Chapter 2

Michelle returns home.

This is the tale of a young woman’s journey of self-discovery. Initially the protagonist is unfamiliar with the correct terminology for, use of various items, and safe practices. Please forgive her many errors. Don’t use this story as a how-to guide. There are several ‘daydreams’ in this story most are in fictional settings, the one at the University is imagined by the character. SHSU probably has rules against what is described.

SUNDAY NIGHT

I woke up snuggled up with, and half on top of my little brother Peter, with him holding me in his arms. I had to pee, which is probably what woke me up. But I was able to repress my body’s need for a while, for quite a while until Pete woke up on his own. I love Pete, and I thought that I might ‘be in love with’ Pete, which made it even more complicated. While I didn’t get off the couch because I didn’t want to wake him, I also didn’t want to wake him because I needed time to think. I wanted to remain in his arms a little bit longer.

As we laid in one another’s arms, both of us barely awake, but neither of us wanting to get up and leave, our father came down the stairs.

“My, you two make a really cute couple.”

Dad had meant it as a joke, but it was true, Peter and I did make a cute couple. More importantly we made a loving one. Peter got up and started to fold the blanket that we had shared the first night of what I was thinking might just turn out to be our courtship. As he did, I filled the carafe of the Mr. Coffee and scooped coffee into the pleated paper filter from the ‘mid-century modern’ spun copper jar that I loved. There were four in descending size, flour, sugar, coffee and tea. Another relic of simpler times when Peter and I were more innocent, and when the four of us were all together.

The coffee made, and in cups I started to cook our breakfast, or maybe brunch, arguably an early lunch from the time indicated by the clock on the wall. As I was frying some eggs, mom came in using her key, just another point of confusion in my life. Why weren’t you here all along?

After a nice family breakfast, we went down to the boathouse, and took the boat out onto Lake Livingston for the afternoon. Entering the boathouse where we had observed Sheila and dad last night I couldn’t help but notice that the larger storage room, the one with the green table and cuffs and paddles was securely locked. A deadbolt had been added above the familiar knob in the time since I was living in dad’s house.

“Has there been any trouble out here?” I said pointing at the deadbolt.

“No, it’s just a hopefully unnecessary precaution,” dad said.

Cavalier is not a place any sane criminal would choose to work. You pretty much have Huntsville 30 minutes to the west and Livingston an hour or so east. Highway 190 skirting the upper reaches of the lake is the only paved road connecting them. Detection equals capture, hiding in the National Forest, or a long swim.

Mom was standing right there next to the door to the dungeon. Did she know what dad did in there. It was all kind of surreal. Did mom and dad ever play like Sheila and dad. Mom wearing a leather mask covering her eyes and a tall thick collar with silver rings and studs, cuffs buckled to her wrists, dancing a dance of pain.

Did she enjoy having clamps attached to her nipples and attached to a rope which severely limited her ability to move. Did dad make her body tense up, bend her knees and elbows and scream into a gag. Had mom ever been dad’s very kinky fuck-buddy.

My parent’s relationship with each other perplexed me. They were best friends and totally supported each other, Peter and me. They both taught, mom at Sam Houston State University, dad at Robert Cavalier High School. They shared values and interests, they did things together. The were married for twelve years. Was this, kinky sex, why they were no longer married. Would Sheila Rhodes do what mom was uninterested, or unwilling to do.

Except that it couldn’t have been Sheila, mom and dad divorced ten years ago, Shelia Rhodes arrived the year before my freshman year, that was seven years ago. Sheila wasn’t at Cavelier High ten years ago.

But it still might have been because mom wouldn’t...

So why would Sheila, she must enjoy it, or at least enjoy what it does for her...

As my five-cent-psychiatrist would say, it’s about trust, the right kind of trust. Right now, I had the wrong kind of trust with Steve. I trusted him to not be there for me, to not put me first and to not notice me. If I did something extreme with Steve, he might just forget and leave me tied to the ceiling on a short rope by my nipple rings. Oh my God did I just imagine myself ... Attached to the ceiling like Shelia ... What is wrong with me?

I would trust dad, he wouldn’t just leave me, he’d take care of...

Oh my God! Where did that thought come from.

I would trust Pete, it might be fun to be Pete’s ‘love-slave.’ Pete loves me, you know like a brother. I can work on that. Pete would take really good care of me get me all ‘dorphed up’ like we said on the cross-country team. He would not let me get hurt.

