Month 3

Fifteen

With time on my hands, I started to run before school as well as after. Jenny joined me on my third morning out.

"Why didn't ya tell me ya planned to run in the mornin', too?" she asked when she caught up with me.

I smiled, happy to see her. "I didn't want to put any pressure on you."

"Yeah, well, I'm down a total of twenty-five pounds. I'm halfway home. I'm a gonna be svelte, buddy boy, come hell or high water, and runnin' is doin' it for me. You're my runnin' partner so when you run, I run. Got it?"

"Got it, and welcome aboard."

She kept glancing toward me, giving me curious looks. "What?" I asked.

"I jus' noticed. We're the same height, Paul. Good golly Miss Molly, you sure have been growin'. Two months ago, I was four inches taller than you, and now we're the same height, just shy of six feet." She giggled. "Just think! If you ever kiss me, you won't need to move up onto your tippy toes. You can just look me straight in the eye, lean forward and plant a big one smack dab on my lips."

I laughed heartily. "You're good for what ails me, Jenny girl. You truly are."

"That I am and don't you ever forget it, buddy boy. I've got another question for ya. Would you be upset if I signed onto Kung Fu like you? I notice as fast as you're growin' you still move graceful-like, and besides being svelte — Love that word! — I wanna project some elegant grace like those runway models, 'cept they're too durned anorexic."

"Me, graceful? Girls are graceful, not boys."

She huffed a laugh. "True to a point. Most boys trudge through life. Not you. You glide." Another giggle. "You glide but you're not gay. Hey, maybe you're missing an opportunity."

"Humph. I might be down on girls right now, but soft female curves turn me on, not hulks with muscles. Speaking of hulks and muscles, how's your project coming. Have you gotten laid yet?" I leered at her. "I notice another layer or two have gone by the wayside. Lookin' good, girl. Lookin' mighty fine."

She blushed. "Thanks. To answer your question, I'm still innocent, but I've got the guy I want all staked out, and when I'm ready, I'll let him know, and he'll come a runnin'. He'd be a durned fool if he turned me down, and I gotta tell ya he aint no durned fool. You didn't answer me about the Kung Fu thing."

"Are you a devout Christian, Jenny?"

"Not particularly. Why?"

"If you become seriously involved with Kung Fu, you'll need to follow the Tau, or the Way, an Oriental philosophy that some deeply religious Christians might consider in conflict with their chosen faiths. Also Kung Fu was developed and perfected by Shaolin Buddhist Monks, so you'll be exposed to Buddhism, too, at least as a philosophy."

"No problem."

"You'll also need to practice everyday. Do you have the time?"

"Uh-uh, but I'll make the time. I wanna be svelte and graceful. Paul, do you get good grades in school?"

"Yeah, why?"

"'Cause I do, too. Straight A's in the college prep classes, but some B's in some crap classes, like gym. Don't tell anybody. Bein' fat is bad enough. Bein' fat and smart would be worse. I can't hide the fat, but my good grades are a secret. I tol' ya about 'em so you'll know when I say I'll make the time to do somethin' I consider serious that I'll make the time. Okay?"

"Okay. I train at the Kwoon on Wednesdays."

"Any room for me the same day?"

"I think so. Chuck used to drop me off, and then I'd walk home. Since... Never mind. Now my mother drives me sometimes. I'll ask her if she can pick us up after school and drop us off tonight."

"My daddy bought me a little car, buddy boy. As big as I am, why he bought me a little car confounds me, but you can ride with me to and from the trainin' hall."

"Great!"

"To and from school, if ya want."

"Even better. I'll chip in for gas."

Sixteen

When the time came to test my ability to refuse delivery of harm, I faced two opponents, not one, and Gary Wilson wasn't one of them.

Harold Williams and Royce Edwards bracketed me in the school parking lot while I was waiting for Jenny. Claire picked Hal for a boyfriend after our breakup (maybe before). Because Helen was joined at Claire's hip (make that pussy), Helen followed Claire and coupled up with Royce, Hal's buddy, dumping Chuck without a fare-thee-well.

