Chapter 9

Warning: While still “technically consensual”, Chapters 9, 10 and 11 have sections leaning more into exploitative dubcon territory. Consider yourselves warned.

May 31th, 2024 — Prom Night. Bonnie Kellerman.

Prom was going to be absolutely wintastic. All of ‘Dope’ Bonnie Kellerman’s ducks were in a line. Sure, she’d had to swallow a mouthful of Dwight Pendelaro’s stinky cum to get there, but it was worth it! Rich Bonnie had gotten her the most amazing prom dress — a low-cut, deep navy Jovani original. It was, in DB’s opinion, even nicer than Rich Bonnie’s own. Pink was over. Girls like RB just couldn’t understand that looking like a Disney Princess — even a very svelte Disney Princess with bare ankles and a fluted dress — just didn’t play in 2024.

And that was before Rich Bonnie shot herself in the face by wearing her purple cheerleader sneakers to the prom. Dope Bonnie almost didn’t want to hang with her, but she knew she’d better anyway. She had some nudes of Rich Bonnie being very drunk and impressively stupid even by her high standards. She didn’t hesitate to use these for leverage — but she also wanted to keep the relationship cordial.

It seemed like RB almost treated her as a friend at times, forgetting the blackmail and just hanging out. That was really good. If RB felt oppressed, Dope Bonnie would worry — not that she’d try to defy her, but that she wasn’t a good enough actor to conceal the situation from others. There might even be a trace of hero worship in there — it wasn’t hard, Dope Bonnie thought, to be caught up in the aura and mystique of a girl as complex as she was.

Still, DB couldn’t resist poking fun at Rich Bonnie’s retarded fashion choice when she first saw her in the limo.

“But I can’t dance in high heels! They’re all wibbly-wobbly and stuff!”

“You could have at least gotten low flat pumps, then.”

Rich Bonnie shrugged, less perturbed then Dope Bonnie was. “But it’s prom, Dopey! We only get one! I just wanna have fun dancing, and traction’s good for that. I guess I just decided I care more about that than looking good.”

God, what a smooth brain! If she wasn’t rich, she’d be total scrub tier in the MWA hierarchy. But she didn’t say anything out loud.

“Besides, I heard Brett Tollard is hoping to bring me home anyway. You don’t really think sneakers will dissuade him, do you? He’s already been bragging about it...”

“So how are you gonna ditch him?”

She looked surprised by the question. “I ... I mean, it’s prom. Brett’s like, rilly rilly hot too! You’re allowed to do something special on prom night, if it’s with someone who matters to you. And safely, of course.”

Jesus, she’s a degenerate too. “Sweetie, never give men sex unless you get something in return — something big.”

“He’s got something big, though! At least, so I heard...”

“Not that, you idiot! I mean something practical like a job or an essay or a vote or something. What do you expect to get out of sleeping with Brett, anyway?”

“Sex?”

DB glared at her.

“Rilly good sex? Like, with-an-orgasm good?”

“Don’t be such a slut if you wanna hang with me.”

She looked crestfallen. “Sorry.”

“Listen, RB. Sex appeal is good. It opens doors. Sex itself, however, is bad. It fucks up your reputation, appeal and psychology. So tease, but don’t please. Teasers become Hollywood actresses, or business women that use their sex appeal to manipulate men and get rich. Pleasers get treated like the whores they are, and then they become crack addicts, get syphilis, go crazy, scream at clouds and die slowly in a sanitarium. And to top it all off: sex itself just isn’t all that much fun. So, Bonnie Lowenthal, are you a teaser or a pleaser?”

“I’m a teaser. Ma’am.”

“Good girl. Have I ever told you the story of how I got my breasts?”

“Yes. Twice now.”

“This’ll be the third, then. My parents were initially horrified at the concept of me having cosmetic surgery at sixteen. You know how I bent them to accept it? I said that with these, I can stay a teaser all the way. Without, I might need to be a pleaser sometimes. Well, once I put it that way they were more than willing to help me out with both the consent forms and the actual financing. Funny how that works out, don’t you think? I promised to stay a technical virgin until I turn 21, and in exchange I got a pair of lovely boobies out of the deal. It just goes to show the same basic principle I was explaining before: teasers win, pleasers die ugly. It’s just how the world works.”

Rich Bonnie was quiet for the rest of the limo ride, which was good. Jen was always quiet, and had a cheaper dress too, even if she had a nice new hairdo. Dope Bonnie was glad she had friends that were easy to manage, even if they needed fixing-up in some other areas. The trio looked passably spectacular together, Dope Bonnie had to admit as they got to the venue. She’d had her hair and eyebrows re-dyed, and her pixie cut was carefully askew — bangs hanging just over her eyes teasingly with that tousled look. Meticulously chaotic, she might as well have stepped off the pages of Teen Vogue.

