Chapter 1

"It's going to be very dull around here without you."

It was a soft whisper in my ear, a hot breath on my cheek, a tender lick, all warming my heart, and other parts of me. The reminder of graduation, only days away, scared me a little, but the body embracing me kept those fears at bay. I was left with a pang, though, because I knew this, one of the sweetest moments of my high-school career, was a one-time thing, the only chance we had.

"Oh, I'm sure you won't get bored," I answered, still catching my breath from our first glorious orgasm. It had been as wonderful as I'd hoped, made more precious because of who I'd shared it with. In the afterglow I knew I had given as well as I'd gotten, and that had made it extra special.

"I don't know about that. Like now, you never cease to amaze me. But before you even crossed the threshold you took on -- what was it you called them? -- Tweedle something? -- on the front steps."

"Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber. You mean Misters Cagney and Lacey. I didn't know you knew about that. But of course you would. Nothing escapes you."

"You were so confident, so sure of yourself."

"I was scared to death. Haven't you figured it out? When something scares me I get pissed and my philosophy is that the best defense is a good offense," I confessed, hoping this reminiscence wouldn't lead to "he-whose-name-still-will-not-pass-my-lips."

This was a night for reminiscing, but that I didn't want to remember.

"I might have known. And before the month was out you'd cleaned them both up, very nicely.

"And then there was the homecoming dance. My god! you wore that gorgeous dress like a queen. You were so tall and slender, elegant, a goddess among the overdressed rabble with their superficial glitter and sequins. Those rubies..."

"Synthetic," I confessed.

"Synthetic - schminthetic. What did you have on under it, by the way?"

"The dress?" I chuckled. "Nothing, of course."

"No one but you could have gotten away with it."

"I was a skinny kid, but that's a wonderful thing to say. Thank you." I gave a squeeze. Oh, I remembered that night well, and happily. How we'd danced, Greg and Kathy and me, how we had flirted and teased and aroused each other, at the table and right there on the gym-become-dance floor. And afterwards -- at the home-to-be, where I now lived with my Moms -- we'd made love, oh how we'd made love, first barely inside the door, then later in that big bed, and the pool, and the shower...

"I've always wondered. Where did you find it? I've never seen you wear it since. Do you still have it?"

So, I still had some secrets. "I wouldn't part with it for the world, but it requires a very special occasion, and I've grown. I'm hoping I can let it out. I'd like to wear it to the senior prom. Whatever I wear has to go with the jewelry."

"Of course. Even if it's just the jewelry -- now there's an idea! -- wear JUST the jewelry!"

"You'd like that."

"I would. So would you, don't deny it. Anyway, worn at your first big high school dance, and last. That has a nice symmetry."

Silence for a moment, for touches and tastes, sensuous delights.

"You were the envy of everyone there. All the girls were wishing they looked half as elegant and sophisticated as you, while the guys wished you were their date. And there you were, with two of the most strikingly beautiful escorts at the dance. You shamed the snots who deserved to be put to shame. The rest of us could only admire and envy you."

"Being bisexual does have its advantages," I responded with a sensuous snuggle.

"Indeed it does. But where'd you find the dress? You must have had help. Pardon me for saying so, but back then your fashion sense was -- uh -- underdeveloped."

"Rudimentary, you mean. I wasn't even fourteen. Still a tomboy."

"Some tomboy! So give!" The tweak to my nipple added emphasis. "And who did your hair? What happened to the tousled look?"

Ah, to tell or not to tell? That was the question. At the time I'd been sworn to secrecy. But Heather had been a senior four years ago and had graduated with her class, of course, so she was long gone, the makeover a lasting reminder of all she'd done for me.

"I had a lot of help there," I admitted. "A makeover at that beauty shop that had just opened at the mall. It was a grand opening special, you might say, or maybe I was the Grand Opening Special."

"You were the girl in the front window! I remember the picture in the paper, but I wasn't sure it was you. I didn't recognize your -- ah -- vertical smile at the time." A finger insolently stroked the slit between my thighs, made me shiver.

Henri still did my hair -- he maintains his phony French accent with me, but has dropped his put-on gay-ness, to my pleasure -- and that lovely, dusky-skinned cosmetician with the talented fingers still waxed my pussy, even when it didn't really need it. Sometimes, not often enough, when business was slow, I again got coifed and waxed in the front window. I was going to miss those occasions, too.

"But about the dress..."

