The dreams of youth are the regrets of maturity.
AN INVISIBLE EMPIRE
You can see us, but you do not know where we are.
You can hear us, but you do not know what we are.
You can even speak with us, but you will not know who we are.
We are an invisible empire, a secret kingdom, and we rule the world.
Government is a pleasant facade—one most of our kind can live with. We often just leave such niceties to the mundane. It’s not like we don’t care about our day to day needs; we can still die of starvation. We die of thirst, and of cold. Like all living creatures, we also die of sickness and old age.
But where your kind needs to toil to earn your living, our kind may come by such basic necessities far more easily through theft or persuasion.
So what exactly are we? We are the gifted and talented, and we exist on the fringe with preternatural abilities of psychokinesis, telepathy, teleportation, and invisibility. Some of us possess abilities beyond what can be described by the elementary physics currently known.
In my case, I am quite ordinary, except for my ability to dull or excite another’s mind. With limitations I can cause great physical and mental harm. As I grew, I found I could also control objects to a small degree. Some other individuals in our empire are simply a bit more gifted than ‘normal’.
Note we don’t consider ourselves “paranormal”—we also don’t go around in battle dress uniforms or fancy costumes. It would be too conspicuous and a definite death sentence. This is the one rule that remained constant.
I ranked as a rarity amongst the telepaths, as there are a majority of us who are only capable of receiving. Their sensitivity varies, but empaths can only take in thoughts from others. Some can control their gift, some cannot. The sad thing is that for those who cannot pose a threat—they could reveal our existence to outsiders.
Empaths who manifest their powers and cannot control them “vanish”. Have you ever wondered about instances of missing children? The countless ones in the United States alone who go missing are not always victim of sexual offenders, disgruntled parents, or odd strangers. Some are victims culled for the safety of the empire.
Most of the empaths I know have passive personalities; very few are aggressive at all, unless they happen to absorb the thoughts of a homicidal or disturbed ‘normal’.
Then there are the psychokineticists. Among our kind, kineticists are uncommon—of that minority, telekineticists are the most common. The more strength one’s ego may project, the fewer equals he (or she) will find. Rarer still are pyrokineticists (fire). I suspect it was one particular pyrokineticist who inspired a well known horror author to write his novel. Rarer still were cryokineticists (cold) and even a hemeokineticist (blood), which leads me to believe that is an explanation of the source of some stories about Old World vampires.
Mind control is what we telepaths do best. We can obscure a ‘normal’s’ thoughts, and, given enough time and work, we can even re-write them. Ever see someone who did crazy things? Chances are they might’ve met one of our more malicious members. We don’t consider them blackguards.
Within our ranks, the only crime that mattered was discovery.
While we are formidable in our abilities, our kind understands that we are outnumbered. Discovery means we would be hunted down and killed. We suspect that may have happened before in times past—if there was a pogrom against the supernatural, it might’ve been one of our kind who showed off their abilities too much.
The Salem witch trials were likely the result of such a discovery. Whether or not the individual escaped is unknown. It is this risk of discovery that holds us in check. But there is more to this than simply mind tricks. Others have other gifts which manifest in different ways. Perhaps you’ve heard of them?
David Reese—or David Rice in more intimate circles—the jumper. To the extent of my knowledge, he’s probably the only one who is semi-officially “well known”. His talent of teleportation (literally displacing his body) was what got him caught by the United States’ NSA. Fortunately, his knowledge of the rest of us amounts to nothing. Nothing apart from the lies Tseng and I have told him.
The man known only as Tseng is a mystery. His name is likely an alias, as I know of no Anglicized Chinese surname in that fashion. He was one of the few who everyone in the empire knew of; if we had a more open structure, you might consider him an “emperor” of sorts, although he rejects that notion.
All I know is that if he knows you, you’re either a threat to him or you will be. The mere mention of his name gives most of us who know of him pause.
It was he who took control after the Russian’s excesses in the 1970s. And apart from Rice, Tseng is possibly the only one of us to have knowingly worked with the NSA, although he never showed off more than what he needed to achieve his ends. Tseng is perhaps the most potent of all of us. He is also one of the most hunted men on earth.
Of the Russian, I know only of his tale second-hand, and principally from the man who “killed” him. According to Tseng, the Russian’s name was Pyotr and his crimes were horrific—or so goes the claim. The Russian stole minds by psychically displacing the consciousness of one individual with his own. How many years had he lived or people he had lived through can’t be guessed at.
The Russian supposedly met his end at Chernobyl in 1986. Tseng wanted to assassinate the physical brain and the psychic after-image. Chernobyl was the snare that destroyed the criminal’s mind and poisoned any victims he could try to displace. A telepath can hope to cheat death by using a mindswap technique but raw nuclear power (according to Tseng) stopped the nightmare.
Then there were a score of the gifted who lived during my time. Of those, I only knew a handful personally—and of that handful, I was closest with Phillipa Roget. She had a most peculiar condition, but it was that same condition that made her gifted in the first place. The Roget clan’s gift for disappearing from the visible spectrum would have destined them to fulfill great roles in espionage before the age of thermal cameras and pressure-based motion sensors. However, those family members who used this gift couldn’t adjust to the nature of the world around them, and they would slowly go mad. This, coupled with Phillipa’s Catholic upbringing, denied the girl her full potential until we met.
But this brief narrative isn’t about faders, jumpers, shifters, or even stoppers; it’s about how I met each and every one of them, and how we wound up with the way things are now. I am Stanley Chen and this is my story.
YOUTHFUL SPRING—A STARTLING DISCOVERY
My own story could’ve begun on my the date of my birth, but I wasn’t really aware of my gift until later. I started tuning into other’s thoughts and feelings while I was in elementary school, and I was smart enough to know that something wasn’t all the normal. It was in the elementary school yard I learned I could stand in the middle of a crowd and remain invisible.
As the late Ralph Ellison so aptly wrote, “I am invisible ... simply because people refuse to see me.”
In my case, I nudged that notion along just a little more. George Lucas coined the term Jedi Mind Trick. I later learned that it was simply survival in this hateful world.
There is a triumvirate of schools in my neighborhood. A high school (grades 9 to 12, with student ages roughly 14 to 17) was sited on four city blocks between the main boulevard, 32nd, 30th, and Balboa avenues. Across the street was the middle school (grades 6 to 8, and ages roughly 11 to 13) and the elementary school (grades K to 5, ages roughly 5 to 10) was no more than five blocks away from the high school. That said, my ‘class’ of people had a fairly strong sense of community despite living in the big city.
I was dimly aware of my power, having the occasional precognitive dream (I still do), and sometimes hearing (or thought I’ve heard) things from girls—those lovely, fabulous girls—who were classmates (now co-workers and associates). Despite my power, I was still chiefly a loner. I had few people I could call on, and even fewer friends.
My knack for knowing things about girls (especially the pretty ones) marked me as an eavesdropper or with some suspicion by my mates. This simply isolated me more. This isolation did do some good as much as bad; while I was alone, I also had time to study my gift.
All this changed though, when I got tutelage. Despite my ability to tune into a ‘normal’s’ thoughts, I sailed unremarkably through the lower grades and my mother had wanted me to excel. So she got it in her head to hire an older student from a college preparatory school from across town. For a meager $100 a month, this tutor was to sit through and assist me with my increased homework load once a week.
I lived within walking distance to the three schools in our neighborhood. Hence this saved a ton of money when it came to transportation. When I started middle school, I had a small room downstairs, complete with a full bathroom. A small kitchenette was added when I graduated from middle school. It was so that I could learn to cook on my own. My parents rented out the space as soon as I moved out to my own place.
For a young man with a penchant for mischief and gifted as I was, this gave me a degree of independence few others had.
So it was early in February or March of my seventh grade when I met my second tutor. The first one had given up after two sessions. I found out later that I was transmitting my thoughts, which in turn, gave her migraines. The headaches I accidentally gave her agitated her so much that she left school soon after she quit as my tutor. I checked up on her a few years later and found—thankfully—she had survived without much injury, and was living as a mundane (if butter-face) housewife.
My second tutor was the one who accelerated my gifts. It was fortuitous that she did, for if Janet Wu hadn’t done so, I would not have met the first of my treasured darlings.
JANET STRIKES A BARGAIN
It was Janet’s third session when I first felt the unmistakable upwelling of emotion. I was dazedly looking at my math book, with Janet droning absently about the concepts. She was simply reading the lines, hardly emoting at all.
For a high school girl, Janet was all right. She was older than me by a good four years. From middle school, she had been accepted in the prestigious college preparatory school at the get-go. Only the top 10% of the 8th grade student body in the city qualified, and only about 3% get accepted. Janet was above average in intelligence, but she was only a ‘normal’.
She had black hair that was tinged blonde to give her that sense of 90s style (as that was in vogue at the time), and she wore a shade too much make-up for her own good. She was pretty but not beautiful. Her face was pear-shaped and she had a flat nose. This did not make her exceptional, although her choice of attire pleaded for attention.
As Janet lectured, I felt she was distracted. And what was more, she was highly agitated. Thinking it was a repeat of the early tutor, I nodded along, hoping to get her out of the house soon so I could goof off and watch after-school cartoons.
“So do you get it, Stanley?” she tapped a pencil on the red inked letters.
“Yeah,” I lied.
“Sure you do,” Janet snorted and pulled out my last test. “This is why you just got this ‘D’.”
I nodded silently, not having a good reply.
“Look guy, you’re going to fail the class if you keep getting these scores.”
“But a ‘D’ is a barely pass,” I chirped, “Why have it if I’m going to fail?”
“Because that’s how it’s all done,” Janet laughed. “You’re only going to have worse when you go to the next grade.”
“That’s bullstuff,” I said. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
I started to get up and Janet rose to let me by. By accident, her hand brushed mine and she suddenly felt faint. I caught her, but since she was so much older than I, I struggled not to drop her.
“I—I—I’m okay,” she gasped, “I’m okay.”
“Are you sure, Janet?” I wasn’t convinced. “If you’re not feeling well maybe you should go.”
Yeah! Go! And let me goof off for the rest of the evening. Fuck math! Or, maybe not.
I didn’t know realize it immediately, but with Janet sitting on the floor of my study, I could see right down her black blouse. Her thin gold necklace dangled off her neck and hung just a breath away from her slick, perfumed skin. Trying to regain her balance, Janet had inadvertently allowed herself physical contact.
Some ‘normals’ have a particular susceptibility to our ‘thought-speech’ and Janet was one of them. I must’ve transmitted some of my subconscious desire to explore my hithero dormant sexual desire with her. A serendipitous combination of my secret desire and her recent break-up with her boyfriend overwhelmed her sense of rhyme and reason.
“Stanley?” Janet was still loosely holding my hand. “Do you want to make a little wager with me?”
I stood over her, slowly learning what happened through observation (and later on, self-analysis).
“Uh, sure,” I was hesitant. “As long as it’s not money.”
She looked up at me and smiled weakly, “It’s not money.”
Janet got up, a little shaky but otherwise fine. I let her rest while I went off to the restroom. While I was doing my business, I felt my head throbbing as blood rushed all through my body. I was wondering what was going on with this stupid bimbo, fainting like that.
Was she sick? Or in trouble? Man, I didn’t want to piss off my mother by having her look for yet another tutor. I was so engrossed with my thoughts that I didn’t hear someone come at me from behind. I almost jumped when I saw another pair of hands, reach around me and take hold of my little pre-teen dick.
“What—?!” I was so startled I almost didn’t have time to finish.
“Don’t move,” Janet held me tightly.
“Hel—help,” I said weakly. “You’d better—”
“Quiet Stanley,” her grip tightened just slightly.
I winced, too afraid to move as I drained the rest of my liquid waste neatly into the toilet. We stood there in the restroom for a while. I wasn’t sure how long. Janet’s chin was on my shoulder, her lacquered nails in one hand bit slightly into my scrotum while her other hand held my penis tightly.
As I felt her body pressing against my back, her hand holding my dick pulled back my foreskin. I had barely pulled it so far back before. I felt like my skin would split as Janet tugged on my little sausage. I must’ve made some noise because I felt her grip tighten on me again.
I was wondering how to get out of this predicament when I began to notice that Janet’s fondling actually felt quite pleasant. Sensing my body relax, she began massaging me. Having dropped my trousers completely, I reached back and touched her legs.
“Okay Stanley,” her hot breath was in my ear. “Here’s the deal. You’re going to get something better than money.”
Having exposed my penis head for the first time, she began scraping the smegma off with her fingernails. When she’d stop to flick off the stinking mess into the toilet bowl, she’d playfully nip the tip with two fingers. My dick began to stiffen from her delicate attention.
“You score an ‘A’ grade on the next math test,” Janet continued sweetly, “And I’ll do this again for as long as you like next time.”
As I stood at rigid attention under her tender ministrations, I had a hundred questions in my head.
Why was she doing this? How was she going to get away with it? And the ever important—wait—did she say as long as I want?
I barely formed a coherent answer before I felt a strange new urge come over me. It was like pee, but it felt different. Very different. Janet didn’t seem to notice as she massaged my little stiff dick between her charming fingers. She didn’t really need to hear me answer. When I blasted my load all over the toilet cover, she had the answer she wanted.
DAMMIT. JANET. I LOVE YOU.
So it was with eager anticipation that I took to the next mid-term. Because of the tests across the district, Janet skipped seeing me for two weeks.
“What a studious girl,” my mother remarked.
Yes. I thought. Fucking studious indeed.
Since it was customary for my parents to drop in unannounced at my room (after all, I was a minor then), I had to finagle a time of day when Janet and I could expect some privacy. I was sure she had some ideas about what she could do next, but I had ideas of my own.
As for the test, I understood enough of pre-algebra and geometry to pass the test, but nothing to exceed. For that, I finally focused on developing my extra-sensory skills instead. I found that by mild concentration, I could read the different answers off other tests simply by figuring the change in albedo of the surface. That was neat, except if I copied the answers as they were, I’d be cheating.
Instead, I watched how the other students wrote out their answers. Rather than listening to a droning fat windbag, I was learning by both watching and doing. Maybe it was the teacher, or maybe the students I was learning from were better at teaching algebra on the level as I understood it. However it went, I aced the test (and improved my other homework).
Shit. Who said slutty teachers fucking disinterested students was not motivational?
So it was after school on Thursday when I hit the shower so early in the afternoon. As Janet phoned me on Wednesday to plan for our next “tutoring” session, she whispered, ‘Take a shower and clean up everywhere, got that?’
Remembering what she did last time, I did exactly that with due vigilance. I had finished drying myself and just finished putting on some clean, dryer fresh clothes when I heard the doorbell ring. I eagerly let her in and waited with bated breath as she looked through my homework and tests.
“So,” Janet leaned back in her chair, “You were too lazy to do the work, to have been failing like that.”
“I guess so,” I remarked as casually as I could. I was all ready for whatever she had in store.
“So I guess a deal’s a deal,” she threw me a quick grin.
“Yeah. So,” I had to sate my curiosity, “Are you sure this is okay? Won’t you get in trouble?”
“We’ll be okay, as long as we’re not disturbed,” she replied. “When did you say your parents would be home?”
“They’re visiting my father’s family,” I said truthfully. “I declined to go but they’ll be back around eight or nine or whenever they’re done with dinner.”
“So you’re home alone?”
“You’re pretty mature,” Janet shrugged and sniffed.
I noticed she was wearing a tan trench coat, despite the sunny weather. She had her book bag along, but she also had a small gym bag. Instead of the white moccasins she normally wore, she had donned a pair of black, steel-tipped boots. I could see skin just above the boots.
“You know Stanley,” she said quietly, “I could get to like this little room of yours.”
“Oh yeah?” I wondered at her sudden interest. None of my friends had seen my room, chiefly because I had no close friends.
Janet looked at me and smiled. “You know, you’re not a bad looking guy. Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No,” I felt my cheeks flush.
“Would you like one?”
“What?” I stammered.
“Would you like a girlfriend,” Janet repeated. “I mean not like all the time, but you know, maybe someone you could—”
Now it was she who became embarrassed. She cleared her throat to scatter the awkward silence between us.
“Look, don’t worry about it,” she said. “If you don’t want to.”
“No way,” I put my hand on her shoulder, “I mean it—I want to.”
“Okay,” Janet smiled a little then said, “Why don’t you get on the bed.”
My study had a bed. It was placed there when the inner area of my room (the area with the bathroom, and later the kitchenette) was still a storage area. I sat up in the bed and watched as Janet undid her trench coat. She must’ve found my expression funny, because she giggled audibly.
“Like it?” she held her coat open.
“You weren’t wearing anything under that?” I gasped.
“Of course I am,” Janet crawled over me and whispered fiercely in my ear. “I’m wearing perfume.”
I groaned as she settled herself over my body. Already I could feel my pants tighten as my dick hardened appreciably. I could smell not just Janet’s perfume but her nutty, intoxicating scent. Despite being older, she was roughly the same size as me. Like an amateur, I reached over her trench coat to hold her as she pressed her body against me. After a little gyration, she slipped off the coat so I was holding nothing but her sweet, supple flesh.
“Oh yeah,” I bucked my hips against hers, “Oh yeah. This is good.”
“Good, huh?” Janet’s face hovered over mine. “It gets better.”
“How?” I asked hoarsely.
“Let me show you.”
Janet slid herself down my body, undoing my dress shirt and then unbuttoning my jeans. I watched her ass rise up above her head as she tugged my pants down. I felt her warm breath on my groin and thighs. I watched her inspect my nether regions carefully before she softly kissed my stomach and hips.
I groaned and held my head up to watch as Janet put kisses on my belly and chest. As she worked towards my head, I felt her body hanging just within touch of my stiff dick. When Janet swayed her body from one side to the other, her stomach would occasionally scrape my penis. Her developing breasts, small as they were, still excited me. Her erect nipples brushed across my body as she crawled over me.
“You like?” Janet breathed hotly in my face.
I answered her only by savagely kissing her and gripping her ass tightly. I was so eager, I didn’t even think about the consequences later. Janet gagged slightly then quickly acquiesced to my assault. Her mouth yielded to me. I felt her tongue fight mine only briefly before she began enticing me with lewd motions.
My blood was pumping as I felt my cock angle sharply between Janet’s ass cheeks. Instinctively, my hips began thrusting. My dick was slippery with the pre-cum already oozing from its hole. I saw Janet’s eyes widen with fear as I slid my meat sausage over her bare ass crack. Panting heavily, she broke off kissing me, her mind obviously wracked with indecision. I later realized this was partly my fault. Having that much physical contact between us was not a good idea.
Janet was half sitting, half squatting over my body as my hips kept up their thrusting. Finally realizing that I was in no position to risk her getting pregnant, she allowed me to continue my naive method of fucking. She placed one hand on my chest and the other on her ass. This way, she sandwiched my cock between her sweet ass and her equally sweet hand and let my lust run its course.
Of course, I tried to make it last. But honestly, how long was your first few times?
I thrust so hard against Janet that she gave a short cry of alarm when her body shot up briefly in the air. I felt two weeks of pent up lust flow through my lower body into her waiting hands and back. Her mouth was wide open and she was as breathless as if she had spent herself as well. Her hand milked my slowly shrinking dick, as if urging it to squeeze out what little gunk was left in my body. Janet leaned over me, licking the fingers of her hand that milked my now soft boner. Still caught up in the height of lust, she kissed me fully on the lips, sharing her spit and my cum.
“That felt good,” I said as she began kissing my neck.
“Yeah well, if you do this well in school like all the time,” she said. “I don’t think you’ll need more tutoring.”
“No more?” I felt my heart sink.
“Of course no more ‘tutoring’,” Janet sat up and tossed her hair aside. “I mean that in a good way.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean no more tutoring you about school stuff,” my tutor put her arms akimbo. “But I’m still going to fuck your brains out.”
A COUGAR IN THE MAKING
In the months that lead to Janet’s 18th birthday, I found out what a pedophile was.
“You’re kidding me right?” I stood awkwardly on the sea wall. Janet and I both strolled along the beach as she mulled over the fate of the next four years.
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” She did her best to brush aside her long hair. It was a hard thing to do, as her hands were tucked into her sweater’s sleeves to shield them from the chilly wind on the sand swept promenade.
“See this?” Janet’s eyes squinted and her lips thinned, “This is my serious face.”
“I know,” I wrapped my arm around her ample ass, “Because I know that’s not your O-face.”
She pushed me away and pointed her sweater covered fist at me, “You want me to get arrested?!”
“Of course not,” I gave her an assuring grin, “But who’d tell?”
“Well my ex-boyfriend for one,” she felt sorry and accepted my hug. “You know—the guy who dumped me when I met you.”
Janet ignored my attempts to engage her in some impromptu groping.
“Besides,” she continued, “I need to go to college anyway.”
We both fell silent about that. Despite our relationship, that Janet took money to feign tutoring and having sex with me felt more like prostitution. She and I never brought it up, but I got that feeling from her. When I started actively courting her, she kindly asked me to stop and wait a few years.
“So we can’t do it again until I’m eighteen,” I mused.
“And I’m twenty-two,” her hug around me tightened.
I didn’t want to think about it. She would meet someone else, as would I. She didn’t need to be telepathically gifted to know that.
“I want to come with you,” I gripped her tight.
“Sure,” she laughed, “Just get another scholarship.”
So it was at a beach hotel where we made what we thought was a final stab at love the weekend before her birthday. Janet and I both lied to our parents about being with friends at a camp site, but in actuality, we were simply sharing a hotel room for three days, sight-seeing and touring the boardwalk by day, and throwing ourselves at each other at night.
