Chapter 12: Getting My First Date

Tuesday, March 22 to Monday, March 28, 2005

My first ever date with a girl - an event of such importance that how this very unlikely event came about deserves its own chapter.

I was at my locker after the first class on Tuesday morning when I noticed one of the Queen Bitches - Annette Neumeyer - and her coterie sashaying down the corridor; senior beauty queens all, fully and overly aware of their status at the very pinnacle of school society. They were gorgeous, ruled the school, and everyone owed them homage, especially to their Queen.

Annette - never Anne or Annie if you know what's good for you - spotted me and obviously decided to single me out for some special attention. It'd be a vicious put-down because it's not like the Bitches have a wide range of behaviors when they're dealing with guys like me. People around me noticed Annette's sudden attention on me; Annette made it obvious by staring fixedly at me as she advanced. That was the point: to get as much attention on her triumph as possible.

The spectators knew the game was starting, who the victim was going to be, what the game would generally be, and that I'd be terribly humiliated as usual. Despite its being very predictable, most people couldn't help watching; especially the guys because guys have trouble not watching Annette at any time, and can't possibly look away when there's the hope that she'll do something sexy. Provided you aren't her current victim, it's great seeing Annette in action.

As she neared me, Annette's gyrations went into overdrive and she was looking me straight in the eyes while licking her lips - so it was going to be "Harden then Humiliate". I'd never been on the receiving end of it before from Annette, but had from a couple of other Bitches and I'd seen it done to other guys many times, so I knew how it'd go.

I had a panicky internal chat. Normally I would've run away, but this time I decided to gird my loins and stand up to Annette. Having four minds gave me a great deal of internal support, plus I had a secret weapon this time - I wasn't going to be "standing up" to Annette in the way she expected.

Annette arrived in front of me, put her hand on my chest, and exhaled throatily, "Oh Mark, you're such a great soccer player." Then she looked down ready to point out her effect on me to everyone.

To her surprise there was nothing to poke fun at, although that did take REPEATED mental commands to my cock to stay soft. Annette frowned. It was such a pity, if you'll excuse my sarcasm, to see such a pretty little head so worried.

"What's the matter, Mark? Can't you get it hard anymore?"

"I don't think that's the problem, Annette. You're past your prime now so not as attractive as you used to be. I still get hard for pretty girls, but you don't do it for me these days."

Our audience was stunned into silence.

I was pretty stunned myself. This was the first time I'd actually been able to talk back to anyone like her. Normally I turned into a stammering, red-faced wreck, but it was amazing how much confidence being able to stay soft and having four minds supporting each other provided.

Annette was also surprised by my unexpected response. She replied with a weak, "No pretty girl would ever talk with you, Dork."

One of my minds came up with the obvious reply, "You're talking to me, Annette."

The audience's mocking laughter helped her realize my implication.

"You stupid dork. Come on girls, we've got better things to do." And she flounced off. Straight to the girls' bathroom, presumably to check her makeup.

She was pursued by a great deal of laughter, and would have heard many people telling me, "Well done", "You got her", and the like.

The laughter died down and I went to my next class feeling quite proud of myself.

After an hour or two of reveling in my victory, I was able to forget about the incident for whole minutes at a time. I didn't see Annette again that day. She was a senior so I'd only ever caught occasional glimpses of her in a hallway anyway. I had some fun fantasizing about what I'd say the next time we passed each other.

^

The next day, at my locker again and at the same time as the previous incident, there was a sudden hush. I looked up and walking toward me was Annette Neumeyer and her girls, but not the Annette Neumeyer of yesterday. Today she'd gone to extremes to turn her sex appeal up as far as it went, and it went up a LONG way! She was wearing bright red high-heeled shoes, a tiny black miniskirt, and a very low-cut, light red, translucent blouse. It was extremely obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra; both because the movements in her blouse were large enough to register as seismic events, and because her prominent nipples were very clearly visible. School dress code regulations were being destroyed. She was loaded for bear, I was in her sights, and both large-caliber bullets were aimed straight at me.

