Chapter 23: Katy Test Drives The New Model

I’ll skip some more time here. It was now early spring, and I had found that I was able to sail through classes with very little effort, because I knew the material, in every class. Except P.E., of course. I still sucked at that.

But in everything else I was getting A’s. And I was getting some very flattering comments on my report cards about my “incisive mind”, “pleasure to have in class”, “should think about advanced placement”, and so on.

My parents were thrilled beyond words, because up till now, in their view, I hadn’t been treating school with the serious effort it deserved. I had been, but they had no idea about the pap that passed for education in middle school. It didn’t really hold my interest. Freshman year was only slightly better.

Also, they still had some lingering concerns about after-effects from the accident. But my improved grades were now proof that I had ‘matured’ and was also ‘after-effects’ free, and so I was given more freedom than I had been allowed previously.

I had mentioned earlier that each class in school was pretty much a separate segment of society, and the classes did not mix much. I suppose that was because these folks had gone through the ranks with the same people and they made their friends amongst themselves. Sometimes a guy in a higher class -- usually it was a guy -- would ask a younger girl out and she would, temporarily, become a part of the older crowd, but only while the couple was together.

I was finding that the class division still held. Except for me.

Many of the older students would treat me as if I were one of them, or at least as an accepted visitor. They would treat me as a peer. I wasn’t sure why this was.

One of the older girls with whom I had been having a conversation about something, I forget what but it was something I had some interest in, commented jokingly that I was a senior trapped in a sophomore’s body.

That may have been a compliment, perhaps recognizing my ability to dissect and analyze things and to speak clearly and logically. She didn’t offer any further detail, but that’s what I took away from her comments.

I guess I should be flattered, though I did get a few snide remarks from my classmates that I was becoming too good for them, hanging out with the higher grades. I shrugged and smiled, but fuck ‘em if they can’t deal with it.

The point of this digression is that I sometimes got invited to “older” parties as if I were a junior or senior. I didn’t like all those people. Some of them were jerks like Bucky Wilson and Norman Atwell, but the others were okay for the most part.

And sometimes I went to those parties. I was usually the only sophomore there, but they didn’t look at me as one.

So it happened that in early April I got invited to Bill Whaley’s college acceptance party. He got admitted to his first-choice school, an Ivy-league college, and he was pumped. All the seniors were spending an inordinate amount of time waiting for the mailman, checking their mailboxes several times a day to see if they’d missed a delivery.

It was a nerve-wracking time for them. But he got in, and his parents allowed him to throw a celebration party. To which all his friends were invited. I knew him, and because I, by some mysterious process unknown to me, had earlier been approved and admitted to the inner circle, I was invited too.

I’m not a big party guy, but it was a Saturday and I had no place to be, and no sophomore party that I’d been invited to either, so I went.

Because he’d been admitted to college, he now operated by college rules. That meant the party was pretty wild, mostly alcohol (still illegal but they were willing to cut a few corners) and some drugs, mostly weed. So when I got there, a little late, many of them were already pretty wasted.

It’s not really my thing. Alcohol doesn’t do much for me, except make me slur my words and muddy my thinking. It doesn’t make me feel happier, more talented, more gregarious, more attractive, or more anything, just slows me down. So I mostly avoid it.

But it affects everyone differently, and a lot of those folks apparently needed it to have a good time. So they were well inoculated by the time I got there.

It was loud (surprise, surprise) and frenetic, lots of dancing, people in groups talking, well shouting, to each other, and a few people sitting on the floor already pretty toasted. But I found a soda, which I put into a plastic cup so I wouldn’t get hassled by people who want everyone to be as drunk as they were, and started chatting with some people I knew.

I saw Whaley and told him congratulations, I was psyched for him, don’t forget us little people, and he assured me he wouldn’t, and moved on. I poured some more soda into my cup and went back to my spot near the chips and salsa.

“I know you. You’re Carter, aren’t you?”

I turned around, and had to look down. She was really quite petite, about six inches shorter than I, and I’m not that tall.

“Hi,” I said, “I kinda recognize you, but I don’t think I ever heard your name.”