A year after she left for university, Janet became a pederast, although you didn’t hear it from me. She came home for a visit after finals and looked me up. I met Janet at the beach and we chatted amicably. We were both sophomores, but she was in college, and I in high school.
When she drove me back to my house (her parents loaned her their car for her stay), it was pretty late. Since she wasn’t going to be leaving for another few days (it was the winter holiday), I suggested that she bunk for the night and head out tomorrow, preferably before my parents woke up. Janet’s eyes twinkled, because she must’ve been thinking about mischief.
“Sure thing, Stanley,” her voice was cool.
I put her up in the warmer inner room (the outer room that had my study and old bed was colder) and crawled into my chilly bed. It wasn’t long before I felt something shaking my bed. I was groggy and didn’t realize what was going on until I felt Janet’s icy hands around me.
“Don’t move,” Janet repeated the line when she first seduced me.
“It’s pretty late,” I mumbled.
“I know,” she clutched me tightly, “I want you to give me something.”
“Can’t it wait till tomorrow?”
I felt her crawl over me. My hand brushed her bare skin and I realized she had readied herself for action. My dick instantly responded as I felt Janet’s hands undo my pajamas. Her breasts had grown only a little in the three years since I’d known her, but they still did amazing things when pressed into service.
“I’m probably not going to be able to come back so much anymore,” she admitted as she straddled me.
“Why?” I stroked her gently.
“Because it’s getting expensive,” she murmured, “I might have to stay in Chicago.”
My hands slid across her sides, my thoughts churning.
“Will I see you again?” That was the only thing I could say.
“When I strike it rich,” she whispered, “I’ll get us our own place.”
“That’d be like old times,” I kissed her shoulder.
I didn’t need to be a telepath to know she was crying. I heard her tears drip onto my pillow. We stayed like that for a little while, her nude form splayed over mine. I did my best to dull her sadness, but it was rather hard because I was feeling the same way too. It’s difficult to project thoughts on others when you yourself feel differently at the time!
Janet sniffed, “Anyway, I want you to give me something.”
“Do it in me,” she whispered softly.
My silence must’ve worried her, because she repeated it again.
“Wait,” I rolled her off and sat up. I looked at her in the dim light and asked, “Are you sure about that?”
Janet took my hand and placed it on her cheek so I could feel her nod.
“Hey, I was thinking about this right after exams were done, every day to the airport, and the whole plane ride back,” she murmured, “I took precautions.”
“What kind of precautions?” I asked.
“Well a diaphragm,” she said flatly. “And birth control pills this morning. And some spermicide before I called.”
“Holy moly,” I stammered, “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything,” Janet sat up and kissed me, “Don’t say anything, okay?”
“Because you’re a pedophile?” I chided her.
“Oh Stanley,” she chuckled, “You sick joking fucker.”
“Yeah Janet,” I let out a breath and kissed her, “You turn me on.”
Janet settled back down on the bed. Despite the cold, our naked bodies had simmered the bed warm enough that we felt a little stuffy under the heavy blankets. We stripped away everything save the satin sheets and I felt my body fit easily onto her.
“Oh—oh—oh—oh,” Janet’s ass began to sway and buckle against me.
I felt my prick stand up and work against the soft folds of her pussy. We’ve always had some barrier between us. Before she left for college, we avoided traditional contraceptives, opting for Saran Wrap (that clear plastic crap for food storage) when we made love. Still, not even the sheer thinness of saran wrap could match the unspoiled touch of flesh.
I grunted and groaned, enjoying the sheer delight of finally penetrating my woman as nature intended. Janet’s palms pressed against my sides and back, cajoling, coaxing, and teasing me to proceed as much as I dared. Her lips parted briefly and I kissed her lightly as I began pushing deeper.
Janet’s nails dug into my back, spurring me to hilt myself into her warm depths. I eagerly complied and began plumbing her tight moist fuck pot. Without having nuzzled, licked, or tongued Janet’s puss, she was all ready for me to shove my fuck stick into her. Sopping, gurgling, sucking sounds came from the beneath the covers, but it was dismissed as we grunted and groaned, our bodies making the old bed creak with our effort.
I felt Janet wanting me to thrust her, fuck her deeply, passionately, and without regard for what may come. Her mind certainly reached out while she swooned in ecstasy. Filthy, wanton thoughts wafted into my consciousness from the writhing woman beneath me. Details were sketchy, but I received blurs of her mind:
Janet swaddling a baby to her swollen breasts. Money. Cars. A big house. A vision of how she saw me—a lanky young man with a face in disbelief as she deep throated my cock. And even a hazy scene of her sitting on a public toilet while I slammed her relentlessly with the sound of jet turbines overhead. I assumed that last thought was that she wanted me to fuck her right up to the minute her flight to Chicago was boarding.
“Unh—ungh,” I panted breathlessly as Janet urged me on.
“F—fuu—fuuu-uck—m—mm—me,” she kissed the nape of my neck.
I kept pumping her, trying to prolong the time we could stay together by not doing her bidding. That’d meant she’d have to stay until I did, right? Janet’s legs clutched my hips and her bare ankles began shoving my butt into her in rhythm with each stroke. I knew I couldn’t last long, but I held out with sheer will power.
What finally broke me was when Janet glared at me, her mind revealing the depth of her perversity: ‘I wish he’d hurry up so I could see how much I could scrape out with my finger.’ ‘I want to show him his sex scuzz and make him taste it.’ ‘God, I hope I won’t get pregnant.’
“UFFUCK!” I lurched so suddenly when I came, Janet had to bite down on my neck to keep from screaming.
I felt her breath and saliva scald my flesh with a searing hot pain. I felt my balls drain themselves dry as I literally wrecked the inside of her pussy with tank loads of baby spray.
Janet was so eager, so willing, and so unabashed about what would happen to her body, she was practically begging me to do her justice and I happily obliged. Her cunt sponged up all the scrotum slop my frail teenage body could manufacture. I shuddered and felt her quim ripple-fuck my rapidly deflating dick.
“Oh, that was good,” her exhaled breath cooled the angry bite she inflicted on my neck, “So—goddamn—good.”
INTERLUDE—A SCHOOL FAIR
Despite her moving out of state, Janet and I kept in touch after that night. We could only meet occasionally there after until we reunited. As time passed, we needed each other both emotionally and physically. Still, I realized that by being with her, I put her in danger.
I was a telepath, destined to live an invisible existence, hunted by interested parties. I would live as great man, but my existence would be known only to others of my kind—if you knew and weren’t one of us—you do not have long to live.
Janet Wu was born to be a career woman. A predator in the business world, she preyed on weak business men who would divulge the most sensitive secrets after a flash of underwear, a brief flash of tit, and a furious ass-grinding lap dance.
She pursued—and thrived in—business law, her aggressiveness awakened by psychic catalyst. Her career suited her well, and on occasion, I’d let slip some handy information I gleaned with my telepathy as well so she needn’t work her body so hard. Janet was always reciprocated generously. Her sex drive increased three-fold after successfully winning a case. It wasn’t simple nostalgia I harbored for Janet, for she was my First.
With Janet unavailable, I sailed onto high school without much of a thought. By now, my little brother (who was a few years younger than I due to my parents’ previous estrangement) had been attending the elementary school near our house for some time now. I made an effort to volunteer and get some extra-curricular activities for my upcoming college applications.
It was December when I met my youngest darling. A few months had passed since school started and I was at my brother’s school’s holiday fundraiser. Back in the 1990s, these things were increasing as spending went down. I basically showed up and was tasked with over-seeing a beanie throwing tic-tac-toe booth. About an hour into it, a small lovely girl with doe eyes and peachy skin skipped up to me.
“Hello,” she gave me a shy grin. “What’s your name?”
“Stanley,” I managed to squeeze out a reply.
“Oh, okay,” she wrote my name on her dainty palm.
“Hey don’t do that,” I grabbed a piece of scrap of paper, “Write on this instead.”
“That’s okay,” she said brightly, “It’ll come off later.”
“What’d you need my name for?” I asked.
“Because everyone who’s helping needs a name tag,” she flashed me a cute smile.
I could see she was missing one of her baby teeth.
“And you’re in charge of this?” I asked.
“Of course,” she waved and turned to go.
“Hey wait,” I stood and absently passed out another ticket to the next visitor, “What’s your name?”
Before I could say more, she had gone.
LUNCH WITH A YOUNG DARLING
It was more than past noon when I decided to step out for lunch. I walked by the fundraiser’s concierge when someone tapped me from behind. Chen was there, her small hand holding this little homemade badge with my name on it: STANLY. Helper.
“Thanks,” I gingerly took it from her, “But it’s spelled S-T-A-N-L-E-Y.”
“Oh,” her bright eyes dipped as she mumbled, “I’m sorry.”
I felt a dizzying wave of sadness wash over me. I had to lean against the concierge table to stop myself my fainting.
What emotion! Not since Janet had I dared to use my gifts, and here now of all places, this fey girl who barely matched my height when I was sitting was taking me out with her mind.
Or was she? I could see Chen’s eyes beginning to well up and I slowly gathered that it was probably another bad reaction to my psychic broadcasting. I did my best to shake off the nausea.
Gathering myself, I asked, “That’s all right Chen. Are you okay?”
Hearing me say her name must’ve shaken her out of her depressive reverie. She nodded slightly. Although I had only met her briefly, I felt a strong emotional attachment to this little girl. I wondered if she knew my brother—
“Andrew?” Chen chirped, “I don’t know who he is.”
I blinked at her sudden answer. Later, she confessed to me that she too was surprised with her answer as well—surprised and a little more than frightened.
“Well, I’m going to head out for a little lunch. I’ll be back later,” I started to leave the auditorium, “Would you like to come along?”
Chen hesitated only slightly before she followed me back to my house. In a short while, I was in my remodeled room, an older boy like myself cooking a cozy meal for a school girl two-thirds my age.
“So your parents named you Chen? What kind of a name is that?”
Chen sat a the small table for two in the kitchenette, her legs dangling, her little mitts gripping a box of Vita-Soy.
“I dun-wo,” she sipped a mouthful of sweet soy milk and played ‘pufferfish’, swishing the contents in her small mouth before swallowing.
“I mean people just call you Chen?” I asked.
“My mommy calls me Yu-Ching,” she burped, “But my teacher calls me Chen all the time.”
“I see,” I set the stovetop from boil to simmer and turned to her. “Chen is your family name. In America, it’s your last name.”
I knew Chen’s box of soy milk emptied out, as her constant slurping became more audible.
“Do you want another wai-ta-lai*?” I asked. [* Cantonese: soy milk, Vita brand.]
“No thank you,” the little girl shook her head.
I admired Chen’s frank forwardness in trusting a stranger like me. But then again, our neighborhood was one of the safest in the city, if not the whole state. I didn’t look like anyone dangerous. In fact, to Western eyes, I looked more like Chen’s older brother than a stranger.
She was wearing simple clothing common to every schoolgirl back then. A long sleeved light yellow blouse, matching ivory long dress and dainty red shoes with white laces and bobby socks. Her jet black hair was tied back by a blue-white hair tie. Her only jewelry was her Hello Kitty wristwatch.
Chen helped set the table once she saw I had placed bowls where she and I would sit. She was meticulous in her table setting, and something I believe her mother had raised her to do.
“Here we are. Two bowls of yook-soong-mein*,” I set the bowls on the table. [* Cantonese: shredded meat with noodle in broth.]
Steam made Chen’s face a little sweaty and before long, her cheeks had a healthful red flush to them. We chatted as we ate, and I learned who my little guest was. Little Chen was just a regular student, albeit a hyper-empathic one. As it turned out, she turned out to be more special than everyone believed.
She asked me about the older grades, homework, and why I was at her school. I answered as truthfully as I could and she hung onto every word like it was the gospel. I asked Chen about her: where she was from, if she had any siblings, and what Saturday morning cartoons she liked.
As she talked, I admired her polite demeanor, gentle mannerism, and her aristocratic air of civility. I was amazed at Chen’s skill in wielding her chopsticks and her soft-spoken Cantonese. During my time with Janet, we spoke mostly in English because we were more comfortable with it.
Being with Chen, I felt as if I had discovered a part of me I thought I had lost growing up in America. Despite my fascination with this child beauty, I was still cautious. I wondered how she was able to predict and answer my question back in the school auditorium.
I hadn’t touched her did I?
No. I didn’t. I was sure of it.
I was sure Janet was not able to sense my thoughts—I tested that quite a few times by visualizing her with several other girls from my school when I intimate with her. If she did see my conscious thoughts, she would’ve clocked me (and rightly so).
So how did such a young girl like Chen read my mind?
I experimented while she slowly finished her bowl of noodles. I thought of several despicable things and waited for her to react. Nothing.
I pictured her nude and waited if she’d react. Nothing.
I thought of the knife I used to slice the meat to cut her tiny throat. Amazingly—nothing.
I sat in my chair, twiddling my chopsticks thinking about Chen. My thoughts must’ve wandered as I let my gaze go from her tiny hands to her pretty little face. As I watched her drain her bowl of soup, her lips clinging to the edge of the bowl reminded me of Janet’s sweet lips encircling my meat stick. The thought of Janet made me woozy, and then—
“Stanley? Who is Janet?”
I blinked and stared at Chen. She stared back, equally surprised.
“How did you know that?” I asked cautiously.
“I dunno,” Chen shrugged, “I hear things.”
“Hear things? What things?” I gave her my most disarming grin. “And how many things do you hear?”
“I dunno,” she gave me one of those maddeningly confusing shrugs again but replied with, “I sometimes don’t know what they say.”
“They?” I felt my back straighten in alarm.
“They,” Chen repeated vaguely.
“Who?” I pressed the question. “Who are ‘they’?”
“People in school,” she said, “My teacher says I should pay attention more.”
Chen appeared glum, so I tried to cheer her up. This little girl aroused my curiosity. I wondered if she was as good as me in this gift. Mistaking my silent musing for something else, Chen reached out and touched my hand.
“Stanley,” Chen asked quietly, “Do you want me to make you another badge?”
“Don’t worry about that,” I said, “I like it.”
“Really?” her eyes rose to meet mine.
“Yes, because you made it for me.”
I felt her excitement rise as did the beating of her heart. A quiet little moment passed before she began to yawn. Her eyelids drooped a bit and she began to nod off.
“I’m sleepy,” she murmured.
I glanced at the time. It was nearly 1:50. My dad was at work on the swing shift, my mom and brother at the fundraiser. It couldn’t hurt to take a short nap. I mean, it was volunteers anyway. Screw them if volunteers couldn’t take five.
“Do your parents know you’re at the school fundraiser?” I asked her.
“My mommy won’t be home until six,” she stifled another yawn, “I go home for supper.”
“Where do you live?”
Her home, as it turned out, was right next to the elementary school. Small wonder she didn’t mind following me home. She probably regarded it as nothing but a stroll a few blocks more! Since my parents added the kitchenette and sealed off more of the garage for my room, I had a comfortable sofa that fit Chen perfectly.
I carried her there and she fell fast asleep. I draped a small blanket over her serene form and cleaned up. After washing up, I found myself somewhat tired as well. Perhaps it was Chen’s presence that induced my tiredness. I didn’t know for sure then, or now. Before I could do much more, I found myself catching a nap in a chair next to Chen.
A DARLING EDUCATION
I awoke a little later and tried to focus my eyes. The clock read a little after 3:20.
Great. I’m sure to be missed back there at the school.
I tried to get up and found I had some extra weight on me. What the —?
I saw Chen had somehow gotten herself on top of me while I was sleeping. She immediately stirred when I tried to move her.
“Hey Chen,” I nudged her, “Time to get up.”
“Don’t wanna,” she whimpered and refused to budge.
“I should get you back home,” I soothed her.
“My mommy isn’t home,” Chen gave me a little tantrum. “I wanna stay wif’you.”
I relented. As I received what I could of her thoughts, I knew she was supposed to be the only child of her family. She was the result of the Republic of China’s one family, one child policy. Much later, I realized how lucky she was; less sophisticated parents would’ve had her aborted or abandoned. Instead of staying in Guangdong, her parents immigrated to the United States to have a better life, and for them to rear a second child (Chen’s brother Yu Wah).
After some E.S.L., Chen entered the regular classes. She didn’t know who Andrew was (he was my little brother). That was no surprise; Andrew was in the district’s gifted and on an accelerated program (although he wasn’t extraordinarily ‘gifted’ as I was). I felt she was very lonely. Both her parents were were out working or taking care of the baby and what few relatives she had in America were no where nearby.
Feeling her weight atop me, I gingerly placed my hand on hers. She took it instinctively, and I felt an upwelling of understanding between us. It was as if she was drawn towards my psychic emanations. Her rhythmic breathing bestowed on me a calmness that surpassed any drug, man-made or otherwise. The soft rustling of her exhaled breath bettered that of a gentle breeze of a spring day.
I finally found out Little Chen what was, although for the longest time, I could only guess what she was. To have gotten a definitive answer then, I would have had to rely on people I didn’t trust, and Yu-Ching’s life was far more important than a little mystery. What I did know was that she was sensitive to other’s feelings, and she’s easily affected by negativity around her. Chen’s mood manifested itself from her surroundings. But since our neighborhood was still pretty decent and safe, it didn’t psychically cripple her childhood.
As I held her hand, I took a barometer to her emotions. I felt her joy as she met me at the school. I felt her joy peak as she carefully penned my name and had it pressed into a badge. I felt her alarm when it was pointed out that she had misspelled a name—a name that came to be very important to her. And I felt the wealth of acceptance when this same student invited her to—
“A date.” I blinked when I heard her answer.
Chen stroked my hand with hers as she lay atop me. I doubt she even knew what the word meant. My other arm was free, and she moved it so I was now embracing her, as a man would any woman he loved.
“Did we do it?” she asked.
I had to chuckle at her naivete.
“No, we didn’t,” I soothed her.
“Oh,” she murmured.
I couldn’t see Chen’s face, but I was sure she was wide awake. Her breathing quickened as she sat up on my lap.
“Who is Janet?” It was that question again. I did my best to explain to her, keeping my tone even and calm. I explained that Janet was my girlfriend.
“Oh,” Chen fiddled with her hands, “Did you do it with her?”
“What’s all this about ‘doing it’?” I measured out my words. “How do you know about that?”
“I heard it from boys in Mrs. Spreckler’s class,” she murmured.
I didn’t know any of the teachers at Andrew’s school, nor did I care to.
“You do know what that means right?” I prodded her.
“I dunno,” she said quietly. “I think it’s something boys and girls do. Like they do on TV.”
“It can be,” I admitted, “But why’d you come with me?”
Chen glanced at me coyly and mumbled, “I thought you wanted to do it with me.”
A mild shock hit my body. Had my thoughts turned this little kid into a nymphomaniac? Janet’s horror stories about jail time came back to haunt me, but I managed to hold off any panic.
“I’m sure you’re very nice Chen,” I said calmly, “But you are a little young to be doing that.”
“Really?” she wore an expression of curiosity, not persecution.
“Yes,” I said. “Really.”
“Did you and Janet do it?” she asked.
“Yes.” Incredibly, I felt great embarrassment answering Chen’s question.
“Oh,” she rubbed her nose to stifled an itch, then asked, “Can you do it with me?”
“Well I—” I snapped my mouth shut.
Janet and I started when she was sixteen and I was only twelve. Chen was earnestly a little too young, but then again—I studied her carefully both physically and psychologically.
Chen was naive in mind and a virgin in body. Ah, to love this little treasure when she was Janet’s age would be grand. But she was so eager now. I phrased my replies with care.
“Well, I was older than you,” I said with confidence.
Chen’s cute cheeks dimpled as she knitted her brow. She apparently went into deep thought.
“How old was Janet?” she finally asked.
“She was older than you too,” I answered.
The little girl was hardly satisfied with such a nebulous answer.
“Can you do it with me?” she pressed the issue. “I just want to see!”
I hesitated. Then, remembering some pictures of Janet I had, I decided to sate Chen’s appetite for the curious and return her underage butt to the school before her parents hauled me off for kidnapping.
“Here,” I took out a small photo album. “This is Janet when she wants to do it.”
After that one torrid winter’s night, Janet had left for Chicago and stayed there. When summer came around, I didn’t expect much save her usual monthly correspondence, but she sent me two dozen nude Polaroid pictures of her. Her letter said how much she missed me and that none of the guys seemed to spark half the interest she had in me.
About halfway down on the first page of that letter, Janet confessed how she fantasized about lingering in lecture halls after class and then describing stuff one might find in a made-up “Letter to Penthouse.”
I didn’t show Chen any of Janet’s letters, but I leafed through the album. Janet had snapped the pictures herself. To insure she wouldn’t appear blurry, she had to adopt some standard poses which made her a little more blase than normal. However, this suited Chen fine. The young girl examined Janet’s nudes intently, her eyes following where I pointed out details.
Chen asked the usual questions: why is there hair there? Are they always that dark? How big do these become?
It was only when she finally said, “I wish I could see you and Janet do it,” that I decided enough was enough.
“I don’t know Chen,” I closed the album and slid her off my lap. “I think we should go back to the school.”
“But I don’t wanna,” she refused to budge. That’s when she began to whine.
“Please?” she clasped her tiny hands together, “Pretty please? I promise I won’t tell!”
Right the hell on you won’t, I thought to myself.
“Your mom and dad would be angry if they found out,” I remarked.
“wo-ngwui-kgwong*!” Chen was so excited she slipped into our native tongue. [* Cantonese: I won’t say anything!]
