Deadly Chemistry
20 The Virgin Club
“ISN’T IT EXCITING, Brian?” Addison asked me on the phone.
“What is, Addie?”
“That I’m coming to visit you!”
“You are?”
“Doesn’t your family tell you anything?”
“Well, usually, but Mom just got home yesterday and we haven’t had much time to talk yet. It’s all about the baby,” I said.
“So is this. Betts is bringing the baby to Indiana in three weeks. Since Allen has to work, I volunteered to accompany Betts and help her as a kind of sort of nanny. If she ever lets go of the little darling. She’s so cute, Brian!”
“Betts or Maddie?” I laughed.
“Maddie, of course. When I get there I want to have a picture of the three of us—you, me, and Madeline. It will be so sweet.”
“Um… okay. But why do you want a picture of the three of us?”
“You are so dense! You and I are that sweet baby’s uncle and aunt. Her only uncle and her only aunt. We represent both sides of the family and we’ll dote on our little niece.”
“I never thought about that. It is kind of cool, Addie. When are you coming in?”
“We’ll get there on Friday the ninth.”
“Great timing. It’s the last day of school. You’ll get to meet everyone at the party on Saturday.”
“All your girlfriends?”
“And the guys, too. And, Addie, I’m filming my season wrap-up on Saturday morning. Would you like to be in it?”
“Really?” she squealed.
“Yeah. I’m having all the girlfriends on with me and I’m sure you’ll be welcome.”
“Hmm. Maybe I will get to be a girlfriend,” she giggled. She’d sure changed in the five months since I met her!
I boarded the bus Friday morning at six-thirty. Ms. Streeter checked everyone in to be sure we had our resource boxes, readings, and lunches packed. It was a two-hour bus trip to Fishers for the IHSFA State Speech Tournament. I was wearing all black, including the tight T-shirt that Nikki bought me and my black beret. It wouldn’t be a great outfit for my extemporaneous speech, but I was putting everything on the poem that I’d be reading. Extemp wasn’t really my thing, but I hated to waste my box of research.
“Please don’t tell me you’re wearing your camo jacket, too.” I looked up. Nikki sat down in the seat beside me.
“What are you doing here? Did Ms. Streeter convince you to compete?”
“No way. She said that every school had to provide two pages for the competition and she didn’t have anybody she could get on short notice and could I please save her. How could I turn down a plea like that?”
“Pages?”
“Students to tabulate scores, post results, and run errands for each section of the competition. Like congressional pages.”
“Oh. Well, hi. I’m sorry I didn’t greet you and act happy to see you. You just surprised me so much I couldn’t think straight. I’m glad you’re here to make this trip less boring.”
“What? You think I’m going to jump off a balcony?”
“Nikki!”
“I know. Bad joke. I have to joke about it, Brian. You could, too, you know.”
“Nikki, you scared the fuck out of me.”
“Apparently you got it back.”
“Um…”
“Joke, Brian. You know, sense of humor? That was a very funny comeback.”
“Yeah. It was. But I’m so overwhelmed lately. I never seem to know what’s funny.”
“Got plans for the weekend?”
“We’re heading down to Kokomo tomorrow.”
“Good. Those girls have been waiting for the Brian experience for a long time. How about after we get back tonight?”
“Don’t know when that will be so I didn’t make plans.”
“My tattoo needs touching up. Could you… uh… come over?”
My extemporaneous speech topic was ‘Should the United States intervene in local conflicts endangering civilians like the recent war between Iraq and Iran?’ There was no winning side to this issue. I did the only thing I could. I beat the drum of patriotism and declared that the United States had to save the world for democracy and that wherever civilians were endangered by a conflict of non-democratic militarized powers, we needed to step in to put the people in charge. Even I thought my arguments, while supported by a bunch of powerful politicians, were lame. The strategy worked, though. I guess it’s true that when you don’t have any facts to back your argument, all you have to do is yell about patriotism. I got third place.
I watched Cassie, Terry, and the rest of the debate team tear apart their first opponent and move on to the next round in debate. They always run the events that every school has competitors in first. So after lunch, when half the schools had already boarded their busses to take them home, I was called in the poetry competition.
“‘In the Underworld’, by Nat Hart,” I said when I reached the podium. I whipped sunglasses out of my pocket and as I put them on I saw Nikki settle in a seat in the back of the room. I almost lost it. I hadn’t even considered that she might watch me present her poem. I took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the podium. Technically, this competition is for a poetry reading, but you aren’t penalized if you recite the poem. I started slow and a little haltingly. “I floated above and could see I was dead/ Panic in my heart was fed…” By the time I was midway through the first stanza, I’d found the rhythm and my pace picked up.
