Thursday (part 2)

Th .5

The world was hers for the taking. And Jane Myers intended to get everything she could out of it.

With her decision had come a font of courage the likes of which she had never known. It was as if nothing could scare her. Nothing did scare her. She felt as though all consequence had been stripped away from her; she could do anything, today and tomorrow, and on Monday it wouldn't matter, it would be as if she hadn't done them at all. The slate would be wiped clean. She was free.

A girl could get used to this. A girl could get too used to this. Jane had always suspected, a little defensively, that she kept strict rein on herself for a very good reason, and now here it was.

Nonetheless, a girl could get used to this heady feeling of power.

More people had come to Rule Three her than all the rest of the week combined, and she had had more orgasms today than—well, not in her lifetime; she seemed to remember being quite well-acquainted with her plumbing in younger years—but certainly more than she'd ever had in one day, and for a very long time. Was it three today, or four? Probably more than most Program participants had in one day, to be certain. Oh look. I'm setting records. And she had not once seized up, or shuddered, or felt any indication that what she was doing was in any way wrong. Society isn't frowning on me, the school isn't frowning on me... Even the church can't complain too much. God gave me a body which feels pleasure, so it must not be wrong to enjoy it. And it's not like I've actually had sex.

And the one person who normally frowned the most wasn't frowning either. Nope. No frown on Jane Katherine Myers's face.

How free. How free.

Though a part of her did worry that she was getting just a wee bit drunk with power. I'm not invincible, she had to remind herself, I'm not invincible. I can get hurt. I can be harmed. One day soon the flight will end, and then I have to land again.

But she couldn't get this intoxicating freedom out of her veins. It was what she had wanted, without truly realizing it, for her entire life: not to have everyone's approval, not to be beyond reproach, not to be unassailable... But to not care, either way. On Monday I was Jane Katherine Myers, straight-A student. But today, I am... Whoever the heck I want to be.

And let them try to stop me. Just let them try.

And it showed; it showed. People weren't just stopping to fondle her titties, people were stopping to talk to her. People she'd known for, well, twelve years in some cases—she'd known Karin Ashpool straight back through to first grade, at the very least, and David Spirio and Claudia Chung as well—known, but never been friends with, were stopping to say hello and ask how she was doing. And a surprising number of people were complimenting her as well. "I'm not sure what you've found, Jane," Karin told her, "but if you could put it in a shampoo, I bet a lot of people would buy it." And Gordon Lane stopped and said, "You know, you wouldn't think it looking at you clothed, Jane, but naked, you're very attractive," which, from Gordon Lane, was saying something, because when's the last time anyone saw him without an acknowledged beauty like Jen Weathermeyer or Melinda Carlisle on his arm? If nothing else, this whole liberation thing was getting her a lot more public exposure.

But the person she had most expected a response from—Brandon—didn't seem interested at all.

Well, maybe that was to be expected. He was dealing with a lot right now, what with Meredith and the situation she had created by sleeping around (See? See? That's the kind of thing I was trying to prevent!). But she had thought he might be a little more interested in her private parts. He had certainly been interested when they were dating.

She realized now that she wanted his interest—his attraction, his lust, his approval—because she trusted his judgment. She remembered when they had first begun dating; he had seemed exotic to her, wise and mature, because he knew things she didn't. But it wasn't just that she didn't know them, it was that she knew she couldn't know them. She wouldn't know where to start learning. Things about human behavior. Things about life. Things about Jane herself, even; there were things he'd said about her—"You avoid people because you're scared of messing up near them," and, "You have strong feelings, but you pretend you don't"—that she'd believed, simply because he'd said them. In the quiet cynicism of his smile was that faint touch of veracity—I know, it seemed to say, I've been there—and she loved that about him. And she loved being loved by him, too; because, if he had been there, if he knew (and surely he did), and still loved him, then surely she must be worth something.

When she was with him, she could quiet that internal censor that monitored everything she said—quiet it, and just be herself. With him, she could just be. That had delighted her and scared her in equal amounts.

And now, here she was—just being. Free. Through her own heart and mind and willpower, this time, without any of Brandon's efforts. And if he was out of reach, there were still plenty of other people to impress.