It was a really nice dancehall, very luxurious. The Stallions’ dads had chipped in most of the dough, she’d heard. It had a bit of a palatial Edwardian motif — three stories with a row of catwalks and balconies on the third story. There was even a big crystal chandelier. Crimson and gold silk draperies hung from the ceiling, and crimson pennants with the school crest hung down on opposite sides of the big central balcony. That huge crimson wedding cake was over on a feast table in the center of the room, along with a fair bit of other fine catered food.

It was all surprisingly opulent for a high school prom. Then again, it was a company town, and lots of parents were executives with the company. It ended up looking almost ... royal. Bonnie approved. I’ll look great on that ornate balcony with my deep navy dress contrasting all the ivory and gold panelwork — looking down on all the other promgoers to give my big acceptance speech.

They went around meeting and greeting people they mostly already knew, as you do at such an event. They met up with Janet Virmire and played who-haven’t-you-talked-to-so-far. “And Georgie, and Dave, and Laura, and whoever that hipster douchebag is who’s wearing a touque at our formal prom. The fuck?”

“I’m the Nathead,” said douchebag interjected.

“I’m sure you are.”

Christ, why do guys like him even bother coming to prom? It’s a shame the students can’t match the level of class the furnishings pull off.

Her best fashion competitor so far was Toshia, in a maroon crushed-velvet furled dress, tinted spectacles and pearl necklace ensemble and what looked like some weird kind of brass wristlets. It made her look like a 1930s lounge singer — and a weirdo. But it didn’t matter. It’s not like she was a real competitor. She can dress as nice as she wants; she’s still a dickgirl.

And then Julie Lambert strode in with her clique of Angels, wearing some fancy-frilled, slit-skirted lavender number with a diaphanous demi-train and an ornate knot below her bare back. Dope Bonnie’s hand instinctively clenched, crushing the plastic cup she was holding and spilling mango juice at her feet. How could she possibly even afford something like that? The dress wasn’t more expensive than DB’s own — not by a long shot — but hers was your garden-variety mermaid-style satin prom dress. A lot of other girls wore something similar — even if hers was the best, it was still in a way generic. No one wore anything like what Julie wore, even without the white nail polish and fancy hairdo, so she commanded attention.

Dope Bonnie walked out into the crowd and forcefully grabbed Troy. “I was dancing with Rachel,” he complained.

“Now you’re dancing with me,” she explained. He didn’t argue.

Lorcan saw Julie and grinned. “Nice dress.”

She smiled back warmly. “I know, right! Isn’t it just to die for? A good friend helped me design it, and I owe him a big debt for that...”

He winked at her, and she seemed to find it very charming in a roguish way. Dope Bonnie was perplexed. Why does he even think he can talk to her? He might be handsome all fancied-up, but he still spent the rest of the school year as a scruffy rebel!

They’d change up the music soon. It was a school tradition at MWA that the prom committee picked really sedate, romantic slow-dance music, and the jocks would bring in something wilder — usually a mix of 50s swing tunes and modern dance-pop — bribe the DJ with liquor and set up their own unauthorized sound system. It was all very ceremonial at this point. So as soon as Fatboy Slim’s Rockafeller Skank started playing, Dope Bonnie caught Julie’s gaze with a challenging stare before dragging Troy out to the center of the hall. Dance duel, bitches!

Julie took up the gauntlet, asking Duke to dance with her — a request he cheerfully granted. It didn’t go as well as DB might have hoped. Both girls could really dance — they were cheerleaders, after all — and soon they had the whole student body (or at least the ones most confident in their dance skills) busting some wicked synchro moves on the dance floor like they were in a sexy music video. Julie’s agility and precision were just unearthly, though; Dope Bonnie struggled to keep up on a technical level.

And then Julie started to make it sexy — well, sexier — pivoting her hips, closing her eyes, mouth open slightly almost as if miming a moan. She swung her head back and forth, her long lustrous hair flying about like she was at a glamour-girl photo shoot. All the guys were staring at her — and a bunch of the girls too. Fatboy Slim wrapped up and Katy Perry’s California Gurls started playing.

Julie’d turned so her back was to Duke, and she encouraged him to run his hands over her body from behind — which he was happy to do — as she sighed sensually and pivoted her hips. Guys drooled. Determined to sex it up herself, Dope Bonnie took up a set of cheerleading-based moves designed to repeatedly thrust out her chest. It got some lascivious attention, but the tone was different. People were in awe of Julie. There was respect there. Guys looked at DB and just wanted to feel up her tits. Christ, Julie is such a slut! I hate her more than words can express!