I clawed my way to the top of the bottom of the heap
Where I learned the art of how to keep
A spark of light alive in the deep
Chasm that opened beneath my feet
I discovered that opening was more than a well
As I slipped at the edge, tumbled and fell
And my voice was silent as I raised it to yell
Just because it’s private doesn’t mean it’s not hell
Then you came to me, gagged and bound; you
Wore nothing at all but the pain that hounds you—
The source of which still confounds you.
Beyond all reason fear surrounds you;
You carried a grudge for all that you’d lost
And blamed me for all it had cost,
But I cut the cords that bound you and tossed
Them in the flames of hell and carried your cross
There was a deafening crash when we came together
Nature abhors a vacuum whether
It’s outer space or in the nether
Reaches of an empty heart seeking something better
We reached the heights as lover to lover
And danced in the brightness under the cover
Of the sky—we never thought to discover
Whether two empty vessels could fill each other.
I kept the pace going, beating out the words like a drum at the audience. I pounded them with my fist, looked at the sky and continued to rant.
Wherever you walk there is hope and cheer.
I learn bravery and show no fear
Of the haunting ghosts of sadness and tears
That wait below in the winter this year.
By autumn’s first frost I was pushing up daisies
While you wandered free in the places
I’d come to love; it just drove me crazy
That I was again consigned to Hades.
I reached the crescendo and crashed, my voice coming down as I leaned forward to whisper the last lines.
That’s the promise of the eternal wheel:
What comes around goes around, that’s the deal.
The judges scored my performance and there was a smattering of applause when they dismissed me from the podium. Apparently, my choice wasn’t controversial enough to merit an inquisition this time. I was done. I didn’t care if I won or lost. I only cared about what Nikki thought and when I’d gathered my things, she was no longer in the room.
As it turned out, I won. We left the competition as soon as the debate team won its final round, though, and didn’t stay for the awards ceremony. We had a two-hour bus trip back to school and got there a little after six.
When I got on the bus, I looked for Nikki, but she wasn’t there. I sat down and Cassie plopped into the seat beside me. She was pretty stoked as her team had just won the state debate title. When Cassie gets into that kind of mood, there’s no way to derail her. She held my hand and gave me an argument-by-argument replay of all four debates they’d had. I saw Nikki get on the bus, look around and sit in the front seat across from Ms. Streeter. I hoped she wasn’t pissed at me.
“Are you still coming over for dinner?” she asked. Nikki was waiting for me when I got off the bus. Cassie kissed me on the cheek and ran with the rest of her team to where their parents were waiting.
“Of course. Sorry I wasn’t available on the bus. I thought you were ahead of me and then Cassie just occupied the seat.”
“She’s your girlfriend. I had to run a bunch of copies for the judges before I could leave. Ms. Streeter actually had to come and get me so we could go. I’m parked over there.”
We went to her car and rode to her mansion in relative silence. Once we got there, she pulled some kind of casserole out of the refrigerator and microwaved it. It was probably pretty good when it was fresh, but something in it got soggy in the microwave.
“Where are your folks tonight?” I asked. She shrugged.
“I think they said Masons. I don’t pay attention unless I have to. They have a dance almost every Friday night.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Why would you?”
“Nikki, are you upset?”
“No. Just more tired than I expected to be. I need to go take a pill. Come on.” I followed her upstairs to her bedroom and she went into the bathroom, I assumed to get her pill. When she came out, she was wearing just her panties.”
“Um…”
“I said I wanted you to do my tattoo. I got this new stuff. I guess it isn’t that new. It’s been around for hundreds of years, but a girl down at the gathering a couple weeks ago told me about it. It’s henna. I’m kinda marked up because I had to try it. I think I’ve mixed the right consistency. So instead of using a pen, you have to use a brush and let it dry. It seems to last pretty well. Of course, it’s not black.” She handed me a bowl of goop, a brush, and the stencil. Then she flopped on her back on the bed beside me. “Do the one over here on my boob.”
“May I touch you, Nikki?”
“You kinda have to, don’t you? Hell, they’re just tits. Grope ’em, suck ’em, whatever. Just put the stuff on me.”
“You don’t sound very happy, Nikki.”
