Wednesday

W .1

When I woke up in the morning, my first thought was, Today I get to go out with Mark Spencer. My life will never be the same.

Which, I think, is probably the most prophetic opening statement I have ever made.

Of course, I didn't know exactly how my life would change. I had my assumptions, just like everyone else did; after all, I had signed myself up for that ultimate insanity—Christa Sternbacher, naked in school—because I wanted to get asked out, by the likes of Mark Spencer. He was everything a girl could dream of—smart, funny, an accomplished sportsman, very polite—what, I don't mind when people open doors for me. A woman's station has some dignity, and I appreciate people who think that way. Like Mark Spencer. At least, I think he thinks that way; I mean, it's not like we particularly know each other, he and I. But then, that's what we're going out on a date for.

Today, I get to go out with Mark Spencer. My life will never be the same.

WHOOO!

My brother Tommy looked up from his breakfast when I came clattering down the stairs. "Hi, sis."

"Hi, brother," I said, unaccountably beaming. Today was such a great day! I gave him a kiss on the cheek and swung around to get a bowl of cereal.

"Uh," said Tommy, giving me a guarded look. He's thirteen, and kissing still reeks of cooties to him. "What's up with you today?"

"I dunno," I said, bobbing across the kitchen. "I just feel happy."

"Uh. Ohhh-kay," said Tommy, and buried his face in his cereal.

My mother came into the kitchen, a swish of rustling skirts. "Hello kids, please hurry, we're already running a bit late." Mom's able to get into the office on time if she drops us off a little early and then hurries, but it's a half-hour run to drop me off at Mount Hill High and Tommy at DeClessey Junior High, through moody and variable traffic, so she tries to get us out the door as fast as possible, to provide everyone with a buffer of time. Her supervisors at work are understanding and sympathetic, she says, but I can tell she'd still rather be there on time, of her own ability. I don't blame her. Counting on someone else's mercy is never a smart idea.

It was that one statement, and then my mom rushed out again... Only to return, slowly backpedaling, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Oh, that's right, Christa. Today's a big day for you."

"Yep," I said, beaming.

Mom gave me a hug. "My little baby, all grown up, going on her first date."

I grinned in affectionate annoyance. "Mother..."

"Oh, is that what's going on," my brother said with a grand indifference. "I thought she'd hit her head in the night or something."

"Tommy," my mother said, but we were in too good of a mood to really get angry. Tommy just shrugged and took more cereal into his face.

Mom delivers Tommy first, because DeClessey is closer to our house than Mount Hill, but even then I was there about half an hour early. Ten minutes of that, easily, went into the undressing at the front of the school; it was kind of surprising how many people were sitting there waiting for me. But they got their money's worth, I imagine. Certainly nobody seemed displeased. One guy even came up and fondled me for a minute or so. He was no Mark Spencer, though.

Neither Megan nor Debbie was around; or, at least, they weren't at the normal place by the ball closet. So, a little less ebullient, I swung by north Stetsen. Zach wasn't there, nor Sajel nor Derek nor Arie; just Brandon and Meredith, watching the crowds, talking in low voices, once sharing a quick, undisturbed kiss.

For a second, I felt a little uncomfortable watching them. Not twenty-four hours ago I had been determined to win Brandon for myself. There was no such idea now—Mark Spencer had destroyed the need for it; how things change in twenty-four hours!—but I still felt a little guilty.

"Hey, Christa," Brandon said. "What brings you around these parts?"

I shrugged. "Just, hanging around, waiting for school to start."

"You normally get here this early," Meredith asked.

I nodded. "Mom has to get in to work on time, so she drops me and my brother off a little early."

Meredith nodded. "That makes two of you."

"Two of who," I asked.

"Well, Zach's here pretty early sometimes, for basically the same reason," Meredith said. "Kind of appropriate, you know?"

I shrugged. I suppose you could see it that way. Me, I wish I knew where Mark Spencer normally spent break times, so that I could hunt him down.

"How is Zach, anyway," Brandon asked.

I blinked, startled out of my thoughts. "You're asking me? I thought he was your friend."

"Well, he is," Brandon said, "but he's been... A little bit close-mouthed recently, because of something unrelated—"

"He and Sajel had a spat," Meredith said blandly.