I glanced at her warily. Still wondering if it was the best thing to do, I took both her hands and took on a serious “grown-up” voice.
“Okay, but you have to agree to a few things,” I said evenly. “If you say, ‘No’ to any one of them, we go back to school, okay?”
Chen must’ve picked up on my eagerness in showing her, so she nodded quickly.
“Janet and I have kept our secret from everyone,” I stated matter-of-factly. “No one knows because we promised each other to keep that secret.”
“But—but I know!” Chen interrupted me.
“Well yes,” I admitted and kicked myself for starting off with that line. “You know, but this next thing will make it a secret with you, me, and Janet, okay? This means you must keep the secret too, got it?”
She nodded, understanding.
“Don’t tell anyone else, or—” Or what, I mused. Then I hit upon the right phrase, “Or we’ll all be in big trouble with everyone. Got it?”
Chen understood the phrase, “Big trouble,” and nodded quickly.
Waiting for more restrictions, she didn’t question me when I lead her to the bathroom.
“What are we doing?” she asked, “Why are we in the bathroom?”
“Yu-Ching,” I used her given name to soften the edge of our relationship, “This is one of the first rules of doing it of course.”
“Really?” her eyes widened, “We have to go to the bathroom?”
“Well, we have to take a shower. This is so people smell nice when they kiss.”
“Kiss? Shower?” Chen blinked, “But I dunno how to use a shower!”
I gave her arm a gentle squeeze and reassured her, “Then I’ll show you.”
I let Chen take off her clothes as I did mine. At first, she was fidgetly and evasive when I instructed her to do so, but she learned that for each piece of clothing she took off, I matched her. Since I didn’t want our clothes to get dirty, I took each article of clothing and folded them neatly in “his & her” piles on the bathroom counter.
I drew up a shallow pool of warm water after we undressed. Chen was shivering as the tub began to fill with water. I took notice and gently pulled her towards me whilst I sat on the tub’s side. I gingerly lifted and placed her on my lap, using my body to warm hers.
“Y-y-you s-s-said y-y-you c-c-could t-teach me t-to shower,” her teeth chattered and she huddled against my chest.
“I’m going to put you in a bath first,” I said, “You’re cold.”
“Th-that’s cause we’re n-n-naked!” Chen giggled despite shivering, having found the courage to say the word aloud.
I kissed her gently on the cheek and she looked at me.
“Do we kiss now?” her jaw chattering.
“Yes,” I ran my hands over her loins, and marveled how smooth and tight they were.
Chen sneezed and I held her close, sheltering her with warmth.
“We do what feels good.” I decided to keep the explanations simple.
“Oh okay,” she squirmed a little in my arms.
I loosened my grip so she could re position herself. My cock had acquired a semi-hard state and it was bumping uncomfortably against her small buttocks. I grimaced and bent my rapidly stiffening cock so it was now sandwiched between my stomach and her thigh.
“Is that your pee—” Chen stopped short.
“Yes. It’s a boy’s penis. It’s also called a dick, a boner, a hard-on when it’s hard, and a wiener.”
“Such bad words!” she gasped and I had to smile at her innocence.
The tub was half full, so I turned off the water. Chen’s toes dipped the surface and she didn’t complain about the temperature. I stood, holding the lithe girl in my arms and stepped into the tub. I squatted, and we both immersed ourselves.
Chen uttered a surprised squeal as I kissed her bare shoulder. As she sat with her back to me, my hands moved over her tiny body, squeezing, groping, and rubbing her clean. Her small mouth was open, but no more sound came forth save the harmonious breathing of a young girl discovering the joy of love for the first time.
I rubbed a little soap and took the time to clean her body. I took the time especially to erase my name from Chen’s hand, apparently the only name she cared enough to make a badge for, just to be on the safe side. She took it as a sign that I treasured her deeply to make her “clean” again.
I slid my fingers gently across the insides of her thighs and buttocks. As my fingers rubbed her sides lightly, I could feel her ribs through her delicate skin. I slowly worked the techniques that Janet had taught me, from the top of Chen’s forehead to the toes of her tiny feet.
“Stanley,” Chen cooed and leaned into me. “It feels so good.”
“Sssh,” I murmured quietly into her ears. “There’s more.”
“More?” Chen played with the buoyancy of her feet and knees, enjoying the brief chill the air gave her exposed skin before submerging it beneath the warm water once more.
I gently massaged her thighs, admiring how my hands could nearly completely enclose her marionette like limbs. I slid my palm over her stomach and chest, before I gently caressed her neck. Chen turned to kiss me, then slowly got up.
“Can I clean you?” she asked her eyes bright with excitement.
I stood and let her small hands take the soap to my body. I closed the shower curtain in the mean time, and readied emptying the bath water in the tub. Chen took her time cleaning me. I didn’t mind the extra time she took to explore my body, although the soap began to dry.
She was more fascinated by the hair around my dick than its erect state. However, she was bright enough to know that when she gripped my shaft, I let out soft groans of pleasure. Toying with it, she even began rubbing its head between her delicate fingers to see how far she could take it. I wanted her to do more, but I figure we’d be more comfortable out of water, so I decided it was time to rinse.
“Time for the shower,” I said hoarsely. We were lathered partially, but I couldn’t wait much longer.
Chen stood by me as I pulled the tub’s drain plug and let the water level drop a little bit. She shivered a little and huddled closer. Because I didn’t want the water to wash over her head, I picked her up and put her head on the level with mine. Seeking to hang on, she clasped her arms and legs around me as best she could. Both Chen and I gave a playful yelp as the water hit us.
She gave a startled cry as I upturned the shower stream to give her an impromptu bidet wash. Chen struggled to hang on and as I detached the flexible shower head, I set her down. I knelt so I was at her height, and instructed her to control the shower and the water spray. After a few tries, Chen handled it like a pro.
Fully washed and rinsed, we stepped out of the shower. I took a large beach towel and swaddled her like a babe. I carried her to my bedroom and dried her gently before placing her on the bed. She rolled around playfully on the bed and watched me dry myself.
“Was that doing it?” she finally asked me.
I draped the towel over the back of a chair and shook my head.
“Really?” Chen looked puzzled, “But we kissed and we showered!”
“That’s part of it,” I said, “Now lie down, and I’ll show you more.”
Chen did as she was told. I lay beside her and parted her legs slightly, admiring her tiny slit she had for a vagina. Since she was so young, her body wasn’t as mature as Janet’s.
Not yet anyway. How to tell a precocious little girl what she couldn’t do when you’ve nearly gone all way?
I decided to try my luck and pressed one of my knuckles gently against Chen. Her skin buckled under the pressure, but her cunt did not part easily as I expected. I slid the length of my finger along the length of her slit. I glanced at her as I did so to see her expression. As I continued to rub her, I gently pushed down at the spot where I thought Janet had shown me where her clitoris was.
“Stanley?” Chen piped up, “I don’t feel anything.”
“Darn,” I checked my cursing, “I think you are too young. You’re going to have to wait until you’re older.”
“Older?!” she glared at me, “But I wanted to see it now!”
“Hey, hey,” I patted her bare stomach. “I’ll be here all the time. We can try it again any time it’s safe.”
Chen wasn’t too delighted, but she could sense my disappointment so she knew I wasn’t lying to her. Her anger subsided as I began stroking other places on her body.
“So how do you and Janet do it?” she asked.
“It depends,” I replied absently. “I usually do it in her pussy.”
“Pussy!” Chen giggled and relished in saying another bad word. “Is that my pee-pee?”
“Kinda. It’s right below your pee-pee,” I explained. “It’s where girls let babies out.”
“Oh,” the girl’s hands slid down to her vagina, her fingers exploring herself.
“And if we do it, will I have a baby?” she asked.
“That depends on a lot of things when we do it,” I said. I didn’t want to explain about contraceptives. She might forget and talk about it in front of her parents, getting us both busted.
“Oh,” Chen again fell into dejected silence.
“If you really, really are serious Yu-Ching,” I patted her hand. “I can do it with your mouth.”
“My mouth?” she sat up. “You mean me eating your pee-pee?”
“No not exactly,” I rolled over and lay down beside her. “It’s more like sucking on a lollipop, but you don’t eat it.”
Chen pawed me eagerly, “I can do that!”
I guided her head down towards my crotch. She hesitated just short of my penis, a little unsure of what to do. My foreskin had been rolled back thanks to my dick being in a constant state of semi-hardness since she had washed it in the bathroom, so it was cleaned and ready for action.
“Just lick it,” I prompted her. “Take it in your mouth.”
Chen blinked a few times then she decided to try it bit by bit. I felt her small red tongue on my shaft and shuddered. Taking notice, she did it again and I reciprocated. Totally interested, she bent over my erection and began playing with the head of my dick with her tongue.
As I watched her fellate me, I wondered if I had locked my door. Someone walking in to such a sight would definitely mean we’d definitely would be in big trouble. Despite not wanting Chen to stop, I gently pulled her off me.
“Wait just a minute okay?” I got up.
I sensed her frustration and confusion as I headed out and double locked my outer door (the one between the garage and the rest of my room) before I came back. Since Chen was sitting near the edge of the bed, I stood next to her and pulled her close.
“Okay baby,” I cajoled her. “Let’s keep going.”
“I’m not a baby!” she glared at me. “I’m almost—!!”
“I don’t mean that,” I interrupted her with a gentle smile. “It’s what a boy calls a girl when they’re doing it.”
“Oh,” her cheeks reddened.
“C’mon,” I maneuvered Chen so she was sitting on the edge of the bed.
There, she was at the perfect height for me to stick my dick into her waiting mouth. She pressed her palm against my chest and stomach for support while I fucked her tiny head. Her tongue flicked across the tip of my prick, daring me to shoot my load right into her beautiful Sunday’s child’s face.
I so wanted to call her by all the filthy names Janet had taught me (and some more I learned on my own), but decided not to. That would just confuse Chen.
No, I grimaced as I watched Chen test how much of me she could shove into her mouth. I had to take things slow with her. Chen’s fine black hair flew everywhere as her head bobbed back and forth on my erection. Her mouth was so small, even sucking on a teenager’s small cock nearly choked her. I could hear wheezing coming from her button nose as she struggled to breathe. Each time I pumped her face, I felt her spit dribbling down the underside of my cock and scrotum.
“BLEYARCH!” Chen coughed as she spat out my dripping cock, panting for breath.
“Are you okay, baby?”
Her eyes were teary and she was coughing, but she was clearly experiencing the dirty deed first hand. She took several deep breaths and nodded. She wanted to suck more, but since we both had gone this far, I wasn’t going to leave her out of the fun.
“Wait a minute,” I said as I jogged to the bathroom.
I quickly rinsed my penis, dried it, and then grabbed some talcum power. Rejoining Chen in the bedroom, I sprinkled a dash or two of baby powder and rubbed it all over my dick.
“What’s that?” Chen asked, “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to try and do it with you,” I said.
I poured out another small mound of powder, and bade her to come hither.
“Now, we can’t do it all the way just yet until you’re older,” I said as I put powder over her groin and hairless snatch, “But we’re going to try. You’ll see.”
Having powdered the right spots, I lay down and bade Chen to lie on top of me. She did so, her light forty-some pound frame putting a nice pleasurable weight on me.
“Now keep your legs closed, but not too tight okay?”
Chen did as she was told. I let out a soft groan as I felt my dick slide between her silky legs. Their smoothness was enhanced by the talcum powder on both of our bodies. I felt Chen’s ass cheeks twitch as she deftly squeezed my stick between her tiny thighs. I was hot-dogging her.
Each time she squeezed, I felt a sting of pleasure shoot through my whole body. I began to thrust slowly against her, timing each one so when her legs closed over my cock, my hips would sink down—this created some great friction, almost like when I was fucking Janet.
It didn’t take long before I shot a stream of cum all over Chen’s nubile body. She was so surprised she didn’t even notice until she was covered in a thin film of glistening, white sticky ooze.
Chen wrinkled her nose as she examined the stuff, and only said, “It’s icky.”
She decided then and there that the next time we would do it, it would have to be, “a place where you and Janet did it.” So, I washed her up one last time, and took her to her home without incident.
I began to see Chen soon after. By the time I graduated high school, she had Americanized her name to Melanie Yu-Ching Chen.
At first, it was chiefly me using this naive girl to sate my frustration when Janet wasn’t around. As Melanie grew though, I found we shared several things: a common Guangdong culture, off-beat humor, children, and cooking.
Perhaps the most important thing we shared was a deeper psychic connection. I never questioned Melanie’s unrelenting devotion to—or love for—me and the others. If I was the catalyst, then Melanie was the empathic glue which held everyone together.
One would figure that a sixteen year old boy would be well-satisfied with two girls at his beck and call. Well almost.
Janet was a thousand miles away, busy pursuing her college studies and career goal. Since she was the youngest child in her family, it meant she had high expectations to live up to. Janet had an older brother and an older half-sister (from a previous marriage). One was an engineer of some kind, the other in medicine. Her family considered her choice of a career in business law a third-rate career, at best. This made her fanatically dedicated to not failing her education.
Janet being away from me seemed to wean her from dependency on me. However, that urgency immediately flared when she’d returned periodically to visit her family, for she’d see me as well. When that occurred, my subconscious would rile hers to a level of debauchery she’d never dare attempt when left alone.
Melanie was a different story. Although she was easily accessible all the time, she was far too young to be sexually active, although she gave it her best. Her regard for me as the “cool, older dude” never really dissipated even after she had reached college. It’s likely the image I had given to her at a young age remained unchanged.
Still, with a seven year age gap between Melanie and me, there were difficulties with the law. By the time she was sexually mature and very much active with me, I had to be very wary to ensure that I would not be held accountable. While Melanie was copacetic with the situation, I was willing to bet her parents were not.
Melanie and I behaved in the strictest fashion when others were around, and it was only after she entered high school did she enjoy some measure of freedom. With her brother Yu Wah (later, he picked the very apt Anthony for his name) just attending middle school around that time, both their parents finally hit the work force, content that the children were old enough to reasonably take care of themselves and to get to and from school. This gave Melanie the chance she needed to spend time with me.
Still, the woman I knew as Melanie Chen was still off in the unknown future when I was still attending high school. And with Janet’s visitations growing rarer (she started her graduate work early —sometimes I think that I provoked too much drive and purpose in her, she being my first), I was eager to dive into more misadventure.
Hence, it was with some measure of luck and serendipity that I am able to relate this next story to you.
RACHELLE MAKES A DATE
Every high school has a cheerleading squad and their skimpy uniforms. My high school was no exception. The girls (there were no guys on those glee squads back then, unless they were gay guys who just liked screaming in school sweaters) wore logo-bearing sweaters and short skirts that ended just short of their crotch. It was to die for when the girls had to dress for practice on certain days.
Naturally, there were some of us who earnestly took too much interest in the cheerleaders. I at least, was able to keep the appearance of being cool around them.
Mr. Rubenstein was known as a hard ass. That was strange since his wife (Mrs. Rubenstein) ran the easiest class I took at the high school. Rubenstein—also called the Mad Jew—ran a college preparatory course where he’d grade our papers at the college level. A little realistic in terms of education, but it was also unfair since he never told us what was expected from college students.
Luckily, I could discern his thoughts and more or less figure out what he wanted about 80% of the time (telepathy is one thing, but putting someone’s expectations to paper is another matter, especially if you had to write eight pages of crap). With Melanie still fresh under my belt and Janet’s annual June visit fast approaching I was not expecting any action.
In Rubenstein’s class, I was assigned a place in the seating arrangement next to a foxy mulatto by the name of Rachelle.
I must confess that I do not appreciate blacks, even individuals who remotely exhibited African features. And it was personal. I was spat on by one, beaten up and picked on by others, and cowed by the rest when I was attending Melanie’s school years ago. That was one of many reasons my parents transferred me to a different elementary school. Andrew didn’t have to transfer, because by the time he attended, a tough dyke of a principal had literally brought her foot down on any unruly behavior during her stint at that school.
Still, there was always a mix in the student body due to Affirmative Action and race politics in the city. A certain percentage of students were from other neighborhoods to prevent the unseen means of discrimination and segregation that occurred naturally over time. Hence, some truly bad individuals were sitting with the best students. While some broke their old habits, a six hour a day exposure to learning sometimes can’t compete with the ghetto and project mentality these bad apples had to face living at home. Thus, I was supremely wary of sitting next an uncouth ghetto slattern with no redeeming values.
However, Rachelle proved to be a great (and generous) surprise during my six week attendance in Rubenstein’s pass or fail class. She was urbane, soft-spoken, and almost genteel. I found later that both her parents were mulatto (nothing telepathic there, just some digging in her genealogical history and blood tests). Both were educated, although only at the most basic levels of higher education.
Her father traded his degree for vocational schooling as a precision millwright, and he wasn’t much at home, although he made it a point to save some money and used the rest to move the family to a neighborhood that wasn’t the old Barbary Coast. Rachelle’s mother worked as a school secretary at Mission High School. The place had a seedier reputation (more than average) and I bet it was because of that, her mother found a way for her daughters (Rachelle was the oldest among four surviving children; an older brother was shot and killed when she was younger) to attend a better and safer school district.
Despite her surroundings, Rachelle was quiet, polite, and thoughtful (although she was air-headed at times). She carried herself with a detached air of regality, unlike my other two girls. The other big difference with Rachelle was she was a very hot, very available— and unlike Melanie—she was my age, so her naughty bits all worked.
I read Adams’ “Watership Down” (that damn book about rabbits) for a second time (the first time I read it was in middle school) and lying about it to Rubenstein’s face so I could pass his class easily. I thought most of the other students would have been smart in manipulating the system, but I guess only a handful were willing to do that. Rachelle wasn’t one of them.
Rubenstein’s classroom was a bungalow that was constructed as a temporary class back when the school was being remodeled (that was when Dwight Eisenhower was still President) and without money, the school kept the bungalows intact and used them as classrooms. Desks were crammed into this tiny bungalow, and because it was February, the chill in the morning didn’t help anyone think clearly.
Rachelle and I sat on a sofa (of all things weird and wonderful in the school system) and had to make do with a notebook or text book when we had to write or jot down notes. The two of us pretty much had to converse because no one else would turn around and take notice. Rubenstein would talk for about 30 minutes or so about how we were all abject failures then have us read our selected book quietly for the rest of the class.
“I hate this book,” she whispered to me as we passed the last minutes of class.
“Don’t worry,” I murmured, “Just look down and pretend to read. It’ll be over soon.”
“Easy for you,” her tone reeked of sarcasm. “You look smart.”
I had to smile. It was a very chilly morning. Nine o’clock in the morning and the weather was about 50 degrees Fahrenheit. Rachelle was dressed to go to cheerleader practice, and I could see goose bumps on her nice tan legs despite the dim light. The bungalow used 40 watt incandescent bulbs for illumination, which didn’t help light the place up. Despite the chill, I often gave her my overcoat (having a house so close to school meant I could dispense with a greater amount of heavy clothing) to drape over her legs on days when she had cheer squad practice.
At first, Rachelle was unsure about having such a ratty old coat on (hey, I’m just a poor Chinese boy ...) but after a while, she accepted it gladly. This gave me an uncontrollable hard-on after a little while, for her heavy musk clung to my coat when she returned it at the end of class. Rachelle’s mix of perfume and sweat seeped so deeply into my usual coat, even Melanie started asking questions: like if I had found another girl to ‘do it’ with.
At last the bell rang, and Rachelle handed back my coat. The rest of the class was hurriedly departing during Rubenstein’s last minute shouting. We mostly ignored it.
“Thank you Stanley,” Rachelle said sweetly.
“No problem,” I felt her warmth where her bare skin touched my jacket.
“No.” A sly smile crept across her face before she said, “You’re such a gentleman, offering your coat all the time.”
“No problem,” I got up to leave.
“Hey, wait up,” she followed me outside.
Rachelle was a tall girl, standing as tall as I do even though I had an inch or so from my hiking/army boots. Because of her height, the length of her legs became exaggerated when she donned the cheerleader uniform. The yard of smooth chocolate between the hem of her skirt and the tops of her sport socks was a sight to behold while she made powerful strides to keep up with me.
“What’s your hurry, Stanley?” she struggled to keep up.
Aside from keeping Melanie on a tight leash at the time, I had just begun my unofficial job at the school paper as a copy editor. That, plus a wide variety of interests kept me busy, especially when it came to learning about my gifts.
“Just needed to get to my locker,” I stopped for Rachelle. “What’s up?”
She flashed me a toothy grin, “Well, I was hoping you could help me finish this book.”
“You mean H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds?”
“Yeah sure. Whatever.”
I picked up that she wasn’t terribly interested and that I was probably nothing more to her than a walking Asian encyclopedia. That suited me fine; that is, if I got what I wanted.
“Well, I might be free later,” I said. Her eyes lit up as I continued, “Do you want to talk about your report later?”
“Argh—can’t,” she gave me a shrug. “Team practice after school. How about Friday?”
Friday was fine, as long as Melanie wasn’t around. I mentally made a note.
“Sure, that’s fine. Pick a time?”
Rachelle nodded, “How about after sixth period?”
“Sure. Where?” I asked.
“Backfield bleachers,” she waved. “Two thirty?”
It was near the damned geeks at the computer club, but I didn’t mind.
“Sure thing.” With that, she and I parted for the day.