She took another hit of whatever was in her cup. “That’s because I never told it to you.”

She giggled, amused at her own wit. Whatever was in the cup was having an effect.

She grabbed a chip, said, “Sorry, I’m being a wise ass. I’m Katy LaMonica. I’m a senior, too.” And she popped the chip in her mouth and chewed, then another drink.

“Hey, Katy, Tom Carter.”

“You’re a Tom, eh. Never knew your first name, everybody just calls you Carter. Like Cher. And Bono. The man with one name.”

She laughed again. She was on a roll. It was amusing to watch.

She was kind of cute, a little unsteady on her feet due to whatever was in the cup. She had strawberry blond hair, cut short in a pixie style, and compact. Except for the boobs. On a normal size girl, they’d look, well, full but normal. On her petite frame they looked huge. Now that I’d noticed them, it was hard to un-notice them.

“I guess people started calling me that to distinguish me from all the other Toms. It’s a pretty common name, so Carter picks me out of the crowd without five people named Tom all turning around and saying, ‘What?’. But call me either, I don’t care.”

“Okay, Carter, I get it. I’ll call you Carter, it’s more romantic, like the hero of a spy novel. Are you a spy, Carter?”

“You know I can’t tell you that. Then I’d have to kill you.”

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we? But worry not, your secret is safe with me.”

“I am so relieved, Katy. Disposing of the bodies is always such a bother.”

“So it’s true, you are funny. You’re smart, too, I hear. I hear lots of things about you.”

“I deny everything, and I wish to consult with my attorney.”

“Well, I don’t think we have any attorneys here, sorry. But Whaley wants to go to law school. Will he do?”

“I think he’s pretty drunk, so the keen legal mind won’t be of much use till he’s sober.”

“Well, I’m pretty drunk, too, and it doesn’t slow me down. How ‘bout you, are you dunk? I mean, drunk.”

“Not yet. Maybe you better slow down a bit, pace yourself. You don’t want to peak early, the party’s just getting started.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Okay, no more for a while.” She put down her cup, which was almost empty anyway.

“I also hear you’re a badass. You beat up Norm Atwell, and his running buddy, Coolidge. And you and that jerk Rooney had it out and he lost.”

She leaned in conspiratorially. “And I also heard that you might have had something to do with Rooney’s legal problems and his dropping out of school. Did you?”

How did that rumor get started? There were only three people who knew the details, and I don’t think Kelly or Kerry said anything.

“Katy, it’s amazing how these things get blown way out of proportion. Norm and I had a difference of opinion, exchanged frank and open views, and agreed to stay away from each other for the good of the school. Coolidge suffered a groin injury from falling while running in the halls. And Rooney, well, Rooney was his own worst enemy, and it’s uncharitable of me to say so, but it serves him right.”

She looked at me intently, then burst out laughing. “Carter, you are some piece of work. You should be a diplomat. I mean, after you retire from your career as a spy.”

“That sounds like good career advice. What about you? You said you were a senior, right? Are you off to college after graduation?”

“Yeah, State. I’m not a brainiac like you, Carter, and I don’t know what I want to do, either.”

“College is the place where you find that out. So I’m told. I’m sure it’ll all become clear. One day you’ll wake up and say, I like this, this is what I want to do.”

“I hope so, Carter, ‘cause I don’t want to do four years there and still be clueless about a career. Geez, I’d have to move back in with my parents. How do you get laid when you live with your parents?”

“An incisive observation, Katy.” Where was this going anyway? She rambled on about college, and what she was going to take first semester, and dorm living. I thought I needed to find out what she was up to. I felt she had an agenda.

So I traced the connection back to the epicenter, the one currently holding the knowledge of what she was discussing, and it was not only cluttered, but it was, I dunno, hazy, like there was a heavy fog in the area. I couldn’t see clearly around the room.

Maybe this was the alcohol blurring her thought process. There was some stuff there about college, and something else, something with some urgency and ... and an aroma, too, something I couldn’t place.

It was familiar, I’d smelled it recently. I looked over at the party. There were a bunch of people dancing frenetically in one corner, and one girl was shaking her butt suggestively. That was it! I was smelling what Rowley was exuding the night she picked me out of the crowd. It was hormones, it was lust, horniness. Katy was horny!