“Yeah. I get this way sometimes. Live with it. You’ve got my tits in your hands. Get over it.” Ah shit. I was still a little scared of Nikki in some ways. But if she was getting crazy like she did back in January, I guess I was glad someone was here, even if it was me. I didn’t maul her breasts and only touched her as was necessary to position the stencil and apply the henna. I did a light outline with the stencil and then removed the paper so I wouldn’t risk smearing the henna later. Then it was a difficult job to fill in the spaces. I was honestly too focused on not messing things up to notice if I touched her nipple or breathed on her.
“I think I’ve got it. I sure hope this works.”
“I have to just lie here like this until it dries thoroughly,” she said with one hand over her head. If she moved the other hand up it would change how her skin stretched. “I’m pretty helpless, you know? I couldn’t stop you if you sucked on me or even if you pulled my panties down. I’d just have to lie here and let you do what you wanted to.”
Okay, that was an arousing speech in its own way. It was a little melodramatic, and if she didn’t want me to do something she could just sacrifice the tattoo and push me away. But she needed to own whatever happened. I wasn’t completely comfortable with just doing whatever I might feel like while she lay there docilely.
“Nikki, do you want me to take off your panties? Do you want me to lick your pussy? Do you want me to pull out my cock and push it into you and make you come as I spurt inside you? Is that what you want?” Her eyes popped open wide and she looked at me with a little fear in her eyes. She still didn’t move.
“No,” she whispered.
“If you just lie there and tell me I can do whatever I want to, I might misinterpret that and do something that you don’t really want me to. You have to tell me what you want, Nikki. That’s the rule.”
“But I’m an anarchist. I’m supposed to break the rules.”
“Is that a rule?” I wasn’t sure if the grimaces she was going through were a sign of impending rage, crying, or laughter. It turned out that laughter won and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Are you supposed to be Mr. Spock or something? I hate logic.”
“Nikki, I care about you. Sometimes I just can’t figure out what you want.”
“But it’s so hard. You were right there when we did the first one and you asked if you could and I just said yes and it was okay. But when I think about asking you if you’ll touch me and lick me and make me come… I always do it for myself. But when you did it, it was so different and… and… and…” Nikki was getting stuck.
“Nikki, may I touch you and kiss you and lick you including between your legs? I’d really love to do that.”
“Yes! But… can I suck you this time? I felt so bad last time I just took from you and I didn’t get to give anything back.”
“I would love it if you sucked me if that’s what you’d like to do. But Nikki, you’ll have to wait.”
“Why?”
“Because your henna isn’t dry yet. After it’s dry and won’t smear, then you can suck me, but until then, you have to lie back and let me enjoy kissing and touching and licking your beautiful body.” She moaned.
“Please?” I took that as my cue.
Nikki was always desperate to be in control. I think it was part of her… I guess she called it an ICI—invisible chronic illness. She had to put herself in a position of vulnerability—waiting for the henna to dry—in order to let me take control and love her.
I started with her lips and we kissed for a while. By the time I moved away from the kisses, the henna was probably already dry, but neither of us said that as I moved down to kiss her breasts and nipples—careful to not touch the henna artwork. When I’d thoroughly kissed her belly, I moved down, dragging her panties down with me. The tattoo next to her pussy was fading. I kissed it thoroughly. I pulled her panties all the way off and surrounded her pussy with kisses and little licks. Nikki wasn’t skinny like Liz or a hard-body like Whitney. Her tummy was soft and that softness spread to her pussy as well. She’d trimmed her bush enough so the rose would be clearly visible but didn’t shave or even cut back the rest of her pubic hair. It collected her juices as she became more and more turned on.
Unlike the first time, it didn’t take long to build to her first climax even before I’d directly touched her clit. I hadn’t been invited to penetrate her, even with my fingers, but I thrust my tongue in and out of her as far as I could. Then I flattened it against her clit and moved from side to side as she rocketed into a thunderous climax. As soon as she was down, I started flicking at her clit with the tip of my tongue and alternately making long swipes up from beneath her opening to her clit. It seemed to take her body a moment or two to figure out that she was going to come again but when she climbed to the third height, I sucked on her clit and kept flicking it with my tongue until she begged me to stop. I cushioned my cheek against her mound and just lay there holding her to me.
“You’re still dressed,” she said accusingly when she was able to speak again. I looked down. I’d kicked my shoes off and lost the beret someplace, but I was still dressed in my black slacks and tight black T-shirt. “Do you always have sex fully dressed?”
