Double Take
Chapter 16
“How many roads must a man walk down?”
—Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
14 NOVEMBER 2018
Sometimes I feel very old. Like I’m an eighty-year-old trapped in a fifteen-year-old body. The whole issue with getting out of Algebra shouldn’t have been that hard. If my parents had taken the initiative, they could have used the exact same arguments I did, the exact same tone of voice, and the exact same demands. There’d have been no problem. I’d have been moved and they would have been seen as involved parents seeking the best for their child. For me to have done it, though, I was disrespectful and didn’t understand the way things worked. I guess I need to try harder to act my age. Only this time, when I say it, it means to act like a kid instead of an adult.
I looked at my journal entry with a critical eye. I was choosing my words carefully but expressing my thoughts and feelings. I was an eighty-year-old trapped in a fifteen-year-old body. Of course, I couldn’t tell anyone that but I could express how it feels. I protected my Moleskine journal and the gel pen I wrote in it with. I wish I’d been able to find a fountain pen but I suppose that for this age, that would be pretentious.
Inside my security backpack, there was a zippered compartment with large holes in the pull. I bought a small but reliable padlock and fastened it closed when I finished writing and put the journal and pen in the pocket. Paranoid? I suppose. I just really didn’t want Em or Francie or Pey or, especially, my parents to stumble on it and read my innermost thoughts—even the slightly censored version.
Ms. Levy was another thing. She’d suggested I keep this journal. It was different than the literary response journal that we had to keep with us at all times! She periodically gave us assignments of what we were to write in that composition book. She had some very specific requirements for it. It was to be wide-ruled, 100 sheets 7.5x9.75 inches. We were to write in ink. There were specific instructions for editing our work, including crossing out things we didn’t like and writing in inserts. Periodically, these were shared with classmates or she collected them. We were to use a red pen to edit our classmate’s writing, using the proper proofreading notation. Her rules made sense.
Or I was just too infatuated with her to complain.
I didn’t know if she would ever ask to see my daily journal. It was about the same size as the LRJ but was college ruled and had a soft cover. As I started to write in it, I didn’t know exactly what to say. After a few days, though, I realized I was writing it for her. I wasn’t talking about her but as if I was talking to her. Just exposing my thoughts a little while trying not to expose my real story. I sort of hoped she did ask to read it.
Thursday after school Beca and I stood at Mr. Richards’ door and waited for the last stragglers to leave so we could present our proposal.
“Hmm. I can’t say that it surprises me that you two found each other,” he said. “What can I do for you.”
“Sir, I’d like to move to the AP level class. I have a couple of reasons for this and a proposal that might make it work,” I said. He nodded and suggested I fill him in. “Well, first of all, I really enjoy this subject. It ties history and geography and, to some extent, even psychology together in a way I’d never considered before. Second, Rebeca and I have developed a project plan that we would like to work together on for the final. It would be more convenient if we were in the same class. I know that it is late in the term to be switching classes and I’m still trying to get caught up in a few after having missed so many while I was injured. I have read all the text and find that I’m looking online for additional resources. I thought that perhaps if I could look at the AP material for the rest of this term—even if I can’t actually switch classes—it might prepare me to make that move next semester with your approval.”
“Hmm. I can see the possibility. Your work has certainly been acceptable in these two weeks and you have just three more exams to take until you are all caught up with where we are. It would be difficult to move you this semester but there is a possibility that it could work next term. Tell me about this project you’ve put together,” he answered. That was encouraging. At least he wasn’t shooting us down just because we came with our own suggestion.
“It started when I sat down at lunch to welcome the new kid to school,” Beca said. “Over the next few days, I pointed out groups that always sat together, starting with the table that Jacob had chosen. It seems that is always the table where new kids sit to scope out the territory. Most of them move on as they make friends.”
“Then there were behavior patterns we saw,” I continued. “They range from what people wear on what day of the week to what days they buy lunch and what days they pack it. We noticed there were groups that shifted tables around, too. That was what made me think of the theme for the class regarding how people shape the geography. We believe we could draw parallels between what we see in the cafeteria to settlement patterns during migration.”
“I think we could put a video camera in a corner of the cafeteria and no one would even realize it was running. We could record and edit together repeated patterns,” Beca added.
“We might even be able to interview some of the groups or do a general survey form.”
“That’s an ambitious undertaking,” Mr. Richards mused. “Definitely AP work. Okay. Here’s what I want to happen between now and the end of this semester. You both seem to be committed to this as a joint idea so I want you to start studying together. Rebeca, you need to get Jacob caught up on the semester’s AP assignments. Jacob, you’ll find that the two classes cover the same material but the AP class gets more homework. I hope you’re serious about this. If you complete the AP coursework by the end of the semester and it is acceptable, I’ll recommend moving you into that class next semester.”
“Thank you, sir.” It worked! Well, maybe that was because we presented our idea to a rational human being instead of an incompetent bitch.
“In order to make this project work, I suggest you do some groundwork before the end of this semester. Assume it is a baseline. After the semester break there are always changes in class schedules and groups. For example, you might find a shift of importance between football jocks and basketball jocks. I’ll want your full proposal the first week of second semester since you have chosen a project that will take all semester to complete. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” we both responded.