Dope Bonnie was losing the contest she’d started in front of everyone. She could feel it. Her movements got angrier and stiffer. She never messed up the steps — she’d never admit she messed up the steps — and then Troy stepped on her foot. She screamed and stumbled, just as the Perry song was wrapping up. She was furious in her humiliation, and bitch-slapped Troy hard across the face. “You incompetent oaf! Watch your fucking feet!”

Troy looked abashed. The prom hall descended into a moment of silence. Everyone was looking at Dope Bonnie, now — just not for the reasons she wanted.

May 31th, 2024 — Prom Night. Julie Lambert.

The official prom slow-dance music had come back after the abrupt end of Decepticon Bonnie’s impromptu dance-duel. Julie and Duke danced to Ed Sheeran’s Perfect, and whispered to each other very quietly as the student body looked on in admiration and the shippers chattered eagerly at each other. Strangely, though, the topic of their conversation wasn’t romantic.

“Julie ... I wanted to say thank you. So very much, from the bottom of my heart. I know what you did with the DEO, and I know what it cost you. Lots of people do — I made sure of that. They would have expelled us, you know. Probably also stalked us on the Internet to ruin any hopes for our future careers. All for sharing our fantasies about you. To make an example.”

“Our whole world is going to hell,” Julie said slowly. “Fantasies are one of the only things we have left that make it still worth living in. I wouldn’t want to take that away from anyone.”

“I want you to know,” Duke continued softly, “I don’t disrespect you. No one disrespects you, even if the dreams seemed disrespectful. I will treasure the dream we had for all my life.”

“I understand that completely. Hearing you guys talk about your dreams was actually weirdly hot. It made me feel wanted...”

Her platitude trailed off as the shrewdly political side of Julie’s mind shoved the insurgent sentimental bits back into their usual dungeon. An icy shiver ran up her spine. “Wait. What do you mean, ‘the dream we had’?”

A lot of different expressions played over Duke’s face, in fairly rapid succession. He looked into those steely green eyes, and knew he couldn’t deny it. He’d never get a lie past her, and it would just make her more paranoid. “I’m so sorry, Julie. I know. I mean, I don’t know how, but I know it happened. Maybe just one of those Fortean synchronicity events Donny talks about. I’m the only one who knows. You’re brilliant, but you did slip up here and there. I’d never heard of Dixon Hill until you mentioned him in my dream. You also called Marvin Dorn once by mistake, back in April — I convinced him it was a trick of his mind, but this was before he told anyone about his dream. And the wood chipper thing ... sounded a lot more like something you’d dream than Rajveer Datta.”

Damn it! Foiled by the hot guys not watching Star Trek! But this was no time for jokes. She kept a reasonable poker face with her augmented composure, but inwardly Julie was terrified. This was terrible. She had been so reckless. Supernatural exposure brought consequences best not even thought about for the stability of one’s own mind. Julie hugged Duke, rubbing her body sensually against his. “Duke, baby, if you can keep this between us, I will make you very, very happy. You know, using my tongue, and ... other things.”

He shook his head. “It’s our secret. I give you my sworn oath, I will never tell a soul. It’s not like I can prove anything anyway. And I don’t want anything from you. You’ve already sacrificed more than enough for me, and all the boys’, well-being. I just want you to be happy, and to believe that your secret is secure.”

She nodded slowly, finding she did actually believe him. Duke was a man of his word. Her heart rate slowly started to return to normal. “Thank you. Really.”

The bond between them was built not on love, or even lust, but on the kind of intense mutual gratitude that eludes mere words.

“It’s probably not as fun in real life, anyway,” Duke said.

“No kidding,” Julie laughed. “If I ever figure out the whole return visits thing, though, you’re definitely on my list. You’ll be a regular.”

“You don’t have to...”

“Purely selfish reasons. Cross my heart.”

They both laughed softly, then danced in silence. Julie looked out as they moved, watching for her immediate circle of fellow seniors. Rich Bonnie was dancing with Brett Tollard. 80s-hair Bonnie was doing a very sensual solo dance, eye-flirting with various jocks. Pink Highlights Bonnie was circulating and chatting with people. Julie hadn’t seen Marvin — it was a bit naive to expect him to show up at an elective social event after all the trauma and public humiliation he’d suffered this year. Guys in the nerd clique only attended prom intermittently, anyway — not their scene. Donny had a very pretty date, though, and even ‘wallflower’ Jen was out on the dance floor with a cute guy. Deon was dancing with Marjorie Watkins, though he didn’t seem to have a regular partner. He looked spectacular — he was wearing a sleek black satin suit-jacket embossed with a stylized golden dragon pattern almost like a kimono. Pretty hip.

Decepticon Bonnie wasn’t having as much luck. After she tore a strip out of Troy, no one else really prestigious seemed to want to dance with her. She was stuck dancing with Scott Yarborough, the tall, ginger e-sports dork who could beat the newest Metroid in seventy-eight minutes (which was fine), and thought people in real life ought to care about this (which wasn’t). He still hadn’t gotten the message that Twitch celebrity doesn’t quite translate into real life celebrity. He was subtly feeling her up, and she was putting up with it.