Her hair was glowing blond, her makeup was perfect, her earrings matched wonderfully. She was spectacular. Her body was my perfect fantasy: tall, blond, big-titted and braless. But she was out to tear me down and everyone knew it. I had publicly suggested that she was no longer desirable and I had no doubt that she was going to make me pay for that.

I felt my body start to react. Not just the "gallant reaction", but panic too. In fact, panic mostly. My heart started racing and without thinking much about it, I just thought, <Be still my beating heart.> (An English quote! Imagine that.) And my heart DID still, slowing right down to normal. [[Fortunately not literally becoming "still", because my subconsciouses weren't that stupid.]]

My body was tense, so I tried, <Relax, My Body.> That worked wonderfully, so I added, <Cock go soft>, <Breathe easily>, and even <Stop sweating.> It all worked, although another irresistible glance at Annette's nipples required, <Cock go soft, dammit!> Having control of my subconscious reactions was wonderful.

That relaxation process had taken just a couple of seconds. Annette was still heading my way, although significant parts of her were swaying to the left and right a great deal too. I had a quick look around and I appeared to be the only guy who didn't have a woody. I hoped she wouldn't notice theirs as that would reduce the effectiveness of my put-down. I'd use the same theme as had apparently worked so well yesterday, judging by Annette's feeling it necessary to come after me again so excessively. I just had to work out how to word it.

I leaned back casually on my locker. I was feigning casualness but it actually wasn't that hard to do once all the symptoms of nervousness were turned off. I smiled pleasantly at Annette as she neared me - <Cock go soft, dammit!> - and as I internally discussed what to say.

I didn't know what she intended to say - no doubt something devastating - so before she could open her mouth I preempted her by calling out, "Hi Annie. You're looking nicer today. It's good that you're making an effort while you still can."

Her mouth stayed open but nothing came out; she had no idea what to say. In the considerable list of what Annette had going for her, her IQ wouldn't appear; she'd probably have trouble spelling it. Whatever she'd intended to say, I'd derailed it and she didn't know how to reply. Just calling me "Dork" and flouncing off wasn't going to work because she'd invested everything she had into this encounter, and she had to defeat me face to face rather than repeating yesterday's retreat. I was surprised she cared about my opinion, but as she'd praised my soccer skills last time I guess that'd gotten to her in some way.

She looked between my legs, but there was nothing to ridicule. She looked back up with the first signs of panic in her eyes. This was going much better than I'd expected, probably because Annette had no experience dealing with guys who failed to respond to her bait.

After another moment or two of indecision, Annette grabbed my head on both sides and launched her face at mine. Before I knew what had happened, I was in the sexiest kiss of my entire life (yeah, we both know how much competition it had).

Having four minds is definitely useful. It took two of them just to stop my legs turning to jelly. Her tongue was in my mouth and probing every corner, her breasts were heaving and rubbing against me, and one of her bare legs was blatantly rubbing my crotch, a dirty trick that I particularly enjoyed.

Two minds to stop my legs collapsing, one mind to keep my cock soft, and the lucky last mind was thoroughly enjoying himself.

Her leg rubbed, rubbed some more, and kept rubbing, but it got no reaction. After what was, in my opinion, far too short a time, Annette broke off and stood back. She looked down in dismay at my lack of reaction.

"You're a queer aren't you? That's why you play soccer."

"Haha. No, I assure you that I definitely like girls. When I think of a lovely girl like Julia Williams I get very turned on. She's wonderful and easily has what it takes to push my buttons. It's just that you no longer do. I'm sorry you're past your bloom, Annie, but at least you had a few good years."

Another of my minds had worked out something to add, so, "Oh, and by the way, Annie, please don't try to kiss me again. I didn't find it pleasant and I don't think forcing kisses on unwilling recipients is acceptable behavior. I don't want to be sexually harassed by you, and I will complain if you do it again. You KNOW I don't like you; that was the whole point of this childish exhibition of yours."