“I’m trying to think when the last time was that I just ‘had sex.’ Not that I haven’t, but there’s a difference between that and what I just did.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just made love to you, Nikki. I didn’t have sex. There are times when just getting off with your partner is all that either of you want and it can be mind-blowing. You are really aware of and looking for your own fulfillment. Not that you don’t care about the other person or anything. It’s just that you are more involved with getting off than with what the other person is feeling. When I make love to you, all I care about is pleasing you and making it good for you. Even if I was buried balls deep in this little vagina that my tongue just made love to, I’d be trying to make sure that it was the best thing you’d ever felt.”
“So, like you made love and I had sex? I mean, I have to tell you that I did not think once about whether you were enjoying yourself. I just wanted you to never stop.”
“Maybe it isn’t a perfect system. There’s nothing wrong with having sex just for the pleasure it gives you. But it’s special when I can do something for you and not be thinking about what I’m getting out of it. And I think that when we make love with one another and are both involved in just showing the other how much she or he is loved, then it reaches a whole new level.”
“Okay. So, lie back and get ready to have sex because I’m going to make love to your penis with my mouth.” We both chuckled a little, but it didn’t take long to get me out of my clothes and for Nikki to start focusing on my cock.
“I love what you are doing,” I said as she slurped away. “But if you are making love to it, don’t focus on the outcome. Believe me, I’ll provide come coming out. Just focus on loving it.” She was obviously inexperienced and tried a bunch of things that were uncomfortable for either her or for me, but once I got her to relax and just love my cock, my head went away and my other head took control. I was in never-never land and didn’t even think to warn her when I erupted.
“Whoa!” she coughed as she backed up and the last spurt hit her in the nose. “Oh! I knew it would happen, but it surprised me. Isn’t a gentleman supposed to warn a lady when he’s about to drown her?” She started laughing and wiped the mess off her nose. Then she stuck it in her mouth and looked at me.
“I’m sorry. I got so lost in what you were doing to me it kind of took me by surprise, too. I should have told you.”
“It was actually a good thing you didn’t. I’d have probably pulled back and we’d have a real mess to clean up. I didn’t even have time to decide if I was going to swallow it. It just was in my mouth and that was the easiest way to get rid of it. And I wanted to do that ever since we were in bed with Whitney that night. I just would have been too chicken shit to do it. Thank you.” She jumped toward me and gave me a big spermy kiss. It’s not like I like the stuff, but if she took it in her mouth for me, who am I to complain?
I was aware, also, that her demeanor and attitude had changed.
“You seem a lot happier now.”
“Yeah. That happens, too. It’s the same shit that the lethargy and the anger and the depression come from. When your life is controlled by drugs, you just learn to accept whatever emotion they plant in you. It’s like I don’t own any of them. I don’t know what’s real and what’s drug-induced. It’s supposed to control the manic-depressive state but most of the time you just don’t feel anything. It’s okay mostly when it’s bringing me up out of depression, but then I never get the really intense drive to complete something. I don’t get the high. My voices don’t talk.”
“You hear voices?” Oh shit!
“Sure. They all shut up when I write them down. Somebody said that if you hear voices in your head and they are ignoring you, then you are probably a writer. I know what will happen if I go off of the drugs, but I hate being on them.”
“I think you’re a great writer. I was so afraid that you were mad about the way I interpreted your poem today.”
“My poem?” she sighed. “You said it was by Nat Hart.”
“That’s what the note said.”
“Really? I thought you did your research. Nat Hart was the pen name of the editor of the Argosy Review ten years ago. The faculty advisor didn’t think it was right for the editor to be a named contributor because no one would believe the poems were selected in a blind competition. I’ve never been to Champaign-Urbana.”
“I assumed you kind of adopted the persona. Nikki, are you saying you are not Nat Hart? Who sent me the poems, then?” Nikki didn’t respond to me but rolled off the bed and rummaged through her desk as I watched her naked bottom. There was absolutely nothing wrong with this view. She turned and smirked at me.
“Here. Read the editor’s note at the beginning.” She tossed me a copy of the Argosy Review. I wondered how the heck she got that. I opened the magazine and started reading the ‘From the Editor’ in the front. It was pretty innocuous, thanking all the contributors. Then I got to the signatures.
“Wait! Ms. Streeter was the editor of the Argosy Review? And you say Nat Hart was the pen name for the editor? Ms. Streeter is Nat Hart?” Nikki didn’t say anything else and I was just about pissed at my teacher.
We left for Kokomo mid-morning on Saturday and Sam promised to take care of the horses. I got a big kiss from her and then another each for Jennifer and Courtney. Mmm. I hoped Jen and Court would give me kisses for all our girlfriends.