Should I tell about the dress? I'd promised, but the reason no longer applied. Heather's coterie had fallen apart by spring of my freshman year in an amazing display of claws and back-biting. Somehow she'd emerged from the catfight virtually unscathed, and as a result found much wider acceptance with the student body, though her romantic life was always cramped by her experience. Mongo had been her date for the senior prom, maintaining their mutual fiction. I could only hope that he'd be more comfortable with his sexuality at Harvard. I'd heard she'd met a nice guy in college.

What harm could it do now to tell?

"I had help," I admitted, deliberately teasing. "We found it at that SPCA thrift shop."

"Way out there? They've got nice stuff. But who helped? Who's 'we?' Come on, give."

"Promise never to tell?"

"Of course!"

I relished the surprise. "Heather MacKenzie."

"You're kidding! You were sworn enemies back then..."

"As the old saying goes, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend.' You know what -- or who -- we had in common, and for some reason she insisted she owed me."

That was about as close as I wanted to come to mentioning him.

This silence was tense, both of us remembering what we'd rather forget, but never could.

"We actually became close. Very close, for a time, but hid it, rather than be shunned by our own groups. You know cliques."

"Too well. Watching your Lunch Bunch and the Bee Hive in the cafeteria was like watching the Hatfields and the McCoys without the gunfire.

"But thanks to her, what an impression you made at the dance! And then there was the Homecoming Pep rally. You were the first freshman ever named Miss School Spirit."

"And almost certainly the last." I was relieved at the change of subject, sort of. That had not been my finest hour. What is that Chinese curse? May you live in interesting times? It certainly had been interesting. "That was Heather's doing, again. I think she meant well."

"Somehow you held it all together."

"Somehow is right! Maybe if I'd been warned I could have done an even better job," I grumbled.

"Quit fishing for compliments. You pulled off a miracle and you know it." Distracting fingers traced a warm line, from the base of my neck all the way down my spine to the crack of my naked ass, soothing away the sting of that gentle rebuke. Delicious goose bumps trailed the touch every inch of the way down, and that was a lot of inches. During my sophomore year I'd finally stopped growing, topping out at six-foot-one with, as Coach put it, the wingspan of an albatross. I resisted the urge to raise my bottom in invitation, contenting myself with a squirm and a snuggle against warm skin. It had taken me four years to arrange this rendezvous, and I was determined to make it last and savor every delicious minute of it.

"It was a miracle I survived."

"But you did."

"I had -- a lot of help -- from my friends," I admitted, my breath catching at the way the fingers insolently probed the valley of my butt even without my encouragement, an intimacy I'd hardly dared to dream of four years ago. I returned the favor with nips here, and touches there, even as I remembered how the great MSS adventure had all come about.

Once again, I'd owed Heather for the opportunity, and the work she'd done with the cheerleaders. All things considered, it had come off better than we deserved, and in the end I was still standing, though my feet were bruised and spattered with pumpkin guts.

The moment I heard my name over the PA I knew who to blame.

I was a freshman, a nobody, and certainly not a cheerleader. Only once before had someone other than a senior cheerleader been named Miss School Spirit. That time the football team's star running back (a senior, I think) had used his clout vindictively trying to embarrass my brother's girlfriend, junior class geek and future valedictorian Beth Finch. It had been a clumsy attempt to humiliate her which completely backfired.

In the years since then the old tradition had been upheld so I'd thought I was safe. I should have listened to my best friend and former lover Missy when she'd warned me I might be chosen. Now it had happened. Not that I could have done anything to avoid it.

Shit! I knew only two people who had the influence to pull off such a coup, but I couldn't help wonder why they'd done it. As Head Cheerleader Heather had to have instigated it. What had I done to her to deserve it? I thought it was all fine between us.

Since the football team made the actual selection she must have enlisted Matthew "Mongo" Mozilla, football team co-captain and star wide receiver, in the plot. Somehow she'd convinced him to lobby the team on my behalf. But why would he do such a thing to me?

Maybe they thought it was an honor. Maybe I should have told them what I thought of the whole stupid Miss School Spirit thing, but the subject had just never come up.

An honor? In whose world? Certainly not mine! The position of Miss School Spirit was nothing more than the product of testosterone-fueled sexism. And by "position" I do NOT mean on her back, legs spread, a burly linebacker between her thighs, as previous nominees had been rumored to pay for the "honor." Some even offered themselves before the fact in hopes of improving their chances of being chosen.

It sometimes worked, I'm told.

Since she had been in The Program, Beth had performed her MSS duties wearing nothing more than body paint and a smile.

Strange. Every MSS since had been a program participant. What a coincidence!

