Chapter 68

“Indeed. I have often thought that when a man selects one word over another, he often reveals far more of himself than he intended.”
—Mark Hodder, The Strange Affair of Spring Heeled Jack

THERE WAS NO STUDY GROUP Saturday afternoon. The girls were together getting dolled up for the Homecoming dance. I quickly realized that a guy with seven girlfriends could go broke buying flowers for these dances, so we arrived at the idea of drawing names and each of us buying a flower for one of our dates. This was different than when I took Joan to prom as my date. We were all going to the Homecoming dance together. I was going to feel like King Solomon and his harem. I just wished Em was with us, too.

Now there’s a thought. I’m no Bible scholar but certain stories just jump out and beg for examination. Or fantasy. Among them is the single verse in I Kings that says Solomon had 700 wives and 300 concubines. That’s like a different woman every night for three years. By the time wife 347 gets her next turn, they have to start by introducing themselves—and probably the two-year-old child that was the result of the last time they were together. And out of the thousand women, only one is given a name: Naamah the Ammonite, mother of Solomon’s heir, Rehoboam. Others were described as foreign princesses, including Pharaoh’s daughter.

Then there is the Queen of Sheba. Was she the Shulamite of the Song of Solomon? It says she came to visit Solomon and he gave her all she wanted. She left satisfied. Back to Ethiopia where the literature of her relationship with Solomon is far more extensive and holds that their son, Menelik I, founded the dynasty that ruled Ethiopia 2,900 years until the overthrow of Haile Selassie in 1974.

The burning question is, “How did Solomon manage to love and take care of a thousand women in his sixty-year life?” I had six girlfriends present plus my sister who I talked to at least once a week. Of the six present, I made love to only two and two others were anxiously waiting their opportunity. I wondered if Solomon’s wives and concubines had as good a relationship with each other as my girlfriends have with each other. Were they as free with their love toward the other wives as they were toward Solomon? Hmm.

My mother knocked on my door to inspect my suit and make sure my tie was straight. It’s not like I could go out and buy a new suit for every big event, so I was wearing the same one I wore for Brittany’s quinceañera. Mom had suggested the houndstooth vest and a white shirt instead of the peach-colored one I wore to match Brittany. I thought the blue and gold tie was a little overboard, but they are the school colors and it was homecoming. She shoved my trilby on my head and ordered me to the car. My responsibility was to pick up Desi. Rachel was picking up both Brittany and Livy. Joan, of course, was picking up Beca.

Nobody was going to miss Desiree Whitcomb at the dance. The bodice of her purple party dress glittered around her abundant breasts. Purple velvet tied the dress tightly around her stomach and then a patterned skirt flared out to mid-thigh, covered by purple tulle. I expected something more Victorian, but Desi was in full party mode with bare legs and three-inch heels that shaped them from her butt down.

“Want to just stay here and get a jump on your sixteenth birthday?” I whispered as I leaned in to kiss her cheek. She jerked back and stared at me.

“Don’t tempt me. Riko would be upset if I didn’t wear the dress she sewed to the party.”

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go to the dance.”

Mom didn’t ‘make’ me drive this time. Dad had the passenger seat and I handed Desi into the back next to Pey. All the girls had promised to meet outside the dance so we could get pictures together.

And what a picture we were! A metallic sparkling bodice of lamé or sequins or some other glittery fabric was a feature of each of the girls. Beca had a beaded top with navy blue gauzy A-line skirt. She was so cute I immediately wanted to run errands for her and make sure she had anything she wanted. Brittany’s pink skirt also had a metallic beaded top, but her cleavage wasn’t covered by the net modesty panel that Beca’s had. The V-neck of the bodice went deep enough to let me know the dress must have built-in support because there was no way she was wearing a bra.

Joan wore a pale blue skirt with a sparkly belt. Above that was skin. Just a hand’s width of bare tummy and back before the separate top made of the same sparkles wrapped her bosom and rose in a collar the same width as the belt. Yummy! I’d seldom seen Livy in a skirt. She tended toward shorts and athletic wear. Her pink skirt was made of layers of organza and the top was netting embroidered in red metallic flowers with a solid pink under bodice. I knew from weeks of careful observation that unless she was running or playing a sport, there was no bra under that bodice.

And then there was my sweet Rachel. She had a red layered skirt of organza or some such transparent fabric that gave glimpses all the way up to her dark red panties. The silver, red, and blue sparkles of her top rose to a strap over only her right shoulder. The rest was cut to follow the contour of her breasts and leave her left shoulder enticingly bare.