The bit about me not finding it pleasant was a TOTAL lie of course, it was pleasant to a mind-blowing degree, and easily capable of blowing something else of mine had it not been for my wonderful new ability to control that part of my anatomy. I'd be using Annette's kiss as a jack-off fantasy for the rest of my life.

Yet another of my minds couldn't resist adding, "And speaking of childish exhibitions, you might want to get changed before a teacher sees what a fool you've made of yourself by dressing that way."

#4: <You do realize that every boy at school is going to hate us for suggesting that?>

I stood up and walked off without looking back. I realized after a few steps that I was walking the wrong way for my next class and that I'd left my bag and books behind, but carrying on seemed the best idea. Thus I never saw how Annette made her escape, but I certainly heard all the laughter that followed her. Other than the group of Queen-suck-ups she'd brought with her, no one else had been on her side as plenty of the crowd had seen or received her cruelty before. They did not stint on their laughter.

I wandered away for a couple few minutes, to collect myself as much as to let her clear the area, then I cut back to get my gear.

I started receiving plenty of back slaps, congratulations, and the like. Adam, true to form, said, "Dude, if that'd been me I would've blown off in me jockeys. So cool." If I'd been just one of me, I would've done that too.

News of the incident must've spread around school like wildfire because I was getting congratulations from all over the place. Many from people I didn't know. It was safe to assume they knew Annette because there are no blind students at our school, but what puzzled me was that they knew who I was, as indicated by their knowing which back to slap. Apparently Egg - a name I heard dozens of times that morning, as in "Way to go Egg!" - was somewhat better known than I'd thought. Who would've guessed! I'd become somewhat more than a nobody.

^

Two hours later I rounded a corner and walked into a giant slab of meat. It picked me up by the neck and carried me into the nearby boys' bathroom, where it told me off for humiliating his girlfriend. I'm sure he didn't use the word "humiliating" as that had far too many syllables, but I couldn't make out what he said over the ringing in my ears caused by the impacts of his fist on my head. Apparently Biff (or whatever his name was. Aren't they all called Biff?) was not pleased because he did a damned good job on me, then left me lying on the bathroom floor.

I skipped my next class. Actually, there was very little "skipping" involved; I "lay still and groaned" my next class. I did eventually recover mid-period, but decided I liked the idea of sitting quietly for the rest of it as I still hurt. At the time I was being pummeled, I'd thought I was going to have to go home or even to the hospital, but after a good rest I tidied myself up and painfully headed to my next class. I guess years of experience at getting beat up had helped.

Lunch, and after lunch, were repeats of all the congratulatory calls, handshakes and backslaps. I really could have done without the backslaps as my back felt like it was covered in bruises from the kicks I'd received when lying on the bathroom floor.

I was walking down a hallway mid-afternoon when I felt an incredible pain in my side. I fell to the floor in agony. On the way down I looked back and there was another giant slab of meat standing beside me. The bastard had just rabbit punched me in a place that hurt like fuck. He knelt down beside me and asked in a loud voice, "Are you okay?" Meanwhile his knee, with all his weight on it, was grinding into my forearm. He leaned over and whispered, "That's for embarrassing my girlfriend." How many boyfriends did the Bitch have? And why did they all have to be so big and violent?

He helped me to my feet, damned near removing my entire arm when he did so. "There you are", he said loudly. "Stay away from her," he whispered. I made a mental note to do what he suggested.

I stood there a bit shaken while he rolled away. Collecting myself, I asked the guy next to me if he knew who that big guy walking away was.

"One of our offensive linesman. He's good too. He likes to be called Biff after that guy in 'Back To The Future'."

"Thanks." Mental note to self: Never EVER try out for the football team. Unless I changed my name to Biff first, as that'd probably confuse them enough.