"Oh," I said. "That explains why she was coming to hang with us yesterday at lunch."

"Yeah," Brandon said, evidently not fazed by the fact that two of his friends were in a state of open hostilities. "Anyway, he's been... Well, quiet. It's not like him."

I laughed. "No kidding. Understatement of the century."

"And we saw you two in that practice room yesterday," Meredith said. I jumped, startled—were they mad or something? But no, Meredith simply continued: "He isn't talking to us, not really. We thought you might have some insight."

I blinked, thinking about it. Was there anything I knew that might help? "No, not really," I said. "We just... Talked. He has seemed down in the dumps, but he hasn't told me why."

"Hmm," said Meredith, frowning. "Guess it's an unsolved mystery."

"Maybe he doesn't trust you enough," Brandon said. "Which isn't meant to be an insult," he added hastily. "He's just... Careful about who he trusts."

"No, I understand," I said. "I'm much the same."

Meredith smiled at me, as if she knew a secret. In a second I figured it out: that she and Brandon, somewhere along the line, had become two of those few people I trusted.

"So," Meredith said. "How's The Program treating you?"

"Nothing from the badlands, if that's what you're wondering," I said. My hand touched the whistle around my neck, which I had not yet needed.

"We never once suspected," Meredith said.

"But besides that," Brandon said. "Goodness knows there's more to The Program than staying away from the badlands."

"We're a little interested," Meredith said.

"We have a small stake in it," Brandon added.

"We?" I asked. Brandon being interested I could understand, but unless I'd missed something...

Meredith indicated Brandon with an incline of the head. "I go where he goes."

So the loyalty went both ways. I filed that little tidbit away for future reference.

"And besides," Meredith added. "Who knows if I might be interested in The Program some day."

"Might be," Brandon said, smiling. "I helped you fill out the application in October."

Meredith rolled her eyes. "Yes, dear, and we know you were dreaming about seeing me prancing around naked when you did it."

Brandon gave her a truly ghastly grin. "Why should I fantasize? I can see it for real any time I want."

"Any time you want!" Meredith said, a picturesque shock on her face, hands on her hips. She turned to me. "A girl decides to be nice to him and has sex with him a couple of times, and look how he starts thinking!"

I shrugged in commiseration. "They're incorrigible, all of them."

"Did you know," Meredith said, turning back to Brandon, "that in Ancient Greece, women managed to stop a war by agreeing not to have sex with their husbands?"

"Wait, they what," I said. "How'd that work? Did both sides agree to do it?"

"No, both sides agreed to not do it," Meredith corrected, "but after they did that, the men had to—"

"Actually, it didn't really happen," Brandon said, a pleasant amusement on his face. "It was a play from Ancient Greece. Fiction. Pure and total imagination. It was one of their comedies. Though it's a pretty good idea. I wonder if you could stop the fighting in Palestine by—"

"I'm trying to make a point, dear," Meredith said frostily, but even I could hear the affection glimmering underneath. "As I was saying, historically it's always been very easy to lead men around by their phalluses."

"Phallii," Brandon corrected mildly. "Plural of fungus is fungii, plural of doofus is doofii, plural of phallus is—"

"Thank you, Brandon," Meredith said, now not entirely able to keep a smile from her face.

"Hmm, that's interesting," I said. "I'll keep that in mind."

"What, the plural of fungus?" Brandon asked hopefully.

"No, the leading boys around by their dicks," I said. I'm not sure I had ever said that word before, at least not to another person.

Meredith merely looked surprised, but Brandon made the conclusion I was hoping for. "So your Show Off To The Boys campaign has reached some success?"

"That indeed it has," I said, beaming.

"Ohh, impressive!" Meredith said. "What sort of success?"

"Well," I said. "Tonight, at about eight PM, a certain baseball great will be attending the basketball game with a certain young lady on his arm."

"Christa, you play baseball?" Brandon said, totally deadpan. "I had no idea!"

Meredith broke into helpless laughter. "What! Brandon, what does..."

I glared at him. " 'Lady on his arm'? What, do I look like a boy to you? No, on second thought, don't answer that. Oh God."

Brandon grinned. "Well, congratulations, Christa, that's good news. I guess that boy you asked out said yes?"