It was during choir, however, that it all came crashing down; and predictably it all came down to Russell Hebbert. It was he who had unlocked the box in the first place, by phrasing it all as a challenge—the one thing she could never back down from. And now it was he who brought the wreckage.

She was ready for him when he arrived, but only barely; she hadn't expected him to show up halfway through choir practice, during their ten-minute break. What was he doing here? Was he on a sports team or something? And why did he always have to have a flock of followers? Strength in numbers? Was she really that dangerous?

"Jane Kai-shek," said Russell Hebbert.

"Is this going to be a normal thing," Jane asked. "Like, should I write it down in my planner?"

Russell was not to be deterred. "I have come, bearing Rule Threes. And I came all the way from the goddamn Homer Building, too—" Across campus, in other words. "—so you better appreciate it."

"Certainly," said Jane graciously. "Your presence honors me, Mr. Hebbert. What can I do for you?"

Russell gave a delighted laugh. "Well, Ms. Myers, if you would just step this way, I'll explain it all..." He led her to one of the larger practice rooms, where there was room for a desk as well as a piano.

It was Rule Three, of course; what else. Why she needed to be pulled off to one side for it, she didn't know. At least, she didn't until Russell began to open his mouth.

"I think we should up the ante a bit," he said, playing with her breasts. He was getting very good at that, and she could already start to feel desire arching up her back, tingling in her extremities. "How would you like for me to get involved a little bit more in all this Rule Three stuff?"

"Sure," she said. Couldn't hurt.

"All right then," he said. "My idea is to put you on the other end of the Rule Three experience. You've never touched a guy, right?"

She didn't even feel the need to be a stickler about it: Well, I've touched a guy, but only in a, you know, friendly manner. "Yeah, I haven't."

"Well, let's change that," he said.

"And which guy is going to be brave enough to let me at his naughty bits," Jane asked. Brave enough or dumb enough. God only knows what sort of mangling I might manage on accident.

"Myself, of course," said Russell brightly.

"Oh, well," she said. "That's fine then." Brave, dumb or otherwise, Russell was also quick, lightning-quick and smart. If anyone should be able to handle himself while she tried to handle him, it would be he. She felt safer about the situation.

She wondered if she should feel eager about the chance to touch a man's parts for the first time. She had seen her father's, in the shower, many years ago, but that meant nothing; throughout all the time she had dated Brandon, she had never once wondered what he might be like with his clothes off, which was something he had almost certainly wondered about her. All of that was foreign to her. In some ways it still was. Jane was a practical girl, concerned mostly with the here-and-now. And here and now was an opportunity—not really anything she wanted or needed, but an opportunity nonetheless. She might as well take it.

Russell unbelted his pants and let them slide down to his ankles. Then he shoved off his boxers in the same way.

Jane stared. "Is it always that... Wavy? I just thought I was weird."

"What?" He looked down at his pubic hair. "Oh. Yeah, of course it is. Don't you look at porn?"

"No," Jane said, a bit of her old defensiveness creeping in.

"Good for you, porn is stupid," said Russell. "Stay away from it if you can."

Jane glanced around, for the first time realizing that Russell's little entourage had come inside the room with them. Through the door's small inset window, she could see people passing back and forth on their way to the bathroom.

"So, what do I..." she said, looking back at him.

He shrugged. "Whatever you want to. You're Rule-Three'ing me, remember? It's your chance to investigate any weird little oddity about penises you always wanted to know about." He seemed totally unconcerned, standing there with his hands on his hips, his privates bared to all the world (and his friends!). Jane, for no reason she could understand, felt nervous.

Weird little oddity? The truth was, she'd never been really curious about penises. They were just there—some people owned them, some didn't. Some people were interested in them. She wasn't (she hadn't been). Maybe she would be, later... But she wasn't now.

She knelt in front of him, eye-level with his crotch.

