Chapter 9

We refined our protocol a bit after that. I bought an app that, with one button, would send my GPS coordinates by text message to Mom, Dad, Stacy, and Dr. Brown. Stacy’s class schedule was rearranged so that she had the same lunch period as me - a perk that, the principal kept telling us, they would not have offered under less extreme circumstances. Dr. Sato had all sorts of questions about how the marijuana had affected the experience for me. He was writing a paper about me, I learned.

A few days later, it was obvious that my secret was out. After an assembly, a couple queen bee bitches were looking at me and talking to each other conspiratorially. I heard one of them whisper-but-not-really, “That’s the Vanilla Slut” while pointing at me. The name not only stuck, but it traveled. Two days later, Mom had to pick Lucas up from school early: he had been suspended for fighting. This time his face was unblemished, but his knuckles were swollen and scraped. He had heard my new nickname and took exception with it. It scared me to imagine what he had done to the other boy, who I later found out was Todd. I don’t think Lucas had ever been in a fight in his life before this year.

A small group of us ate lunch every day outside the auditorium, far away from the cafeteria and the beaten path. Stacy, our new friend Trace, our old friend Chloe, and I all brought our lunches from home each day. Trace had a car - he had been held back a year in gradeschool, so he was old for a sophomore - so he sometimes brought back treats from the convenience store.

One day as we were heading toward our lockers at the end of lunch, I ran into that queen bee bitch again - Moira, I had learned her name was. She walked right up to me, holding a small bottle, and spilled it on my blouse, with a fake stumble and over-acted “Oops!”. It was vanilla perfume. Everyone around stopped to watch and whisper, but Stacy and Trace almost instantly swept in and rushed me off to Trace’s car. It must have looked like the Secret Service in the movies. Trace drove, while Stacy removed my perfume-soaked blouse and threw it out the window. The damage was already done, though: I needed sex.

“Trace, stop the car and come back here, please. I need you,” I told him.

“We’ll get you home,” he said.

“No, you don’t understand,” I said, barely in control. “It’s too late for prevention. I need to have sex, now. We’re friends - it won’t be weird. Just come back here and fuck me.”

“Just hang in there and we’ll get you some place safe,” he said again.

“It doesn’t work like that!” I pleaded. “Okay, stop the car and let me out. I’ll find someone else.” We were moving at 45 miles per hour on a busy 4-lane road, but I reached for the door latch. Stacy stopped me. “PLEEEEEASE?”

Stacy joined in: “OH FOR GOD’S SAKE, MAN-UP AND FUCK THE GIRL. CAN’T YOU SEE SHE’S IN PAIN?”

Trace shouted back: “THE ANSWER IS NO. DON’T ASK AGAIN.”

“I’ll do it my god damned self,” Stacy muttered. She slipped the strap of my bra off my shoulder and tugged the cup down, revealing one breast. When she put her lips to my nipple and suckled, to my surprise, my sense of dire need lessened. She reached up under my skirt, inside my panties, and rubbed my slit, quelling my compulsion even further. When she sank two hooked fingers into my hole and began tugging and rubbing, I was able to relax and get lost in the good feelings. The beast inside me had been placated. Stacy’s wrist moved in circles, driving her fingers in and out of my hole like a piston on a camshaft, while also rubbing my clit against my own skin. It was similar to how I masturbate on my own, but she was so much better at it! I came hard, and she kept me coming for a long time. Only when I was finally done did Stacy take her lips from my tit.

“Wow!” I said. Stacy smiled and shrugged.

A group of kids from school had followed us in their car, and caught some of the show - but they couldn’t have actually seen much.

Back at my house, seeing me enter with a boy and without a shirt, Lucas stepped up to intervene. Trace towered over him, but Lucas starred him down, until I could explain that Trace had helped rescue me.

In private, Trace told Stacy and me why he didn’t fuck me. He would love to have sex with me, he said - and Stacy and Chloe and just about every girl at school - but he physically can’t. He was mauled by a dog when he was a toddler, and his junk got messed up. He’s still attracted to girls - he gets horny - but he can’t get an erection and he can’t have an orgasm. From what I understand about men, that sounds way worse than anything I’ve been through.