"Actually, no, he ended up asking me," I confessed. "But I guess the end result is the same."

"So, who is he," Brandon asked. "It's not Marcos Grijalva, he's got a girlfriend... Or," he added in a deadpan tone, "if it is, I'm going to have to be alarmed."

"Actually, it's Mark Spencer," I said, glowing at the memory. "Isn't that incredible? It's my first date ever and this totally popular, totally hot guy asks me out!"

Brandon and Meredith didn't answer, and suddenly I realized that the pleased looks had slid off their faces the moment I said his name.

"What, what?" I said.

"Well, that's..." said Meredith. "Interesting news."

"Very interesting," Brandon said.

"Interesting?" I said. Something was going wrong here. I wasn't getting the appreciative excitement I deserved. "It's the greatest day of my life and all you can say is 'Interesting'?"

"Now hold on," Brandon said, "that's being a bit premature." At first I thought I had converted him, but then he continued. "I hardly think it's the greatest day of your whole life. There'll probably be something a little more important. The day you get married, say, or the birth of your first—"

"Brandon," Meredith said, mildly reproving, "I don't think that's quite appropriate right now," and Brandon fell silent. She turned to me. "Christa... It's your first date. We're your friends. We care about you. You can't blame us for being cautious."

But I could hear what she wasn't saying. "Nobody thinks it's gonna work," I grumped.

"We didn't say that," Brandon said cautiously.

"Why, who else said that?" Meredith asked.

"Zach," I spat. "He thinks it's a disaster."

Meredith and Brandon traded glances, glances that held a significance I didn't understand. "And Zach... Said this?" Meredith hazarded, turning back to me.

"Not in as many words, no," I said, "but I could tell he was thinking it."

"I... See," said Meredith.

"God, does nobody have faith in my dating ability," I raged. Suddenly I was angry, angrier than I'd realized. I'd thought I was just annoyed. But now, as it turned out, just about everyone I'd bothered to ask—Zach, my mother, and now Brandon and Meredith—thought Mark Spencer was bad news. Even Debbie and Megan had expressed some skepticism. Well, you know what? I like Mark Spencer, and I'm gonna go out with him tonight, and if you don't like it, you can just stuff it up your bum!

"Every time I tell people, it's like, Omigod, Christa, that's such a bad idea! It's like I can't think for myself or something. Well, you know, maybe I'm all old-fashioned and stuff, but they taught me that when my friends tell me something that I think is a bad idea, I should be supportive anyway. Because that's what friendship's about. It's about standing behind someone when they make mistakes—so that they have someone to fall back on."

"Which is what we're doing," Brandon said firmly. "Christa, you're perfectly free to make your own choices. We don't agree with this one—no, we don't. But we'll support you on it all the way. And hey—who knows. Maybe we'll be proved wrong. If you come back and we screwed up, I'll be the first to eat my own words."

"But you don't think you'll have to," I said bitterly.

"Hey: I assume nothing," Brandon said. "Useful talent sometimes. What happens, happens. If I don't have expectations, I'll never be disappointed."

"But you don't think you'll have to," I repeated.

Brandon said nothing, and his silence was all the answer I needed.

"Look, I'm sorry," Meredith said.

"We're sorry," Brandon inserted.

Meredith nodded. "I'd love to believe that this is the world's biggest case of Beauty and the Beast, where everything we thought we knew about the guy turns out to be wrong, but..."

I sighed. There was nothing to be done anyway. I had vented my spleen, and if they still disapproved, they still disapproved. "It's fine," I said, and Meredith subsided, looking unhappy.

Zach didn't show up until almost the last second before Geometry class started, so I didn't have a chance to talk to him until the passing period between that class and English. I wasn't sure where he went between the two, either; I tried to catch him, but he eluded me in some way, and the next I saw him, he and Brandon were coming down the hall of downstairs Stetsen together, talking and laughing among themselves, as friends do. Zach, of course, was naked—to be expected. I realized I had never had a chance to take a good look at him, though, so I watched him as I stood by the door of the classroom, waiting to get in, watched him as he came down the hallway. He was tall—as was probably appropriate of a basketball player. He wasn't seven feet or anything, but certainly scraping six—taller than Brandon, who's getting up there. His hair was cut short and stayed plastered to his head like a cap, a hedgehog profusion of little spiky tendrils. Long years of exercise had given him his height, and a wiry physique of long, explosive strength, like a walking series of levers. As I watched, he and Brandon laughed at some exchanged quip—a smile glimmering like frosted glass, the light in his eyes. He had a bright smile, a contagious laugh. I liked them both.

