Chapter 17

Entering high school fresh-persons are safest if they first don a cloak of invisibility. Unfortunately those don't come in my size. Being five foot nine and a half I stand out. I also have a terrible habit of getting myself into some extraordinary messes. I assume getting a pedophile thrown in jail just last Friday qualifies.

After a mere three weeks at Central High, I am notorious. Having now arrived at Sunday morning, my boyfriend Greg, his younger sister, and I are emerging from my bedroom after a night of lusty, distracting frolics.

"Shower!" Drindy shrieked as she sprinted for the bathroom, naked as the day she was born, her tight little 11 year old virginal tush dancing merrily in front of me.

Holding Greg's hand, his arm nestled against my breast, sort of leaning against him, enjoying the feeling of our naked bodies brushing, I groaned. "I gather she's a morning person."

"Ya think?" he grumbled fondly as we joined her in the bathroom.

She was on the toilet, peeing, grinning up at us, obviously playing the shock card.

It didn't work. Greg was used to her shenanigans and I had mastered playing that card well before I was her age.

Just ask Mom.

I got out spare towels while Greg turned on the shower and adjusted the temperature. Like a shot the little imp was in ahead of us, turning this way and that under the spray, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. Rivulets of water swirled down over her coppery torso, a stream flowing between her developing boobies with their perky brown nipples to then sluice off her puffy little pussy with its first few fine strands of dark hair. She looked good enough to eat.

She isn't ripe yet, The Stick, my conscience, alter ego and general buttinsky scolded me. Give her about three years.

Then Greg nudged my butt-crack with his soft dick and we squirmed into the shower with Drindy, rubbing wet skin against wet skin. The usual morning urge had, of course, been triggered by the rush of water. Greg and I looked at each other, our telepathy in high gear. Turning on Drindy we proceeded to blad our voiders in her direction, thereby trumping her shock card.

She screamed and danced, trying to get out of the way. "EEEWWWWWW!"

Greg's aim was good, his range far superior to mine. He hosed her from neck to toes, while my ladylike flow just added to the fragrance swirling around us. Finished, we let her in under the spray to wash away our waste. Grabbing the soap, I turned to my beaux, more interested in him than his sister. Like a hungry monkey, my soapy hand quickly found his banana and I felt his softness fade as his dick grew in my grasp.

"Are you guys going to do it again?" Drindy asked, peering around me at her brother's rising lust.

"Oh God, must you?" Greg asked.

"You don't like?" I asked, a little disappointed, reluctantly easing my stroking.

"I like, I like," he assured me, putting my hand back. "I'm just not sure I have it in me this morning, and I am a little tender."

I had to admit that I was, too. "I'll be gentle."

I kept on massaging his expanding cock, and he groaned. "You're a witch, you know that?"

"You say the sweetest things."

I'm not sure what was driving me. I really was kinda sore, so it wasn't like I wanted him to fuck me. Besides, the shower was pretty cozy with the three of us in it. A full docking maneuver would be awkward.

I just loved the feel of his probe in my hand, all soapy and slippery.

He groaned. "I think I'm gonna..."

"I wanna see!" Drindy insisted.

"Wanna feel?" I asked her.

"Dee, she's my sister!"

"So what? I played with my brother when I was her age. Here." I guided Drindy's hand to her brother's cock, showing her my patented milking, swirling, twisting motion. His foreskin had already slipped back. The soap made him really slippery and the softness of the plummy, nerve packed-head was all squirmy in her fingers.

"Like this?" She was very serious.

"Oh my God yesssss," Greg moaned.

"Uh huh. Gently. Very gently. Keep going." While from one side she was massaging his dork, I knelt on the other, reaching to fondle his balls in their wrinkled sack.

"You're too much!" Greg's hips began to hump.

"I try," I purred, licking my lips.

"Uh."

"My face, right on my face," I hissed to Drindy as she brought him closer and closer.

"Wicked!" Aiming Greg's armament in my direction, Drindy was improving on my basic motion by using both hands.

"Ohyeah," Greg gasped as I tickled his asshole. "Awwwshit!"

His cock pulsed.

Drindy giggled.

I hummed as his hot cream spurted and spurted and spurted, spraying my face. I moved closer as his eruption flagged. Reading my mind, Drindy used the still oozing tip of his pecker to paint my cheeks and lips and nose with the last of his yummy come, its musky scent replacing the fading pee smell. As I got up I impulsively wrapped an arm around Drindy, bent down and kissed her right on the lips, letting her savor some of her brother's semen, her slippery wet body squirming against mine. She only hesitated a moment before she was licking my face like a cat cleaning up spilled cream, the little rascal.

