"Charlene," Peter startled me. I hadn't seen him come up on my left. "May I have the pleasure of this dance?" He meant the formality to be ironic. Peter's sense of humor is his best characteristic; that and his loyalty. But still...

"I don't think so," I told him.

"Then dance with me and make me miserable. C'mon Sharl, Dave is dancing with Melissa. You dance with other boys."

"But you and I were an item once, Peter -- a long time ago."

"Before you were a cheerleader." Before I had boobs, he meant.

"If it was only a dance, I might. But you want the past back, and it's gone. I'm Dave's girl now. Find your own."

"C'mon Sharl. All I asked you for was a dance. Do I have to beg?"

"Please don't. You know I hate that." Peter's begging had always annoyed me, even when he was the only boy who looked at me. It was his worst characteristic. That and his persistence. It is hard to tell persistence from loyalty sometimes, but even so...

We stood there until the music stopped, not talking to each other but not quite ignoring each other. Sometimes I miss the friendship that Peter and I had. It had started out much less boy-girl than friend-friend. We had studied together, played together, and talked together. When I had first gone after Dave, Peter had even given me advice. He'd taken me to dances when Dave had ignored me. The year I went from a training bra to C cups, he was the only boy I would trust at all. That is when our friendship really turned into dating. Then I went up from C to D, my hips started to catch up with my bust, and Dave did notice me. Now we couldn't -- I couldn't -- go back.

"Get lost, dweeb," Dave said. I hadn't heard him come up either. Peter left. "If he bothers you, tell me and I'll punch him out."

"He wasn't bothering me." Not in that way. "Peter's an old friend; I wouldn't appreciate your beating him up. It's not your style, anyway. You pick on kids your own size."

"You're my fan club, Shar," Dave said with a smile. "I keep telling you. Backs don't pick on the defense. I only bump into a guard when I do something wrong."

"Modesty! I didn't know you had it in you. Even when you're carrying, not blocking, you go in the way of danger." Every word of that was true, except the modesty. Dave is good and knows it.

"Anyway, let's dance." That's another thing I like about Dave. He doesn't quite twist my arm, but he decides. A man tells you, he doesn't beg you.

We look good together on the dance floor. We're not one of the spectacular couples, but we do have some good moves. Anyway, the fanciest dancers are only known as dancers. Most of the school looks up to Dave-and-Charlene most of the time. I need that, I was miserable my freshman and sophomore years; I'm going to be a freshman again next year. I'll be damned if I'm going to spend my senior year as a Cinderella.

Then they changed to a slow tune. I came into Dave's arms and followed his lead. It's only a symbol, but it's an important one. Dave takes the lead all the time.

He decided when we would leave the dance, as well. I knew we were headed for our usual place, the shadow of a culvert over a dry wash. We park enough below road level to give us some privacy, but way above the floor of the ravine.

He had driven me there on our second date, going directly and not searching at all. I had known then that I wasn't the first girl he had taken there, but I hadn't cared. We had kissed then, kissed for the longest time. Dave is a gentleman by his own standards; we hadn't parked on our first date, he hadn't groped my breasts on the second. When he had removed my bra on our fourth date, though, I had been afraid that he would try to have me naked on the next one.

I needn't have worried. The breasts had been what he was after, on every date he has lavished them with kisses, stroked them, sucked on them, buried his face in the valley between them. I've snickered at girls who come to school with hickeys on their necks; since I have gym Thursdays this year, none of the girls have seen the hickeys that Dave sometimes leaves on my breasts.

This night, after we moved to the back seat, all of Dave's attention while he was kissing me was on unzipping my dress and unfastening my bra. Once that was done, however, he stopped rushing. The breasts got his undivided attention until long after I was ready for him to go on. My desire had peaked into an ache before he buried his head between them and kissed to each side. That was part of the ritual.

We kissed again while he made his preparations. He moved back and reached under my skirt. When my panties and pantyhose were on the back shelf, he kissed each nipple in turn before pulling my skirt up to my waist. I wanted him, if a little less than I had five minutes before. I wanted him to pleasure me, to fill me, but also to cover me and control me.

He opened the door on the left side, and I straightened out on the seat. The air was cool on my feet, but I wouldn't feel that for very long. His own feet stretched much further out while he fitted himself between my legs.

"Put me in," he said. I spread myself with my left hand while holding him with my right. The feel of the greasy rubber didn't excite me, but it did reassure. Still I waited, feeling his eagerness, his hardness, his desire -- thwarting him for one second.

"I love you, Shar," he said. Then, fitted into my entrance, he took back control. He pressed forward until I was full of him, then paused while we both made adjustments. I reached up with my right hand to feel his back and the hard muscles flowing beneath his skin. The back of my left hand felt the tension in his stomach. He held my shoulder with one hand and held himself up with the other.

Then he raised up a little further and began moving in and out. His driving thrusts filled me, pushed me forward as his hand pulled me back, spread and raised my thighs each time. His excitement pushed me towards the edge. When he sped up, I knew to stroke myself. Between the fullness, his friction within, and mine on my little nub, I spiraled higher and higher.

"Oh fuck!" he called as he lost all control, "Oh God!" The driving pressure took me over. I barely heard his grunts as he emptied himself into the rubber.

Then we were lying there. Dave was sprawled over me, weighing me down. I couldn't catch my breath and my feet were freezing. My shoulder was sore where he had been grasping it, my head was pressed against the door, and my neck was bent at an odd angle. Finally he stirred and raised himself. He passed me a pocket package of Kleenex. I cleaned myself up while he removed the rubber and wrapped it in a couple of tissues.

He kissed my breasts one last time before he let me put the bra on again. He dashed into the front seat with his clothes, slamming the back door behind him. I needed the space for struggling back into my dress. Still I wished he would talk to me then.