SHE LIKES IT, SHE LIKES IT NOT
Sure enough, I wasn’t keenly aware of what was expected late that day, the last day of the school week. Despite the cold snap, the weather warmed the air to a moderately acceptable 60 degrees Fahrenheit. Washington High School was separated into the football field and the surrounding bleachers in the “front” field, and a “back field” in the back of the school which handled soccer, and track and field. The back field was surrounded by the school itself and some residential buildings. The bleachers were in dire need of repair. Simply sitting on them often incurred splinters—the wood having long since rotted.
So there I was at the bleachers, standing there like a moron waiting for one of the hottest girls in the class. Rachelle showed up a little past a quarter to three. She didn’t have practice that day, but she wore baggy sweats and lugged her gym bag in addition to her books.
“Hey there,” she waved.
“Hi Rachelle.” I was keenly aware that a few of the computer club geeks were likely in the nearby window, secretly watching this unfold.
“So are we ready?” she placed a thick text (math) on the shattered bleachers to protect her bum.
“Actually, I live like three blocks away,” I blurted. “I figured it’d be better to have desks and stuff.”
“Or we could go to the library,” Rachelle said coolly. “But if you’re so close, I don’t mind. Lead the way.”
So I did. We walked along the sunny sidewalk, immersed in small talk. She spoke about her day, how one of the newer cheerleaders was really being brassy and pushy (it was Ashley) and how it put off her timing. She also revealed to me where she lived: Second Avenue and Clement, better than the ghetto where her brother was shot. Her family left the ghetto, and her parents worked hard to keep them out of there.
“I can’t fail them,” Rachelle confessed, her voice taut with stress, “But Mr. Rubenstein is such a douche. He’s going to fail me.”
“Yeah, well,” I blabbed senselessly. “He’s probably just a kooky old dude.”
“No, Stanley,” she said seriously. “I mean he’s honestly a douche. I have a feeling he’s always staring at me when I dress for practice.”
“Oh?” I glanced at her face and saw that she was dead serious. I snorted derisively. “What a pervert.”
“Yeah, I know,” Rachelle beamed brightly at me. “That’s why I’m so glad you give me your coat every time I show up dressed like that.”
“Oh,” I felt my cheeks flush.
“Stanley! You’re blushing!” she teased.
So I was. Rachelle laughed as I fumbled for my keys. I felt Rachelle grip my shoulder for guidance as I led her through the dimly lit passage around the garage to the room. The place hadn’t changed much since I invited Melanie in December. The sudden brightness in my study made her eyes squint.
“Wow,” she said quietly. “This is all yours?”
“Actually, my parents’,” I confessed. “It’s to get me used to living on my own. Once I’m ready for college, I hand this over to my little brother.”
“Oh that’s so sweet of you,” she dabbed her eyes with a napkin. My study always faced the sun, and Rachelle’s eyes were watering from the extreme brightness.
“So,” I gestured to the desk where Janet had tutored me nearly five years ago. “Shall we start?”
And so we did. Rooting around Rubenstein’s mind had given me some idea about what he was expecting (from me at least). Rachelle was sure Rubenstein would fail her, but she wasn’t going to stoop to exposing herself to get the grade. Hence, I did my best to explain Wells’ War of the Worlds to her. From the general description, I asked her what she thought.
In spite of Rachelle’s steadfast refusal to learn, she did have an opinion, and she did bring up that it would’ve been horrible to live like an animal under Martian rule.
“Or a slave,” she shuddered.
From there, I ventured several points she could take up. We ultimately settled on Wells’ argument on the human condition, and how people could deteriorate as the mad cavalryman explained to the narrator. Humans would live like they would in “Terminator”, fighting the Martians and completely dedicated to uniting against a common enemy.
Rachelle could argue how, in the face of a common antagonist, different groups of people could unite and work together. She could conclude that Wells’ story pretty much foreshadowed stories seen in both Terminator movies, although we left the second one out of Rachelle’s report because its story was not what we were looking for.
Hollywood bastards, I thought. The studios simply recycled old stories to make their money.
“Wow,” Rachelle leaned back in her chair. “You are smart, Stanley.”
“Not really,” I demurred.
“Yes, really,” she gripped my hand. “You’re just modest.”
I felt my body heat rise and sweat popped from my pores. Rachelle’s sudden physical contact with me seemed to relax her, and put her at ease. It was as if our minds were fusing. Much like I had with Janet.
“You have a girlfriend, huh?” she finally broke her silence.
“Do I?” I smiled nervously.
“You have that look,” she studied me, “Like you’ve been—I don’t know. Ah, that’s okay.”
“What’s okay? What look?” I was curious.
Rachelle put her arms on my desk and rested her head on top, “I don’t know Stanley. When I look at you, I see a real cool guy. But —”
“But?” I was dying to know how she’d finish her sentence.
“But it’s like you treat girls so—” she struggled to find the words. “So nice.”
“Mmmn-hmm,” her eyes glistened as she spoke, “See? Right now you’re looking right into my eyes and not checking the rest of me out.”
“I am?” I caught myself, “I mean, I’m not? Should I be?”
Rachelle stood up laughing. “That’s not so bad—I mean you like girls right?”
Oh baby, you don’t know the half of it, my mind buzzed.
“Oh yeah,” my eyes followed her as she crossed the study to the bed.
“Well,” she patted my bed, “Come and sit by me.”
“Sure.” I did as she asked. Rachelle pushed me down gently on the bed so she could straddle me.
“Oh wow,” I tried to hold her but she took my hands and guided them under her sweatshirt, “You sure about this Rachelle?”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “Touch me Stanley.”
Rachelle left my hands on her smooth mocha skin while she unzipped her hoodie. Underneath, I could see she only wore a tank top that accentuated her shoulders and made her look like a model. She hopped off me briefly to kick off her sneakers and to slide off her sweat pants. She quickly slid off her panties and I saw my first hairy snatch since Janet took off so many months ago.
“Like what you see?” my chocolate sex bunny slid back on top of me, her curly bush now grinding against my growing bulge.
My hands went over her thighs, calves, and hips. I squeezed her waist and she laughed. I watched as she pulled off her tank top, so she wore nothing but a thin gold chain around her neck and small earrings. Her nipples were really dark. Since her breasts were fairly small but firm, her nips reminded me of the chocolate kisses made by the Hershey candy company.
I sat up and tasted a small bit of one. Rachelle sighed and bent down so I could nibble her easily. I felt my cock rising to the occasion and to her constant grinding.
“Stick it in me,” the dark beauty murmured, “But give it to me in the ass.”
“What?” I paused.
“In my ass silly boy,” she rolled off me and began undoing my pants, “Because we don’t have a condom.”
I wanted to try Janet’s method of saran wrap, but decided to acquiese to Rachelle’s strange demand. I had done it to Janet once in her ass—after waiting half a day for her to clean her colon out with a home colonic. Finally she unscrewed the showerhead and stuck the flexible tube up her ass to flush out the rest of her shit. It was our first time doing anal and Janet was still experimenting. We found that condoms were the best way to deal with the shit later. We didn’t bother with anal sex much after that day.
“Here,” Rachelle grabbed a small tube of something from her purse. “I got this from the peer resource center at school.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s anal lube,” she squirted a large glob of a clear cool gel on my dick. “Just get it all over, and get yourself hard, sugar.”
I gave her a grin when she called me that and followed through without saying another word. Rachelle meanwhile had coated her ebony fingers with more of the stuff and smeared it all into her ass crack.
“Oooh,” she closed her eyes and gasped as she slid a finger into her little brown shit hole.
Predicting how messy things could get, I quickly grabbed a few small hand towels and piled them within easy reach. Rachelle got on all fours and backed her ass so I could easily fuck her from the edge of the bed.
“C’mon Stan,” she wagged her ass in my face. “Give it to me— hard!”
I slapped my hard dick against the top of her ass, then began to rub the slick head from the back of her asshole down to her clamped-up pussy.
“Wait—what’re you doing?” Rachelle looked back and gave me a stern glance. “Don’t you dare stick it in there!”
By now, I was really ready to go. I wanted to experience the same bareback, flesh on flesh experience I had with Janet years ago, even if it was in a different type of hole. With Rachelle’s poop chute bared before me, I pushed the head of my dick against her. As her puckered pit opened up to let me in, I heard her let out a soft cry.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
Rachelle was no longer looking back. Her head was down on the bed, and her body tense and frozen. After a brief lull of silence, she turned her head to the side and gave me the okay to go ahead. I pushed deeper into her and I could see her face grimace, her eyes shut, and her hands clutching tightly at my bedsheets.
Her tiny little hole slowly let me in—a thick stiff cock going up her asshole was wholly unnatural to the process of shitting, and Rachelle’s body instinctively understood it as such. Her breathing had increased in tempo and she was panting much like a bitch in heat as her bunghole stretched itself around my cock. A sweet nutty scent came off her ass and her back began to glisten with sweat from her exertion. I slowly began to pump her butthole.
Her toes curled and flexed as my cock snaked in and out of her tight ass. I didn’t withdraw completely, but just enough length to give Rachelle the feeling of shitting out my dick. I would reverse back into her body, renewing the feeling of shit passing through her rectum.
After a while, it got to a rhythm whereby Rachelle would squeeze my cock as I pulled out, then relaxed as I went back in. Not satisfied with this arrangement, I hilted myself, and gently flipped her over.
“Stanley,” she groaned, “What’re you doing?”
I pushed her knees back until they were parallel to her head. With my dick still fully rammed into her tight mulatto ass, I began to stroke her gently and deeply.
“I wanted to see you beautiful,” I stared hungrily, “I wanted you ever since I saw you Rachelle.”
“Oh!” She smiled broadly. “And here I thought you were such a proper gentleman!”
“And I thought you were a—” I finished my sentence with a thought.
It was a conglomeration of thought-imagery of Janet through the years, followed by visions of Rachelle sitting docilely by me in class. I recalled those times I felt the warmth of the coat Rachelle had borrowed, and how I’d fantasize about stopping time, taking her into the back room of Rubenstein’s bungalow and fucking the shit out of her. All this and a little more I wanted to tell Rachelle but couldn’t, so I transmitted the whole kaboodle right into her mind without thinking what might happen. The end result was quite unexpected.
“Oh—ah—AH! AAAH!!!” Rachelle swooned as the carnal lust I felt slammed her into unconsciousness.
Her eyes rolled back as I shot my baby butter deep into her sweet black ass. Rachelle’s mouth hung open, spit dribbling down the side of her mouth. Her asshole involuntarily tried to squeeze out my dick, but all she managed to do was milk clean my cock of its dick snot. My normally resigned demeanor vanished as I began enjoying pummeling the helpless girl with abandon.
Having satisfied myself, I pulled my dick from Rachelle’s ass. Her shit covered quite a bit of everything, but that’s what those hand towels were for. I wiped myself clean, then realized that I had a nude, unconscious girl in my bedroom. Should my parents seek me and walk in, I’d have some explaining to do.
Rachelle was helplessly out cold—whether it was from my mind rape or the ass pounding, I wasn’t sure. I checked her pulse and was relieved she was still alive. I grabbed some baby wipes (Janet and I found they were great for sanitation and for cleaning skin oil to reduce zits) and cleaned Rachelle and myself as best I could. I got myself dressed then locked my doors so I’d be able to dissuade any sudden intrusion from Andrew or my parents.
At a loss of what to do, I lay her on my bed as if she was a classmate taken ill. That would be the easiest explanation, I thought to myself. However, she was nude under the covers. I sat and held her hand, thus allowing me to sense her thoughts. I figured our physical activity didn’t do any lasting physical damage: her asshole was puckered and easily gaped when I cleaned it, but her mind seemed abuzz with static, as if she was a TV with bad analog reception.
Even if a ‘normal’ was asleep (or lay in a coma), brain activity would still be present that I could pick up. Heck, I even learned how to play with the dreams of people who were sleeping if just to tantalize them, or as a form of sleep deprivation torture.
Rachelle hardly rated anything at the moment, just a dim blob of jumbled imagery and feelings. For the first time in my life, I was scared. Yet, I didn’t want to put Rachelle’s clothing back on her just yet. While I had seen both Janet and Melanie nude (Janet many times, Melanie just once at the time), I had never seen a fully nude girl of my age at the time. I studied her body despite what had just happened, my mind simultaneously wondering about what to do next and in total awe at this wondrous ebony beauty in bed.
My bed! Since she was such a “dead fish”, I thought that I would finally get caught. I’d have to get rid of a body somewhere or call someone and they’d probably wonder what happened. Or wait for Rachelle to wake up (if she did) and she’d tell them I did horrible, wanton things to her nubile virgin body. I wouldn’t be able to defend myself either, since I had touched her all over with my bare hands. With nothing left to lose, I decided to try and fuck Rachelle in her cunt before I got some help.
Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, right?
I went to the kitchenette, grabbed the bottle of cooking oil and headed back to her body. Flinging the covers back, I dabbed a little bit of oil on my fingers and slid them between her dark cunt lips. I felt a scratchy tab when I did—her tampon, I realized. Janet had shown me once when we were younger. After she went to college, she learned to dispense with it in private by “freshening up” before I’d pork her brains out.
I gripped the tampon tab and pulled it out of Rachelle. Her body was still warm, and I could feel her steady breathing. She seemed totally out-cold. As I tossed the tampon in the trash, I wondered if I could arrange an “accident” whereby she fell and bumped herself into unconsciousness. It was a ridiculous idea, I know. But at the moment, a lot of blood had left my brain and entered a completely different brain.
I rubbed Rachelle’s slit again, and I dared a sniff at her tangled bush. Her strong dank musk wafted deep into my nostrils and gave me one of the biggest erections I had known. I worked a finger, then two into her love tube. I felt her cunt ripple and contract around my digits as I slid them in. Her body either absorbed the oil or it evaporated into her murky depths, but I didn’t need any lubrication after a while of finger fucking her. Rachelle’s cunt was oozing its own lubrication. It was a sweet, intoxicating fluid that few men could resist.
My fingers now coated with Rachelle’s quality quim juice, I whipped my erection out from my pants and slid into her. Despite having just fucked her up the ass, I was raving to get back into her. I grunted as my prick muscled into her womb. It felt good—much better than her asshole. It might’ve been because it reminded me so much of Janet, and the degree to which I missed my lovely Lady Wu.
I hardly gave it a thought as I fucked her brain-dead pussy as roughly and as carelessly as I dared. After a few minutes of stroking her, I felt her stir. Since only my dick was making the physical contact with her at the time, it took a little while for me to realize Rachelle was regaining consciousness.
When her eyes flew open, she was surprised, then confused. When she realized what was happening, she began screaming. I muffled her partly by placing my hand over her mouth. Rachelle’s hands went up and tried to push me off, but I was running on adrenalin now. Being scared shitless by her being unresponsive had pumped me up full of my body’s natural high, and I held her down.
Looking back, it might’ve been the smooth pumping that brought her back so quickly. Sensual contact stimulates parts of the brain that require one to be awake (you know, for the sex). Rachelle’s quim also served as a thought conduit for my unconsciousness. I wanted her to be awake. I wanted her to see me fucking her. I wanted her period.
As the shock and surprise of her fainting faded, I began to recall what I was doing when she collapsed. I modified my technique and sought to douse the alarms in her mind. I felt her fear. Strangely it wasn’t about being raped, it was more about being left in a state of embarrassing pregnancy. Visions of her old neighborhood came to me. I saw what she saw: teenagers prostituting themselves to older men, girls at middle school age who suddenly wore baggy clothing to hide the fact that they were pregnant.
I understood the reason why her family moved out of there, and also understood why she was so afraid as I slammed her body mercilessly. I worked doubly hard to mitigate her fear, and keep it to a minor nuisance. Rachelle had stopped trying to scream now, and had surrendered herself to me. I released my hand from her mouth and tried to kiss her, but she turned her head to avoid locking eyes with me. As I gave her a quick peck on her cheek, I saw her eyes wet with tears. At the same time, I felt her anguish come through. It would’ve overwhelmed me if I was sensitive like Melanie, but I wasn’t.
“Don’t worry baby,” I whispered. “You won’t get in trouble.”
Rachelle glared angrily at me with her tear-streaked face, her lips quivering but she didn’t utter a word. I was fast approaching a boiling point, but save for the few times before, I always enjoyed having my woman hit the sweet spot with me. I wanted Rachelle to enjoy our time together. Toning down the imagery I had brain-blasted her before, I trickled a feeble feed into her mind.
“S—Stanley,” she barely managed to whisper. “I don’t want to get pregnant.”
“I know,” I grunted and multi-tasked fucking her, telepathically tickling her, and trying not to cum completely in her cunt.
“Ple—please pull out,” Rachelle pleaded uselessly.
The feed apparently was too weak to let her feel the excitement I was experiencing, but I didn’t turn up the intensity either, afraid of blasting her mind to pieces. So, I had to content myself with her unwilling body. I forced a few more fuck strokes as I felt the familiar feeling wash over me again. I pulled out and she let out a pent-up hiss of relief. I shot gobs of cum over Rachelle’s tanned stomach and tits. She let me collapse on top of her to catch my breath. I felt the hot sticky ooze between our bodies, as well as her feeling of being used and betrayed.
“I didn’t mean for it to go this far,” I confessed. That was the honest truth. She didn’t answer, so I kissed her neck in hopes of eliciting a response.
“I know,” she said finally, “It was my fault. I pass out a lot.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” I rolled off and glanced at her. She just lay there, her expression was one of total disbelief and her hair a mess.
“And I shouldn’t have teased you like that,” she covered her face to hide her tears.
“Was it so bad?” I tried comforting her.
Amazingly, Rachelle shook her head, her hands still covering her face. I gingerly took one of her hands in mine and squeezed it.
“I liked it.” Her tone was flat.
“Did you?” I stroked her shoulder gently. “Be honest to yourself if not with me.”
Rachelle wiped her eyes with her free hand and looked at me.
“I just wanted this time to be special,” she sniffed, “But I couldn’t get any condoms from the PRC.”
“Oh, I see,” I was flabbergasted.
The PRC was the peer resource center which passed out unofficial sex advice to students, regardless of orientation.
“So they had anal lube but no condoms,” I came off a little more sarcastic than I meant to. “Nice. Tough luck for the gay guys I guess.”
“I wanted this—this time to be that magic moment,” Rachelle murmured, “And with the right guy.”
“I’m sorry I disappointed,” I said quietly.
“No Stanley,” her hand tightened around mine, “It wasn’t you, but I guess I just botched things up.”
You mean you let me mind-rape you, I thought sullenly.
“You’re a little wrong about that,” I stroked her hand, “The best part is just this.”
“You mean this cuddling?” her tone incredulous. “But I thought— you know, you’re a guy.”
“I’m not your every-guy,” I pulled my blanket over her. The everyman joke didn’t register.
Rachelle pressed her dark lithe body against mine. Her mind had calmed, and her breathing was now regular and rhythmic. It was naive of me, but I wanted Rachelle to feel good. Sometimes though, the best intentions mean exactly what they mean when carried out.
“Here,” I let my fingers slide down her body. “Let me show you what you missed.”
So, I did Rachelle again, although only with my skillful hands. Watching her face go from serene, to shock, and finally to ecstasy as she experienced her first orgasm. I kept up the pressure, and she had a few more mild ones in rapid succession. We both found her to be a squirter, or at least a mild one. Rachelle sprayed so much of her pungent juice, Melanie immediately knew what was going on when she came over the next day.
Chen Yu-Ching was not amused, and again lamented how she couldn’t wait to grow up so I would pay her the same amount of sexual attention. But Melanie was later. Rachelle was now.
She juiced so much, her legs were slick. What little mascara she wore had run when she came. Her tears made the smears grow more as she eagerly fucked my rapidly tiring hand. Even though I had shot twice that day, I was amazed I was still able to blow a load into her mouth. Rachelle sucked me off as her way of saying goodnight while we showered. I escorted her home even though it was pretty late. I drained my balls so much I barely had the energy to see Melanie the next day.
As I rode back, a collection of Rachelle’s thoughts I had “collected” but not “read” came to me. I realized that the sex was her intent all along, she wasn’t expecting to orgasm (or get mind-smacked). Her original intention was to give me a nice hand job in the backfield, but being close to me at my room (a place where I felt at ease, hence putting her in the same mind set) prompted her to push things a little further. I felt sorry that things didn’t go as planned for her, but in the end, everything worked out for the better.
Rachelle lived in another neighborhood, and since we didn’t share many classes together (we only shared Rubenstein’s class and drivers’ education, and that class had zero chance of us hooking up because the whole class was lecture only), we saw each other only because we wanted to.
As for Rubenstein’s class, her paper got a passing grade, as did mine. We were both glad to have finally survived the Mad Jew’s class. Rachelle and I left notes in each other’s lockers though for the rest of our time in high school.
Rachelle confessed that she had a creep of a boyfriend, but didn’t care to let him get too close. She admitted she dated him chiefly because he had a car. She later dumped his ass once she got her own clunker in our senior year. Her experience with me was honestly eye-opening for her, and she was glad it was with me. When I asked her why, she gave me her honest answer.
“Because you’re sweet,” she said.
Nevertheless, Rachelle had to buckle down and get her GPA up because cheer squad and her other get-ready-for-college activities were sucking up so much of her time. Taking clues from Janet’s methods of masturbation (it saves time ‘cause I don’t need you! Or so the joke went with Janet) I bought Rachelle an electric toothbrush and gave it to her on the last day of our junior year.
“What the heck is this?” she asked when we managed to see one another over summer. “I already have a toothbrush.”
“Trust me,” I said slyly. “Hold it against you after turning it on. I think it’ll be something you don’t want anyone else to find out.”