I am, I admit, an equal opportunity lecher -- or can an almost fourteen-year-old girl be a lecher? -- given the slightest opportunity I will lech.

At this point there was a knock on the bathroom door and Dr. Elaine Smathers, my mom's lover and frequent house-guest, stuck her head in the steamy room. "Phew! It smells like a brothel in here. I hate to break up this lust fest but breakfast will be on the table in a few minutes. Sunday or not, the forces of law and order have summoned Dee and her Mom downtown, and I've got an expectant mother in labor."

"We need to get home, Sis," Greg reminded Drindy.

"Okay, okay," Drindy grumbled as Elaine left, the three of us rinsing off the soap and semen and smells. "But do I hafta get dressed?"

"While Mom and Dad seem to be encouraging our explorations, I'm not sure they're ready for this lifestyle," Greg pointed out to her, "but I guess we can stay like this, as long as we're dressed before they get home. They won't be back until sometime this afternoon.

"I wish we could spend the day together," he added, turning to me.

"Me, too. Believe me, I wouldn't mind skipping this whole thing, but I can't."

Mom had managed to keep Detective Sergeant Kelly off my back for one day, but he insisted he needed my statement while things were fresh in my mind. So, after dropping Drindy and Greg off at their home Mom and I headed to the police station.

Mercifully, Kelly didn't ask for a blow-by-blow account...

Eeewwww, that's a bad choice of words, really, really, really bad!

I meant to say that he didn't insist on a play-by-play of my time with shit-face.

And pardon me, but I have vowed never to let that bastard's name ever cross my consciousness again. May he rot in jail. I'm already into the curse jar to the tune of about ten bucks thanks to that ... unprintable.

Kelly said the recordings from the school intercom took care of the details. Mainly I confirmed that the -- what did Kelly call it? -- that the forensic evidence had indeed been collected from me. This included the swabs and stuff Doctor Elaine had taken, along with my barf.

Ick.

The only real sticky point came when Sergeant Kelly asked me, for the record, if I went into that room expecting to be raped.

I'd been wrestling with that question myself. Had I expected to be raped? I had vowed to do whatever I had to do to get that animal arrested, but did I expect to be raped?

"No," I told Kelly firmly.

Then my own mind turned on me. I had to admit to myself that when it became inevitable, I had just let that shit-face do to me what he wanted. I'd told myself, after all, it wasn't anything I hadn't voluntarily done before with someone else. I'd sucked cocks before, and my virginity was long gone. No problem, I thought, I'll just lie there and take it. Won't feel a thing.

What I felt now was a surprising flare of raw fury.

Leave it at that! The Stick told me firmly. She's that little voice inside me that steadies me.

I was angry, but angry at who -- or should that be "whom?" I wasn't sure. HE was the obvious target, but...

Leave it! The Stick told me again.

So, I left it.

It being lunch time by the time we finished, Mom and I used our rattled mental state as an excuse to head to the mall with its multi-ethnic food court for nutritional therapy, supporting each other with our favorite comfort foods, exchanging soft words and gentle touches. From there we sought distraction in sensory overload, seeing every movie playing at the mall's multi-plex, shifting from screen to screen as the scheduling allowed, subsisting on tubs of popcorn and junk soda when hunger struck.

It was dark by the time we got home. Our heads throbbing, our stomachs churning, Elaine's medical training would have been helpful but she was still doing her OB/GYN thing. Must've been a long labor.

I wondered when Mom was going to tell me they were moving in together. I didn't like to think they wouldn't. Elaine made Mom happy, and I liked having her around, too.

After prescribing big glasses of milk and double doses of aspirin for us, Mom took me into her bed and we cuddled skin to skin as she read Winnie the Pooh stories until I drifted off to sleep, snuggled against her, dreaming of hefalumps and honey jars.

When Elaine came to bed in the wee hours I took the bouncing for a little bit before staggering back to my own room. Deliveries leave the good doctor horny and Mom is always happy to answer the call.

Early the next morning, nudged to consciousness by a dream I couldn't remember, I was pondering what I might face at school. Could today's reception be any worse than the one I'd gotten after my dog show in the park? Ya think?