And she homed in on me? With all these seniors here, looking to blow off steam, she could have any one of them. Hell, she could have all of them if she wanted. Why me?

Better find out. Now she was talking about living in a dorm room with two other girls, and the loss of privacy that was going to take some getting used to.

“Well, the privacy bit can can be awkward at first. Some of my friends’ older brothers in college talk about signals they arrange so if one of them needs the room alone for a couple of hours, the others can find somewhere else to go.

“And, this is hearsay you understand, Katy, but after awhile everybody gets used to having no privacy so they just pretend they’re alone and wind up bringing their girlfriends or boyfriends, as the case may be, back when their roommates are there. You’ll figure it out in the first week, count on it.”

“Of course, why didn’t I think of that, a little exhibitionism, that’ll get the juices flowing.”

“That’s the the old college spirit!”

“Well, I knew you were smart, but I didn’t know about the kinky. Well, maybe I’d heard some rumors...”

“Wait, wait, wait. What rumors? Have my enemies been spreading canards about me? What rumors? Speak, woman!”

She laughed and blushed at the same time, an interesting combination. She was still drunk, so with her inhibitions lowered it made her a little bolder.

“Well, I heard that you’re kind of a sexual athlete, and you can go all night long, and you’re ... oh, hell, how do I say this, endowed!”

This rumor? I thought it had died long ago.

“Katy, part of me wants to keep the rumor going, make sure it gets all around the school, so I’ll always have women following me. But the truth is, no, not all night long.”

I paused for dramatic effect.

“Six hours is my absolute limit. And I really wish the second part of the rumor was true, but it’s not and I can prove it.”

“Six hours, huh?”

“Well, depends on the weather. Somewhere between fifteen minutes and six hours.”

She laughed out loud. “I’m glad to see there’s still some truth in advertising. You wouldn’t want a girl to get her expectations set too high.”

“Heavens, no. I’d be mortified if I disappointed them. I’d feel like I’d have to make it up to them by doing it a fourth time.”

She laughed again, and her eyes were sparkling, and I didn’t think it was the alcohol. “Now I see why the girls like you. You’re funny, you’re smart, and you’ve got the stamina of a mule.”

“Yeah, that’s the ticket, Katy, just keep dropping that rumor into conversation every so often, if you would, I’d really appreciate it. You can add or drop the well-endowed part as needs require, your call.”

“I don’t know if I can do that ethically, Carter, you know, enthusiastic about something without knowing if it were really true. Just doesn’t feel right to me.” She was smiling now, with a raised eyebrow.

“I understand your dilemma. What could I do to mitigate your reservations?”

“Think of it this way, Carter. You’re buying a new car, and the salesman is telling you how great it is, but you say you’d really have to drive it first before making a decision.”

“You’re looking for a test drive?”

“They said you were smart. Let me find my coat.”

I touched her arm. “Katy, I’d really love to do this, but I have a problem. Coincidentally, it is also an ethical problem, much like yours. This is it: I’d want to be really sure that you had made an informed decision with your full faculties present and accounted for.

“And right now you are -- how can I put this delicately? -- a little hammered. I want you to get straight first, then look me in the eye and demand a test drive.”

She looked at me as if she had never encountered this exact situation before. It took her a minute to answer, and oddly she looked almost sober. “I think that is the first time I have had a guy turn me down.”

“I didn’t turn you down. I said I wanted to hear it from you sober. How about we go get some coffee and a donut or three? You can never have too many donuts. We can talk for awhile and in an hour you can revisit your decision.”

She cocked her head, then nodded. “Okay, Carter, coffee sounds good. Let’s go.”

She had driven, but I suggested we walk instead. We were close enough to a business area that it wasn’t a problem, and the walk would help clear her head. We found a donut shop still open and got coffees, I got three donuts, and she passed.

We found a booth in the back. She said, “What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know, we’re just passing time. Tell me about your family, growing up, that stuff.”