Julie was surprised to see Lorcan and Toshia dancing together, staring into each other’s eyes. It was a moment for them, Julie could tell, not just a lark — there were real feelings there. Tosh’s dating prospects were not exactly expansive at MWA, so Julie was delighted the shy girl had snared herself a handsome stud as a boyfriend. After surviving the social tension this semester, she really deserved it! Based on what he’d said at the Five-and-Ten, it was apparently a thing he was taking somewhat seriously, too.

Chinese Bonnie and Nora stood together on the sidelines, whispering energetically to each other and subtly holding hands. Julie felt sure there was a relationship forming there, too. She felt a momentary pang of yearning for the road not travelled. To Julie Lambert and Bonnie Kellerman, the prom was a popularity contest. To most of the other students, though, the popularity was second to the opportunity for romance.

In a year stuffed full of hot dream-sex, she hadn’t really developed a strong romantic tie to any of her myriad lovers. She wasn’t a romantic person by temperament, but she still felt its absence in that moment. There were real opportunities here. She could see herself dating Duke; he was nice, and he knew part of her secret already. Amed had a certain vulnerable charm, and he wasn’t dancing exclusively with anyone the way Lorcan and Toshia were. And there was her best friend, Nora Alders, who she knew from the dream was wildly into both her and Chinese Bonnie. She could grab her before CB did, before their relationship was fixed — or even try for some weird poly thing with both Nora and CB.

But no — her rationale for not forming those kinds of bonds was still as strong as it had been when she went out shopping with Nora. She was an Adept. She couldn’t be truly honest and open with anyone without sharing that, and doing so put them in danger. So she wasn’t serious dating material. Besides, she deeply loved the dream-sex and saw no reason for it to end after graduation. It was something between actual sex and sexual fantasy, but she didn’t feel she could be an honest romantic partner to anyone while doing it — and she didn’t really want to stop, either. Besides, she doubted that poly shit actually worked long-term in real life anyway.

So she watched Nora and CB deepen their emerging relationship. She blew Duke off after the third dance, nudging him toward 80s-hair Bonnie. She had often called him a total snack, and seemed deeply enthusiastic about dancing with him. I’m not here to be prom queen, and I’m not here for romance. I’m here to punch Cyclopean pendulums until they stop moving and chew bubblegum, and I’ve always thought chewing gum made my cheeks look puffy anyway. So where exactly is the Coordinator?

Twenty minutes later, she made her appearance on the high balcony, flanked by the DJ, Janet Virmire, the acting principal and a few prom chaperones. She was wearing a flowery beige top and a matching loose, long navy skirt — and she had clearly visible bra-straps on her shoulders. Well, that just made sense after what had happened at the privilege walk. She probably didn’t know what triggered it, though.

The DJ announced that it was time to appoint the prom court. Everyone cheered, and gathered beneath the balcony. Of course, there would be speeches first. The acting principal made a boring speech about academic achievements. The DJ told some jokes. Then the Coordinator took the forefront and launched into long, rambling and sanctimonious speech with social justice themes. Julie watched her carefully. She was clearly getting worked up — you could see it if you looked for it. Her skin gleamed with sweat, and her voice got unusually breathy. Her legs even seemed to tremble at times, and she had to grip the railing now and then. Best of all, she was tenting again, so hard that it was clearly visible even through her bra! In spite of this, though, she never lost her composure and said anything really outré in the career-destroying manner Julie was hoping for.

“Remember,” she finally finished, “silence is violence! You can either stand in solidarity with the oppressed, or you can stand alone and get crushed!”

She thrust her fist triumphantly into the air above her, using the ‘raised fist salute’ symbolic of black power and political solidarity. Unfortunately, given recent dream-events the gesture had rather different connotations to Nora — and, after a brief struggle to contain it, she burst out into a fit of giggles, shattering the pious silence.

The Coordinator fixed her with an absolutely withering stare. “I can see one of our students find the suffering and struggles of ... of ... of those less privileged than herself to be very, ah ... very amusing. How very, ah, heteronormative...”

Nora looked terrified. The Coordinator, conversely, was in the middle of a struggle to figure out why her ladybits refused to share her current mood and weren’t willing to get back in line. She shook a finger sternly at Nora, but was forced to bite her lower lip to stifle a shout of ecstasy. She said nothing more.

Julie stepped behind Nora, using body language to back her subtly. She was a bit surprised, then, when row by row a substantial portion of the student body in turn similarly aligned themselves behind her and Nora. The Coordinator looked like she wanted to scream at everyone, but didn’t dare open her mouth out of fear that the shouts that came out would be of the wrong sort.