NOT!

I wasn't in The Program, but I was no fool. If I didn't do it in the nude it would be a scandalous disappointment.

What the heck. I'd already spent more time naked in school than I did dressed, so it wasn't any big deal. The major problem was that I had only two days to somehow produce a pep rally worthy of kicking off the big homecoming football weekend. On game day my main assignment was simply to motivate the players to efforts greater than even naked cheerleaders could inspire.

Good luck with that, I thought, given my lack of pulchritude.

"You're tall, you're beautiful, you are Sexy," my ever present mental companion and professional nag The Stick whispered in my ear. I'd long ago learned not to argue with her.

Tradition was that my term in office concluded with a post-game appearance in the team's locker room, along with those members of the cheerleading squad willing to put their bodies on the line, either to celebrate the victory or console the losers. Should I choose to partake in that I'd experience first hand what it was rumored that Beth Finch had enjoyed, or endured, if that's the word I want.

But getting back to the nitty-gritty, how was I going to produce a pep rally that stirred the team and the crowd to a patriotic frenzy, given my total lack of show business experience, scrawny physique (Stop that! The Stick ordered) and meager talents? Granted, I would be bolstered by martial music from the band and frolicking by pulchritudinous cheerleaders, but I needed a dramatic entrance and a stimulating routine to rouse the crowd.

Beth had arrived on the back of her buddy Stephanie's gelding Bucephalus, brandishing a blazing emergency flare to light the bonfire. Then, after leading us (yeah, I was in the audience) in a pulse pounding cheer the rally was capped off by a professional pyrotechnic display, courtesy of her daddy's connections.

How could I top that?

Shit! I needed help. Beth had combined her own brilliant creativity with a willing and energetic stay-at-home Mom, a well-connected Daddy, a boyfriend in the band as well as a lesbian horse lover to supply the steed...

No, the horse wasn't lesbian, Steph was -- oh never mind.

I wasn't anywhere near as creative as Beth. I wasn't as curvaceously blessed as Beth was, no matter what The Stick kept telling me. I was a too-tall freshman jock with limited connections and even more limited funds. While I had friends, the demands far exceeded the talents of my Lunch Bunch. No way could I drop any of this in my working mom's lap, she had enough to deal with.

Who could I put the touch on? I needed someone with theatrical experience.

Ah HAH! I knew just the person! Who could be better suited than the current president, former vice-president, and frequent producer of and star in the drama club's presentations? This particular someone, also Head Cheerleader, by some happy coincidence just happened to be the person who had gotten me into this MSS mess in the first place.

It was table-turning time.

"Hi, Heather!" I greeted her brightly in a carefully orchestrated "accidental" hallway encounter.

"Congratulations!" she responded politely, butter not melting in her mouth. As Head Cheerleader she'd been short-listed as a MSS candidate, but I knew it was the last thing in the world she'd wanted, which was probably one of the reasons she'd set me up as the fall-guy.

And before you get the wrong impression, in public we maintained a cool facade while privately exploring a tentative friendship if not lover-ship, if that's a word. I liked her, the REAL her, not the persona she donned as Queen Bee of The Hive at lunch.

Putting on my best hungry-puppy look I quickly went into my song and dance, figuratively speaking of course, that here I was, faced with a monumental challenge for which I was totally unqualified.

"And you wouldn't want to see shame brought upon the noble office of Miss School Spirit by my clumsy efforts," I concluded as she did her best to bite back a knowing smile.

"You want me to produce and direct the Pep rally for you," she concluded wryly, batting her big baby-blues at me naively. I knew better. She was anything but the dumb blonde she made it a point to appear.

"Would you at least, maybe, provide me with a concept, some kind of dramatic entrance? And maybe, since you're Head Cheerleader, you could coordinate things with them? And the football team will be there, of course, but maybe you could talk to Mongo -- I mean Matt -- so that they could be part of it, instead of just standing around looking macho? And then, there's the band, and lighting the field, and lighting the fire, and..."

"And how about the Junior ROTC corps for a color guard while we're at it?" she suggested facetiously.

"What a good idea!" I agreed enthusiastically. "But we'll save that for the game. And maybe the Chemistry Club could come up with some suitably theatrical pyrotechnics!"

"You're forgetting the Astronautics Society," she added dryly. "They're always looking for an opportunity fire off some rockets. I hear both the Federal Aviation Administration and the SPCA have them on their watch lists after their latest flight."

"What's the problem? They missed that little plane, and the mouse survived, didn't it?"