“Okay. I’ve lived here all my life, well, the part that I can remember. My folks moved here from Massachusetts when I was just a baby, so this is all I remember. I’m an only child, and I like art and music and writing. Maybe I’ll try some of those things in college. My parents and I get along pretty good, though I think I was a bit of a pain around thirteen and thought I was really grown up. How they suffered through it, I don’t know.”

She took another sip of coffee and stared at my donuts.

I said, “Go ahead. You know you want to. It’s calling to you, ‘Katy, you need me in your life, come to me.’”

She laughed again, and finally selected one of my donuts and took a bite.

“Not bad, Carter, but I’m onto you. You’re one of those guys who drives slowly down the street and says, ‘Hey, little girl, you want a donut?’”

“I have no idea what you mean,” I said as she took another bite of donut.

“That’s kind of the way my parents banter and joke around the house. They’re at date night now. I used to think it was icky when I was eight or nine, how my parents would sometimes neck in the kitchen, and hold hands. Grownups don’t do that love stuff, that’s for young people.

“I changed my mind when I was in my early teens and started seeing how a lot of the parents of my friends had fallen out of love, and sometimes even disliked each other, maybe they’d get divorced. My parents work at their marriage, and buy each other little presents. Tonight they’ve rented a hotel room and gone out to dinner and a movie. Now I think date night is really sweet.”

“Yeah, it is. My parents still love each other, I think, but they’re not as demonstrative. They still talk to each other and more important, they listen. I hope I can do that when I get married.”

“I don’t think it will be a problem for you, Carter.”

We got refills on the coffee and talked for another half hour. She looked up at me after setting down her empty cup and asked, “Am I sober, Carter?”

“Pretty close, Katy.”

“Then are you ready for a test drive?”

I smiled and nodded yes. She excused herself to go to the bathroom, while I left a tip and put on my coat. When she came back I helped her into hers, and we walked back to her car. She drove us about a half mile to her house, and pulled into the driveway.

“Like I said, my parents are at date night, and won’t be back till the morning, probably late. They like Sunday brunches. So we should be good till then. Follow me.”

She unlocked the back door and hung up her coat in the entryway. I kept mine with me. She took my hand and led me upstairs to her room. Not large, but comfortable, with a regular sized bed.

She kicked off her flats to the side of the room, turned around and grabbed me by the shirt with one hand and pulled me in, threw her other around the back of my neck, reached up and kissed me, hard, ramming her tongue into my mouth.

In order to show her I was not intimidated, I put my arms around her and kissed her back, hard. Our tongues were stalking each other like two fighters looking for an opening. She really was quite aggressive.

It might be instructive to find out what she was planning, so I followed the connection back to the epicenter in her head.

Holy smoke! It was clearer now, no fog, but now I could see what she liked, what she was thinking about, at least the stuff that turned her on, not necessarily what she had planned for me tonight.

She was really into some rougher things than I was comfortable with, bondage, and some pain, several guys at a time. I’m not sure that’s a party I would want to be invited to. But maybe it’s just the stuff she enjoys fantasizing about. Don’t panic yet.

I pulled back to the real world, and she was still sucking on my tongue, so I channeled a finger gently brushing her clit up and down, slowly, and felt her clench her hips.

I’m never sure how far I can trust what I read in a person’s head, because sometimes people imagine doing things they would never attempt in real life. But I decided to take a chance and try being somewhat dominant because it fit with the things she was imagining without going as far as tying her up. Maybe not on the first date.

I took one hand and walked my fingers down her stomach and into her crotch over her pants and squeezed. With the other hand, I took her hair and pulled backwards and looked her directly in the eye. “Is that what you were looking for, Katy?”

She looked right back at me and said, “That’s good, I like that,” and closed her eyes.

I held her hair with her head back and nibbled and bit her earlobe, just a little harder than I would have normally, and pressed a little more aggressively into her pussy with my fingers.

I linkcast her a feeling of authority and dominance, and channeled a tickling around her G-spot. Most women would like this to progress at a slower pace, but as I was trying to read her, I got the impression she wanted to be controlled.