The rest of the school day was uneventful, and more importantly, un-injurious. I walked through it gingerly, but managed. I did not see Annette, and was happy that I had abided by Biff#2's instruction.

I met my sisters at the bike rack as usual, and they were both full of questions about the Annette put-down. Both of them had heard all about it, several times, and were thrilled to be associated to the hero by birth.

We were riding home together with the girls still asking me questions, when a car overtook us and suddenly swerved into the bike lane RIGHT in front of us. I was between the girls so there was no way I could swerve until they did. They managed to peel off, but by then I had no time left so my bike and I crashed straight into the side of the car.

Several slabs of meat piled out of the car and one of them - who, for the sake of convenience, I'll call Biff#3 - advanced straight at me. "You pissed off my girl, asshole, which means you've pissed me off. You gonna pay for that." Whereupon he immediately started in on my payment plan.

As my head spun around a few times, I caught sight of Donna screaming and charging in to save me. One of the spare slabs pushed her down and sat on her. Carol just stood there watching.

After a short while, which felt like a long while, Biff#3 put in a few last hard kicks, they got in their car and drove off. Carol told Donna to go into the nearest house to call for the police and an ambulance, and Donna shot off to do so. Carol opened her book bag, took out a pen, and started writing.

By the time the police arrived Carol had written down the car's plate number and descriptions of all four assholes. From their jersey numbers (morons!) down to facial features. Biff#3 had: "thick lips, a narrow nose, a mole on his right ear."

I didn't know all this as I was in far too much pain to notice. That I had a broken right forearm was obvious to all, especially me.

The ambulance guys did their job really well, especially the painkilling part of their job; they did that wonderfully.

The ambulance took me to the hospital. I had bruises from top to bottom from the three assaults. I had been punched and kicked all over, an arm broken, and who knows what else. I didn't need to tell them any of that, they could see it when my shirt was removed, and they followed the bruises south far enough to take my jeans off too.

During my admission, several tests were ordered. I had been hit in the head several times - there were plenty of bruises and bleeding bits to attest to that - and an MRI was included. When I heard that mentioned I objected. The A&E doctor ignored my refusal so I repeated it REALLY loudly, which got his attention. I repeated my refusal again, and he said he'd talk with my parents about it.

The first tests were just getting under way when Dad arrived, quickly followed by Mom.

Upon Mom's arrival, and once the initial parental comments were out of the way, I said, "Mom, Dad, I do NOT want an MRI. I SERIOUSLY do not want it. I have my reasons and they are VERY strong ones." I looked straight and hard at Mom.

After she realized that I was very serious, I added, "It's not necessary for me to have one done. A black eye and busted lip aren't big deals. They're just ordering it out of habit. I have no head injury symptoms, my head feels fine. I do not need an MRI and I do not want it."

The doctor started in with, "They're perfectly safe, you've got nothing to worry about."

Mom looked thoughtful for a few seconds, then turned to face the doctor and held up her palm, stopping him in mid-sentence. "We refuse consent. You may not MRI his head."

The doctor opened his mouth to argue, but Dad preempted him with that wonderful expression: "What part of 'No' don't you understand?"

Dad wouldn't have understood why I didn't want it, but he was happy to back Mom up. Mom was very aware that my intelligence was somewhere north of extraordinary (she was wrong, but that didn't matter now). She was willing to do as I asked, no doubt intending to ask me about my refusal at the first opportunity, and get the MRI reinstated if she wasn't convinced.

The Doc gave up. I guess he had more important things to worry about than parents who need to get their head examined.

As soon as the doctor left, Mom asked me about my refusal. By then I'd prepared my answer, "Mom, I know MRIs are safe, I wasn't worried about that. I am worried that if they scan my brain they might get intrigued and want to investigate further. I know there's something amazingly special about my brain, and I very much don't want them to get excited about it. Maybe no harm would come of it, but maybe it would, and there's no need for us to take that risk. I just got punched around; it's no big deal. My brain is my business; not theirs. They can play with it all they want after I've finished with it."