I heard little from Rachelle over the summer. She’d telephone me occasionally and we’d go out for a movie or quick bite. I couldn’t spend as much time as I liked with her since Janet would visit and Melanie was always around. The first day I started my senior year at high school, I bumped into Rachelle and she pulled me aside to kiss me on the cheek. It also let her whisper her first words to me after a long summer hiatus.
“Oh. My. God,” she breathed. “I can’t believe you thought of that with a vibrating toothbrush.”
We promptly resumed our letters once we found each other’s lockers. She revealed she didn’t attend summer school like me since she wanted some time to relax (I suspected she simply wanted to masturbate). She was eager to see me again at my place and I cheerfully accepted. I saw Rachelle Hollister many times after that. Each time we would pass in the hall, she’d give me a knowing wink and smile, and her hips would sway just a little more as she walked.
A FRIEND IN FARAZ
The Soviet Union dissolved around my sophomore year and there was a demographic shift in the school around the time. More and more Russian, Ukrainian, Georgian, Ossettian, Lithuanian, and “Baltic State” students (we called them generic Russians) appeared in schools, along with kids from Palestine, Lebanon, Iraq (Desert Storm kicked off my junior year), India, and the Middle East. Their names were distinct when announced in class, and I am sure there were no small numbers of unkind jokes and pranks (what would now be considered a ‘hate crime’).
I wasn’t all that surprised with the influx of new immigrant students, one of them had been the object of ridicule as a new JROTC cadet. That was around the time I became pretty good friends with an Iraqi kid named Faraz. He had escaped Iraq (the lucky fuck) as a political asylum seeker. Along with his family, they were allowed entry into the states as Stormin’ Norman Schwarzkopff liberated Kuwait and kicked Saddam’s ass.
Faraz’s most chilling thing was how, as he stated, you could be sitting in a class like we were in JROTC, and one of Saddam’s Republican Guard commanders could come in and simply recruit you into the Iraqi army. BAM. You just enlisted buddy. Tough shit. If you died, your family just lost another son. Damn!!
Despite our different backgrounds, Faraz and I got along rather well. My dalliance with Melanie reminded me how earnestly alone I was, at least in social terms, in and out of school. I had almost no friends of my age, and the closest people I knew were far too old or far too young to have shared experiences. Hence, Faraz pretty much fit the bill. He too, was an outsider.
For the remainder of my junior year, I made it a habit to “Americanize” Faraz by having lunch with him. I saw him again during summer school. He was taking extra courses to acclimize his vernacular to his new country as well as taking the full load of courses available so he could ready himself for college.
When our last year of high school started, we kept our occasional lunch appointments. Faraz and I had little money, so any indulgence in eating out made us feel like we were growing up. When we “made lunch”, we would settle for this trashy pizzeria at the corner of the school block called Class Clown Pizza.
The pizza shop was fairly decent, if over-priced, pizza. I generally only had a slice, as I was lactose intolerant (dairy made me physically ill). By now, I was fairly busy juggling three girls, my school work, and the final few college applications, so I would have a sandwich or two tucked in my pocket for quick eating in class.
“So my friend,” Faraz’s accent didn’t mar his constantly improving English, “How is your young—” he thrust his hips.
Shortly before the start of our senior year, I had leaked some information I had about Melanie to Faraz as a boast. He was hardly impressed but did chide me about it often.
“Yeah, quiet man,” I gestured for him to keep his voice low. “You know I can get busted after what she and I did?”
“Ho, ho, ho,” he shook his finger. “How you say, ‘Shame on you’?”
Faraz’s parents were pretty middle-class. His mother had taught English in Iraq, but his father spoke it better. Since her English was barely understandable, she found work at a fast food place. His father worked as a mechanic at a service station, and Faraz would work there part-time. All the money they saved went to his and his sister’s future education and the family’s exorbitant rent for a small flat in the city. One reason Faraz didn’t mind lunch with me was because I generally paid using what meager allowance I received from my parents.
“She’s nice,” I mused about Melanie. “I don’t want to mess things up. Besides, she’s just a kid. How would I know how she’ll feel when she’s older?”
“If Iraq not fucked up,” Faraz scoffed, “She would be almost wife there.”
“Yes,” he struggled to find the right English words.
Arab-English dictionaries weren’t popular until after 9/11, and I didn’t have the patience to learn their curving script, alternate syntaxes, and local idioms, so I waited patiently for Faraz to explain himself. Faraz chose the simplest way to describe it: a girl could be betrothed to a man in her teens (or in some cases, as a baby). She could reject the husband, and in which case, the dowry provided by the girl’s family had to be returned.
“Your Chee-Na girlfriend,” Faraz swigged some Coca-Cola, “She make you good wife probably.”
“Maybe,” I wasn’t thinking that far down. “Shit, I could say the same about your sister. She’s the same age.”
“Ah-ahh-aah,” my friend wagged his finger. “You get no idea like that or—” he mimed his dick being cut off.
“Then don’t think of Chen like that,” I said.
“It’s different,” Faraz laughed. “She is not my sister.”
I snorted derisively.
“Hey this Coke same as my Coke in Bahgdad,” he swirled the contents. “No sand my man.”
“Enjoy it. You’re American now,” I peered into my cup. I was empty.
“But what you and ah—” Faraz grasped for words, “Rashell?”
“Rachelle,” I made a face. “I forgot about that.”
“I cannot believe it,” Faraz shook his head. “If you are no sheik, you are—player? Yes? Is that it?”
“Rachelle and I are good friends.”
“Good friends eh?” he leaned back and pointed with his chin. “You be careful friend, what you say if she is here!”
I caught a distorted reflection of our school’s red and white cheerleader uniform on a salt shaker on the table and turned around. It was fortunate Faraz was smart enough to warn me in his own way, because Rachelle and two more cheerleaders were about to enter the Class Clown. She and I had this tacit agreement about our relationship.
While there was a rumor mill going on, I was intensely private. I was prone not to trust people until I’ve read them (Faraz probably being the only acquaintance I didn’t read into until later) for fear of discovery. I also had to deal with Melanie on a nearly daily basis, Janet’s remote hen-pecking, and my own self-discovery of what I was.
Rachelle was copacetic with that, and we’d only be seen together in the halls, or perhaps once a week out to a theater, a park, a store, or something we found fun to do. On other weekends, I’d split it between Melanie and—later on—Shawn at places where they respectively wanted to go. All in all, it was a hectic life for a seventeen year old boy. I waved a hello and she waved back. The other kids either didn’t take notice, or were riled jealous. Class Clown, after all, was an Afro-centric hangout.
“Looks like trouble my friend.”
I didn’t need Faraz’s warning. I could sense it coming like a huge wave off shore. Some black guys near the counter—they weren’t any I recognized from school—began making cat-calls and whistles as Rachelle placed an order. She smiled defensively and ignored them.
One of them brave enough to stand up, ambled up to her and either said or offered something that she didn’t like. Rachelle put her hands up to push him away, and he proceeded to lick her fingers. She drew back and slapped him. That’s when the hooting and jeers began.
Rachelle’s acquaintances were loud, the Asian owners of Class Clown were louder, but the goons egging on Rachelle’s molester were the loudest. I couldn’t hear myself think, or for that matter, Faraz. As quick as I could, I strode up to her attacker, and tapped his shoulder so he could turn around.
Probably about here, you’d expect some mystical Far Eastern philosophy about “size matters not, do or do not,” or some other Jungian bullstuff. I might be Chinese, but I grew up in America. When I want results, I get them.
The term “kid” was a misnomer. This guy was full up a head taller than I was, his body was sinewy, but not fat. If he wanted, he could’ve kicked my ass without the help of his friends. When he turned around, he expected someone taller, instead he saw me and shouted in my face.
“Wha’d’choo want small man?!”
I restrained my urge to gag at his extraordinary stink. It was a mix of his bad breath and his unwashed body. He needed a shower and maybe some after shave. I held my breath, grinned, and motioned for him to come closer so I could say something to him in private. When he leaned in closer, I gently pointed my fingers at his forehead and let him have it.
Taking what I learned from my experience with Rachelle, I quickly crafted a montage of every racial stereotype of how decent people viewed him, along visions of what I picked up from Rachelle’s ghetto, state prison, “Oz”, “American Me”, and a few more unhealthy thoughts and threw them without a thought into his brain. The result was that I overloaded his synapses.
The last thing I threw in was personal. The very thought that I’d probably have a job in the future that would decide if I needed to keep his tickled my sense of superiority of this cancer on society. I caught the tail end of his response as he fainted.
The mounting horror, despair, and hopelessness of his situation overwhelmed him and I felt his mind reel then collapse. I knew he realized the futility of the ghetto. I simply made him aware that I was aware. And I laughed at him.
The big kid fell to the ground with a crash. Rachelle took several steps back, her eyes wide with shock. I knew to the others, it looked like I had just punched the asshole with one quick blow. One of his friends, a fat little fucker in a puffy jacket and an ass-backwards baseball cap, got up and advanced towards me.
I knew what his intentions were: to scare me by acting loud and brash, but it’s hard to hide one’s thoughts from our kind. I could sense he was going to use his bulk to push me. I struck first and slapped him across the face.
Unlike Rachelle, I added my previous message through physical contact, so this girlish whack brought about an instant takedown. I also threw in that his sorry ass wouldn’t live past 25 due to his weight problem and his love of junk food. Like his friend, the stupid fat fuck didn’t get up immediately either.
Both the fallen now exhibited retarded physical motion. They wanted to recover, but their limbs simply didn’t function as they wanted and both were frothing at their mouths.
I found out with later experimentation, it was akin to a being hit by an epileptic seizure or a taser. If I did that same thing now, it would be thirty times more potent and possibly cause an aneurism or a stroke. This ability served me well when I found my true calling.
The bystanders hung back, some silent and some calling me names. All regarded me with wariness and suspicion at a distance. To explain what I did would be unbelievable and dangerous, so I simply adopted a classic, stereotypical stance from a kung-fu movie.
“Get these two some aspirin,” I stared down the victims’ ragtag followers. “And watch your mouth. There are ladies present.”
No one said anything, but Faraz finally let out a loud whoop, grabbed his drink, and hustled me out the door before the police arrived. I couldn’t even stop to check on poor Rachelle.
“Muhammed strike me if I lie!” Faraz laughed. “You kick his ass! Pow! Just like in the action movies!”
“Yeah, don’t get me started,” I was unsure how much damage I did, or if it was permanent. And I did it in front of so many people too.
“Can you show me?” Faraz looked at me keenly, “Or is it ancient Chinese secret?”
I laughed, because that was the line I wanted to deliver at the Class Clown. It was also a line from a videogame I was playing on and off when not having sex with Janet, fending off Melanie’s advances, spending time with Rachelle, or studying.
“Ancient Chinese secret,” I quipped.
“Whappow!” Faraz pounded me on my back, “You save your woman! You get the sex from her yes?”
“Thanks for the reminder Faraz,” I managed a weak laugh. “But I better check on Rachelle later.”
I wondered about what I accidentally did to Rachelle had any lasting effects. I never asked if she remembered anything from it, probably because we both didn’t mind. But this was different. It was simply an attack—a psychic attack.
“Good idea friend,” he nodded in agreement. “Hey, I see you later too yes? Class is starting now.”
MELANIE GROWS UP
After the fight at the Class Clown, I was surprised there was no fallout. I wanted to see Rachelle, but because of the incident, I guess she was either excused from classes the rest of the day or was let out early. I didn’t see her at her last class.
Frustrated, I headed over to the elementary school to meet Melanie. As it turned out, Rachelle was waiting at my place. I didn’t know how long she sat at my door, but it would’ve been at least a quite a while.
I had Melanie in tow, so there wasn’t any chance of keeping them apart. Instantly I felt Melanie’s jealousy radiate from her deeply dark eyes. Melanie’s icy stare would’ve cowed anyone, but Rachelle didn’t notice. My little darling hadn’t met Janet at the time. So this was the first time Melanie saw another girl—a beautiful girl at that—stealing me away from what she regarded as HER TIME with me, and Melanie didn’t know how to contain herself.
Thankfully, she was too young to have done anything foolish, so I kindly asked Melanie to wait in my study while I talked with Rachelle in the inner room.
“You didn’t stay.” Rachelle sounded hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I bade her to sit. “Faraz thought it was a good idea to head out.”
“The campus po-po asked about you,” she said quietly.
“Nevermind them,” I filled two glasses of cold distilled water, “Are you all right?”
Rachelle took a sip, then set the glass down and she leaned over to hug me.
“I didn’t want to go home immediately,” she sniffed and leaned against me. “My mama is going to flip over this. School just started!”
“It wasn’t your fault though,” I took her hand.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
We got down to talking about it. I felt all grown-up, caring for this wonderful woman—even though I believed I would’ve not been able to handle things if I wasn’t “gifted and talented”. I probably would’ve gotten my ass kicked. Rachelle explained that by the time the police arrived, the two idiots were up but they were incoherent and nothing they said made sense.
“Good God, sugar,” she regarded me with fear and awe. “What’d you do to them?”
“Ancient Chinese secret,” I borrowed the videogame quip again.
It was nice to sit quietly with this black beauty in my company. But I felt this distinct feeling of unease as I saw a small shape cavorting in the study. Melanie tended to do what she wanted in my room, as I never sought to restrain her inhibitions. I didn’t know what she could be doing in there. She could be dancing nude, exploring herself in front of a mirror, or trying to find out how many number two pencils she could cram in her mouth (her personal record was 36).
Although I was fine with Melanie’s antics, Rachelle would probably call the cops—or at best never see me again. So I had to usher her back home. Before I did though, I asked what was on my mind.
“No one’s asked me down to the principal’s office,” I said, “Should I be worried?”
“No you’re fine I think,” Rachelle murmured, “They asked if I knew who you were, I just said I waved because you waved. Don’t worry about it.”
At least there was that. Despite my bravado, I wasn’t sure if the witnesses twisted the truth to avoid getting on my bad side or to hide the fact that big guys like that were floored by a little Chinese fucker, but I wasn’t pestered for that altercation. At the time, I thought it a lucky combination of incidents, but someone in the invisible empire had simply taken care of the report and nothing came of it.
Those fools had their asses handed to them by martial arts. That was it. I felt foolish about what I said next, but I wanted to keep Rachelle around for a little while longer.
“Would you want to stay a little longer?” I asked her. “You could stay the night if you want.”
“That’s sweet of you,” Rachelle demurred, “But I’ll be all right. Besides, where’d we find time alone if your little sister was around?”
“Oh, she’s just one of Andrew’s classmates,” I stretched the truth a little. “I tutor her on my off time.”
Yes. Tutor her in pleasing me sexually.
“Oh,” Rachelle laughed. “That was very bad of me to think that. I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right,” I waved it off. I didn’t tell her too much about my family, at least not until I was sure she was sticking around as long as Janet and Melanie did.
“See what I meant when I said you were sweet?” she took my hand and entwined it with hers, “Well, I’d better get out of here.”
I showed her out as leisurely as I could. Rachelle stopped me at the door and guided my hands under her skirt. My fingers dug gently into her bare buttocks as she licked my face and neck. Rachelle turned around and slipped her panties off so I could kiss her bare ass. She backed up against the growing bulge in my pants and ground hard against me. She listened carefully to the signals my body (not my mind) gave her and she stopped just short of me cumming. Yes, she was that good.
“You’d better go back,” she pulled up her panties, “But think of me when you do.”
“I don’t think I can’t,” I amazed myself with the double negative. My face was flush with exertion and my blood hot for her fuckable body. Rachelle bit my lips gently then nudged me away.
“Tomorrow,” Rachelle’s hand grazed my cock through my jeans. “You tutor me and I’ll take care of this guy.”
Yep. This was going to turn out well if I kept everything under control. When Rachelle had left, Melanie was lying nude on my bed, her books spread around, her bare feet kicking empty air. She had the tendency to strip at my place. She found that having me being near her made her a little more focused and relaxed.
“So is she your new girlfriend?” she asked me as I locked the doors to my room.
“I suppose so,” I regarded her with a mix of apprehension and curiosity.
“Does Janet know?” she asked matter-of-factly.
“No, not yet.” I lay wearily down on the soft carpet next to my bed. “I guess you’re going to tell her now?”
Melanie ignored my question and asked hers instead. “What’s her name?”
“Rachelle,” I paused, remembering how she could sometimes hear my thoughts. “Wouldn’t you know?”
“I didn’t hear anything from her Stanley,” Melanie’s head peered over the side of the bed. “Will Janet get mad?”
“I don’t know,” I sighed, “Janet doesn’t even know about you.”
“Not yet,” she sounded smug. Then, “Do you think you and Rachelle can do it and show me?”
I gave her a dirty look and she laughed.
“I only want to see!” she giggled.
“You’re getting old enough to know better,” I suddenly felt older than I really was.
Melanie hopped off the bed. Enjoying some peace and quiet, I heard water running, and then her soft footfalls on the carpet. Her little hands unbuttoned my fly and unzipped my jeans. I helped her pull my pants down before she began tugging me to stand up.
“Come bathe with me Stanley guo-guo*.” [* Cantonese: Brother Stanley, has familial overtones]
“Now?” I asked, “Don’t you have homework?”
“So, do you,” Melanie placed her small palm on my dying bulge, “But I want to see it.”
I surrendered to her attentions and looked forward to a long soak. She led me to the bathroom where she had filled the tub. Melanie sat in my lap, her back facing me. After the lather, we’d rinse much as we did the first time we met (with a quick shower). She had learned by now that she while she couldn’t take me fully into her body yet, she could cock-tease me until I came.
She’d then urge me to try penetrating her using a pinky finger. She could barely manage the first knuckle, much less my cock. Hence, I never pressed the issue. But her persistence was what got me hooked. And then, an idea hit me.
Rachelle had left the tube of anal lube at my place so we could try again. Actually, she left a lot of her things at my place. It was like Rachelle was marking her territory with her little knick-knacks. Despite my better judgment (and the lack of it), I persuaded Melanie to try it.
“Anal? Isn’t that about the bottom? Won’t I get a tummy ache?” she asked, “You said so Stanley.”
“I’m not doing it in your butt, Yu-Ching,” I pointed at her hairless featureless slit, “We can use it for that too.”
Melanie acquiesced. I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to be so unabashed with such a small wonder, but I did want to know how much she could take. I emptied the tube of lube over her baby pussy and slowly worked it over with a few fingers. After a while of toil and caressing her petite body, her little hole was slightly agape. It was barely the diameter of a nail-head. After a little more stimulation, Melanie complained that it was starting to hurt, so I stopped. Her hole didn’t get any wider.
“Sorry,” I told her, “We’ll try again next time.”
Despite the lack of success, Melanie was still excited from the attention I gave her. She dutifully sucked dick for a little while. With the taste of Rachelle still fresh on my tongue and Melanie wolfing down my cock, I blew a load right into her willing throat.
In the middle of my junior year, I enrolled in the class which handled the school’s newspaper. It was an easy class that was headed by this jolly, goofy Jewish woman. Her husband (the Mad Jew) was teaching the class where I met Rachelle. The same journalism class was a pretty auburn haired girl named Shawn Horten. She wasn’t too thick, or thin, or even exceptionally athletic, but she was the best friend (at the time) with another girl named Ashley Kemp, who was a cheerleader on Rachelle’s cheer squad. Both girls were two years younger than I. I first met them when they were high school freshmen and immediately came off liking Shawn both for her sound mind, closet lustiness, and honestly fuckable body. I coolly received Ashley. Where Shawn was both warm and bubbly, Ashley always seemed leery and evasive.
By senior year, I had a distinct sense that I was capable of giving off some tell-tale signs that I was “up to no good” when I wasn’t totally in control of my mind. Extremely sensitive ‘normals’ and (in some cases) animals, would pick up on that and be extremely uncomfortable around me. That borderline sixth sense in animals was what clued ancient generations about hemeokineticists and our ilk. Vampire legends indeed! I guessed that was what Ashley had: just an uncomfortable inkling; Melanie regarded me with an innocence Ashley had lost years ago.
In any case, I did my best to mask my intentions. Just from the dirty looks she gave me, Ashley likely bad mouthed me in Shawn’s presence, but I never heard a peep about it from Shawn. Even after the big bru-ha-ha at the pizzeria, the rumors that flew around didn’t seem to faze Shawn. She remained on friendly terms with me.
Shawn, Ashley, and I were just three of the students on the staff (if one could call it that, everyone having such short tenures). Aside from those two girls, there was Cindy, David, Barbara, Peter, Jenny, Scott, and Jamie. The few hangers-on didn’t contribute or only did the minimum assigned in class or they dropped the course and new faces filled the classroom.
Mrs. Rubenstein pretty much ran the course by the seat of her pants (she wasn’t a real journalism teacher). I remember one week we watched movies almost back to back for lack of anything interesting. The movies were the like of “A Case of Libel” (a black and white about libel), “The Impossible Spy” (a film to tickle her Jewish fancy), and “Boyz in the Hood” (she was the only one who expressed any visible sympathy in the end).
Cindy Chin (who Anglicized her name from Sing Yee) was the managing editor, although she pretty much carried the whole paper on many occasions. Without her, I doubted we would’ve had much paper to print. About the only thing I remember of her (apart from her perfectionist attitude) was a classmate (one of the computer club geeks) turned Cindy down to go to our senior class prom.
David Gee was the computer fellow, although back then, Pagemaker was really hard to implement into our cut and paste system. He became a systems analyst for a middleware company. Jenny Siu was a chubby chick, bespectacled, and above all, forgettable. She enjoyed reviewing movies though, although none (movies or reviews) were spectacular.