She recognized it—the whole package, the whole deal—from biology textbooks. There's the hair, and then that would be the penis, and here is the scrotum, not quite as distended as it sometimes was—supposedly the testes retract, she remembered, when the air outside is cold, and the Music building was generally air-conditioned to a pretty low temperature. She recognized it, and yet, she didn't—this was nothing like the cartoonish icons they gave you in school. This was real, skin and tubes and millions of sperm in there somewhere. There were wrinkles and ridges and veins and bumps and colors and textures and smells she'd never known to expect.

At a loss, desperate to say something, she asked, "Are you circumcised?"

"No, actually, I'm not," Russell said. "I'm told that most Americans are circumcised, but my parents didn't have them do it to me, for whatever reason. Some people think circumcised cocks look ugly. Some people think uncircumcised cocks look ugly. What do you think?"

'Cocks'? Slang term for penis, I guess. "I don't know," she said, "let me look."

He laughed.

It was growing precipitously—she could see redden, start to bump up and down. That was blood supply, as she recalled, blood flowing in through valves to engorge special spongy tissues along the length of the penis, to make it hard. The glans was beginning to poke out from under the foreskin; it was definitely red. She wanted to see more. "Do you mind if I..."

"No, go ahead," said Russell.

She reached out and pinched his foreskin between two fingers, to try and pull it back, but only succeeded in tenting it upward. Russell said, "Ow. No, look, do it this way." He took a grip as if holding a pencil—a really large pencil—with fingers on either side, and pulled the entire structure backwards. Now she could see the shaft, the same shiny red as the head of his penis. The whole thing was starting to point in her direction.

"Is that... Is that for me?" she asked.

"Hunh?" he said. "Oh. Well, kinda yes, kinda no. Men aren't really picky, Jane: if they're in the vicinity of a naked female, of any naked female, for a length of time, they'll probably get an erection. That's the way Mother Nature made us. We can't help it."

Jane nodded. Brandon had said as much.

"If you're asking if I'm attracted to you... Well, yes, actually, I am. I think you're quite pretty. And you're brave, too. Gritty. I like that."

"Oh," she said. The head of his erect penis was an inch from her nose.

"So," he said. "You're here now. Would you like to touch it?"

Jane didn't look behind her, so she didn't see Christa's shocked face at the window. All she saw was Russell Hebbert and his penis (cock?), and she reached out to touch it.

His skin was like nothing she had ever felt before: soft, silky, marvelously textured. She could feel the warmth of the blood pumping beneath the surface, feel its solidness even as its skin gave way beneath her fingers, feel the marvelous life inside. Babies come out of this. It brings life. Or, if you believe all the women who are gagging for it, it is life. Jane didn't agree with that assessment; but she was willing to allow that this was a pretty interesting organ.

"Oh," said Russell, "oh Jane." When she looked up, his face was flushed. "Do you... Do you want me to do the same to you?"

"What, touch my privates," Jane said.

"Ye— No, actually, no, let's not," said Russell. "I'm not going to touch them. I'm going to lick them."

Jane's eyes popped. She had heard of the concept, of course—cunnilingus, was it called?—but who in their right mind would actually put their mouth on such an unsanitary place?? "Are you— Are you sure you want to?"

"Yes, of course I'm sure," said Russell. And then, before she could ask her next question: "And you're sure too. Trust me, Jane. It's one of the best feelings in the world. It's better than having a hand down there. It may be even better than sex."

Well, I wouldn't know about that. But something that feels even better than being touched? Sure!

Russell had her bend over the desk, and knelt behind her. She felt his breath on her... Area. It was a new sensation, to be certain, but it was not unpleasant.

And then his tongue touched her, and she understood what Russell was talking about.

For long moments there was only the rush of her breath, the beating of her heart, as Russell did... She had no idea. She was bent over the desk, her tush in the air, and Russell crouched behind her, doing his monstrous, miraculous thing with his mouth and tongue. She wasn't sure what, exactly, was going on, but it felt sinfully good. If he continued like this, she was going to orgasm; it was really as simple as that.

Then Russell's panting voice: "Jane, Jane, do you wanna... Do you wanna go all the way?"

Do I... What? What a silly idea / What a good idea! Have sex? Have actual sex? Do that, that... That thing she'd been avoiding for years?