It didn’t horrify me, that thought of being submissive to Peter, why? Trust?

Logic was failing me right now. My father is into electrocuting his fuck-buddy, I know its not really electrocuting, but I don’t actually know what it is called. Maybe I should ask Janet, Ms. Carson, our research librarian at SHSU.

“Excuse me, do you have a book on how to safely electrocute your sex partner. It’s for my dad.”

“Why yes, here it is ‘Zapp!’ by Raylene Frizz,” she says. “Oh I’m sorry, it is checked out. It seems to be very popular. I can put you on the waiting list.”

“OK, do you have a guesstimate when it might be available?”

“Let me check,” said Ms. Carson stepping behind a bookcase.

A few minutes later Ms. Carson emerged from stacks in a tiny red bikini top over a black leather mini-skirt and white thigh boots with six-inch heels. “There seem to be thirteen names on the waiting list. But I do have this very interesting book on lesbian dildo bondage.”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“Oh, all of the librarians love it.”

She handed me the book, and picked up a long skinny box that a half-dozen roses might have been in. The box contained a small tub of Crisco and an eighteen-inch long dildo with a white leather harness.

“Take your clothes off and follow me to the circulation desk and we will get you all checked out.” Ms. Carson said as the other librarians gathered around wearing leather swimsuits, nipple rings and silver chains.

WHAT? Where is this coming from?

It was very relaxing being in the boat on the lake. We sailed to and fro, drank some sun-tea and ate the sandwiches that dad had made. Several times I maneuvered myself into a position where Peter would end up holding me or sitting tightly beside me. He seemed to get it, he was moving to, and not away from me. Once I ended up in his lap. God, it felt so natural being there.

All good things end and that evening I returned to Steve’s apartment near campus. It was time to put my plan into action, I was going to move out of Steve’s apartment slowly and see if he noticed or objected. I called him from dad’s house and asked him if he wanted to go out to dinner tonight.

“Don’t worry about me I will just grab something from the fridge, this paper is kicking my ass.”

Yeah, right. I was hurt by Steve not coming, and doubly hurt because he was bullshitting me, Steve was very bright, but he did not possess much initiative. He would wait till the last moment and then spend two hours writing a paper the day before, sometimes the morning before it was due. Handed in with the ink still wet it would still garner the class’ highest grade. So, as I drove the twenty-five-minute drive west through the National Forest I was less than thrilled.

I wondered where Steve was when I got to his apartment, I had called, and he knew I was coming. Oh well, I took a shower. No Steve, so I got dressed and started to collect my stuff together. I was just starting to get my first load together when he came back from wherever he had been.

“Hi, how was everything at your father’s?”

Well at least he remembered where I had been. I started to answer, but he just walked over to the word processor and began typing the paper that was due on Monday. The one that he has had two weeks to write ... The one he used as an excuse to not come with me two days ago ... I returned to work slowly gathering my clothing and toiletries, my books and albums.

Carrying them down it must have been six or seven loads. Filling my tiny trunk and then starting on the backseat of my German Mustang ... I continued to collect items as Steve left the apartment, all he had was his floppy disc and some typing paper, so he was obviously off to use Clayton’s inkjet printer.

I wondered to myself why our downstairs neighbor lets everyone sponge off of him. Steve would say that he uses Clay’s printer because the finished product looks nicer than what he can produce on his Brother word processor, even when it has a fresh ribbon, which he is too cheap to buy. He returned just as I was walking up the stairs from putting my last armload in my little silver car, he hadn’t noticed what I was doing.

I know he was busy, busy doing something he put off to the last minute, something he used as an excuse for not coming to dad’s, but then never actually got around to doing. But, it’s an awful feeling being ignored. Or maybe he thought that I was just tidying up, after all I was the only one who ever did that around here.

I thought about an old joke where the punchline was the man would never leave the woman because to replace her, he would have to hire three women, a cook, a maid and a prostitute. Sadly, I thought Steve would just hire a cook, or eat on campus.

To me being ignored is worse than anything, I think that is called operant conditioning. I tried to remember back to my Freshman Psychology class. Mom and dad were both totally ‘timeout’ parents, they even had a ‘time out corner’ halfway up the staircase. Sitting on the first stair past the landing all you could see was a blank white wall and the equally white wooden handrail. Booooring...