Barbara Kingston was a thin, bespectacled, lanky blonde. I read her mind (lightly) one day and found she was experimenting bisexually with another girl (who later underwent sex reassignment; go figure). Barbara wasn’t half bad looking though, but she was probably experimenting just a little too early and without a knowledgeable tutor. Perhaps I was put off by her extreme height (a girl who’s six even back in high school is rather noticeable), or I just didn’t like blondes, but I never took Barbara up on anything save business.
Peter Boyd and Scott Meiderhoff were about the only two guys apart from me in this class full of girls. Peter was a smooth talker. He had danced, dated, and tried to sleep with most of the girls in my grade since middle school, but his style was getting rapidly out of date. He constantly tried to pick up Asian girls after Barbara, Jenny, Shawn, and (especially) Ashley shot him down. Hence, the rest of my time at high school, he tried to butter up to Jamie (especially after the stabbing incident).
Scott I didn’t see much. He was our photographer, and back then, the only thing that needed a high-speed camera and a flexible zoom lens was the school’s football team. He was usually away tinkering with his camera, developing film near the band room (which shared locker space with the photography club). The last time I saw him, he was fighting lung cancer, having having spent a little too much time with film-developing chemicals and mixing them with potassium-bromide pills for an illegal high during his tour in Afghanistan.
Jamie Young was a pretty average girl. Her one claim to infamy came at the cost of her boyfriend’s life. An ex-boyfriend showed up at our Winter Ball (a dance held around December) in our last year of high school, and stabbed the unlucky kid. Jamie’s current boyfriend didn’t survive and the attacker found himself in jail. I know because I was there; I was Rachelle’s date for that dance. I noticed Jamie wasn’t quite right in the head after that. Peter’s constant pestering naturally didn’t help.
So that was how the class was for the last half of my junior year (along with Peter, Cindy, Barbara, and Jamie—the rest of the class was younger than us by one to two years) and starting my senior year. Unlike Melanie, who had her birthday in January, or Janet, who celebrated her birthday after school let out (June), my birthday occurred in the month most schools start (September). Thus, I was seventeen going on eighteen when I had gotten into the swing of juggling three girls and a busy schedule.
I’d meet Melanie after my final class let out and accompanied her the 20 feet from the school yard to her front door whenever I had the time. Sometimes when I had extra work to do or if I wanted to goof off at the computer club (which essentially played videogames instead of doing any computer learning), Melanie would instinctively “know” I wouldn’t show and would head home on her own.
However, she would always extract some kind of concession from me the next time, as if to encourage me to not take her for granted. Things had gotten from ‘hold my hand’ to ‘give me a kiss’ to ‘I mean kiss me like you kiss Janet and Rachelle’ to ‘Come bathe with me’. Melanie’s insistence that we go all the way didn’t help lower the pressure.
Janet’s last phone call also got me jittery. She wished me a happy upcoming birthday, and said loudly she would gladly fly back and fuck my brains out if only it was my eighteenth birthday.
“Just one more year honey,” she slurred drunkenly over the phone.
I had forgotten that she had just turned 21 a few months earlier. Janet wanted to celebrate with me, but couldn’t fly back because of the lack of money. However, she was able to drink herself silly and buzz herself to a vegetative state with her vibrators. Still, Janet knew I was up to something just because my correspondence and phone calls to her were getting to be fewer and growing shorter (respectively) because of the increase of school work, college applications, and Rachelle’s and Melanie’s almost constant demand for my attention.
It didn’t help that I hadn’t told Janet about Melanie, or for that matter, about Rachelle. However, I felt that Janet would be a little more understanding that I dated a girl my age, and not robbing the proverbial cradle. Still, cheating on my First wasn’t what I really wanted.
Rachelle was pretty much blind to Melanie and knew nothing about Janet until later. She was miffed though, when she heard about Shawn. Honestly, there’s little a ‘normal’ could do once their mind has been dominated by one of us for a long period of time; it was psychic addiction. Added to that, I treated Rachelle fairly and I simply told her how things would be. She was free to do what she wanted. Ultimately, Rachelle’s decision was her own.
Therefore, Melanie was probably the only one who knew everyone from the start. She knew a lot about Janet simply because she would ask me about her letters every time she visited me. She knew about Rachelle, and even fell asleep one day in the other room while Rachelle and I had a quickie. Knowing that someone in the other room could walk in on us made Rachelle stain my mattress so thoroughly with her jizz, I had to finally throw it out.
“Do you think Janet and Rachelle would be mad if they knew I kissed you?” Melanie asked coyly the day before as I walked her home.
“I guess they won’t mind,” I admitted. Not unless you told them you kissed my prick, I thought. In that case, they’d probably kill me.
September neared its end and Melanie made me close my eyes for my birthday present. I didn’t know what she had planned, but I did it just so she’d be happy. Before I knew it, I tasted something sweet and hard in my mouth along with something earnestly familiar: Melanie’s familiar scent in my nostrils. I opened my eyes and found Melanie had ungraciously fed me a piece of sugar candy with her mouth.
I was so shocked by her sudden act of perversion that all I could do was stand and let her finish tongue-fuck my mouth. She whispered a quiet, ‘Goodbye,’ before she quickly closed the door. I had feared getting caught by someone, but since her main door made a right angle turn into the house, it would be hard to see from just passing by on the street. I stepped out and saw no one. Counting my luck, I reminded myself to have a chat with Melanie about her behavior next time.
So, I found myself purposely evading Melanie the next day until I could decide how to discipline her. I sat in the in the editing bay late after-school, trying hard to find fault with Cindy’s op-ed piece (it’s hard to fault a perfectionist) while also trying to find some excuse to weasel out of Barbara’s invitation to attend some nonsense hippie music concert.
I was so busy mulling over what to do with a barely controlled fifth grade nymphomaniac who could literally blackmail me for the rest of my short life, that I failed to notice Shawn had slipped into the editing bay and was furiously trying to get my attention. I only noticed she was there when she suddenly pushed her freckled face in front of me.
“Hot! Fuck!! Dammit!!” I was so surprised that I nearly fell and smashed my head against a table corner.
“How’re ya’doin’ Stanley?” Shawn grinned broadly. “Nice of you to notice your biggest fan.”
“Right,” I picked myself up.
Ever since I had written a series of op-ed pieces about the responsibility of education lay not just with the teachers, but with the students, and having an option to opt out on “school spirit” rallies in lieu of study hall, Shawn had begun talking to me a lot more. Every time one of my op-ed pieces on other issues went out, she’d would ask for a clipping. Rachelle chided me about my criticism about the rallies, but she respected it, as I respected her hard work on her cheer squad.
“Being happy all the time is hard,” I admitted to her. And she agreed.
Although me being Rachelle’s boyfriend was probably the worst kept secret that year, Shawn would always try to bump into me between her classes (that was easy after she photocopied my class schedule). Her stalking only increased thereafter.
While she’d spend most of her lunches with Ashley, she’d find time to locate me once a week to engage in small talk. Once, she even found me and Faraz at the Class Clown and joined us right there. She was friendly with everyone, even Faraz. When she learned of his family’s history in Bahgdad, she didn’t feign shock—she was shocked.
“Wow,” Faraz remarked afterwards. “She is very idealistic.”
His English had gotten steadily better over time. I asked if he wanted to take Shawn off my hands, but Faraz smelled a trap. Besides, he admitted, he wanted to date an Iraqi girl, or at least someone who wasn’t so damn American.
“Palestinian. Lebanese. Maybe even Turkish,” he ticked off his preferences.
“How about Indian?” I joked.
“Maybe,” he did a little Bollywood dance, “If she have good titties and asses.”
So there I was in the editing bay alone with someone I thought was my stalker. Well, my second stalker. I already had Melanie. Shawn had begun leaving big hints of what she wanted to do. Once or twice, she had shamelessly torn off a piece of my lunch sandwiches—while I was eating them—and popped it right into her mouth. I thought it was unsanitary. Those geeks in the computer club were in disbelief; Faraz swore Shawn probably wanted to bear my children.
With so much trouble from Melanie, I didn’t want anything to do with Shawn. But no matter how much trouble she proved to be, Shawn was friendly, cute, and approachable. She also had a such a fun spirit I just couldn’t ignore.
“What’re you doing here—?” we both started talking, looked at each other and laughed.
I urged her to speak first. Shawn hopped up on the cutting table, letting her feet dangle over the cheap vinyl floor as I returned to my seat at the editing bay.
“I thought I saw lights on,” she slipped off her brogans. “Why don’t you turn those lights off and use some natural sunlight for a change?”
“Because I’m editing and you’re not.” My reply came off a bit ruder than I wanted to, but my heart was still thumping from the scare she gave me. I took a few breaths to calm myself. “Besides, why are you here?”
“Ashley’s at cheerleader practice,” Shawn toyed with some scraps on the tabletop, “I told her I’d meet her later.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.” I wasn’t paying her much attention. I was busy zapping Cindy’s deliberate British spellings back into American English.
“You know, Stanley,” she leaned over so her body was reclining across the cutting table, “You’re not going to find that many mistakes with Miss Perfect’s piece.”
“Yeah right,” I said absently. “I see you checking out Cindy’s ass.”
“You perverted dork,” she laughed despite the crudeness of my joke. “I meant her op-ed.”
“Shows what you know, newbie,” I shot her a quick glance. “She spells like a Brit and does it to show off. Now get off there, you’ll cut yourself if you’re not careful.”
Shawn rolled off the table so clumsily I thought she might fall. When I reached out to catch her, she quickly found an excuse to entwine herself within my arms. The next thing I knew, her white, underage bubble butt was grinding on my lap. She laughed at my look of surprise, then ignored me and glanced over Cindy’s op-ed.
“She’s ready to go,” she chirped. “Can’t go wrong with B-E-H-A-V-I-O-U-R and R-E-C-O-G-N-I-S-E for the bitch of Brightport.”
“I just want you to know that even if I’m American,” I jabbed her sides. “I take my job seriously.”
She yelped and elbowed me in the ribs.
“Insult me and my country will you?” She saved my work and proceeded to put the computer to sleep. “I don’t have to take that! I’m made 100% in the U-S-of-A!”
“Stop that,” I tried to bat her busy hands away from the mouse and keyboard.
“Tag it and bag it soldier!” she growled and turned off the monitor.
I hadn’t been in JROTC since tenth grade (and Shawn was in middle school) but I had kept a snappy military ensemble to jerk around with new cadets during inspection day every Wednesday. Shawn had teased me about that after she discovered I wasn’t in JROTC when she swiped my class schedule.
“C’mon stop it Shawn,” I gave her an ultimatum. “Enough’s enough. I have work to do.”
Shawn’s sky blue eyes stared deep into mine while she sat awkwardly on my lap. We remained like that for a while, neither she nor I saying a thing. I always wondered what she was thinking at that moment when she decided to go for broke. I didn’t recoil when she kissed me, nor did I react like a horny teenager when she drew away.
You might think that bizarre, but keep in mind there’s often a little more than simple physical attraction when it came to love-making. I was in tune with Janet. She had excited me as only an older girl could. Her body developing into a woman, she promised to entice me more with her charm.
I tolerated Melanie at first, but my littlest darling still had a long road to go before she captured my heart (along with everyone else). It wasn’t simply that I was psychically tuned to her, but there were a bunch of other related factors. I had seduced her and I was responsible.
With Rachelle, it was pure lust at first, but I found her to be a bright young woman who just needed the proper motivation to be successful. Her popularity aside, she introduced me to other people in her circle, and with a telepath working the crowd, you’d be surprised at the crap one could pick up.
Shawn, although she was pretty, didn’t intrigue me as much. Although we got along well at first, I regarded her more as a friend than a romantic interest. Perhaps it was a problem of race, as she was so foreign to my eyes. Rachelle wasn’t Asian, but then again, she was also smoking hot. That helps regardless of what mixture of races she was.
After I hadn’t reacted as she thought I would, Shawn grew somewhat miffed.
“Kiss me, you dummy,” she said flatly.
“Oh, sure,” I kissed her lips lightly but she didn’t move or react.
“Oh God,” Shawn stood up abruptly. “She was right—”
She stumbled over her brogans and slipped them on as elegantly as she could, then began heading towards the door. I barely realized what was going on before I rose to stop her.
“She was right about what?” I asked confused.
“It’s nothing,” she muttered under her breath. The combination of her sniffling and aversion to look at me, plus the intense wave of sadness, anger, and confusion that I picked up, I knew she was crying.
“Hey, hey,” I tried to hug her, but she angrily shouldered me away.
“Don’t—” sniff “hey—” snort “me,” she barely managed to stay coherent amidst her breakdown. She snapped the tissue from my hand and blew her nose loudly. Then she sat morosely on a spare chair by the stationery locker.
“Geez, Shawn,” I knelt beside her, “I’m sorry. I have—” I paused “—a girlfriend.”
Make that several. And you can be next you shameless little hussy.
“You mean Rachelle right?” Shawn glared at me, “Because Ashley said she saw you with that girl from the elementary school.”
Shock rocked my body. Ashley saw me with Melanie? When did that happen? And how was it I didn’t see her when Melanie shoved that lozenge down my throat?
Shawn ignored my surprise and had gone on talking, “... was probably your sister, but she said that’s really weird because you two didn’t live in the same house.”
“Ashley said that?” I said evenly.
That bitch was spying on me!
“I thought that the girl was your kid sister,” Shawn looked down, all glum. “Ashley didn’t believe me and said you two lived in different houses.”
“She’s not my sister.”
She eyed me warily. “Then who is she?”
To deceive this cute naive girl before me would be morally reprehensible, yet I had to look out for my own interests.
“That’s just a girl I tutor,” I said.
Yes. Tutor in sex. And if you’re so eager, I glanced at her wryly, I could do you as well.
“Really?” Shawn brushed back some of her rusty brown hair behind her ears. “You tutor? You sure have a lot of time with all that going on with Rachelle.”
“Oh?” I stood over her and folded my arms. “What’ve you heard?”
Under my coaxing, Shawn slowly related to me what Ashley would reveal from the cheer squad’s locker room. Rachelle had dropped subtle hints that she was dating this awesome guy. At first, she’d mixed up a little of the truth—her old boyfriend and me. Then at the start of the senior year, she altered things slightly after the incident at the pizzeria. Now her boyfriend was both a lover and a fighter.
Now Ashley had gotten jealous. I felt from Shawn’s tone that her best friend had a queen bee mentality. She wouldn’t be able to stand the fact that Rachelle was now pretty much queen of the hive. Rather than biding her time (Rachelle and I just had one more year and we’d be in college), Ashley decided to do some snooping worthy of any investigative journalist.
She found out that the guy at the pizzeria was with a Middle Eastern kid. That was pretty easy, since Ghandia and Heidi were there at the fight. Also, Faraz was probably the only Iraqi student in our school, so Ashley didn’t have any trouble finding out who I was. Shawn explained that Ashley shadowed me when she could and found that I visited the elementary school. She’d then follow me and Melanie home.
“See, that was the thing that got me,” Shawn blurted. “Ashley said you’d bring that kid home, or walk her back to hers, but she’d never see you with Rachelle.”
“So you two weren’t sure if Rachelle was just doing rumor mongering or telling the truth?” I mused. I looked at her and decided to explain things on the most superficial level. No need to scare off a new filly, eh?
I explained to Shawn that Rachelle was seeing me, and I tutored some kids on my spare time (actually, just Melanie, and it wasn’t book tutoring). I left out Janet for the time being, and simply said having Rachelle—quite literally one of the most popular girls in the school—as a girlfriend was new to me.
“Because,” I admitted, “Rachelle’s kinda like the first girl I —”
I stopped, wondering about Janet and what it would mean if it all came out later. Rachelle was the first girl my age I had sex with but she was definitely not my first. That occurred five years before when I bedded my First, my Janet. Nevertheless, Shawn misunderstood my meaning completely. Her blue eyes went wide and she hid her mouth so I couldn’t see her giggle.
“What’re you hiding?” I regarded her with amusement.
“Nothing!” She batted away my hand. “Now stop it!”
I poked softly at Shawn’s pudgy waist and she gave a surprised yelp.
“Stop it!” she yelled, “Or I’ll write how you lost your virginity to Rachelle!”
That hardly fazed me. Shawn’s bright eyes and gleeful smile put a playful edge to everything she said and did. Despite her threat, I knew she’d never carry it through. It wasn’t in her nature to engage in that sort of mischief.
“Know my secrets, eh?” I squeezed her waist playfully. “I’ll tickle you silent.”
Shawn gave a shriek and bolted from her chair, but there was really no where for her to go in the little back room of the journalism classroom. She braced herself, ready for me to rush her, but I played it cool and sat back down at the editing bay.
“You’re no fun,” she said wistfully and let down her guard.
As soon as she did, I snapped up her wrist and dragged her across my lap. Shawn let out a terrified shriek as I reached everywhere on her, poking, grabbing, tickling. When I felt she was at the brink of getting mad, I playfully paddled her ample bottom then deftly flipped her around in my arms.
“Stop,” Shawn wriggled free. “Okay, you’ve got me. I won’t bug you anymore.”
“Now why wouldn’t I want that?” I asked her as we both composed ourselves.
“Because you’re seeing Rachelle,” she picked herself up. “God, I feel so stupid.”
Shawn headed over to the small wash basin in the back of the editing bay and rinsed her hands. I went behind her and put my arms around her.
“Stanley stop,” she said it, but didn’t mean it. “Think of Rachelle.”
“That’s a good suggestion.” I turned her around and kissed her.
Shawn tried to mumble something more, but I flat out silenced her. I turned the water faucet off, and carried my Central Valley cutie to the drafting table. Shawn at first didn’t react as she did before. I rubbed her ear gently as I teased her freckled baby face and nose, and worked my magic on her. Soon enough, I felt her hands tugging at my chest and arms.
I stood back a bit as Shawn lay there in silent disbelief. I knew what she was thinking: ‘Oh God, he’s going to do me.’ ‘But what about Rachelle?’ ‘Do I even want to?’ ‘But he’s so fucking hot.’
The last thought made me chuckle, because I never regarded myself as good looking or popular. Shawn glanced at me timidly and I gave her a reassuring smile. I felt awful about not revealing more to this sweet young girl. Being Caucasian, Shawn stood almost at my height, despite being two years younger. Her arms went around my neck and I felt her tongue part my lips. Not being able to stand it anymore, I let my right hands slide down her blouse, quickly undoing the buttons.
She let out a moan as I bit her gently on the neck. I kissed her bare shoulders and she yielded more to my advances. Shawn by now had given up any pretense at approaching me decently and was quickly took off her blouse.
“Lock the door,” she said. “Hurry.”
I turned off both the lights and locked both doorknobs. Shawn had removed her top, showing she had these little budding C-cup breasts. Her body wasn’t all athletic and tight like Rachelle. Shawn had a little baby fat, but that infantile pudginess was what made her so cute. She gasped when I skillfully took off her bra (thank you Janet), and I merely smiled as I kissed her lightly while my fingers brushed her soft pink nipples. Shawn gulped for air as I tasted her body above the waist.
“Oh—my—fuck—” she bit her lip as my tongue slowly licked and flicked one nipple while I gently rolled the other between my fingers.
Shawn’s eyes were wide with anticipation as I delivered kisses across her breasts and stomach. I slowly sowed a trail of affection towards her neck, and the old drafting desk creaked as her legs wrapped around me.
“Oh God—oh my God. Fuck Ashley,” she panted. “That bitch.”
“Sssh,” I kissed her to shut her up. “Think nice thoughts.”
I put warm kisses on her breasts and stomach. I wanted to give her a raspberry (snurb/motorboat) but thought the better of it. Instead, I tongued her sweaty, salty navel.
“Stanley!!” Shawn’s fingers closed around my head as I worked lower.
Her denim jeans were hot and heavy with her scent. Unlike Janet and Melanie, who both had mild pearly scents or Rachelle, whose spicy, nutty musk permeated her space, Shawn had an oddly flavorful odor I never tasted before. I suppose it wouldn’t have surprised me if I slept with more Anglo girls, but I didn’t, so I found Shawn very exotic.
I pulled her pants off, and I saw Shawn’s legs needed some slight grooming. Still, the red brown fuzz was like soft down. I soon learned how nice they felt once she wrapped them around me. I didn’t care to notice even as I slipped off her underwear. I found her tampon string and coiled it around my finger. I stroked her legs gently as I pulled the wrinkled white thing slowly out of her.
“Oog,” Shawn shuddered with anticipation.
I kissed the insides of her legs and worked my way up towards her pink little cunt. One whiff of her sweet sophomore cheeks, and I was delirious with lust. My dick went to attention, restrained only by my jeans. She cried softly as I lifted both her legs high so I could tongue her pink puss and ass. I’d never taken a woman apart from Rachelle without a shower, so Shawn’s unfiltered mix of urine, shit, sweat, and lust hit me harder than I could’ve anticipated.
The spontaneity of our love-making also gave us impetus to fuck like rabbits. Soon enough, she was slick from the attentions of both my tongue and fingers to her honey pot. A clear ooze trickled down from her engorged cunt lips signaling her readiness.
I was more careful this time around. Fortunately, there was a packet of condoms someone from the PRC had tacked onto the billboard in the editing bay. It was from there that I pulled out a wrapped rubber. I pulled it quickly over my erection and stood over her. Shawn looked down and saw what I was about to do. I tapped my stiff cock against her baby smooth skin and rubbed it up and down her wet snatch.