I needn’t have worried about it. They were all kisses and hugs when we got there. And bikinis. Oh wow!
“Put on your bathing suit, quick. We’re going to the water park,” Jennifer said. I had one hand caressing her beautiful exposed butt and the other on Courtney’s.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Anna said. “They won’t let you in if you go dressed like that. It’s a city park and is family oriented. That means little kids and no skimpy bikinis.”
“Aww!” Courtney pouted. Then she grinned. “We knew that, but we wanted you to see us in our new bikinis. You’ll get to see us in them again at Brenda’s party.” I laughed.
“Well, don’t forget you have to have actual clothes for the filming that morning. And how about graduation? Do you have to rush right back?”
“Nope. We’re a week earlier than St. Joe Valley, so we’ll already have graduated by the time we come down,” Jen said proudly.
We all got changed and went to the new water park. It was cool. There were a couple big tubular water slides that sent you around in circles and out into a pool. It was a pretty big line to get to the top, but we stood in it four times. Then we spent most of the rest of the afternoon floating in inner tubes around what they called a lazy river. We were lucky it was a warm day and that they heated the water. They had some two-person tubes that we managed to cram three into and just held each other as we went round and round the fifteen-minute stream.
Bill and Crystal had a table reserved for us at the restaurant and actually sat with us for dinner. Bill had finally let go of being the sole preparer of his signature prime rib. We had prime rib, but it was the thin-sliced meat rather than the bone-in rib.
“I’m still disappointed that you aren’t coming back to work for us this summer,” Bill said.
“So are we!” Courtney piped in. She suddenly flushed red and concentrated on the meal.
“Thanks, Bill,” I said, squeezing Court’s leg under the table. “I was kind of hoping you’d be able to take me again, but the opportunity to take over the assistant position for the summer on The Homemakers’ Hour is just too good to pass up.”
“No question of that,” Crystal said. “We’ve recorded every episode. Bill thought maybe we could start a ‘Young Cooking’ night at the restaurant and serve selections from your show.”
“That would be cool. But you’d have to talk to Harvey about using the name. The station owns that. I own the recipes, though they are getting ready to publish a ‘Young Cooking’ cookbook.”
“That’s even better,” Bill said. “I think we should have a talk with Harvey. We met him when we signed Courtney’s release. Are you coming up with twenty-four new girlfriends for the fall?” Fingernails dug into my thighs from both sides. I winced.
“The station has been collecting the names and addresses of everyone who sends in for a recipe. Would you believe that the first week they just shoved the recipes in the self-addressed stamped envelopes and put them back in the mail? I about lost it. It was actually Ms. Sullivan who got on me about it. Now names and addresses are entered into a database before the recipes get sent out. We plan to send out a notice in July to everyone who has sent a comment or requested a recipe and invite them to be ‘Brian’s girlfriend for a day.’ There will be some kind of interview audition before anyone is actually accepted, of course.”
“How would you like to be Queen for a Day?” Dad intoned in an announcerish voice. Mom and Anna both kissed his cheeks. I guessed it must be some private joke. Bill and Crystal laughed. Jennifer and Courtney looked at me blankly.
“Um, girlfriends?” I said as they dragged me to their bedroom. “We need to talk.”
“Please don’t be so ominous, sugar,” Jen said. “We want to talk, too. We’d rather do it naked in bed, but if you want to talk in the living room, we could.”
“Naked,” Court added and giggled.
“I’m fine with naked,” I laughed.
We took off each other’s nightshirts with a considerable amount of kissing and touching each other, but when we crawled into bed, both girls snuggled up to me and hugged me.
“Brian, this is hard to say, but we don’t want to make love to you tonight.”
“We mean, not all the way,” Court supplied. “We want to make love and touch suck and have orgasms.” I sighed.
“We’re sorry, Brian,” Jen said kissing my cheek.
“You don’t understand. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I love you both but…”
“But we don’t want to make love to you just because you’re not a virgin anymore and don’t have to wait for your special one,” Courtney said, filling in my own thoughts.
“That’s the thing. We still want to make love to you. We want you to be our first—and maybe only—guy. But we want it special, like it was for Whitney,” Jen added.
“We want to plan for it and be excited that it’s coming instead of just ‘oh well, we might as well fuck.’ See?” Court asked.
“Honey, that’s exactly what I want. We had so much fun—Whitney and me—just playing and teasing each other for a couple months as we worked ourselves up to that night. And it’s not like I don’t want to make love to you both. I just want to build up to it and not just get in bed and pop you.”