Then the car salesman on my clock radio broke the morning silence. Reaching out blindly I grabbed and launched the radio on a trajectory calculated to add it to the earth's orbital clutter. As it happened, the radio's umbilical failed to separate cleanly from the wall socket, releasing a blue flash and a "SPAT" as I ducked under my covers to avoid being collateral damage. The silenced radio whacked the wall below my window and hit the floor. Mom responded to the noise but I refused to emerge from mission control, assuming the defensive posture of an armadillo beneath my bed-clothes. After a few minutes of nudging and cajoling, she gave up and went away.

The future could wait forever as far as I was concerned. My brain went into standby mode.

Time passed.

The next thing I knew someone was tugging at my covers.

I tightened my grip on them. "Go 'way! I'm not here!"

"Get up, sleepyhead."

"Go 'way! I'm sick. I'm not going to school today."

"It's me!"

She sounded familiar. Missy? Could it be... ? Nah, that relationship was as broken as the little figurine of a diver in my personal museum of lost causes. It had to be a hallucination, or an imposter.

But she insisted it was her.

It sounded like her.

Maybe? After all, she had mobilized the troops to track me last Friday...

Friday.

I hunkered down in my bunker, unwilling to face my peers. I'd been raped. I'd let myself get raped. All in a good cause, but still...

After beating on various protrusions in an effort to soften me up she went to work at the foot of my bed.

"I've decided to try out for the track team," she explained, sounding as reasonable as if she were going to the grocery store for a package of cookies, all the while tunneling her way into my refuge like a badger after a gopher. "I need to get in shape and I want you to run with me."

Okay, the voice was right, but the proposal didn't fit. Missy broke a sweat just saying the word "exercise."

I launched a probe. "You? Track team? This from a girl that urges her mother to circle the parking lot for half an hour to get a space by the front door?"

"That's me. I made a New Year's resolution." She was still digging, I was curling up tighter, trying to escape her incursion.

"New Year's was nine months ago!" I shifted my feet away from her groping hands. "Go 'way!"

"I'm a slow starter."

Feeling a cool draft on my toes I tried retracting my landing gear further, but it was too late. Her grip on my left big toe quickly expanded to encompass my ankle. It was like I was being eaten by a snake.

She started dragging my foot toward the foot of the bed. "Come on! Now! Come on. Get up. You've got to help me get in shape." She braced herself against the foot of my bed to get better traction, pulled harder, gained some ground.

Lying on my stomach, I grabbed the bottom sheet with both hands and kicked with my free foot, determined to remain in my burrow. That turned out to be a mistake. She captured my other ankle and straightened my legs, yanking both feet into the cool morning air. "I need someone to cheer me on. We start today, jogging --together -- to school -- every morning -- the two of us. It'll be fun!" She cranked my legs like twist ties, first one way then the other.

"Stuff it," I grumbled, tightening my grip on the bottom sheet as I resisted.

"Come on! Come on! Come on! Come ON!" she responded, with a jerk, jerk! Jerk! JERK!

My grip began to slip. Changing tactics, I snatched first with one hand, then the other, hooking fingers over the end of my mattress.

But she would -- not -- give -- up!

I was distracted by the incongruity of it all. Missy? Jogging?? That was like the sun rising in the west, the moon falling from the sky, the end of everything.

Feeling her bracing both feet against the foot of my bed I visualized her coiling herself like a backstroker about to leave the starting block. I braced myself, fearing I was about to lose the battle. Me? Lose?? Never!

"Come on -- get -- with -- the -- Fucking -- PROGRAM!!!!" she demanded, jerking me around like a rag doll.

Program ... Program? Something about ... Shit! PROGRAM! The first meeting of the Naked in School Program Advisory Committee was today. I'd been warned! If I wasn't there I'd find myself appointed Secretary, or worse, if there was such a thing.

I'd read that part of Robert's Rules. I'd have to take notes, write up the minutes!

Eeewwwww!

I let go of the mattress just as Missy gave an all-out, full-body, last-try heave-ho.

She must have put her whole self into it -- legs and butt, arms and shoulders, back and torso and more-so -- 'cause I was yanked feet first completely off the bed, friction setting my nose and tits ablaze.

Still clutching my ankles, Missy hit the floor on her back with an impact that rattled windows in Seattle. I landed full length on top of her, my face buried between her spread legs. The top sheet had come with me and settled over us like a collapsed tent. It was probably just as well she was frustratingly clothed or I might have made a meal of her right then and there.