She glanced at me, and I gave her a reassuring kiss. Shawn shuddered as I pushed into her. There was immediate urgency to pump her fast and dry before time ran out, but I didn’t convey that urgency. I simply hovered over Shawn, enjoying her sweet warmth wrapping around my cock, and I could feel her cunt twitch as it adjusted slowly to this new intrusion.
“Feels good?” I whispered to her.
Shawn nodded. I took her hand and our fingers came together as we did. She gasped as I began to move. Her legs were resting on my shoulders, leaving me hands free to hold hers as I pumped her slow and easy. Her eyes flirted with me, daring me to go further as I pounded her baby geyser.
Wanting to let her go at her own pace, I bent over, scooped her up. Shawn emitted a high pitched mew as I carried her over to the editing bay’s seat. I sat down so she sat nicely on my erection. With more freedom to move, she gyrated her hips and felt my cock pulse against her woman walls. She had her arms around my neck letting her gather me towards her as she bounced on my fun stick to her delight.
“Nnngg—nngh—oh—ngh—errgh,” Shawn grunted as her hands began clutching fistfuls of my hair.
A few minutes more of effort and I felt her body convulse. Shawn seized up like I had brain-brawled her but it was just her way of having an orgasm. Her eyes were rolled back and her mouth was open but I felt her body jerk and her cunt spasm, so I knew she was awake. Shawn shivered as her body came down from her newly discovered high. I felt her breath, pulse, and thoughts race as my skin touched hers. Her whole body was flush with excitement and exertion. Her blue eyes regarded me with wonder as her orgasm passed.
Amazingly, my cock was still stiff and hard. I hadn’t cum yet. Shawn mewed again as I picked her up once more. I lay her across the drafting table again and began to take care of my business. She propped herself up on her elbows and watched my colorful latex sheathed cock pole in and out of her body. Having dipped just briefly into the ecstasy that she could regularly feel, Shawn was visibly disappointed when I cut short my thrusting as I shot my load into the latex receptacle.
“Sorry, baby,” I pulled out and peeled the condom off me. “I think we’d better dress.”
“Oh. Okay,” Shawn said awkwardly.
I picked her clothing back up off the floor and helped her dress. As my fingertips would touch her here and there, I picked up bits and pieces of her post-coital thoughts. Knowing she was expecting more, so I pulled her close as soon as she pulled her top on.
“Hey,” I said quietly. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. Her fingernails scratched the back of my hand lightly. She was both excited and frustrated that things had to end so abruptly. She let me button her blouse back up but said nothing during that time.
“Let’s make it a real date next time,” I brushed aside her hair and kissed her neck.
She twisted around and looked at me. “What about Rachelle?”
“What about her?” I asked.
“Don’t you care about her?” she asked. “I mean you said it yourself, you’re seeing her.”
I had to make things work well and quickly. Although Rachelle and I had an agreement not to make our thing public in school, Shawn could rapidly derail everything I worked at. Plus the cheer practice was about to let out.
While Rachelle would try to meet at my place, that was no guarantee we wouldn’t collide in the hall. I knew Rachelle would try to avoid meeting me at school. That was one thing she and I had in common: we both cherished our privacy and kept separate our public and private lives.
“Look, I like Rachelle,” I admitted, “But I also like you. I mean you like chocolate ice cream as much as you do mocha: do you always eat one over another?”
“Are you comparing me to ice cream?” Shawn growled unkindly. Then, “How’d you know I like chocolate and mocha?”
“Lucky guess,” I shot her a grin. “Considering you did melt in my hands.”
Shawn gave me one of those sounds only a girl her age could make.
“C’mon, you know my locker right?” I soothed her. “You’ve followed me enough. Just drop me a note when you’re free or whenever.”
“And then what?” she asked. “Are you going to write back? And with everyone watching? That could get ugly.”
“I see you every day here,” I said. “I’m just saying you can leave me a note when you want if you don’t want Ashley nosing around your business.”
“Oh, I see,” she said. Then she raised the question I didn’t want to deal with, “What about Rachelle?”
“You let me speak with her,” I said. “Maybe you two might even become friends.”
Shawn let out a loud chortle. “As if!” And she stuck her tongue out.
I pulled her close and kissed her demurely on the cheek.
“You know, Ashley was always shy when we were kids,” she confessed. “That all changed when she started on the cheer squad.”
“Did you feel left out?” I asked.
“No. I mean she was just jealous of all the boys I talked to. She just wanted what I did naturally,” she wrinkled her nose, “No miniskirt needed.”
“Damn straight,” I patted her butt. “You’re au-natural darlin’.”
“You know you have a Southern accent sometimes?” she eyed me curiously.
“Yeah,” I repeated a joke I heard on TV. “See, when I get excited, I sound Caucasian.”
“You’re terrible,” Shawn made a face but she hugged me anyway.
We were quiet for a bit. She knew then that I had feeling for her. Despite all the others, I would reserve a small portion of myself for my quaintest darling, my approachable girl next door.
“You and Rachelle,” she finally broke the silence. “God, she’s pretty.”
“So are you,” I brushed her cheeks gently.
“No wonder you’re so popular,” her cheeks dimpled.
“I doubt that,” I countered, “Have you seen me? I’ve seen me and I’m not all that man-pretty.”
Shawn laughed at that description. It was something I picked up from her torrent of thoughts.
“Oh, you’re a guy all right,” she said her voice full of mirth, “Don’t you know what makes a guy great?”
“If I did,” I said with a smile, “Do you think I would’ve jumped your bones?”
“No,” she bent her lips inward to stop laughing, “I guess not.”
“Anyway,” Shawn continued, “I think we like guys who know what they’re doing and who aren’t jerks.”
“Well, I do,” she said flatly.
“If I’m a jerk,” I mused, “You don’t seem to mind.”
“No, I’ve been a jerk,” she said, “Trying to jump your bones when you have a girlfriend.”
“I didn’t mind that,” I squeezed her hand.
“And stalk you.”
“I didn’t notice you at registry,” I squeezed her again, “Or at first period. At second. Third. And when you joined Faraz and me at the pizzeria.”
“Oh, shut up!” She slapped my face playfully. I squeezed her waist this time, and she yelped.
“You know,” she put her head on my shoulder, “Rachelle must’ve started some buzz last year, because hearing her talk about her new mystery guy is like the only thing that gets those girls talking.” Shawn paused a bit then went on, “At least that’s what Ashley’s been saying.”
That was interesting. I had always thought Ashley’s icy demeanor was from her being an uptight bitch. Perhaps there was more to her than I realized.
“Huh,” I regarded her with a measure of sternness, “You’re pretty, smart, and sexy.”
Shawn raised her head to look at me, “Flatterer.”
Before I go on with Shawn’s story, let me go back just a little to summer ‘93, earnestly one of the happiest ones I remember. Melanie was still taking her first steps into womanhood (with my cock as her cane), Janet slipped back for a visit, and I had Rachelle the rest of the time.
Actually, Faraz had a part in this as well, and the better for him as it turned out to be one of the best things to happen since he arrived in this country. As Shawn had mentioned, Ashley thought herself as the up and coming queen of the hive. If that were so, then my dark darling Rachelle was the head of her hive.
If Rachelle was a queen, then she had her ladies in waiting. Or more specifically, some girls on the cheer squad who hung around her on and off the court. One was a girl of mixed Indo-Pakistani and Semitic (Arabic or Jewish) descent. I only remember her name as Ghandia and something about her father being some admirer of Ghandi. I wasn’t so sure about her mother save that she was from the Gaza region —Rachelle becomes incoherent once she puts away a few.
Ghandia was as tall as Rachelle, her skin a dusky pearl white. Her features were very sharp and she had a hawkish nose. She was very pretty and attended honors classes alongside me. Although I didn’t mind checking her out, the very fact that Rachelle was so close to Ghandia made me uncomfortable about messing around with this exotic beauty. I was comfortable with my other conquests though—Melanie was innocuous and Janet a thousand miles away. Besides, I figured I was already cutting it close with Shawn; luckily, my homegrown darling was sailing under Rachelle’s radar at the time.
However, Ghandia piqued my interest soley because of Faraz. He had met Ghandia by sheer chance when Rachelle and I headed out to Santa Cruz for one of our summer dates. Well, it turned out to be more of a chaperoned trip. Because none of us were old enough to drive alone, Rachelle’s mother acted as chaperone and chauffeur. Rachelle’s siblings came along so there was little room for anyone else in the car.
Faraz came to our rescue by driving his car. He was a year older and had access to a mini-van. He was able to drive me, Ghandia, and Heidi (another of Rachelle’s cheer squad) down for the day. During our trip there, he became enchanted with Ghandia and had passed along hints that he wanted to know her better. Besides, he couldn’t really hide his thoughts from me.
So, the guy set about to woo Ghandia with an ardor I had never seen before. Ghandia was put-off at first, but I made it a point to work Faraz’s better qualities (as I saw them) into Ghandia’s mind when I was in class with her. It was pretty quick, about a minute or two of work. Within a week or so, Ghandia wasn’t madly in love with Faraz, but she had relented and agreed to see him.
That was enough. Faraz treated her well. Ghandia and he dated throughout the rest of high school and into college. There was a brief freeze when they attended different schools, but by then, email and instant messaging was more prevalent and they kept in touch. They announced their plans to be together just before my trip to Hong Kong in 1997.
Everything vanished in a heartbeat four years later. But back to happier times.
Faraz wanted to ask Ghandia to the school’s upcoming Halloween party. Rachelle had more adventuresome plans. She had told me that she and her friends had planned on going to the Castro street party later that night. That was my daring darling. She thirsted for the street life that her parents had tried to wean her from.
As much as I wanted to go with Rachelle to the homosexual district for Halloween (it was—and still is—one of the wildest parties on the planet) I had planned on something else that night. With Rachelle busy, Melanie occupied at her home (she wasn’t allowed out past sundown until she graduated high school), and Janet busy with law school a thousand miles away, I was free to spend much needed time with Shawn.
The impromptu fuck Shawn and I had enjoyed a few weeks earlier brought on some strain between us. It weighed heavily on me when I stepped into class. I would smile, wave, and look right at her; Shawn would do the same, but we became awkward around one another. The playfulness had diminished between us and I for one, knew that Ashley smelled it a mile away (that bitch).
So I was more than a little distracted when I bumped into Rachelle, Ghandia, and Heidi when I was going to my chocolate honey’s locker. I was carrying my locker letter for that day but since Rachelle was here, I quickly decided to let her know how I felt in person.
Ghandia hardly gave me notice as she swapped her books from her locker. Only she and Rachelle shared a common registry (what some call ‘homeroom’); Heidi had a her registry on a different floor, hence her hanging about was solely for companionship.
Heidi was very much like Rachelle, except her family was very well off. She was Swedish (or Norwegian) and had a big house in the North Beach area; the place with the million dollar homes overlooking the Golden Gate. Although she could’ve attended private school, she had known Ghandia since middle school and wanted to remain with her friend in high school (Heidi did not attend the preppy Saint Monica’s middle school because her parents were not Catholic). Heidi was very much the skinny, European blonde. She was skinny to the point I thought she was starving herself, but she just had a higher than normal metabolism.
Nevertheless, having a GPA of 4.6 (advanced placement courses inflated her score) was pretty damn good for an anorexic cheerleader. The only thing that stopped Heidi from earnestly tutoring Rachelle was a combination of Heidi’s impatience and the disparity of her classwork with Rachelle.
Despite the privacy promise Rachelle and I held ourselves to, it was hard not to notice her when she wore her ragged jeans and sporty tank tops. She usually wore sneakers without socks since it was a part of her routine. She’d run laps around the back field to keep in shape. After a quick shower in our gym, she’d use fresh socks to dry between her toes. Then she’d stuff those socks into her gym bag so she could launder them later.
Rachelle had written me some weeks earlier that she was looking forward to go to the Castro with me on Halloween night, but admitted she understood my aversion to avoid dressing up like an idiot. Ghandia already knew about us when she caught Rachelle giving me a hand job while we were at Santa Cruz (just when we thought no one was looking!). After that, my relationship with Rachelle was open to gossip.
“Hi Rachelle,” I came up to her and waved. “I didn’t know you had classes with these two.”
“Oh, hi Stanley,” she looked up long enough for a quick smile. “We’re just doing research for Takekashi’s marine biology class —Heidi just dropped by for a chat.”
Rachelle’s brief glance was all she could spare—all she’d dare spare—while we were in school. Although Faraz and Ghandia were dating after the ice melted between them, Rachelle and I kept up our lives separate in school. Looking back, I wasn’t sure if if was my idea or hers, but it did give us the luxury getting to slowly know one another. We saw enough of each other to appreciate our absences but it didn’t dampen our ardor when she’d hide my salami occasionally.
Besides, we were never in incommunicado as we’d still drop our locker letters off on a frequent basis. Rachelle wanted to hang out with her friends, my circle was definitely not something she wanted a part of (as it pretty much consisted of just me). Rachelle wanted to absorb me into her world, and I wasn’t going along. Sensing her will was dead set against mine, I had to step carefully and gently refuse her.
“What’re you doing here Stanley?” Heidi asked.
“Making a change of plans,” I said quickly. “I have to—” fuck Shawn.
Nope. That would be a bad answer. I saw Rachelle up and ready, waiting for Ghandia and Heidi to pack their gear together. I had to come up with some sort of excuse quickly.
“I’m thinking about a double major,” I blurted suddenly.
“Double major?” Heidi arched her brow. “That’s pretty rough. What’re you going for?”
“Architecture and systems engineering,” I said slowly.
I hadn’t given it as much thought as Heidi believed. However, I knew I could say whatever I wanted, and Rachelle would believe me.
“Basically,” I went on, “It’s designing smart houses. You know, houses that can keep track of your lifestyle and help you live better, but minus the killer robot mentality.”
Heidi chuckled—a good sign.
“You’re studious as always,” Rachelle’s eyes gleamed, “Are you coming to the Halloween Dance?”
I heard a wisp of her thoughts: ‘Please say yes.’ ‘Please say yes.’
“That’s what I wanted to tell you,” I planned my words with great care. “This is some heavy duty stuff I’m shooting for so I might be a little busy looking into paperwork and all that.”
“Oh,” Rachelle didn’t sound too happy.
Silently, I heard her: ‘Dammit!’ ‘Stanley, you’re going to owe me big!’
“But Faraz,” I eyed Ghandia, “He said he’s going. Not sure as what though. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to go with you to the Castro.”
Ghandia was going to go out with Faraz on Halloween and Heidi planned on going with her beau, Jon-Peter, a cadet captain in JROTC (he later enlisted but more on that later). Ghandia did her best to ignore me, but I could feel her pulse and breathing increase as she tromped past me.
“Well, I guess I’ll have to settle with no date,” Rachelle eyed me steadily.
“I’ll try and make it,” I passed along a grin, “But if I can’t, just have some fun without me. And if not this time, then Winter Ball.”
It was a big thing for us back then, the Winter Ball. It was the holiday dance where the junior and senior classes mixed. Lots of inter-class dating went on there.
“Hey,” I looked at Rachelle intently when she didn’t respond immediately, “I promise.”
“Oh,” Rachelle sagged in resignation. Then, “I’ll hold you to that. Winter Ball, I mean.”
Heidi’s mouth hung open as I touched Rachelle tenderly. Rachelle, despite our little secret slipping out and being rejected, embraced me. Realizing what she had done, she composed herself as best she could and started walking. I stepped along side her briefly.
“Just be careful if you’re going to Castro,” I said quietly, “But have fun just the same.”
“I will,” Rachelle gave me a peck on the cheek and quickly left for class.
As Rachelle and her friends departed, I heard Heidi exclaim, “Oh my God Raych! Him?!”
I shook my head and headed to the newsroom. I had another promise to keep.
COSTUMES NOT INCLUDED
It was Friday October 29. I had put Rachelle on the back burner earlier that week, but we ran into each other again at the school’s costume contest during lunch.
I had a ring side seat to the amateur gathering. I never liked dressing up in costume (or fancy dress) but Shawn had promised to meet me there for lunch. She had no idea what we would be doing later that night, and I wanted to talk to her in person.
The contest was either insanely funny or depressingly ludicrous; one of the geeks from the drama club had the only decent get-up: a Ghostbusters costume with a cardboard proton pack. He got his look down, but his tape deck malfunctioned so he wound up standing around with the rest of the rejects.
Shawn spied me across the yard pretty much the same time as Rachelle. Rachelle hadn’t worn her costume yet, but had just put on some cat ears and inked some temporary whiskers and freckles on her face. Shawn froze and didn’t move an inch as Rachelle strode up to me.
“So, you’re rather under-dressed,” Rachelle said and sat by me.
“I could say the same for you.” I grinned at my ebony duchess. “Worst. Catwoman. Costume. Ever.”
Rachelle laughed. She and I had just watched that episode of The Simpsons with the Comic Book Guy (he didn’t have a real name back then —that’s how old we are—and that’s how old the fucking Simpsons are!).
“Pshaw!” she glared at me, “It’s just a teaser for what you’ll be missing tonight.”
I played it off as best I could with a shrug. She looked away and brushed off a piece of lint that wasn’t there. I could feel her frustration, but that couldn’t be helped.
“Where’re Ghandia and Heidi?” I asked.
“Ssh,” Rachelle hushed me. “Ghandia and Faraz are at the Gold Chariot. Heidi’s there to make sure he doesn’t try anything funny.”
“Not at that place.” I managed a wry grin. The Gold Chariot was a trashy Chinese bakery and pastry shop about four blocks from the school.
“If Faraz and Ghandia get it on there,” I went on, “I think they’ll be the ones putting their health at risk.”
“If that place is so bad,” she paused to look at me, “why do you always take me there?”
“Because the take-out is good and you never complained before.” I shot back a sardonic grin.
“You cheapskate.” She slapped the side of my leg.
I was rubbing the sore spot when Rachelle pointed out the next idiot in costume, and we both had a good laugh. Nowadays, look up the most ass-backwards cosplayer you can find. Multiply his appearance by a factor of ten and you’ll be able to get an inkling of the awfulness we were experiencing. I was so distracted by the loser parade I had almost forgotten why I was there.
“Who’s your friend over there?” Rachelle jutted her chin.
Incredibly, Shawn was still there but she was leaning against the railing, alternately eyeing the crowd and then us. She did not make a good spy, that’s for sure. I waved and bade her to come over.
“Rachelle,” I said as evenly as possible, “This is Shawn. She’s works with me on the paper. Shawn, you know—”
“Hi Rachelle,” Shawn’s voice was so timid, I could barely hear her over the hubbub of the costumed freaks.
“Oh hi,” the ebony cheer captain shook her hand. It was genial, but I felt a disturbing vibe of a bitch fight/stare down going on right in front of me. I shifted uncomfortably as they started making small talk.
“I don’t know many of Stanley’s friends,” Rachelle admitted, “I bet you think that’s strange since I’m his girlfriend.”
“Really?” Shawn said weakly. “I—I didn’t know about you and Stanley.”
“Hah—few do,” the mulatto whispered so only we could hear, “It’s not something we advertise. Isn’t that right, sugar?”
Shawn’s eyes flashed as Rachelle fawned over her words for me. I had no choice but to answer though.
“Privacy is pretty good,” I said finally.
“You have an awful costume sugar,” Rachelle turned her attention towards Shawn. “What’re you supposed to be?”
“A news reporter,” Shawn squeaked. My darkest darling’s smile was wide enough to make a shark cringe. I felt Shawn was going to faint without any interference from me. As luck would have it though, Scott showed up as if right on cue.
“Hey Shawn. Hey Stan,” he unveiled his camera. “Enjoying the show?”
“Yes,” Shawn blurted gratefully. “I mean no. I mean I don’t know.”
Rachelle smiled at Shawn’s clumsiness. Shawn immediately ignored me and started to talk to Scott. It rankled me a little, but I knew the reason why. I had to get rid of Rachelle now or everything I planned would have been for naught.
“So see you later then?” I goaded Rachelle.
“I was hoping you’d take me to lunch,” the dark beauty said. “Preferably not the Gold Chariot.”
It was really strange that she was so pushy all of a sudden. She normally would leave me alone at school. Maybe it was because she felt I was responsible for siccing Faraz on Ghandia.
“I got a better idea,” I tapped Shawn and Scott, “You guys eat yet?”
“I’m good Stan,” Scott gave me a thumbs up. “I have to develop this.”
“Shawn?” I waited for her to answer. Shawn stood mute with confusion and alarm. I was giving her mixed signals and Rachelle’s presence pretty much cowed her into silence. Strangely, it was Rachelle who broke the ice.
“C’mon Shawn,” she stood and ushered her towards the gate. “Let’s all go to lunch. I want to talk. And there’s this place I want to try.”
“What place?” I interjected.
“It’ll suit you fine,” Rachelle said smoothly. “Besides, you’re paying.”
“Figures.” I gave in and followed them to a pho (noodle) place called the Sugar Bowl, one block from the Gold Chariot. It was run by a Vietnamese family. Their son and daughter both attended the school and worked there in their off time.
So, I found myself at lunch with two girls I had deep feelings for. I did my best to make small talk with Rachelle and Shawn. Soon enough we were all talking comfortably with one another.
We ordered and service was pretty quick. Over three steaming bowls of thick rice noodles, we chatted about ourselves—although I was careful not to say too much. Then suddenly, an unexpected question popped up.
“You know Shawn,” Rachelle said. “Why don’t you come with us to the Castro on Sunday?”
It took some effort, but Shawn didn’t balk or bolt.
“Me?” she grew timid again. “I don’t know, it’s kinda late.”
“Really Rachelle,” I fished for excuses, “She’s only fifteen.”