"Yeah, but the pilot almost had a heart attack. He filed a complaint. And that poor mouse never ran in his exercise wheel again. Whoever heard of a mouse with PTSD? They should have just used an egg or something. — Maybe you'd like me to get the Blue Angels for a flyover."

"Could you?"

She shook her head. "You are something else again."

For a moment I was afraid she was going to turn me down, or worse, pull out her patented and guilt-inducing "I'll do it, but only because I owe you" rationalization.

"Okay, you know I love a theatrical challenge. This'll be more fun than the Great Homecoming Dance Dress Hunt and Makeover Campaign. We'll need to set up a brainstorming meeting, and that's got to be this afternoon, right after classes, 'cause pulling this together is gonna take some fast footwork by all concerned."

"I've got to model for Kathy Powers this afternoon, with Greg," I mused -- which thought, as always, triggered that good feeling in my pussy, even as it made me think of a request for Kathy, which I quickly tucked away for future action. "Can you get the people? And could we have the meeting in the art studio? If I don't move too much while I'm posing I can contribute, or at least listen to what you're planning."

"Yeah, I'll round up the usual suspects -- and some unusual ones, too, come to think of it. Getting those geeks in Chem Club and Astronautics all moving in the same direction will be like herding cats. But if you're posing the way I think you will be they'll all want to be there. Multi-tasking, are we?"

"It's the only way! Hey, thanks a million. I've got to get to German. See you this afternoon."

I scampered off before she could come up with some excuse she couldn't do it, confident that somehow she'd manage to get everyone there. She can be very persuasive!

Which is how I wound up that afternoon in the art studio naked (as usual), down on my knees (not unusual), with Greg's cock up my ass (unusual but enjoyable) while Kathy Powers, all luscious five feet ten of her, also naked (as usual), was behind us, shaping clay. She'd been glad to agree to the idea I'd proposed to her, but more about that later.

With Greg to my south, backing me up, so to speak, my north end was facing, in no particular order, both co-captains of the football team (one of whom was Matt Mozilla), the band's drum major (the band director unable to attend, much to his regret, I'm sure), the Junior ROTC Cadet Commander (in full uniform -- yum!), plus, as Heather had anticipated, the full memberships of the Chemistry Club and the Astronautics Society. It was a critical mass of nerd power. Who knew what might happen?

Also there was the Head Custodian, responsible for assembling materials for the bonfire as well as managing the field lights at the rally. The head of security was there to insure our safety, and a representative from the fire department to limit our pyromania. Heather had thought of everything!

She was doing dual duty, or should that be triple? In addition to chairing the meeting she was Head Cheerleader, coordinating them, and would be charged with the overall choreography and staging, such as it was given the lack of rehearsal time.

It made for a crowded room, and a hell of an audience to Greg's and my artistically posed buggery. Every once in a while Greg would start to soften, so he'd take a stroke. That usually resulted in a grunt or sigh from me while my eyes crossed. I also had a tendency to drool and lose focus and have to ask someone to repeat something, but then some of the attendees had similar attention deficit episodes, which I attributed to Greg's and my display.

I maintained my carnal edge by sneaking diddles at my clitty or probing my pinched cunt with a finger. Periodically Kathy would get a little hands-on with us to capture a tactile impression of our -- ah -- connection, which contact also stirred my lust as she fingered my dilated bung and Greg's dork or teased my pussy.

Before the meeting had opened, even as the ad hoc committee had begun assembling, we'd discussed going for vaginal penetration, but Kathy argued that it was not the same as anal -- well doh! -- and would not provide the same verisimilitude, if that's the word I want. She'd already finished her sculpture of Greg doing me doggy style and wanted this one to be more -- uhm -- earthy, you might say. Just so there'd be no doubt as to which orifice he was using, Greg's cock was only about halfway in, leaving a visible gap and the two of us hanging, so to speak.

It also threatened to be a long meeting. I just hoped I wouldn't wind up with serious fecal retention issues by the time it ended. After all, the valve back there was designed to keep stuff in, with only brief periods of relaxation to allow the stuff to be expelled. Even though Greg's appendage is of relatively modest diameter I was dilated by it for the duration.

Oh, I do suffer so for Kathy's art!

And yes, the spectators who had the good fortune to arrive in a timely fashion were MOST interested in our discussion and in the mechanics of the act, everything from the amount of lubricant being applied by Kathy to my back door (a lot!) and Greg's cock (ditto), followed by his gentle but relentless insertion into my -- Oh My!

Chapter 2 »