The next thing I knew she had us rolling over and over in a tangle of arms and legs and the sheet. She was giggling, tickling and poking at any accessible bit of skin. Cackling myself, I tried to retaliate in kind, but wasn't a fair contest. I, being naked, had a great deal of exposed epidermis, while she had clothes on. I did my best, but her shorts were incredibly tight!

What was she wearing?! It felt like Lycra!

At one point, either accidentally or deliberately, one of her fingers tweaked my naked pussy and WOO HOO! Suddenly the future didn't look so awful. Reflexively I hugged her to me again, my face buried between her open legs. Her thighs clamped over my ears for a heavenly moment before we resumed the tussle until we found ourselves face to face, breasts to breasts, pelvis to pelvis -- or we would have been if I weren't so much taller -- the morning sun coming in the window filtered through the sheet over us, making a wonderfully private space for us, her luscious lips only inches from mine.

Our eyes met, and for a moment I was on the knife edge of kissing her the way we used to kiss, before Mike, before all that other stuff had come between us.

"Children! Breakfast in ten minutes or it goes to the neighbor's dog!"

Shit. The moment was shattered. I drew back rather than risk rejection.

But Missy stopped me before I could get away, wrapping her arms around me, pulling us close, but not lips to lips, tucking her face into the curve of my neck and shoulder, her clothed body warm against my nude one. I spread my legs to cradle her and felt moisture on her cheeks. Oh, she felt so good against me. I'd thought I'd never feel that again, never breathe in her wonderful aroma.

"Don't hate me," she pleaded tearfully. "You know I still love you, don't you? Just -- well -- just not that way?"

"I know," I choked out, hugging her tight, wanting so much to pleasure her, resigning myself to accepting what she could offer, offering her only what she'd accept. "And I want you to know that I love you as much as ever. I'll always love you, forever and ever, any way you'll have me."

"Forever," she agreed, kissing my cheek. "Just not that way. I'm s-s-s-so sorry."

"It's all right." I lied, because it did hurt. "I'm sorry, too, but it is what it is. At least we can still hug sometimes, can't we?"

"Of course."

"Thank you," I whispered through my own tears, squeezing her to me. After another long, teary hug we got untangled and I did the quick version of my morning routine while Missy snuffled, wiped her tears, tossed my bed back together, and gave her face a quick wash. Then we tumbled down the stairs to scarf down plates of Mom's French toast.

The talk around the table was inconsequential, the "how's your mom" sort of stuff, and to Elaine, who ate with us, "how big is the baby?" (7lbs, 3oz) "How're the proud parents?"

It's the sort of stuff people say when they don't know what else to say. They knew my history with Missy, knew what I might face at school, knew I'd die before I let them accompany me to protect me. I fight my own battles, always had.

Okay, I'd had to call in reinforcements last Friday, but that was an extraordinary situation.

At the door, during one of the big hugs and the "I love yous" with Mom and Elaine I saw Mom mouth something to Missy. Then Missy and I headed out, her in her all new, top-of-the-line sports bra, which she needed, her new, sexy Lycra jogging shorts hugging her delicious derrière, very expensive athletic socks and running shoes on her feet, the elegant outfit nicely accessorized with her tatty old and faded boy-band backpack.

I was in my most comfortable, very worn running shoes and my ratty, Salvation Army acquired Boy Scout backpack.

Period.

Oh, I was serious about the jogging, but for me a bra was still superfluous, even while jogging, and as far as I was concerned, I was still in The Program. I was determined to meet the future naked and unashamed, as if nothing had happened. My titties were pleased to flaunt themselves in the morning sun, the breeze happily playing with them.

Within a block I was puffing almost as hard as Missy. How long had it been since I'd won the county championship in the two hundred 'fly? I had a lot of work to do if I was going to regain my former glory!

Jogging with Missy was a good thing, something I'd suggested to her in the past, and this time I vowed to make sure we kept to it. Running isn't the best conditioning for swimming, but it's better than nothing. When she started to flag I urged her on. When I started to flag she urged me on, turning this into sort of a companionable contest to see who could outlast whom. I managed to occasionally rub shoulders with her. She'd smile at me, and I at her, and I felt myself connecting with her in a new way, and it was good. Her companionship cut the worry I had about facing the people at school. How much did they know, and how would they feel about me?