Do something that feels better than this?

"All right," she said, before she could change her mind.

She looked behind her. Russell was rising to his knees, but her shoulders blocked off most of the view. Behind him, his cronies stood silent. Through the window she thought she glimpsed Brandon's face—but then she blinked and he was gone again. What was going on?

"Are you ready?" Russell grunted.

Then she felt it: a penis. In her vagina. And it was good—actually it was really good—but suddenly she saw herself, a naked girl of seventeen years, bent over this desk like a common prostitute, a man behind her still wearing his shirt, a man she barely knew—his friends were there! His friends were in the room! And she didn't know him and she didn't know herself and he was feeding his penis into her body inch by inch and making noises and groans and exultations and even though it felt marvelously good, a firm spreading sensation and the gorgeous feeling of her vaginal canal clamping down on something just the way it was supposed to, and it was wrong! It was all wrong!

And then his hips touched hers, and she felt his pubic hair on her buttocks, and his scrotum brushed against her clitoris, and it was very, very good.

It didn't take long; he was primed and ready, and so was she. It was as if her body, denied sexual release for over ten years, had simply been bottling it all up. Barely a minute, and she felt the clench and rush and bursting delirium of her orgasm, and heard Russell grunting, and felt vaguely (through the thrashing of her own senses) his final thrust, and then a spurting warmth deep within her, and she knew it was over. A minute—not all that long.

Too long.

Russell was doing up his pants. "Jane? Jane, are you okay?"

"I'm... I'm fine... Go on, I'll catch up with you later," she said. Or so she hoped; whatever sounds were coming out of her mouth were foreign to her. She was somewhere on the wrong side of rational speech. But they appeared to work, because Russell left, taking his entourage with him, without a backward glance.

For a while she lay there, staring dimly at the wall. She felt drowsy, lethargic, tired the way she was after a good bout of exercise. It was a good tired, and that made it worse. She'd heard that some people felt sleepy after sex, and for a moment she considered it. Sleep. Why not just drift off... Drift away, and never come back.

I'm Jane Myers. I'm not invincible. I'm weak. I'm so weak that a man with a penis could destroy me.

Presently she forced herself to move. She smelled the same acrid crimson smell she had met yesterday, all those years ago—twenty-four hours ago; less—the smell of human semen. It was coming from her, she realized, from her own vagina, and when she stood up she felt it begin to track down her leg. Wasn't it supposed to stick around? How could a woman possibly get pregnant if all that stuff just dribbled down onto the ground like that?

... What do I care? I don't want to get pregnant. I'm not on the Pill, I never got The Shot, and I don't think Russell used anything. So I guess I better pray.

Yesterday the idea of being pregnant would have wrecked her. Not today, though. Today I'm already wrecked.

It was cold outside, and the wind cut across her body, drawing stiffness into her nipples and gooseflesh to her skin. Clouds had drifted in, the dark clouds of an early October rain, and the sky was a brooding grey miasma. The wind tugged at her hair, tangling it in all directions. Her body felt raw, like a strange thing, a limb she had never known she had. Well, I'm not a virgin anymore. I've been fucked. I guess it makes sense for me to feel different.

She felt betrayed. Russell had taken advantage of her... Sort of. She had said yes, but now she knew what kind of mistake that had been. She felt betrayed by Russell, for asking. By Christa and Brandon and Meredith, for encouraging her to step into a world of greater sexuality. By Dr. Zelvetti, who had done the same. By Dr. Janine Graves, who had birthed today's social climate out of blood and sweat and genetics. By her own body. By herself.

I did this. Me.

"Hey," someone said.

She was sitting on bare concrete, feeling grit on her thighs and calves and vulva. It was north Stetsen, the only place to get out of the wind. Someone stood

above her. Jeff Gainesborough.

"I followed you," he said.

She looked at him remotely, and said nothing.

"I... I saw," he said. "I saw what happened. We... We all saw." He grimaced. "Christa passed by, and then told us, and..."

She didn't answer.

"Brandon didn't want to see," Jeff said. "He said he just... Wasn't interested."