"Hey, Zach," I said.

The humor on his face subsided, fading into a vague downcast expression. I felt suddenly bad. I shouldn't dampen his spirits like that! He should be laughing, he should be smiling—he should be free.

"Uhm," I said, a little hesitant. "What's goin' on?"

Zach looked away feebly and didn't answer.

"Oh, nothing much," Brandon said, looking from him to me and back again. "We were just talking, as friends do."

"Ah," I said.

"Yeah," said Zach. "Yeah."

There was a bit of a silence between us for a moment.

"Listen, Zach, I..." The words tumbling from my mouth without plan. "I... Wanted to thank you."

"Oh," Zach said, his face showing nothing—like he was too tired to move. "What for?"

"Well, for..."

What did I want to thank him for? Honestly, I had no idea. All I knew was that, suddenly, very suddenly, I was really glad to have him as a friend.

"For being my Program partner," I said at last, after much too long a silence. I was uncomfortably aware of Brandon's eyes. "I mean, I could've gotten stuck with a real jerk or something, but you've been..."

"Oh, well," said Zach. "You're welcome." A sudden, momentary flash of smile. "It's not like I did anything, Dr. Zelvetti assigns the partner pairings. You should thank her."

"Well, I will then," I said. "But I wanted to thank you too. For not, you know, being a jerk."

A dry, rank smile spread across Zach's face. "That's what I'm good at."

There was another brief silence, while Brandon's blinking gaze shifted back and forth between us.

"Well, for that matter," Zach said finally. "I guess I ought to thank you. I mean, I could've ended up with someone totally uptight and... And cerebral, and just... No fun. But instead, I got this... This really cute, friendly... Attractive..." (I could tell words were eluding him.) "... Person. I mean, just... It's... It's been great, so... Thank you."

He says just the sweetest things sometimes. I guess I was just feeling rather demonstrative that day. I grabbed him and hugged him.

He jumped.

"Whoa, Zach," I said, smiling. "It's okay. It's called a hug. Friends do this sometimes."

But though he put his arms around me, and I held him for a minute or so, I don't think he calmed down.

I liked being hugged. I hadn't been hugged in... Well, a while. My mom's not especially demonstrative. And from someone my own age? Nope, not that either. I know some girls can just hug their girlfriends, but I'm not one of them, and Debbie's not and Megan's not. And no guy has ever looked at me before today. But I liked it—especially this naked thing, the skin on skin, the contact. I could feel his heart thundering. It was nice.

And over his shoulder, I could see Brandon, now joined by Arie and Sajel, all of them looking at me with identical wordless stares.

When Zach and I stepped apart, something brushed against my belly: him—Zach, I mean—looking very, very hard.

"Oh, my," I said, smiling. "Is that for me?"

Zach blushed furiously, so much that it was a wonder he didn't go limp. But, if anything, he got harder.

"I'm sorry," I said, still amused and somewhat flattered. It's still news to me that anyone finds me attractive. "I didn't mean to cause any discomfort."

"No, it's... It's fine." He wouldn't meet my eyes.

But when class started and Mr. Cavanaugh asked if Zach needed relief, he did.

Sajel looked away frostily. A couple of girls volunteered—including Arie, which raised a few eyebrows. But I looked around, and thought about it, and shrugged, and put my hand up.

What can I say. I guess I was just feeling generous. It comes with suddenly feeling really good about yourself.

"Are you sure about this," Zach asked me quietly.

I shrugged. I grinned. "I think it'll be a good chance to practice."

Zach looked at me, his expression pained in some way I couldn't explain, and said nothing.

I sank to my knees in front of him, wanting to take a good long look. I hadn't had a chance on Monday (and the room had been dark too), and since this was my first penis, I wanted to make a good impression.