“Well, there’s really nothing there to pop,” Jen said. “We’ve been pretty vigorous masturbators for a few years. And you’ve had your fingers in each of us, so you know we’re pretty open and willing. In fact, I detect that there might be an opening for you right now if you’d like the position.”
I liked the position a lot.
It involved Jennifer’s pussy nearly smothering my face while Courtney slicked my cock up and down her wet slit. It also involved three very noisy orgasms.
To start.
The more I’d thought about it over the weekend and talked it over with Jennifer and Courtney, the more pissed I got at Ms. Streeter. All this time I’d thought I was reading Nikki’s poetry Ms. Streeter had been feeding me her own. And what did it say about Ms. Streeter’s mental state that I would think what she wrote came from the mind of Nikki? Either way, I wasn’t going to let it drop. I went to her classroom during lunch on Tuesday and she was just sitting there reading a magazine. She looked up at me as if she’d been expecting me.
“Hello, Brian. Nice job on Friday. We brought home two state championships and third place overall. You should be very proud.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded.
“Tell you what?” She was going to make me spell it out.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you are Nat Hart? I thought I was reading poetry of a dear friend and all I was doing was giving you an outlet for things you’d written.” I was steaming mad. There were still two weeks of school left and I didn’t want to blow my top completely and screw up my grades. But still…
“Yes, I’m Nat Hart. Now what makes you think that I wrote those poems?”
“What do you mean? The envelope came with a clipping from that magazine you edited in college. There was a note.”
“Get out your folder. I know you must have it with you. You wouldn’t come in here to accuse me if you didn’t have the evidence.” I reached in my bag and pulled out the file folder I used for my speech contest poetry readings. “Okay, lay out the first package you received. And describe the contents.” Crap. She was going to go through some ‘teaching experience’ with me.
“The envelope, with no return address, was sent to me and postmarked in Goshen. It contains four items. The first is a photocopy of a page from the Argosy Review with a poem by Nat Hart. Validation of a recognized poet. There is a type-written note that says ‘Use these. If you dare. N.’ Finally, there are two poems, ‘Solitude’ and ‘The Lover’s Cross.’ That’s all.”
“Now, where does it say the two poems are by Nat Hart?”
“What? They came…”
“You have four completely unrelated documents. There is no claim of authorship. There is no signature on the letter. There is no byline on the poems. There is no return address. Oh yes, Brian, you were set up, but don’t be so quick at ascribing authorship of all these unrelated pieces to the same person. Your evidence was adequate to pass a cross-examination by a panel of competition judges, but it would not pass any scholarly review.”
“Then you didn’t…?”
“As the author chose not to directly claim responsibility, I will neither confirm nor deny. You have exactly the same evidence you had to start with. You chose these poems for your own reasons. They spoke to you in a context that you understood—or thought you did. I did my best to dissuade you of that context, opening up alternative interpretations. Where you went with your reasoning from there is all your own.”
“My friend, who I thought wrote these poems, gave me the magazine when I asked her about them.”
“And did she say she didn’t write them? Brian, if your friend went to such extreme effort to conceal the authorship, it is unlikely that he or she would admit it even if you asked a direct question for confirmation.”
My day didn’t improve when I interviewed the two candidates for my show in Ms. Sullivan’s class.
“Okay, Robyn and Sarah. Miss Polly and our producer made a choice based on your suggestions but they wanted me to ask each of you why you want to go on television and pretend to be my girlfriend for a day. They’re asking this because we’re trying to figure out a selection process for next season and the answer you give won’t affect their choice. We’re just trying to get some good interview questions in place for next year. Sarah?”
“Well,” she bubbled, “As you know I am actively involved in several service clubs here at St. Joe Valley. The way many of our poor, our minorities, and our sick are treated is shameful. I am constantly looking for new forums from which I can promote a social agenda of generosity and fairness. Appearing on The Homemaker’s Hour would give me an opportunity to raise people’s awareness of the issues. The fact that you filmed with Kevin shows that you, too, are aware of many social issues and that we would be a good match. For a day.”
Wow! I looked at the envelope in Ms. Sullivan’s hands so they would both know that what Sarah just said wasn’t going to affect the decision one way or another. Secretly, I hoped that I had a better option. I’m not opposed to promoting social issues—I guess I’d proved that. I just didn’t want to turn the show and our selection process into proposals for promoting causes. Sarah was nice looking and very much into every activity there was at school. I think the only thing she hadn’t done is become a cheerleader. There were more club initials after her name in the yearbook than space allowed. I could just see her continuing to acquire titles for the rest of her life. She was a senior and would probably graduate with honors.