“Then get to it.”
“Hey, Em. Could we give Beca a lift home?”
“Is this your girlfriend, J?”
“We’re… um… just friends,” I stumbled. I didn’t think she was my girlfriend.
“We’re study partners,” Beca said, almost rushing over me. “We just got assigned a project in Human Geography.”
“Hmm. A boy and a girl studying Human Geography,” Francie laughed. “Be sure to chart all the curves, Jacob.”
“Francie!” Shit. I knew I shouldn’t have suggested that we’d take Beca home. I’d no more make a pass at her than at Pey. She was like a kid sister.
“They’re teasing, Jacob,” Beca whispered. “Let it slide.”
“Sorry. They try to embarrass me.”
“That’s because we love you, brother. Where to, Beca? And tell us about your project.”
The rest of the ride was okay and we got Beca home to a development not far from where we lived. It looked a little older than our neighborhood and maybe a little smaller, too.
Pey was home already by the time we got there so it was way too late for Francie and me to fool around. Fuck. It was too late for us to fuck. Francie and I never fooled around about it. I had a PT appointment and evaluation tomorrow afternoon so there was no way we’d be meeting before next week.
We managed a little kiss and mutual grope as we got out of the car before Pey could see us.
Friday afternoon, I met a smiling Molly in the PT gym. She gave me a quick hug and gently took my crutches from me.
“I’ve missed you, Molly,” I said. The hug was enough to start me swelling.
“I can tell. Now show me how well you can walk between the bars.” I grasped the two handrails and limped from one end to the other. I was definitely feeling stronger. I was using my hands to support part of my weight, though. Of course, when I reached the end of the twelve-foot course, she made me turn around and do it again.
“Good! You are getting stronger. Let’s run the basic strength and endurance tests to quantify the progress. I’ll show you a couple of new exercises you can take to your coach for daily workouts.” Molly put me through my paces, testing the increase in arm and leg strength and my flexibility. I’d been doing regular sit-ups, pushups, curls and leg presses. Molly said that had served to immediately get my strength up to where she thought I could start adding exercises. I was told, however, to keep the weights minimal and repeat the reps. “And I also want you to start working on the treadmill. You are not to exceed two miles per hour and you are to keep your hands on the side rails at all times. I don’t want you working there unattended, so I’ll call and talk to Mr. Anderson about getting assistance. Now let’s go rub down those sore muscles.”
Now that was a treat. I hadn’t had a massage from Molly in over two weeks and I pretty much just melted under her touch. Well, everything melted except one thing.
“Sorry, Molly,” I said as I rolled over and tented the sheet. I could feel the heat in my face and wondered where the blood was coming from.
“I thought you knew how to take care of that problem, Jacob. Do you need an instruction kit for teenage boys?”
“God, Molly! How about just another demonstration. Maybe I didn’t see it quite right. There was water in my eyes, you know.”
“You evil boy. Give me your hand.”
I held up my hand and she squirted massage oil in the palm. She smeared it around a little with her hand and then guided it under the sheet to my protrusion. She wrapped my hand around my cock and used her hand to start it stroking.
“It’s a rather tricky process in your weakened state. Usually, just up and down will work. But I want you to start adding a rotating motion. This will strengthen your wrist and give your arm a greater range of motion.” She demonstrated, keeping her hand on mine. Gradually, her fingers slid between mine and I could feel them on my sensitive skin. “I highly suggest you find a friend who can spot you on this exercise. Keep that wrist twisting and moving up and down. But the secret of effective massage is to loosen and soften the muscle, relieving the tension in it. If self-massage fails to do the trick, your spotter can join in. Just keep stroking until it gets soft.” Her hand slid over mine and down my shaft from crown to base, pushing my hand aside. She definitely demonstrated the twisting action as she stroked. I grabbed her hand and held it still as my cock started pumping between her fingers.
“Oh, God, yes,” I breathed. “Thank you, Molly.”
“Clean yourself up. You should add this exercise to your daily routine. And remember what we’ve said about your other exercises. Don’t increase the pressure, just repeat three times a day.”
I might have exceeded her recommendation over the weekend. I had a lot of homework to catch up on. I could see what Mr. Richards meant when he said ‘same material but more homework.’ I’m sure it would be possible to learn all this stuff without the extra homework, but it made you dig a little deeper and write conclusions about what you learned. I’d definitely be ready for the first unit exam on Monday, I thought.
Silence. Darkness. Pressure from every direction. I was being crushed. I couldn’t inhale or exhale. I tried to scream but no sound came from my mouth. After all I’d come through in my healing, I was still going to die again, crushed by the invisible fist that gripped me.
I thought I’d gotten past this point. I hadn’t had the nightmare in over a week. Maybe it was just the stress from all the extra studying I’d done in the past week, first redoing Algebra and now trying to catch up in both Geometry and Human Geography. A part of me recognized that I was having the nightmare again but I couldn’t stop it. The dream was so realistic, perhaps it would kill me this time. I couldn’t break the grip of the nightmare.
