner rather than taking center stage. I'd had enough of being the focus of attention. All of my lunch bunch was there, with their dates. Dear Peggy was with a sweet boy, a junior named Ryan, shy and gentle, rumored to be gay. I wondered if she was following in Heather's footsteps, picking a nice safe escort. At the other extreme, the guy Fran was dating was a total extrovert and her physical opposite. He absolutely doted on her zaftig contours and when they slow danced she engulfed him.

Inez, on her way to nursing school, was a Latina princess, her ebony hair swept up, pinned with jeweled combs, twisting strands framing her angelic features with her sparkling dark eyes and glittering white smile. Her skin glowed like copper against her snowy dress, the knee-length bouffant skirt showing her shapely calves and delicate feet in heels. Her date was another Latino, a soccer player as lithe and graceful as he was macho. Before the night was out they would dance a tango that steamed up windows and eyeglasses.

Cindy's blonde curls were lightly dusted with sparkles, as was the tantalizing valley of her décolletage, the blue of her gown matching the color of her eyes. Her date, a junior, a trim and handsome tennis player, sneaked peeks at her buxom display.

The Spirit of Central High trophy became the centerpiece at our table, someone always there to keep an eye on it as people wandered by to admire it. When people thanked me or congratulated me I tried my best to explain that it belonged to everyone who'd helped defend The Program. Mercifully I was left pretty much alone when I was with Lance on the dance floor. During an early slow dance I felt Lance's endowment bloom against my tummy. Unable to resist I pasted myself against him like a fly on flypaper. Straddling one of his thighs, riding it like a barrel racer on her gelding -- which he was NOT -- I wriggled and squirmed until I felt the hot pulsing of his release on my hip, my own happy orgasmic sighs mingling with his soft grunts.

His recuperative powers being what they were I knew this would only take the edge off so our later amorous adventures would be more extended and satisfying. Of course he wasn't the only boy to come off the floor with a wet spot at his crotch. Some of the ladies' outfits were almost as revealing as mine. Their dates were as quick to take advantage of the exposure as the girls were to enjoy it.

Oh! And in case you haven't already guessed from Mrs. Devers's subtle greeting, all I had on was my ruby necklace and earrings and my strappy silvery sandals. Alphonse's detailing of my flesh was on full display.

I would have liked to dance the night away right there on my home court but unfortunately, like the President making the rounds of Inaugural Balls, we had to put in an appearance at Lance's Graduation Dance. After all, he deserved the company and attention of his friends at least as much as I did mine.

The dance at South High all but half over, our arrival created a different stir than we'd produced at Central. I also tend to attract more attention on foreign turf. The dancers on the floor parted and eyes and whispers and murmurs followed us as we headed for the table occupied by Lance's party. Of course the trophy traveled with us, Lance making me blush as he showed it off and explained its significance. Central's efforts on behalf of The Program having benefited the other district schools NiS programs, it met with approval.

The overall reactions of Lance's classmates varied. Even though we had been an acknowledged couple at both schools for over a year there were still a few chauvinists who objected to our consorting with the enemy. Some of the ladies' glances were sharp and envious. I'd had those at my school as well, along with a few prudes who took exception to my display, their lips pursed disapprovingly. At South I was the only one NiS, so I felt incredibly sexy in just my skin. I guess none of the girls at South had wanted to pass up the opportunity to get all gussied up in their finest finery.

Then there were those who, while enjoying the scenery, avoided contact with me as if I were radioactive.

My glands were in full mating mode by now. Given the dancing we'd already enjoyed my pussy was licking its chops. As Lance and I tripped the light fantastic there was a tendency for us to pinball from one encounter to another too frequently for it to be entirely accidental. When I was tight with Lance there were exploratory touches to my butt. When we were swinging apart hands brushed my tits, even my pussy. More than once I had to extract an excessively adventuresome digit from my recesses.

Then there were those boys who were more than eager to make my acquaintance by cutting in on us -- much to their dates' objections, I might add. At some point I felt that Lance was actually being a little too accommodating and refused to accept any more invitations, preferring to have his hard-on poking me rather than some drooling stranger's.

In the end it was a relief to escape to what I expected would be the more relaxed environs of Stephanie's backyard. I should have known there'd be no chance of making a discreet entrance.

They must have had sentries out, because the moment Lance and I appeared in the door opening on the pool deck we were greeted by a brass band -- well, my brother Carl's trombone, anyway, backed up with Terrell Ford's keyboard in full orchestral mode, with Steph on table-top percussion and Kathy Powers on tambourine trying not very successfully to imitate the tympani.

Naturally, I was greeted by what had become my leitmotif (thank you Music Appreciation), the opening bars of Also Sprach Zarathustra.

Holy shit! Ain't THAT glorious! The Stick exulted as it blared on.

Oh shut up! I'm trying not to cry I protested.

And do ya think they would cut it short? Oh no! While I stood there blushing and shuffling my feet they ran the full hoo-raw, all two minutes and seven seconds of it, Judy Liu capping off the final smashing chord with a syncopated thump-a-thump-a- launch off the diving board into a fantastic full-twisting one-and-a-half summy, which the little scamp gleefully if inartistically finished off with a cymbal-clap of an entry that threw water far and wide. Lance had his arm around me and for a moment all I could do was lean against him while everyone cheered and I gathered my wits.