After Mom and Dad were satisfied they had enough pictures, we launched our parade into the dance.

“You think you’re pretty hot shit to walk in here with all those babes on your arms,” a voice growled at my shoulder as I prepared a tray of drinks to take to our table.

“Beg your pardon?” I said. “Do you have a problem with my dates?”

“Only with you having them all,” he said. I looked him up and down. I had a feeling he was a football player, though I hadn’t paid enough attention to the team to identify which one. “I’m going to see how many of them I can fuck tonight.”

“Hmm. Dude, better lay off the booze,” I said, sniffing his breath. “And you might want to grow a pussy if you want to fuck those girls. They don’t go for pricks.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m going to take them away from you one at a time. No reason girls that hot should be hanging around with a loser like you.”

“You don’t get it, man. I’m like the token male—an honorary lesbian—allowed to hang out with a bunch of cute dykes. If you want to get your dick wet, stick with the cheerleaders. They’re pros.”

The shove he gave me wasn’t quite enough to spill the drinks I was carrying. He looked over toward the table and the timing was perfect. Rachel was kissing Livy, Joan was kissing Beca, and Brittany was kissing Desi. I wondered if they realized what was happening and staged it.

“Fuck,” my nemesis said. He strolled away toward a group of guys on the side of the dance area who all seemed to be unattached. I wondered if we’d heard the last of him.

“So, did our cover story work?” Livy asked as we bounced next to each other on the dancefloor.

“Yeah, I think,” I said. “Bunch of girls out with each other and a token guy for some of the dances. I haven’t seen that much animosity around before.”

“He’s Bruce Kelly. His girlfriend dumped him a week ago and he’s been hunting ever since. Problem is that Chelsey trashed his reputation on the way out the door. None of the girls he thinks he deserves will have anything to do with him.”

“You know him?”

“He’s in my class, but not a friend. He’s one of those football guys who have over built and over trained. Probably getting some help from illegal drugs. Coach has an eye on him after what he did to Chelsey,” Livy said, leading me back to the table.

“What was that?”

“He hit her. Chose the wrong target for brutality. She waited until the whole team was in the locker room and then barged in with a black eye. Nobody had a chance to react when she announced that she wasn’t dating a juiced-up thug who thought he could beat a woman. Pointed him out and told the team their reputation rode on his shoulders. Then she disappeared, only to show up in the cheerleaders’ locker room and tell them what happened. They took it upon themselves to make sure every gym class heard about the story. Right now, he can’t get a date with anyone. The thugs with him are the ones who believe a guy should have anything he wants from a girl so no one will have anything to do with any of them.”

“I’m sorry I made a disparaging remark about the cheerleaders,” I confessed. I told Livy what I’d said.

“Ooh. Harsh. Not altogether inaccurate, but still not smart. Looks like you’ll have a chance to explain yourself.” I looked up in the direction Livy was looking and saw three knock-out girls in formals headed our direction. This was definitely the top of the cheerleading squad. In a school our size, there are about fifteen or sixteen varsity cheerleaders and two-thirds are blonde and totally stacked.

“So, you’re the guy who thinks all the cheerleaders are pros,” the first one to get to the table said. My girlfriends were all on edge and ready to fight. I needed to eat humble pie and fix this.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

“Five bucks and a hamburger will prove your point,” the second cheerleader said.

“What?”

“We might be pros but we’re not that expensive. Might even be persuaded to give out a free sample,” the third said.

“From what we’ve heard, you’re an honorary lesbian. I’d love to get licked by a guy who knows what he’s doing.”

“Have you embarrassed my boyfriend enough, Adrienne?” Livy asked.

“God, Olivia. I didn’t recognize you in a dress,” The first blonde, Adrienne, said. “I thought you were committed to the girls’ team.”

“See? Everybody gets a first impression and holds to it,” Livy laughed. “This is an intramural sport and both can play. Guys, let me introduce the top tier of our varsity cheerleading squad, Adrienne, Leslie, and Rosie. You all might as well grab seats and make it look like we’ve turned you to the dark side.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take this seat. It seems to be the only one available,” the third blonde, Rosie, said as she plopped her pretty ass in my lap. “If I feel you growing, I’ll know you’re a lesbian,” she said to me.

“How would you tell the difference between if I was a lesbian and if I was just a normally horny teenage boy?” I asked.