"Did anyone want to see," she asked, acid.

"Well... Not really," said Jeff. "But Meredith and I watched."

"Oh, a voyeur," said Jane, acid.

Someone else might have bristled. Jeff simply said, "No. We didn't want to watch... But we didn't want to leave you alone, either."

An act of loyalty, then, if an ugly one. If all they could do was be near until it was over, then stand they would. Some of the black humor around her heart evaporated, leaving only a deep, aching emptiness.

Jeff sat down near her. The wind ruffled his short curly hair and tugged at his thin sparse beard.

"Did he force you," he asked.

"What!" Jane said. "No. No. Of course not. I did that to myself." She laughed, low and humorless. "I got into that mess a-aalllll by myself."

"It's not the end of the world," he said. "You've done so many other things today, it's not like you really jumped the gun or anything."

"The other things I did weren't mistakes," she said.

"And this one doesn't have to be either," he said. "Sure, you got into bed with the wrong guy. You're hardly the first woman to do that in the history of mankind, and you won't be the last. The question is, are you gonna let it load you down... Or are you gonna learn from it? Turn it into a story to tell your kids."

"What makes you think I'm going to have kids," she said.

He snorted. "Jane, if you tell me he turned you lezzie, I ain't gonna believe it."

Despite herself, she gave a snort of laughter, and for a moment they sat there, huddled against the wind.

"I... I shouldn't've," she said finally. "It was a mistake, and... I think I knew it. Going in. But everyone kept saying, you know, Oh, it's the greatest thing ever, you've gotta try it... And I look at Brandon, and Meredith, and Zach and Christa, and even Arie and Derek, and they're all... So happy with each other, and I thought..."

"You thought that, if you did it..."

"Maybe, it would... Maybe I could... Have what they had."

At another time, she might've been crying right now. But not today. Today she had no tears. Tears required something she didn't have. Like virginity.

"The thing is, though..." said Jeff. "It's not just sex. It's not only sex. They... They're meant for each other, at least Brandon and Meredith are. Zach and Christa... I dunno about, but they know how to make it work. Even if they aren't, like, The One for each other, it's pretty clear they still love each other, and they can make up in effort what they lack in chemistry."

"In effort," she asked.

"Mmm," he said. "Well. There's a saying people use in countries where they have arranged marriages. They say to us, 'You marry the person you love. We love the person we marry.' Love isn't just something that happens to you, in other words, it's something you do. You don't just roll the dice and pray, you work at it. And if you do, you can love... Anyone.

"And Zach and Christa know that. I think their dice lined up pretty well, but they aren't going to give up just because something goes slightly wrong."

"But Brandon and Meredith might," Jane said.

"Not if I have anything to do with it," Jeff said, surprising her. "Those idiots. Don't they see what they have? And don't they have any idea how many people would kill to be in their shoes?"

"I would," Jane said.

"So would I," said Jeff.

They sat in silence for another moment.

"It was because you were lonely," Jeff said.

Jane stared at him. "Yeah. Yeah, that's it exactly, it's..." She sighed. "I used to have friends, but I don't know where they went."

"Away," Jeff said. "Because you were scared."

At another time, she might've been angry. "Scared of what?"

"Scared of being judged," he said. "Anyone who comes near starts to judge; that's just the way humans are. But you couldn't bear to be judged unworthy, so you didn't let anyone near."

It's like he knows me, she thought.

"So, now, I'm alone," she said. "And I've got no friends. And I just gave away my virginity and..." She sighed. Blackness enfolded her, tenfold.

"That's not true," Jeff said. "You have friends. Brandon, Meredith, Christa..."

"None I can talk to," she said. "None I can really talk to. About anything. Brandon, once, but, now..." Overhead, thunder rumbled, harbinger to a coming storm.

He regarded her in silence.

She understood.

"Come on," she said.

He stood up after her. "What?"

"Come on," she said again. "We're going to leave. You're going to take me somewhere. And then... We're going to do it. For real this time."

"What?" he said, totally confused.

"Russell didn't count," she said, "it was a mess, it shouldn't be my first time. So now you're going to do it. A better job, this time. A real first time."