God! With the exception of my moms everyone who meant anything to me was there. The school festivities being limited to graduating seniors and their dates meant Carl and Beth, Steph and Kathy and a host of others had presumably been partying for some time. Our crew from the dance had obviously cut out a bit early to beat Lance and me here. For alums this blast was an informal homecoming, while certain familiar underclassmen -- like The Dirty Dozen -- had been invited to share in the festivities.

Terrell Ford had assembled a makeshift band -- Carl with his trombone, while Steph contributed not just flute but also clarinet, sax, oboe, with an occasional turn on the guitar and even fiddle as the night went on, but not all at once -- she's talented, but not that talented! -- with her lover Kathy Powers, on leave from her artistic studies, handling percussion, sort of. Gretchen Gardner (she whose Dad had been ticketed for passing the school buses at middle school) and former Dirty Dozen stutterer Bill Harris provided vocals. His forte was something called "scat," though in the school choir he could do equal justice to Mozart.

He and Gretchen seemed to have become an Item. At the very least they enjoy harmonizing musically.

The returning alums of that inaugural SACNISP year were in attendance. That meant Heather and Matt, Samantha and Max Wang, Walter Miflin. Mike Collins had just graduated with me. Retta Jones was in the pool, letting the water buoy up her double Ds. It's worth noting that, through her efforts as chair of SACNISP following me, girls of her endowments were permitted to wear lacey, open tipped bras while in The Program. Bustiers were also acceptable as long as the nips were exposed for exploration.

But getting back to my present embarrassment, all the partiers had interrupted their activities, coital and otherwise, to celebrate Lance's and my arrival, and now stood there, waiting expectantly.

Shit! Now what should I do?

"Show us the trophy!" the always helpful Beth Finch yelled.

"The Trophy! The Trophy! The Trophy!" the crowd began to chant.

Oh fuck. So I showed 'em the trophy, raising it high. Finally, by waving both arms I managed to shut them all up so I could make my little speech -- again! I tried to somehow get them to understand that this was for all of them, that none of it would have happened without their help, but I don't know that they bought it.

In the end I put it on the buffet table for them to admire. As the evening went on I noticed the guys -- and Kathy and Steph, too -- had a tendency to run their hands over Beth's image. If that little statue had had voodoo powers she would have been in a constant orgasmic state. Not that she needed it with Carl there.

After making the rounds greeting people and slaking our initial appetites for food, drink, and sex -- not necessarily in that order -- followed by a refreshing and cleansing dip in the pool, I cuddled and relaxed in Lance's arms, enjoying him, the night, the music and the chatter, only to have all that fade into the background at the unexpected sight of Greg Anderson emerging from the house

In Program uniform, of course.

Greg?! Here??!! My heart stopped. It was one of those cinematic moments, my vision zooming in on him even as everything else faded into a blur, the ringing in my ears drowning out the music. I hadn't seen him in over a year and he looked better than ever!

Greg, my first real lover. He and I had done the deed together for the first time right here, out at the end of the diving board next to us, the board that was still quivering from Judy's latest gainer. Oh how we'd made that board bounce!

What a birthday present that had been, given and received in full view of everyone at my party, including my mom and sundry other parents, no less. Kathy Powers had captured the high point of that memorable moment, me atop Greg, his cock in my pussy as I sang my joy to the night sky. She'd done it first as a sketch that today hung on my wall, later as an etching that sold for a pretty penny in a local gallery, the same gallery that displayed the originals of Kathy's series of sculptures of Greg and me demonstrating all the stages and positions of sexual intercourse.

The etchings plus bronze reproductions of those statuettes provided Kathy with a respectable income, allowing her to continue her studies wherever she chose, which was usually where Steph was.

Greg here? Now?

Suddenly I was torn.

No, I was shredded!

Oh God, oh God, oh God! No way had I expected this. He was supposed to be off in Michigan or someplace, licking his wounds after missing out on the Olympic team.

I'd thought I was over Greg and he over me. Obviously I wasn't, and his presence here...

I clutched at Lance to steady myself as my pulse resumed in a rush.

"What's he doing here?" was Lance's reaction, his tone more hostile than curious.

"I don't know! Oh God."

"I didn't think you kept up with him."

I was reduced to stammers. "Well, I don't, didn't, exactly. I don't. I guess I sorta did, when he got in the sports pages, but neither of us wrote, and oh God!"

No way could Lance not notice how this was affecting me. No way!

"What're you gonna do?"

Even as I answered that I didn't know I slid into the pool. It was like there was an incredibly powerful force sucking me in Greg's direction. At the same time Greg was wading down the steps of the shallow end, heading in my direction. Oh God he looked good. He'd obviously trained hard and his physique was absolutely awesome, and just as devoid of hair as mine.

I struck out in a slow breast-stroke and we met in the middle of the pool, where the bottom dropped off to the deep end. Even with my feet planted firmly on the bottom, I felt like I was in over my head, as stupid and slow and clumsy and awkward as I had felt the first time I'd sat down next to him at the time trials so long ago.

We didn't touch. He looked as uncertain as I felt. We'd never really actually broken up, just sort of fallen apart, two loose ends left dangling with half a continent between us. I still wanted to jump his bones, and by the looks of his boner he wouldn't have minded at all.

But a lot of water had gone through the pool filters since we'd parted, and there were issues to be resolved, a snarl of feelings to be untangled. My accident had left me feeling that I'd totally screwed up all our plans for the future. As a pair the media had talked like we had a lock on Olympic golds. The Golden Couple they'd called us, and with one careless dive I'd thrown all that away.

The media had even blamed me -- I still blamed myself -- for him missing his chance at the Olympics.