Megan has asked me to describe one since then—in fact, she asked not two hours later, during break—and I've been at a loss. It's... a penis. I'd never seen one before and there wasn't a lot I could explain. Sure, I can tell you the anatomy and all that—shaft slightly curved, head reddish with engorgement, lack of foreskin, the ridge on the bottom, a whole lot of pubic hair like some sort of misplaced afro—but you really have to have seen one, and held one, to understand. You can't explain the air of it—the aura of it—the sort of primal beat it throbs to, sitting there in your hand like a live thing only somewhat contained, a live thing you only sort of understand. It begs to take flight. It begs to do what it's meant to. It teeters in your hand, swaying on a balance point, and its only single message is: give me a push, make me go, let me fly.

And I wanted to.

"Uhhh. Um, Christa, you—you don't have to—you don't have to do that," Zach said, when I took him into my mouth.

"Silly," I said, smiling up at him. "I want to." That was an understatement. My lips were wet with anticipation—and not just the ones on my head.

His taste was... Well, reddish, I suppose: that warm, salty, slightly raw taste that I've since learned is the taste of all skin. He was very warm (something I hadn't quite expected). It was like putting my mouth around a shining flashlight—you can't see it with your own eyes, but you can feel it shining, feel your mouth filling, presence without substance. That was what it felt like—the sense of this thing, this phallus, in my mouth, on my tongue—begging to be released. Begging to fly.

I ran my tongue over the head of his penis, feeling its texture, and then across the underside. Zach moaned inarticulately. Encouraged, I took more of him into my mouth, until his head was lodged against he back of my throat. A vague, wild image filled my head—my teeth crashing down, severing him entirely; the spurt of warm blood against my lips—but I forced it away. That would be somewhat cruel. Only just a little. Instead, I formed my lips around his shaft and sucked.

Zach moaned again.

I sucked on him until my lips gave out, and then slid them up and down his length, letting my tongue wander at will, over the bottom and top and sides, rubbing, caressing, feeling that warmth and the motion accelerating inside him, things preparing to come to life.

I loved it. It was a certainty with me, now: this was one of my favorite things to do. I could feel Zach stiffening and jolting, hear his formless cries, feel the pressure of his hand stroking hair from my face, and I knew I was doing these things to him which would make his toes knot. I loved it.

But all too soon it was over. Zach managed a coherent sentence: "Christa, it's soon—" and I realized what he meant. Okay, sucking is one thing, but I wasn't sure about swallowing, and to be truthful, I wanted that thing out of my face as soon as possible!

The first spurt landed across my forehead, and I closed my eyes as a precaution. (Meredith has since told me that this was very wise.) The next landed on my cheek, and clung there; the rest on my shoulders and a little bit on my breast. I felt vaguely ridiculous—kneeling there in front of the whole classroom, frosted like a doughnut—but also curiously exalted. I felt marked, somehow, as if Zach had made some stake to me as his own. Which was, like I've said before, a really sweet compliment for a girl who only recently has discovered that anyone finds her attractive.

Zach looked down at me, and his eyes tightened in ways I couldn't understand.

"Thank you," he said. His voice was hoarse. "That was... Incredible."

I smiled up at him. "I should thank you," I said, "it was fun."

Mr. Cavanaugh excused me to the bathroom, and I cleaned myself off. I couldn't, not entirely; I scrubbed and wiped thoroughly, but still my face felt... Well, frosted is the right word. It was as if there was this coating of semen across it that I couldn't get rid of, even though the mirror showed my face was perfectly clean. Maybe it was just mental. But I couldn't get it off. When I returned to the classroom, my face still preceded by that imaginary layer of cum, Zach was in his seat and everything was quiet. He gave me a cursory glance when I came in, but said nothing.

In the bathroom, I finished drying my face only, to realize that something else was wet, and definitely in need of addressing. I ran a finger over my labia, and they tingled at my touch. Too bad there wasn't time for me to ask for relief.

I slipped a finger inside myself, feeling my vagina adjust to the intrusion, feeling the tingling flush spread through my body. This was incredibly dangerous—not only was I standing brazen in the middle of the washroom, diddling myself, but I had just finished cleaning semen off my face. If any remained on my fingers, I might get pregnant. And this was not the time for it to happen. I didn't think it would, though. My face might feel coated, but my fingers felt just fine.