I turned to Robyn. She was a junior and to me had always been a bit of an enigma. We’d been in school together since about third grade if I remembered right. But I don’t think we’d ever exchanged more than a ‘hello’ in all that time. The impression I had of Robyn was that she always seemed a little sad. She participated in things and had friends and laughed, but whenever you just glanced at her, she looked like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. I could imagine her looking very old before she was forty.
“I don’t want to be a girlfriend for a day,” she started. “I want to sign the agreement and be part of the virgin club. I’ll pledge to keep my virginity until marriage.” I looked at her and then at Ms. Sullivan. Ms. Sullivan shrugged.
“Robyn, no matter what is in the envelope, I think we should talk. Would that be okay?” I said. The smile she threw my way was the happiest I’d ever seen her look. I was going to need help with this. “Ms. Sullivan? Who is my girlfriend for this Saturday’s taping? Ms. Sullivan opened the envelope.
“And the answer is, Robyn Koontz with her menu for a fried chicken picnic,” she read. Sarah frowned for a moment but then smiled in her indomitable way and congratulated Robyn.
“Sarah, I hope you know that it was not because the producer didn’t like your suggestion. He told me that it was a very close decision and he was sorry we only had one slot left. If you are available this summer, I might be able to bring you on as a guest,” I said.
“I thought you were taking the summer off,” she said.
“Oh. Uh… technically, ‘Young Cooking’ will be off for the summer. I will still be working on The Homemakers’ Hour. It hasn’t been announced, but I’ll be working fulltime with Miss Polly while Miss Betsy takes time off to have her baby. We signed the contracts last week.”
There was a good round of applause from the class and Sarah was all over me about being available anytime this summer.
“I need help, guys,” I told the table at lunch Wednesday. For some reason, Brenda had chosen to snuggle up on one side of me as tightly as she could wiggle and Rhiannon was making sure I had no room on the other side to shift away. My arms were so tight against me that it was hard to eat. I finally gave up and just put an arm around each of them. They took over cutting bites of my food and shoving them in my mouth, usually whenever I opened it to speak.
“No guys are going to help you today,” Rhiannon giggled. “They are being occupied.” I glanced around and saw Liz feeding Doug, Sugar feeding Lionel, Sora busy with Geoff, Louise making sure Carl was occupied, and Sam and Rose—bless their hearts—feeding and comforting Josh. Whitney was already making her rounds to say goodbye as she headed off to class at Potawatomi. Nikki and Cassie were talking together at the end of the table.
“Okay, then as my two caretakers, I need your help,” I said. “I’m serious.” Rhiannon and Brenda both shifted a little so they weren’t squeezing me so tightly and looked at me. I didn’t let go of them, though.
“Sorry, baby,” Rhiannon said. “We didn’t mean to mess anything up. We were all just trying to have a little end-of-year fun.”
“I’m all for it, but I really need some advice on how to handle Robyn Koontz. She wants to sign the agreement so she can join the people ‘pledged to remain virgins until they get married.’ I don’t want to lead her on, but I don’t want to betray any confidences within our group when I talk to her. If I just tell her I’m not a virgin, she’ll be looking at each of you wondering if you are my lover.”
“And she’d be right with most of us,” Brenda laughed. “You sure do attract the strange ones,” she whispered with a glance toward Nikki. I gave her a little pinch.
“Be nice.”
“Yes sir. I’ll be good when you’re ready, too.”
“That isn’t making this any easier,” I whispered back.
“In fact, I think it’s making it harder,” Rhiannon whispered across me to Brenda. Her hand was very high on my thigh and occasionally she stuck out a finger and scratched across my dick.
“Okay, so what I’ll tell her is that the three of us are just waiting until school is out so we can screw each other silly and not be virgins anymore.”
“That wouldn’t be that inaccurate,” Brenda said. “But I understand and we’ll help. I kind of tried to make friends with Robyn a few years ago and just didn’t click. She always seems a little preoccupied. You don’t suppose she’s being abused at home, do you?”
“God! I hope not. Maybe that’s what she thinks the agreement will save her from.”
“Well, let’s have lunch with her tomorrow. Just the three of us. No, let’s have Cassie with us. She’s the least likely among us to have sex before marriage. Except maybe Nikki. But maybe just Cassie with the three of us. We’ll go over the agreement point-by-point and then explain that it’s our choice. She might be disappointed, but she probably won’t be too upset.”