I figured that Hal and Royce had me pegged as the source of the rumors floating around school about Claire and Helen's loose and lascivious behavior.

Yes, I'd heard some of the rumors. Like most rumors, some were accurate, others false, and I had to fess up as the initial source of the rumors. After all, I'd told Chuck everything, not to feed the gossipmongers, but rather to protect my ex-friends feelings. No good deed goes unpunished, I thought yet again.

Chuck probably initiated the rumors after Helen dumped him, if only to get even. I should have anticipated Chuck's reaction. That boy had a get-even, mean streak in him, and he was incapable of keeping a secret.

I'd been taught to avoid fighting as a first line of defense. Hal and Royce eliminated that option when, without saying a word, Royce grabbed my arms and twisted them behind my back. At the same time, Hal reared back and then tried to drive his fist into my stomach and out my back.

He failed in his attempt. I was ready for the blow. Still, I sagged and gasped as if he'd knocked the wind out of me, not that it took much acting ability on my part. His fist striking my tightened abs hurt!

Besides Kung Fu basics, at my request Sifu had given me some advice about street fighting that I could use until Kung Fu training would be useful to parry an attack.

I stomped on the arch of Royce's left foot and spun out of his grasp. While Royce was still bellowing in pain, Hal came at me again. This time he swung a roundhouse from his hip with the removal of my head the objective of his meaty fist. I easily blocked the telegraphed blow with my left forearm, and without thinking, settled into a back stance and used a palm heel punch, which struck his chest just below his sternum. The punch achieved what Hal intended for me on his first blow. Hal fell to the asphalt, gasping for breath. Royce was also on the pavement, rolling around in pain, holding his left leg, his knee bent and pressed to his chest, screaming that I'd broken his foot.

I leaned against Jenny's little car, a Volkswagen Jetta, hoping I looked nonchalant. I was anything but nonchalant. My heart raced, my blood roared through my veins and arteries, and to relax a little, I had to take a couple of deep, cleansing breaths.

By then, Hal managed to get his wind back. When he moved to his feet, I prepared to parry his next attack and then remembered avoidance could probably be applied as a line of defense now.

"Don't even think about coming at me again, Hal," I said, trying to sound confident. "Next time, I'll really hurt you. Pick up your friend and leave me alone."

Hal glared at me briefly, but he didn't have the courage to maintain eye contact. I nearly dropped my teeth when he pulled Royce to his feet and helped him hobble away.

"Impressive," Jenny said, standing behind me.

She wasn't the only observer of the altercation, I noticed. A small group at the far side of the parking lot stood looking my way. Claire and Helen were among the group. Had they pushed Hal and Royce to attack me?

"Thanks," I said. "Let's get out of here."

"Let's," she quipped with a smile.

She glanced toward me just before she guided the Jetta out of the parking lot. "You don't want to talk about it. Right?"

"Right."

"Thought so."

"This isn't the end of it."

"Nope. You humiliated them. They'll recruit more help and come after ya again."

"Chuck spread the word, not me."

"I know."

We drove in silence for a few blocks.

"Are the rumors accurate?" Jenny asked.

"Probably not. Rumors tend to be exaggerated."

"Not this time, I suspect."

You don't know the half of it, Jenny girl, I thought.

"Claire and Helen aren't the norm, Paul."

"So says my mother."

"Listen to your mother. She knows best."

Seventeen

Jenny and I were in a park close to our homes. We'd interrupted our evening run to practice some Kung Fu basics. The sun was setting, casting a brilliant orange glow across the darkening sky. The winter grass cushioned my dancing feet as I practiced punches, kicks, stances and blocks. The autumn air felt brisk and smelled clean like fresh laundry hanging on a clothesline. Did anyone dry clothes outside anymore?