“I think it’s time to get naked, Katy. Normally I’d ask you to strip for me, but I think tonight I want to take them off myself. And I’m in a bit of a hurry, too. You’re okay with that?”

She looked up at me and nodded. Still with her hair in my hand, holding her head back, I looked her directly in the eye reached up and squeezed her left boob, hard, and twisted. She sucked in her breath, but her eyes never left mine.

“Feel good, Katy?” I linkcast a warm, safe feeling, mixed with some arousal.

“Yes,” she whispered.

I stepped again into her epicenter to see what had changed. The images of bondage and pain had faded but were still present, but now there was a feeling of, what, elation? A thrill that sent shivers through her, because she was being controlled, told what to do. This was similar to Rowley’s reaction, but more pronounced.

I’ve really got to study some psychology when I get to college, because I don’t understand where these impulses come from at all. Live and let live, I suppose, as long as they’re not destructive or dangerous impulses.

I put both hands to work unbuttoning her shirt as fast as I could. I was a little rough and may have pulled off a button. I kept watching her. Her breathing was a little faster now as I pulled the shirt off her arms.

Her chest looked even bigger with her shirt off, the bra doing its best against some impressive forces. I reached behind her and -- I must be getting better at this -- unhooked her bra in a single try. I pulled forward and it slipped off her arms and onto the floor.

“God damn, Katy, those are magnificent.” She was still holding my eye, but she gave a tiny smile. I couldn’t wait. I grabbed her left tit and squeezed as I leaned down to lick her nipple, My other hand found her right boob and massaged it, pinching the nipple hard. She sucked in her breath again.

I liked that sound, so I caught her nipple between my teeth and nipped, which got a little “Ah!” of pain.

I pulled away, the nipple still in my teeth, and it popped out. Now her lips were half open. I checked in to the epicenter in her head, and she was still getting that rush, along with some surprise. She was surprised and pleased that I had somehow found the things that got her engine running.

My hands dropped to her waistline and grabbed the button on her pants and undid it. I looked her in the eye as I pulled it open, found the zipper and pushed it down. I dropped my hand to her crotch again and squeezed.

“Are you a little wet now, Katy?” It was a rhetorical question, because I knew from seeing what was in her epicenter, that she was feeling her damp pussy swelling.

She nodded now, a little breathless. This was fun, being able to see how people responded to me, and to intuit what they wanted, and this was the first time I had tried it so directly because I had never had two-way access to their sensations until recently.

I placed my hand on her chest and pushed her back on to the bed, which surprised her. Grabbing her under her thighs, I lifted her ass off the bed, reached up to her waistband, and ripped them, pants and panties, downward over her ass. I pulled them off her legs and onto the floor.

I was still standing, looking down on her, and she was on her elbows looking up at me, and breathing through her nose, I could hear it. “Spread your legs a little, Katy, let’s look at you.”

She hesitated only the slightest bit, then spread her knees apart, showing her pussy. She was trimmed, but not shaved. The hair around her labia had been removed, but she had left the bush above it.

“I was right wasn’t I, Katy, your pussy is wet.” She didn’t say anything, so I linkcast some more control her way, and said, “I couldn’t hear you, Katy. Is your pussy wet?” I dropped my hand from where I was standing and let my fingers brush her pussy lips. She caught her breath and said, “Yes, it’s wet.”

“Turn over on your stomach, Katy, I want to see your ass.” She rolled over and lay on her stomach. She had a nice ass, small, not much roundness to it, but flat and very firm. I reached down and squeezed each cheek in turn, and then pinched her ass until I got a gasp.

“Nice ass, Katy. You take good care of it, I see. Get up on your knees so I can get a better look at your ass and your cunt.” I was getting a little shock from her at the crude term, as well as a thrill at being ordered around. She scrambled up onto her knees, her arms straight. I slapped her ass hard, then the other side, and she said, “Ohh,” with just a touch of pain in it.

“Head down, ass up. I want to see your pussy and your asshole pointing at me.” She dropped her head onto the bed, and wiggled her ass until it pointed up. It really was quite sexy, and her pussy was glistening now. This was turning her on. It’s not my thing, but if she likes it I’ll take her down that road.

