Chapter 88: Wolves Working Together

Friday, January 31, 1986

Jas reminded me — again — that it was ‘Darla night.’ We had a plan. She was ‘officially’ going to be ‘on a date with Monique,’ but she would actually be in our closet when Darla and I came in. Once I had Darla in position, she would sneak out and involve herself, following the general plan we had together.

If it blew up, we would be fine. There was a plan, though, and we were usually pretty good with plans.

Hopefully, this time would not be an exception.

I eventually settled on ‘My Chauffeur’ for the ‘date’ portion of our evening. I had only extremely vague memories of it from my first life. From what I could remember, it was ‘fine.’ Nothing memorable (obviously), but not bad.

It had romance, though, and — from what I’d read — the lead character was a fairly kick-ass woman. Darla would relate to that.

I wore a burgundy shirt, tan pants, and black shoes for this date, trying to not be too predictable. Darla, meanwhile, was somewhat more predictable. She had a multicolored blouse (blue and green were the most prominent colors), a beige skirt, stockings, low heels, and her now-ubiquitous glasses and ponytail. By this point, her not having her hair that way would either mean the rules had changed or would be an invitation for me to pull her hair back and put a hair tie around it once we were alone.

That might be fun, really, but we would probably have to discuss it first.

Maybe not, though. That I could imagine it meant, perhaps, that I was ready to do it if called upon. If it was the wrong thing, grandma might bop me with her basket at worst.

Holding hands, we headed to the car, then off to dinner. I’d picked a Mexican restaurant. Not Jose’s, though Darla deserved a trip there, and it had been much too long since I’d been there, but one in Bryan I’d heard good things about.

As expected, Darla really liked it. We intentionally avoided the subject of later tonight, sticking to easier topics like classes, mutual friends, and so forth. There were clues, though. A flirty swish of her ponytail, the occasional little wink or smirk, her hand touching mine several times, and — most pointedly — the wiggle in her ass anytime she had her back to me. She was excited, eager, and wanted me to know it.

What she wasn’t, as far as I could tell, was nervous. I didn’t know if she had a guess about my plans or was just willing to play it by ear, but I suspected we would surprise her tonight.

She might well surprise us, too. In fact, it might be hard for her not to, since we had no real idea of how this would go beyond the first part of things. She could stop the whole thing in its tracks, jump in with both feet and love every minute of it, or anything in between.

So much of who Darla was now would have come as a complete surprise three months ago, after all. And who I was with her would have stunned me, too.

The movie turned out to be better than I expected. It wasn’t a great movie by any standard, but it was a solid date movie, one where we could snuggle, hold hands, root for the girl (and for the guy to clean up his act), and enjoy the inevitable happy ending.

Darla grinned as we left, holding hands, and said, “That was fun! Like ... romance novel fun, maybe. Guy gets girl, but really, girl gets guy a lot more. Meaning, the guy she deserves, and helps him be, not the guy he started out as.”

“Happens a lot, I think, really,” I said. “Oh, that was more dramatic, but ... there’s a reason we talk about ‘bachelor pads,’ and why bachelors have such a mediocre reputation in general. Guys clean up their acts when a girl is in the picture.”

She giggled and nodded.

“The best kept secret is that women are often just plain slobs. Mothers try to teach us not to be, but most public women’s restrooms remind you of how bad we get. We can’t be slobs in public, but that might make us worse in private.”

I chuckled.

“I would never call you a slob, Little Red.”

She pretended to react in horror, saying, “I would never mean myself, Mister Wolf!”

“Certainly not. Tomboys are known for being very neat and tidy and the model of fashion.”

She snorted at that.

“Got me! I was the girl with the torn jeans. And the torn skin! Bruises, scrapes, all of that. Mom got so annoyed. It wasn’t until much later that she confessed she had been a tomboy as much as she could. It’s just ... Grandmother was stricter than Mom ever was.”

“You make a wonderful tomboy, Little Red. Never change,” I said, helping her into the car. Yes, my hand wound up squeezing her ass, which made her giggle and wiggle it.

As I got in, I said, “But always remember: tomboys sometimes need to be tamed.”

“Oh, yes, we do! Not perhaps tonight, though. I think ... I feel ... pretty tame.”

“Might that have something to do with something you missed out on last night?”

She grinned, not blushing a bit, and said, “Quite a lot to do with that! You are a mean Wolf!”

“Nah,” I said.

“Nah?” she said. “I beg to disagree!”

“Ah!” I said. “Begging! That sounds fun for later.”

She was blushing now, and considerably.

“I ... um...”

Then she shook her head, giggled a bit, and said, “Okay, fine! It sounds maybe fun. But you’re still mean.”

“Nah. Making you miss out on things tonight would be mean.”

She groaned.

“No, that’s cruel. Well past just mean!”

“Are you suggesting that tamed tomboys turn into...”

I paused, letting her imagine a few potential words, before finishing with, “ ... naughty little good girls?”

“I am not suggesting that. No. At least in my case, that’s unquestionably true!”

“Then I hope I give you a chance to be sufficiently naughty tonight.”

She blushed all over again and said, “I...”

Then she shook her head, grinned, and said, “Oh, fuck it! I hope so, too!”

“Good girl.”

“Dammit! Drive faster!”

I did not drive faster. No sense tempting the police, even if we did have a deal.

When I got home, I walked Darla in, holding hands. Angie and Paige were in the living room, and they just said, “Hey, Darla!” as she came in.

She said hello to them as well, and then we headed into Jas’s and my room. The room was dark, as planned, and the closet door was mostly, but not entirely, closed.

I turned on the lights, pulled Darla into my arms, and kissed her thoroughly, while holding her ponytail and giving her ass a squeeze.

She growled a bit. When we broke the kiss, she said, “Dammit, I...”

“Am in the mood to try something new.”

“I was going to say I was...”

“A naughty little girl who wants to be reminded of how to make that a part of being a good little girl?” I said.

“Dammit! Horny! Eager! Fuck-my-brains-out slutty!”

“That sounds like a naughty little girl to me.”

“Damn right!” she said, giggling.

“Undress for your Wolf,” I said.

She gulped, looked down, then up.

“Y ... yes, Mister Wolf,” she said.

She did, too. I sat in a chair as she did, watching. She was a contrast of blushes and smiles, making a game of pretending to be shy while also making sure all of her was on display.