"I..." he said. "I am." A statement, but a dubious one, the questions clear in her eyes.

"Yes," she said, "you are." And then, as the last of her courage ebbed out of her: "Please."

When his eyes met hers, she felt as though he could see through her. But she could see through him, too, and she knew that she had won.

Or lost.

Maybe they're the same thing.

Th .6

"Wow," said Tommy. "This is your house?"

"Well," said Brandon. "It's not exactly mine. It's my parents'. But right now I'm the only one living here, so I guess it's mine." He assisted Meredith from the passenger seat of his car, closed the car door, and went to unlock the house. The tiny courtesy lifted Meredith's heart.

"How long are you guys going to be here," Brandon asked. "Should I get some dinner going?"

"It's not going to take that long," said Christa. "... Is it?"

"Well, we don't want to hurry them," said Zach, to prevent Tommy from jumping in. Of course Tommy would want as much time as possible. "I mean, we came here so that they could spread out and take their time. And it is 5:30."

"Dinner it is," Brandon said, and yanked the door open.

"No, no dinner," said Tommy. "I'm not hungry. I didn't come here to eat."

"Not food, at least," Meredith said dryly. Lisa blushed, but Tommy was too eager—or headstrong—to back down.

"Don't worry, kid," Zach chuckled. "We wouldn't feed you if you were hungry."

"Tommy," said Christa. "I think you should thank Brandon for the offer of food, and for being so thoughtful and letting you come here like this."

Tommy scowled. "What are you, my mother?"

"All right," Christa said, calling his bluff with alarming alacrity. "Get back in the car, right now. We're going home."

"No!"

"Then thank Brandon!" Christa said. "He's going to a lot of trouble for no other reason that he is concerned for you, and for Lisa. He could've said no and forced you guys to do this in the back of a car, or in the dirt behind the baseball diamond, or maybe even just the bathroom down by the library. Would that be fun?"

"Act like a man," said Zach, not unkindly. "That's the whole point of this excursion, right? To make you a man, and to make Lisa a woman. But if you act like a kid, we'll treat you like one. And you won't get to do the grown-up thing with Lisa."

Meredith blinked at him. 'The grown-up thing'?

Tommy finally had the grace to look ashamed. "I'm sorry, Brandon."

"No worries," Brandon said. "I was eager at your age too."

He let Christa and Zach install them in a bedroom somewhere—his house had thousands—while he began digging out pots and pans. "Well. That started off well."

"It could've been worse," Meredith said, ever politic. "Tommy could've stripped Lisa down and started banging her in the driveway."

Brandon wrinkled his nose. "All those red tiles give off dust. She'd be covered in pink from head to toe."

"She will be, if Tommy has his way," Meredith said.

"Nnn," said Brandon, feeling around for a strainer.

"Do you want some help," Meredith asked.

"Yeah, actually, if you don't mind," Brandon said. "I need some butter and a loaf of bread, and some tomato sauce, no meat." Christa was a vegetarian, and Meredith was thinking of taking it up herself. "I've got the pasta here already."

For a few moments there was no talk except the back-and-forth consultations of the business of food. Zach and Christa arrived and were put to work on a salad. Meredith felt at home; she and Brandon had done this many times, occupying a kitchen together, feeding body and soul at the dual altars of food and companionship.

For the first time, she began to truly believe that she and Brandon could work things out.

"I've missed this," she said aloud. "Just... Being."

Brandon, tending a boiling pot at the stove, looked over his shoulder at her. "So have I," he admitted. "It's been... Way too quiet here."

Zach and Christa looked at each other. "... You know, I think we'll go check on Tommy and Lisa," said Christa. "Come on, Zach."

"Not that we haven't seen that already today," Zach chortled. "Jane and Lisa, whodathunkit?"

And Brandon and Meredith found themselves alone.

Meredith finished the bread and slid it into the oven, manipulating the controls with practiced ease. Then she meandered—casually, casually!—over to where Brandon was standing. Her heart hammered in her ears; she was intensely aware of his presence, of his location, in the kitchen, in her life. It was all she could do to keep calm.