I'd stopped hurting all the time, nagged only by intermittent mental flashes that caused the pain and humiliation to resurface. I was happy for my youth. I suspected if disillusionment had struck me later in life instead of during my teens, recovery wouldn't be happening as quickly. I also realized recovery wasn't a cure. Some serious bubbles had been popped. My life view had been altered forever. Did my new view of life and love reflect reality better than the naïve point of view I'd enjoyed such a short time ago? Not likely, I reasoned. I still had some maturing to do.

Claire's betrayal had shattered the rose-colored glasses perpetually perched on my nose before I met her, and personal reflections about my future would never be as full of promise, or as joyful, or as beautiful as they'd been before I gazed through the gap in my ex-lover's bedroom window shade. I'd lost my innocence with that one glance, not when I gave up my virginity to Mrs. Jensen. Innocence is not a physical attribute; it's an emotional state.

Before Claire, I'd been too shy to talk to girls, let alone touch one. Older women didn't terrify me, but being around a girl reduced me to a blithering idiot. With patience and care, Mrs. Jensen and Claire wore off my shy edges, burnishing them to a fine roundness, and then Claire revealed her true nature, which made me doubt my ability to judge anyone's character, male or female. Now, I wouldn't open myself up to let a girl move close enough to me that trust could become an issue. I seriously doubted that I'd ever be able to trust any girl again. As careful and cautious as I'd become, my interaction with girls wasn't much different than when I was merely shy. I also concluded that shyness could be endearing and attractive to some girls, but my newly acquired cynicism pushed them all away.

I'd been shy because I considered girls wonderful and mysterious, better than boys somehow, worthy of so much adoration that I stuttered and stammered when around them. How could such wonderful creatures lower themselves far enough to acknowledge a scrawny, short boy like me? My growth spurt helped, but I still placed girls on pedestals, high places they didn't deserve to occupy.

I'd become a cynic, smashing all pedestals to smithereens, when I discovered girls couldn't be trusted, when I realized they weren't truly mysterious, merely sneaky and mean, mean to the bone. They were users and manipulators, unfaithful and disloyal. They presented giving and loving and pretty exteriors, while inside they were selfish and deceitful and ugly.

Yes, I lumped all females as such, excepting very few: my mother, sister and Jenny girl, but deep down, I even harbored reservations about my three exceptions. Was my mother capable of cheating on my father? I didn't think so, but I had no way to be certain. I loved my sister, but she could be sneaky, and I'd listened to her lie through her teeth to gain an advantage. Jenny had told me that she'd staked out a guy to have sex with when she was ready, which sounded manipulative to me.

With a sigh, I took in the shimmering orange sky and said, "Nice sunset."

"Uh-huh," Jenny agreed as she threw a forceful punch using a leopard fist.

We faced each other while we practiced our punches, kicks, stances and blocks, and suddenly, for no reason I could see, Jenny stopped moving. She slumped, looking completely dejected. As she gazed at me with a sad look, she said, "I promised myself I wouldn't ask, but I gotta, Paul. I just gotta. Are you fucking Mrs. Jensen?"

Without speaking, I moved into a cat stance and my arm flashed forward with a spear hand. Jenny had presented me with a conundrum. She'd become my best friend, actually my only close friend, and I wanted to answer her question truthfully, even talk about the situation with her. On the other hand, I'd promised Mrs. Jensen that I'd never utter a word about what we did when I dropped by her house about once a week.

I didn't think it possible, but Jenny's shoulders drooped even lower, and tears welled in her expressive green eyes.

"Thought so," she muttered, squared her shoulders and executed a perfect outside crescent kick. "She's using you, buddy boy," Jenny added.

"We're using each other."

Jenny's hands moved to her hips, projecting a listen-to-me attitude. She looked me in the eye and stated, "Well, I want you to stop it. It's wrong, Paul, wrong clear through, so stop it. Ya hear me?"

I nodded and tried a reverse roundhouse kick, stumbling over my size eleven running shoes, up three sizes from the start of my growth spurt.

"Let's run again," I suggested.

Just before we finished our run, Jenny said, "You're a good man, buddy boy. Deep down inside you, you're good through and through. Don't let the pain you're feelin', your disillusionment, stamp out the good in you."