In my twenty-one years I had never once been paddled. It’s funny thinking about it, I wondered to myself if Shelia Rhodes had been dad’s fuck-buddy when she taught my Senior English class. If she had been, then there was a day when I sat in her class having done something that I shouldn’t have the night before, but on that day it was her ass that was a bright red, not mine.

That could have made for a humorous situation in class. Senior English at Robert Cavalier High, oops! Michelle forgot her final term paper, it’s done but at home. Mrs. Rhodes was thinking about the situation. Finally, she announced plan of action. She stood in front of the class wearing her trademark black skirt with matching pumps and white blouse with the Chantilly Lace cuffs and collar.

Oh my God! Thinking back Mrs. Rhodes always wore pumps, even with jeans, and nearly always wore close fitting cuffs on blouses and either high tight collars or a little black Victorian choker with a scrimshawed silhouette in reverse on an Ivory oval. Was Sheila chuckling to herself wearing fetish clothing to school. Sometimes she acted like she was getting wet while talking about Byron, like a fool I had thought it was the poetry.

Sheila Rhodes stepped in front of her desk, and before her class started to unbutton her blouse. She folded it and sat it neatly on the oak surface, then removed her padded bra revealing two huge silver nipple rings. The boys in class began to clap. She blew them kisses. Then she unzipped her black skirt and stepped out of it, folded it and placed it on top of her blouse. She shimmied as she pulled her big white panties off. They appeared to have a large damp spot.

She threw them right to Tommy DeLeuw, it was the ‘class virgin’s’ lucky day. He took a big sniff of our teacher’s pussy juice, and put them on his head like a hat. Then she announced that she needed two of my classmates to come forward and inspect her buttocks. She asked them to remember how red her cheeks were and how wet her pussy was. Bruno, a football player, asked how he was supposed to tell how wet she was. Gina, a cheerleader, told him to do as she did and she pushed a finger into Sheila.

Shelia took a Ping-Pong paddle out of the desk and said, “Michelle please take off all of your clothes.”

“Why, Mrs. Rhodes?”

“You agreed to be paddled.”

“Yes,” I said.

“So, take off your clothes, start with your shirt.”

“Yes Mrs. Rhodes.”

“Now your pants...”

“Pants...”

“Pants...”

“Have you seen my pants?” Steve asked, bringing me back to reality.

“Folded, clean in the laundry basket, where they’ve been since Friday. I bet you can’t guess how I know.”

“Want to come down to Clay’s and have a beer?”

“In a minute.”

“OK, see ya,” said Steve as he finished getting dressed and left the apartment.

I started out wondering what my daydream meant, but instead of approaching clarity my mind returned to its previously scheduled programming. I was naked standing before my entire English class. Then my father walked in, what was he doing? Oh, asking Shelia to lunch. She was explaining the situation to him.

She explained how my penance for forgetting my paper was for her to make my buttocks as red as he had made hers. Last night before he buggered her ... She said that in class! The boys high-fived my dad, and blew kisses to Mrs. Rhodes. Dad asked that she make my pussy gush from being paddled just like hers did. All the girls ran up and kissed Mrs. Rhodes. WHAT? Dad approved? Why am I daydreaming that?

He left, telling her that he was going back to his room to get some needles and rings.

“So, we can pierce Micky’s nipples right after you are done paddling her. They will be her high school graduation present.”

“Yes Master, I will wait for you,” Dream Sheila answered.

WHAT? What the Sam Hill was I just daydreaming?

I have never done this before, having waking sex dreams when I am not alone. Sex dreams with my father and with Sheila as significant characters, earlier sex dreams with Pete and me playing and then dreams with mom and dad. It was totally fucked-up, but significantly Steve was not in any of them.

I told Steve that I would come down, and so I did, but my heart wasn’t in it. For the first time in months I was glad that Steve didn’t initiate sex when we returned to the apartment. I am a modern girl, there is nothing wrong with my suggesting intimacy. But he never did like he used to anymore. I slept my last night next to Steve in his bed and wished it were Pete beside me.

MONDAY NIGHT

I had actually moved too much stuff Sunday night, and had to go down to my little Capri to get clothing to wear to class. After class I drove back home, to dad’s house, the one he bought and then totally rebuilt after the divorce. Mom would have loved for me to come over, and it would save me forty-five minutes or so a day in commuting time, but I would have to sleep on her couch, whichh was fine. Without Pete, which was not...