“J! J! I’m here. Don’t let go, baby. I’m here. I won’t let you go. Stay with me, baby. Stay with me. It’s just a dream.” The splash on my cheek was what woke me. Then I felt the grip of her hand on mine. Em was crying over me and her tears were dripping on my face. My tears joined them.
“I thought they were gone. Em, why aren’t they gone? Why do I have these nightmares? For God’s sake, what happened to me.”
“It was a long time ago. You forgot and the doctor said it was better that way. I can’t talk about it. I want to forget, too. I can’t tell you, J. Just…” Em released my hand and stripped off her sleepshirt in one move. Then she was in bed with me, lying half on top of me, covering me with kisses. “Whenever… whenever you have the dream, think of me, J. Think of me kissing you. Think of me naked in your hands. Think of me sucking your cock. Think of eating my pussy. Think of me never letting go. I’ll never let go!” With that, she pushed the bedding down and latched onto my cock with her mouth. She already had me so worked up that I didn’t even have a chance to finger her before I came. I exploded and the orgasm wiped the memory from my mind.
18 November 2018
I think something happened to me. No one will tell me what it was. I know I wake up in the night from a bad dream. Sometimes my sister is there to comfort me. Sometimes it is an odd sensation that wakes me, like the ticking of the furnace or a breeze that blows across my face. When I’m awake, I can’t remember the dream. I know it is terrifying and I am truly about to die. Perhaps I’m reliving my death in my dreams. Is that what it is like to die? And then to wake up and not remember what death was like?
I wanted to kill myself a few months ago. Tried and failed. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember why I ever wanted to end my life. Until the nightmares started. I’m beginning to understand why I wanted to end it. To end it and know at last what death is really like. I won’t. Not now. I know the love of my parents and my sisters and the friendship of others. I won’t do that to them again.
I just pray that I’m strong enough to keep that promise.
My journal entries never exceeded a page and often were much less, but I always started a new page. The gel pen was intensely black but bled through the paper a bit so I only wrote on one side of the page. It was easier that way. I had thirteen entries in it already. I tried to write in it before I got out of bed in the morning. Then exercise and get ready for school. I locked it back in my backpack and set about getting ready for school.
It was a great week. There were only three days of school before Thanksgiving weekend and I was glad that I’d have four days to do more catch-up. Jock went over my new workout routines with me when I got there at 7:35 sharp.
“Good! You’re progressing. How are you getting on with the new crutches?”
“They’re more comfortable than the old ones,” I said. “Some of that is offset by the fact that I have to carry my book bag on my back now instead of rolling it along behind me.”
“Yeah, getting strong really sucks,” he laughed. “I’ll set up the machines for you but I don’t have anyone who can spot you on the treadmill yet. That might have to wait until after Thanksgiving. There aren’t many guys working out in here who want to take fifteen minutes of their routine to spot for you on the treadmill. Let me see what I can put together.” I looked around the gym. In the weight room it was mostly guys but there was a smattering of girls on the aerobic machines. I wondered if I could get Rebeca to work with me. Of course, she probably had a first period class. “If you could come in half an hour early, when I open the gym, there would be a better chance. For most of the guys and gals in here, this is their first period class.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I depend on my sister to bring me to school and I don’t know that she’d be enthused about getting up half an hour earlier. I’ll ask.”
Until I had a spotter, though, the much-desired treadmill was off-limits. I mentioned the problem to Rebeca at lunch.
“Ick! Watch you sweat for fifteen minutes? I don’t think so.”
“You could work out, too,” I suggested.
“Not just no, but hell no! Um… You don’t know this, but I have a deferment from all gym classes for… um… medical reasons. That is one room I stay as far away from as possible. Besides, what good would I be if you fell? The best you could hope for would be that I fell under you. I’m too little to be a spotter.”
I looked at my friend, and indeed, she was tiny. Probably not much more than five feet tall. Her dirty blonde hair curled just below her shoulders. She had a nice figure—what I could tell of it. Like a lot of freshmen, she tended to wear nondescript baggy clothes. I supposed it was part of being unsure of her fairly new feminine curves. Maybe a little embarrassed by some of them.
“It was just a thought,” I laughed. “I certainly wouldn’t want to fall on you. By accident.” She looked at me and her eyes got round. I saw her blush and thought it might be the first time I’d seen that.
On the other hand, Francie came over every day after school that week and she was a maniac.
“I won’t see you again until Tuesday next week!” she said. “And I get incredibly horny reading that book you gave me. Now let’s fuck in the seated position. This is great.”
I think she was devouring the Kama Sutra. She seemed to have two or three new positions she wanted to try every day. This one had two variants, seated facing and seated away. We tried them both. I sat in my desk chair and she straddled me to lower herself on my cock. Seated facing away was a little easier because her tummy was now rounder than her ass. I was able to reach around and play with her gorgeous tits with one hand while the other dove beneath her belly to play with her clit.
“Push up to meet me, Jacob. Slam up into me. Baby loves this ride. Fuck me!” I was only too happy to comply. It wasn’t the easiest position for me as I had to really focus on getting leverage with my legs to join her. That worked to my benefit, though, as I could last a lot longer. Francie made good use of every second I was in her.
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