I took a couple of fingers and ran them up and down her ass crack and her pussy, and she started to moan a little when it got close to her clit. But I didn’t touch her clit, just rubbed her pussy, spreading the lips. Her hips were pushing against me now, I could feel what she wanted, but I was dragging it out just to raise her anticipation.

On the last pass downward, I slid two fingers into her pussy, a little roughly. She bit her lip and said, “Yess.” I pushed them in and out, fast, several times, making her start to work to find her orgasm, but then stopped and pulled them out. “Don’t move, keep your ass where it is, stay there.”

I could feel her frustration, she wanted to reach back and rub herself, stick her own fingers in, but I wouldn’t let her.

I unlaced my shoes and slipped them off, and the rest of my clothes followed in seconds. She hadn’t moved, but I could see her ass quivering, she so wanted somebody, me or her, didn’t matter, to pay attention to her pussy.

I dropped to my knees and started fondling her ass, and she sighed deeply. I suddenly stuck my face in her ass and started licking, from her pussy upwards to her asshole. Up and down, burying my face in it, her ass wiggling to try to accommodate it.

I went back up toward her asshole, pushing my tongue hard into the perineum, then into her asshole as hard as I could. I was a little surprised at the strength of the response. “Yes, fuck, yes, do that, right there!”

Well, that was unexpected. I took a peek into the epicenter and -- surprise, surprise! -- young Katy likes her ass and her asshole played with, it makes her feel slutty and naughty, and I’ll be damned, she likes things in her ass. Not just dicks, but fingers, and dildos, and ... is that a cucumber?

Katy, I can see I have my work cut out for me. She was enjoying the tongue, her ass was twisting and thrusting, and I started finger-fucking her again. I channeled a stronger finger on her clit, which made her recite a mantra. “Oh, fuck, yeah, fuck, yeah, fuck.”

Suddenly I took my fingers out of her pussy, poised one over her asshole and slid it straight in, past the second knuckle, then twisting it back and forth as I slid it in and out. Her head shot up from the bed and she turned it around to look at me, with surprise on her face. “You’re in my ass, Carter, you’ve got your finger in my ass.”

“Right you are, Katy. It feels good, doesn’t it?” I could see into her response room, and she was liking it better than ‘good’, it was turning her on. “Does it feel good, Katy?”

She paused before answering. “Yes, it feels really good.”

“You like having your ass played with, don’t you? You like it when people lick it and slap it, and stick things in it, right?”

I almost couldn’t hear her. “Yes. It feels good.”

She was embarrassed and turned on and a little ashamed that she had been found out. She thought it was a secret, that it wasn’t “normal”, that’s what I was picking up from her response. But she was also excited that she had had to confess this dark twist.

I continued to fuck her ass with one finger, then I slipped a second one in, and she went, “Oh, fuckkk.” I said, “You like my fingers in your ass. What else? Have you been fucked in the ass?”

That embarrassment was getting stronger. “Katy, talk to me, I don’t want to do anything to you that you don’t like or at least accept. Has someone fucked you in the ass before?”

It took a few moments, but “Yes. It hurt because they didn’t use any lube, but it also felt good.”

“And when there isn’t anyone with a bottle of lube around, what do you do? Do you put your own fingers in your ass? Do you use a dildo, a butt plug? If it feels good, you must do something.”

She was shaking her head back and forth, so embarrassed. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“Katy, everything is okay if it makes you feel good and doesn’t hurt you or somebody else. You like things in your ass, it makes you feel good. What do you use when you’re alone?”

It took a few seconds, but she found the courage. She was afraid of what I would think of her, I could feel that. She said very softly, “I use a butt plug. It has a little vibrator in it.”

I almost laughed. This was her secret shame? But I didn’t let it into my voice.

“That sounds sexy. Do you have it here? Get it.”

“Oh, Carter, I don’t know.”

I linkcast some more authority. “Go get it, Katy. Bring the lube, too.”

She got up, but she couldn’t look at me. She went somewhere deep in her closet and came back with the butt plug, which was red Lucite, with a bulbous end that tapered quickly to a narrow shaft, and a bottle of lube.