“I don’t date very much because guys are always so grabby. I dated Don Harmon twice and he wanted me to touch his thingy. I walked all the way home from the Starlight Drive-in,” Robyn said.
“Drive-ins often give guys the wrong idea right from the start,” Brenda nodded sagely.
“Well, everyone knows that your agreement says no skin-to-skin genital contact,” Robyn continued. “So even if the guys in the group are all taken, I figure that at least anyone else I date would have to agree to the rules like they do for you, right?”
“That’s where you only have partial information,” Rhiannon said. “I guess we’ve gotten so used to the rumors over the past three years that we don’t pay any attention. And anymore, we don’t date outside the group much. Let’s go over the actual rules.” Brenda and Rhiannon showed Robyn a copy of the agreement and read the rules and explained anything that wasn’t clear.
“You mean you don’t wait until marriage? You just wait until you’re seventeen? I’m already seventeen. I don’t want to get pawed all over,” Robyn mourned.
“Robbie, it’s not like that,” Cassie said, reaching over to touch Robyn’s hand. “Some of us are seventeen and still abide by the no skin-to-skin genital contact rule. They don’t even get close. It’s about making the choice and giving permission.” The girls gave examples of how they would ask for permission or grant permission to do what they wanted their date to do.
“You mean that if you decided to have sex with your boyfriend you’d have to say, ‘I give you explicit permission to have sex with me?’ That sounds so cold and unromantic.”
“Robyn, when do you want to have sex?” I asked.
“After I’m married.”
“So, at two o-clock in the afternoon you say your vows. You’ve remained a virgin, even from your new husband, all your life. After the reception he takes you to a hotel somewhere and has sex with you. You’ve spent—what—let’s say three months planning for that night and he knows that once he says those vows he can have sex with you. That sounds so cold and unromantic.”
“But that’s how…”
“If it’s how you want it, we support you. The only difference in what we do and what you want to do is that we say ‘I give you explicit permission,’ and you say, ‘I do.’ Believe me, just because we turn seventeen doesn’t mean we jump into bed with each other.”
“Three of the four of us are virgins,” Cassie said. “And we are all over seventeen. And no, I’m not going to say which one of us isn’t a virgin. We don’t talk about, brag about, or share confidences about our intimacy with any other individual in the group. That’s an unwritten rule.” You could see Robyn processing the information and mentally trying to decide which one of us wasn’t a virgin. I was surprised that Cassie kept that vague enough that she was suspect as well.
“But, it would still mean that anyone I dated would have to agree to the rules and I could just say no and they’d have to stop, right?”
“Yes, Robyn,” I said. “But think about it. You don’t have to join us to use the rules and to enforce them. Unless you really want to date one or more of the guys or girls in the group, signing our agreement isn’t really necessary.”
The taping with Robyn went great. We had a little bit of a rough start simply because we didn’t have things organized right to get the eggs boiled and cooled in time to make deviled eggs while the chicken was frying. We had to have boiled potatoes for the potato salad, too, so that meant two kettles of boiling water and the set got all steamy. We just vented everything while we peeled the eggs so we could start right from cutting them in half. Robyn’s grandmother’s fried chicken recipe was great and I let her pretty much explain what things were going on as I acted as her assistant. She did a great job.
Miss Polly: Robyn is this the only recipe of your grandmother’s or do you have others? This chicken is just delicious.
Robyn: I think every recipe in our family came from grandma or great-grandma or her grandma. They were all Southerners until Mom married Dad and moved north. You can get into real problems just blindly following the way grandma did things, though.
Miss P: How is that?
Robyn: Well, for example, when Mom and Dad got married, she cooked a ham for Easter dinner. She got a ham, cut the end off, put it in the roaster and baked it. Dad looked at the end of the ham and asked her why she cut that off. She said, ‘Because that’s the way my mother did it.’ They were curious and called Grandma. Grandma said, ‘I don’t know why. It’s the way my mother taught me. I’ll ask.’ So Grandma called her mother and said, ‘Why do we cut the end off the ham for Easter, Mama?’ Great Grandma answered, ‘Because otherwise it won’t fit in the oven.’ Great Grandma cooked with a wood stove and a tiny oven. Mom had a big deluxe electric oven. But we still cut the end off the ham. [laughter]
Miss P: Brian?
Me: If it makes the ham taste as good as this chicken, I’ll start cutting the end off my hams, too. [face camera] Just remember, girlfriend. No matter what, I still love you.
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