Besides, I reasoned, at recess I was going to Nurse Chaplain's office to get The Shot... Wait, I was? Yes, actually, I realized—because one thing was certain. If sucking a guy off was such a joy, intercourse would undoubtedly be greater... And I wanted it.

Mark Spencer was going to be in for a shock. Who'd think that his proper, demure date was turning into a nymphomaniac!

W .2

"Dude," Brandon said to me when I sat down. "Is she trying to kill you or what?" I had no idea, and I just shrugged. I was so tired.

Hi, I'm Zach Crane, and I'm tired in school.

I'm pretty sure Christa doesn't know I've got a thing for her; as far as I can tell, I haven't said anything about it—anything overt, at least—and I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have done everything she's done this morning if she knew. Full-body hugs—oh my God. And then that blowjob. I went off really quickly in her hand on Monday, and it was just as quick today. I mean, that's not normal for me, I've definitely got some endurance. Some of my partners have complained about it. Of course, no one had in a couple of weeks, because I hadn't gotten any in a couple of weeks. Maybe that caused it.

Maybe it's just Christa. Maybe she's just magic.

And then she looked up at me with my cum all over her face, and I realized that there was no maybe about it.

If she and Mark Spencer get together, I'm going to have to kill myself.

She didn't come to us at recess, thank God; it was just Meredith and Sajel, coming in from under the grumbling, overcast sky, discussing the problem in artificially loud tones. "I dunno either," Sajel was saying as they meshed seamlessly into the conversation Brandon and Arie had been having. "I mean, if she knew, I'd say she was just teasing him, but I don't think she does."

"Even if she did know," Meredith said (at a much more civil volume), "I'd still be confused. I don't know if Christa is the kind of girl to do that sort of thing."

"That's true," Sajel reflected. "She's never struck me as the temptress kind."

"Wait, what's going on," Derek asked, arriving on the scene and wrapping his arms around Arie from behind. The circle expanded to five.

"We're trying to figure out if Zach's Program partner knows he's in love with her," Sajel announced.

Derek looked down at me, shocked. "Whoa, you're hot on your Program partner?"

"Yeah, rub it in, why doncha," I grumbled, but I didn't have the energy to put any real anger into it. Which, of course, is why I was slumped up against the wall off to one side, my bare ass freezing on concrete. I just didn't have the spirit.

"So say something to her," Derek said reasonably.

"She's hot on Mark Spencer," Meredith said.

"Oh, whoa," Derek said. "Mark Spencer?"

"He asked her out," Arie said. "They'll be at the game tonight."

"Well," Derek said, almost to himself. "That explains that."

"That explains what," I asked.

"Mark Spencer this morning," Derek said. "While we were waiting for the teacher to let us in. Just, going on about some hot chick he's discovered. He says he's gonna bring her to The Lighthouse after the game, Zach."

Perfect. Just perfect. The Lighthouse is the basketball team's traditional after-game hang-out. I guess Mark Spencer wants to show off this hot chick he's discovered... I'd probably want to do the same thing, mind you. But since it's him and not me that's gonna have Christa on his arm...

"Jane Myers told him off," Derek added in Brandon's direction.

"Jane," Brandon asked, startled.

"Yeah?" Derek said. "Mark was all, 'Oh, well, I haven't asked her but I'm sure she won't mind, ' and Jane flared up at him. She's all, you know, 'It's really mean of you to make decisions for her' and all that. Kinda scared Mark off."

A slow, strange smile touched across Brandon's face for a moment. "Well, Jane's never exactly lacked for a backbone..." Meredith looked at him with a small smile, and suddenly I understood the expression on his face: Pride.

"So why do you think she's doing it?" Sajel said.

"Who, Jane," Derek asked.

"No, Christa," Sajel said. "She gave Zach a minute-long hug before English."

"Which caused him problems," Arie said archly. I noticed how close Derek was standing behind her and wondered if he was developing problems.

"Does she do that normally?" Derek asked. If he had problems, they weren't big ones... Not that I'd know anything about the size of Derek's problem. Ugh. Shuddery thought.

"No," Meredith said. "She doesn't do that normally."

"And then when he asked for relief," Sajel continued, "she gave it to him."

Derek blinked at me for a moment. "Well, you could've just asked someone else."