"I'm trying, Jenny girl. I truly am."

"I know."

The next time I dropped by Mrs. Jensen's house, I didn't fuck her. I told her I wouldn't be dropping by again. My decision didn't make her a happy camper, but she told me she wasn't surprised, which surprised me.

She kissed my cheek, rubbed the lipstick away with her fingers, and guided me to the door. As I was walking away, she said, "I enrolled in some computer and paralegal courses at the junior college, Paul. Thanks."

I turned back to congratulate her, but I didn't speak. Silent tears streaked her face. She offered me a pathetic smile and closed the door. I walked away.

We never spoke again. Three months later, a For Sale sign went up on her front lawn, and my mother told me the Jensens were getting a divorce. I hoped Mrs. Jensen would find a man she could love who could also satisfy her sexual needs. She wasn't a bad person. She cheated, but to my mind, she'd been driven to betray her husband by her husband. Sometimes we males were our own worst enemies.

Eighteen

As cynical as I was about girls, I couldn't stop appreciating their soft curves and their innate prettiness. I still enjoyed the subtle or not-so-subtle sway of their hips, or the alluring bounce even perky breasts generated, or the often obvious points in dresses, shirts and blouses screaming, "Hey, look at me!"

My fingertips remembered the silkiness of their skin. My nostrils flared just thinking about the many and varied delightful fragrances a female body offers. My mouth watered recalling succulent feminine flavors. I yearned to hear a gentle moan of passion or especially an unrestrained orgasmic scream.

Whispers.

Whimpers.

Plunging tongues.

Rubbery, throbbing, turgid nipples.

The buttery, wet, pulsating heat of an aroused cunt.

You get the picture. I was seriously horny, and masturbating didn't cut it anymore. I needed a girl, no not one girl. I might be tempted to give my heart away again if I settled on one girl. I decided to start dating, asking different girls to spend some time with me.

Armed with my painfully acquired knowledge of a girl's true nature, I figured I could scrounge up all the recreational sex I needed without the emotional baggage love entailed. After all, girls enjoyed sex as much as boys. They were just sneaky about it. Also, I was a teenager. I shouldn't be looking for the love of my life, not at my age, but dating different girls was considered appropriate, a way to learn how to interact with the opposite sex. I needed some serious interaction.

I made a list and checked it twice, applying criteria I'd developed to minimize potential pain resulting from the dates for both the girls and me. I glanced at my notes:

1) The overall look of the girls had to be pleasing to me, if not arousing. 2) The girls had to be currently unattached. 3) The girls had to be sexually experienced; i.e., no virgins. 4) The girls had to be basically happy in temperament.

I initially included another criterion that stipulated the girls had to be attracted to me. I'd removed it because it confused the selection process, making it biased. Besides, I had a secret weapon. Even jaded girls like Claire fell victim to romance, and with little or no effort, I could be romantic because I was romantic by nature.

Like cream, the names of four girls rose to the top of my list.

Cheryl Yost was a senior. She wore her blonde hair short, her blue eyes twinkled, and she had a cute, little body, a large mouth that smiled a lot, and she'd just broken up with her boyfriend who had left the Phoenix area to attend a college in Florida.

Eve Killian, another senior, had given her boyfriend the boot for cheating on her. In addition to cheating, I suspected other reasons caused the breakup because Eve laughed off her boyfriend's unfaithfulness, which placed her in the basically happy column. Eve's overall look appealed to me. At five-eight, she displayed the tawny grace of a runway model. Her breasts were small (my preference), so to compensate and obscure what she considered inadequate, she showcased her great legs at every opportunity by wearing high heels and short skirts, so my newfound height might appeal to her.

Lelia Mullen, a junior, dated a lot as a sophomore but never went steady with a boy. Lee's reputation wasn't squeaky clean, which fulfilled one of my criteria, and she was gorgeous, a brunette with a Mediterranean complexion, and laughing, dark eyes. Besides laughing eyes, Lee's personality bubbled with enthusiastic happiness.