“Poo!” Rachelle’s eyes glowered at me. “It won’t be the same without you.”
Shawn kept up appearances, but I felt thoughts pop into her mind: ‘Crap.’ ‘Oh crap.’ ‘Crap.’ ‘She knows.’ ‘Omigod she knows.’ ‘I’m so fucked.’
I did my best to ignore Shawn’s sudden panic attack and focused instead on Rachelle. I talked absently with her as I listened to her words and her thoughts. I got the distinct feeling that Rachelle knew I was hiding something. She was now trying to worm it out by pestering my few friends.
Faraz never spoke of my business, or I his (save to drop hints to Ghandia) so he kept mum about Melanie. Besides, he was so infatuated with Ghandia, he barely had the time to dig up any dirt I didn’t shed myself. Hence, Rachelle was interested in Shawn if only as a source of information.
As I spoke, I dealt with Shawn’s borderline panic and Rachelle’s curiosity. I wouldn’t say I was an eloquent speaker, but my words have a greater effect when I am mentally persuading a “normal” to believe them. Rachelle ultimately relented, and I’d have to take the chance that she’d believe me. I paid (lucky me) and we were headed back to the school before long. Rachelle and I waved goodbye at the front door and headed back in.
“Hold up Shawn,” I walked in step with my Anglo angel. “There’s something I need to talk to you about—your piece on emergency preparedness? You need to bring up some things.”
Shawn’s next period was band. Her instrument was the flute (or fife —I forget which). The auburn haired girl was visibly a nervous wreck as she clumsily pulled her music case from her locker.
“You don’t have to make up excuses,” she said gruffly. “She’s out of earshot.”
“Well actually,” I said slowly, “Your piece is a little too long. I’d like to trim it down a bit—OW—”
Shawn threw her flute case at me in a fit of anger and hissed loudly at me.
“God Stanley! Did you know how awkward that was? How bad that made me feel?!”
“I—I’m sorry?” I winced.
“I can’t do anything right.” Shawn sagged against the lockers and sat with her face in her hands. “God, I’m so screwed up.”
I touched her shoulder then I sat beside her.
“Hey look, this wasn’t part of the plan,” I said to her. “Rachelle just showed up. We had lunch. Okay?”
“I can’t do this,” Shawn confessed. “I thought I could but it’s so hard to see you and her together.”
I nodded but refused to give up.
“Here,” I undid a key from my key ring, “Take this. Don’t lose it.”
“What is this?” she looked perplexed. “What’s this key for?”
“My place,” I said simply. “And this is my only key. If you don’t show up—”
I trailed off. Shawn returned my gaze, then stared at the key.
“You’re kidding me right?” her tone was one of disbelief.
“Well I do want it back.” I found myself smiling despite the risk I was taking. “Preferably before Monday.”
“But how I will know where you live?” she asked as I stood up.
“My address is on my locator card,” I put her flute case beside her. “You still have a copy don’t you?”
“Yes,” Shawn blushed, a bit embarrassed.
“Then I’ll see you later.” I wanted to add, ‘I hope’ but I had left with the feeling she would show up.
FRIDAY NIGHT DELIGHT
Halloween night would be on a Sunday. I didn’t bother to accompany Melanie for trick or treating. Her parents would be there, chaperoning her and a mixed group of her friends (boys and girls) for the trick or treat.
Melanie made her disappointment clear when I told her I would be busy later. She didn’t need to guess what I’d be doing with the older girls. She accused me that I didn’t love her as much; the little witch then asked me to prove my love by showing up for her next school play.
“What’s it about?” I asked.
“Peter Pan,” she replied. “I play Wendy.”
Great. To soothe her jealousy, I promised that I’d go to her show. The trick of course, was to show up on time and not invoke suspicion of her parents. So that was Melanie. Rachelle I had misdirected at lunch. Now for Shawn.
Although Shawn had my set of keys to the side door that lead to my room, I still had the keys to the door where my family lived upstairs. Andrew and my mother were a bit surprised to see me go through there instead of my usual entrance. My father was out at work as usual (swing shift) and wouldn’t be back until midnight. I divulged nothing of my time with the girls so my family was happily ignorant of what I was doing downstairs.
I mentioned that I might be going out later, but would return at a reasonable hour. That was enough notice for now. I used the restroom and grabbed a quick drink of water but didn’t leave my school bag or anything else I had on inside. I locked myself back outside after grabbing my spare key to my door. I was content to wait and see what would happen.
Shawn and I shared a similar class schedule: we both started early at 7:30 a.m. and ended at 2:30 p.m. (the first through sixth hours). Rachelle started later and usually stayed till near dinner time with the cheer squad. So, I was more than a bit worried when Shawn didn’t show immediately. By 4 o’clock, I was wondering if she’d show up at all. I was leaning against the side of the house wondering if I should head back in and give Rachelle a call, when Shawn popped her head around the corner.
My arms were folded and I was leaning against my own home with my schoolbag on the ground next to me. I must’ve looked pretty pissed off from a distance.
“Oh my God,” she started running towards me. “I’m sorry! Sorry! Sorry!”
Shawn skidded and almost fell over in her hurry to get the door open. Thankfully, I caught her in time so she wouldn’t smash her pretty head open on the ground.
“I was thinking you weren’t going to show,” I picked up my bag and followed her in.
“I’m sorry.” She sounded really hurt.
I closed the door and hugged her. I felt her hand on mine.
“I had stuff to do. Band stuff.” She let go of my hand and shuffled inside. “God it’s dark.”
I flicked on the dim light that let her walk without tripping.
“Is this your car?” Shawn pointed at the family sedan in the garage.
“I wish,” I explained, “Family car.”
“Oh,” she stepped into my room and her eyes grew wide, “Wow. You have your own—everything!”
“Make yourself at home,” I said. Why not—you wouldn’t be the first.
Shawn dropped her bags and books in a messy pile on the carpet. She kicked off her shoes and sat down on the sofa near the kitchenette where I had laid Melanie to sleep nearly a year ago. My auburn hair beauty let out a sigh and closed her eyes. I put away my own books and bag, then rinsed my face and hands in the washroom.
“Like some water?” I asked.
“That’d be nice,” Shawn said dreamily from the couch.
I filled two glasses with chilled water from the refrigerator and sat beside her. Her relaxed form was still cute; her palms were upturned and her eyes closed.
“You asleep?” I asked her quietly.
“Just catching some Zs,” Shawn murmured. “I had a long day. You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Tell me about it,” I turned on the TV, but lowered the volume so one couldn’t tell it apart from static hiss.
“Well this guy at school,” she wrinkled her nose, “I like him a lot but he barely has any time for me.”
I sensed she was toying with me, but I played along.
“Oh?” I quirked a brow. “What’s his name? I could talk some sense into him.”
“No don’t,” Shawn turned her to face me, “He’s all wrapped up with this girl and he’d never pay any attention to me.”
“Well, that sucks for him,” I leaned over and kissed her. Unlike that crazy afternoon at school, Shawn and I were now in the comfort of my room, complete with everything one could hope for.
Food and drink? Had that covered. Every Saturday or Sunday morning, I had to accompany my parents to shop for groceries. Not even Melanie would dare interfere. A small amount of groceries would be apportioned to me (and to Andrew, although my brother made due with the upstairs facilities). We were to cook for ourselves as part of growing up.
Bathroom amenities? That too was covered and I was going to make use of it for both Shawn and myself. I worked her over slowly, starting with her lips then I moved onto other parts of her body. Like last time, Shawn’s gathering of her daily sweat and grime had made a potent little mixture. It was as spicy as the pho/noodles we had for lunch. She sighed and relaxed as I piled atop her, nibbling at her cheeks, chin, and neck.
“I’m feel so hot and dirty,” she complained. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“I’ll show you,” I stood up.
Shawn’s mouth opened then quickly snapped shut as I pulled her to the shower. I grinned and began undressing. She disrobed slowly at first. I took delight in watching bits of her body peek through. Shawn wasn’t pudgy although her face was full of that baby fat puberty hadn’t burned away. Her skin was creamy and oh-so-damn smooth. If she got excited or embarrassed, the most sensitive parts of her would be tinged with an apple pink color. She saw me eyeing her plump rump and quickly turned around.
“Don’t look at that,” she fidgeted shyly.
“Why not?” I brushed away her hair and kissed her.
She didn’t answer as I snaked my hand over her soft bottom and squeezed it gently. We stepped into the shower, our bodies still entwined as the spray hit. She put her hands on the wall, spread her legs and let me wash and cajole her. My fingers pressed against her freckled skin. I’d squeeze firmly as I ran my hands up and down her body.
“Oh fuck, that feels so good,” Shawn had hung her head under the spray.
Her hair dangled from her head in a tangled mess and she had her ass sticking out towards me. By now, my dick had pretty much inflated itself (much like my ego) and I pressed it down against her ass crack. Unlike Rachelle, who became very agitated when I neared her baby bucket with a bared cock, Shawn didn’t raise a peep. Instead, she arched her back further so I could’ve slipped it right in and slammed the shit out of her right then and there—but I didn’t.
Having rushed so much last time, I felt that Shawn needed to experience what I always wanted to share. She needed to feel the sheer pleasure of having her body blasted by an incredible orgasm. I turned her around, my hand shielding her face from her wet hair and the shower spray.
“Feel nice?” I asked. She nodded. We lathered, rinsed, then dried ourselves in the living area.
I carried her across the threshold into the brightly lit study and lay her gently on the bed. Shawn stretched out over the sheets, her skin rosy pink from the shower’s hot spray. She threw back her damp hair and lay on her side, anxious, nervous and alert. I sat by her and took her hand.
“Okay Shawn,” I reached out with my mind to get a jump on her thoughts. “I want you to know that what I’m about to say is private, but I’m telling you this because of what we’re about to do. Understand?”
She nodded. I felt her heart start to beat a little faster.
“You know I’ve slept with Rachelle,” I let that sink in before I continued, “But I have a girlfriend who drops in from time to time.”
Shawn’s eyes grew wide, “What?!”
I felt a wave of emotion wash over me. Disbelief. Surprise. Anger. Hurt. Confusion. Melanie would’ve likely hit the floor if she was in the room. I pointed at a 4x6 of Janet on my small trophy cabinet.
“That’s Janet,” I felt some truth now would be best. “I lost my virginity to her some years ago.”
“I can’t believe this,” she bit her lip. “I thought Rachelle was —” she paused, unable to finish the sentence.
“Didn’t you ever wonder why?” I asked.
“Why what?” she said.
“Why a girl like Rachelle would go steady with a guy like me?” I managed to laugh.
“Well only a little,” Shawn admitted.
“You said it yourself,” I reminded her. “You like experienced guys. How d’you think we get that experience?”
“Playboy?” she said sheepishly.
“Stay out of my stash,” I pinched her arm gently.
Shawn swatted my hand, “Make me, tough guy.”
“Sure, if you say so,” I began to massage her.
I toyed with her body for the next hour or so. I went everywhere she’d let me—her breasts, her neck, under her arms, between her legs, her lovely ass. I soaked up Shawn Ellen’s essence and touched her the way she wanted. She couldn’t hide her desires from my mind. My fingers would rub her skin hard, then I’d soften my touch so I could scratch the same spot lightly. I rubbed, nuzzled, and massaged her body until her muscles were relaxed and responded pleasurably to my touch.
This and more I had learned from Janet and she from me as we tumbled like happy little fishes so many years ago. My innocence had dimmed as my skill sharpened, but I had much to learn. I desired to know what Shawn wanted and what she could do to me.
As I tirelessly threw her around like a love doll, Shawn would occasionally let out a sigh or a surprised yelp. However, she remained steadfastly shy. She yielded to my advances and made no effort to stir me. I was getting bored with her inattention and sought to remedy that quickly.
By now, I had absorbed so much of Shawn I was swimming in her musky Anglo-woman scent. I was squatting to her side, my two hands playing her body like a zither. With one hand I was softly squeezing her pink nipples and with the other, I was slowly rubbing her fuzzy cunt. I felt her slice slowly dampen as I teased it open.
Shawn parted her lips as she did her legs. Her eyes were glassy with emotion as she looked longingly at me. I moved slightly so I could bend over and kiss her stomach. That’s when she decided to finally join me. She hopped up and kissed me deeply. I lowered my jaw to let her tongue fuck my mouth. My cock bumped against her stomach as she pushed me down to straddle me.
“Uffuck,” I gasped for breath. She kissed my face and chest then deciding to copy me, she licked my nipples. I groaned and held her against my chest.
“Do that,” I begged her. “Do it again. That feels so good.”
Shawn obeyed and obliged me with her tongue. I groaned again feeling a familiar upsurge in my throbbing cock. Watching me with one eye, she decided to try something. I saw a flash of her teeth as she bit hard on my nipple. The small shock of pain was greatly thrilling. Instead of me asking her to stop, my fingers pressed hard against her head, driving her to bite harder.
“Aaaaahhh,” I gritted my teeth and wanted to blow my load right there but I held it back.
Shawn stopped and pulled herself up to tie her hair back in a knot. I was breathing pretty raggedly. My chest was slick with her spit and my sweat. I clutched hungrily at her adorable thighs.
“You sicko,” she stared at me accusingly. “You liked that didn’t you?”
Despite her admonishment, she was smiling.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I did.”
“Ever do that before?” she asked softly.
“No,” I sat up and gave her nipples gentler treatment.
Shawn sucked in her breath as I bit her titties with great care. I used only one row of teeth—this let me gauge how much pressure I brought with my lips. I did that once to Janet and she was visibly upset. Luckily, she saw I didn’t mean it and at that age, our bodies were young and we healed quickly. Janet recovered but she never did the same thing to me. I filed that lesson away and didn’t repeat it ‘till now.
I felt Shawn nipples harden with each flick of my tongue. She flexed her legs from sitting on me to having them wrapped around me. I heard a soft quiet crack as her joints moved. Her hand presently went on my cock and she was stroking it with an eager ferocity that hurt. I caught her hand and gently guided it to move at a pace that wasn’t as painful for either of us.
“Oh God, Stanley,” Shawn breathed sweetly into my face. “Condoms. Don’t forget the condoms.”
I slid us to the edge of the bed and hefted her up. I stumbled over to the dresser where I had a mix of condoms from Janet and Rachelle. I pulled one out from the pack and lurched back towards the bed, my arms still carrying Shawn. I plopped her down on the bed.
Her whole body was now a livid scarlet and her cunt was clearly swollen and ready. I knelt down and kissed the insides of her legs. I was awarded with her escalating gasps of pleasure as I rubbed the tip of my nose over the moist hood covering her clit.
Shawn placed her feet on my shoulders as I began stroking her sweet spot by nodding my head. Her murky scent oozed from her baby slit. With my nose so close, I took in every drop she had and I still begged for more. Her hands were busy over her own breasts, tantalizing her own body while I stroked her stomach and clit. By now, I had opened the condom. I stood after I gave her a few more loving licks.
“It’s time,” I said, my voice hoarse.
She stared at my cock, her legs splayed open at my knees. I fitted the little black rubber over my rock hard dick and pushed my fuck stick down against her light brown patch. Her puss parted as I pressed in, and Shawn sucked in her breath as I slid in. Despite the layer of latex I could feel her warmth come over me. I put her legs on my shoulder again as before in the news bay. Her fingers entwined behind my head and she pulled me down to be by her.
I pumped Shawn slowly and carefully, to insure that she wouldn’t be alarmed or harmed. After a few more moments, she said her legs felt cramped. I let her legs fall and she happily put them to her sides as I fucked her hard and deep. My thrusts started to increase in tempo despite the nice pace I had set. Shawn sensed that I was trying hard not to shoot until she came, but she wasn’t as experienced as Janet, or as sensitive as Rachelle. Her legs closed around my hips as I began quicken my movement.
My mind was at a euphoric peak. I pierced her thoughts and found her giddy gregariousness to be a facade to hide her own loneliness. Shawn wasn’t an only child by choice—an accident claimed her older brother. Her family moved here to start a new life when she was young. Because of medical complications, her mother wasn’t able to bear more children (this was when invitro was still very expensive and not widely available).
Thus raised, Shawn sought friendship and sibling camaraderie outside of the home. She found kinship with Ashley, who treated her like a sister. She found it with me, when I mentored her. Then one day, she fell in love—with me.
Emotional desire is far different from physical desire. Male ‘normals’ don’t experience this dramatic shift until they become older (and that depends how their physical brain chemistry turns out). Female ‘normals’ are capable of this (just barely) because of their different make-up. The gifted (male and female) are capable of experiencing this from the time they’re born until they die; how they deal with it is up to the individual.
Shawn’s love—her deep burning desire for me—was a mixture of the physical and the emotional. It reminded me much of Melanie, but tempered by the fact that Shawn was in the early stages of womanhood. She had an inkling of what she wanted whereas Melanie was simply pursuing me out of innocence and her ability to mimic adults.
“Do it, Stanley,” Shawn whispered. I snapped from my thoughts and saw her blue eyes peering deep into mine. She was studying me intently, one hand on my arm, the other on my cheek.
“Do it like you mean it,” she urged me, “Do it ‘cause—”
“I love you,” I blurted absently and saw her eyes light up.
I was high on physical and mental stimuli. Shawn made a little noise—something only a woman could make—and held me tenderly. Unable to help quell the surging euphoria I was cresting on, Shawn raised her head a little to kiss me. She held me close as I threw my hips violently at her, burying myself deep in her warm waiting cunt.
“Oh fuck, uffuck, oh fuck,” I groaned as I squeezed out every last drop of liquid into her body.
Shawn was panting too, if only a little softer and shallower than I. I learned later she usually managed only quiet orgasms, not the super-wet ones Rachelle had, or the angry ones Janet experienced. I could feel her child chute milk and grip my cock as it shrank. By habit with Janet, I would always pull out immediately and toss the saran wrap but Shawn wouldn’t let go when I tried to separate.
“Don’t leave!” Shawn held me fast.
“I got to, pumpkin,” I kissed her forehead, “Or the condom slips.”
“Let it,” her hug tightened. “I don’t care.”
“Au-contraire,” I grabbed her and rolled her atop me. “I think you would if you grew a few dress sizes in four or five months.”
She gave surprised yelp but put up no resistance as I slipped out of her. I threw the mess into the trash and brought out a couple of steamy hot wash cloths. Shawn had turned over and was lying face down, her pussy wrinkled and gaping. She twitched as I put a cloth on her and began wiping her clean. I toweled off her whole backside then cleaned myself off. I threw the rags into the sink to let them soak and I headed back to the room.
Shawn was still lying there, her legs askew, her hands clutching my pillow. I marveled at how her stubbornness could rival Melanie’s. I decided to play with her some more. I kissed her rosy butt-cheeks then I gave each a gentle loving bite. She stirred and looked back at me. Her wet hair weighed heavily on her forehead, so I combed it back with my fingers. Her blue eyes regarded me with a mix of suspicion.
“What’re you doing?” she whispered, her throat dry.
“I want to make some measurements,” I put my head over her ass.
I began to put a small bite on her ass cheek. It was soft enough not to break the skin, but hard enough to leave teeth-marks.
“One,” I kissed the love bite and moved on.
“Two—” Shawn groaned but didn’t object. “Three.”
And so I went from one side to the other. It took eight bites to measure the chunkiest bit of Shawn, four per side.
“There,” I patted her ass. “Four apiece. Now if you grow, I’ll know.”
“You pervert,” Shawn lay on her side and rubbed her ass cheeks. “Stop that!”
“How do guys not notice that cute ass of yours?” I pulled her beside me and admired her freckled cheeks.
Shawn’s freckles were mildly dark and very tiny, but she had a gratuitous sprinkling of them across her whole body. While it may not have been the ideal one-shade perfection of supermodels, it gave her an approachable and down-to-earth beauty few could match.
“I sit next to Ashley,” Shawn rested her head on her arms and spoke candidly, “And she wears a skirt you can easily look under.”
“Here’s a tip,” I took on a sarky tone, “Stop sitting next to her.”
“As if,” her eyes dipped. “She’s still a friend you know.”
I waited to hear more, but nothing more would spoil that night. We talked about dinner as we dressed. She wasn’t sure what her plans were when she appeared, so she didn’t tell her parents. Shawn gave her mother a brief call, saying that she’d miss dinner but would be back before 8 p.m.
“So what do you feel like?” I asked her as we stepped out.
“I don’t know,” Shawn said absently. “I mean I could eat Chinese food.”
“You know in China,” I quipped, “We just call it food.”
“Oh shut up,” she punched me playfully.
I flicked through her mind quickly. It was, as I surmised, something she said just because she didn’t know what else to say. At that time, Shawn had eaten Chinese food once, and it was from a pretty lousy franchise/chain (kinda like Chinese McDonald’s). In any case, the last thing I wanted to do was give her food poisoning from the local Chinese eateries.
“Well if you want,” I said, “But how about some Italian? I know there’s this little place on Geary you might like.”
“You mean Gaspare’s?” Shawn asked brightly.
I gave her a sardonic grin. “So much for the surprise.”
“I don’t mind,” she laughed and took my arm. “I love their little pizzas.”
Gaspare’s was several blocks away so we both took the bus. It was a family eatery I passed by on my way to the stationery store or the dentist. Shawn and I sat down to a romantic Friday night (or as near as romantic as high school kids could get). I was feeling so giddy, I had forgotten that I was short on money until the check came.
“Something wrong?” Shawn slurped the last of her soda.
I had to do something quick, or it could be a lousy night.
“No, just trying to add,” I gave her a disarming grin.
She smiled back and played with the ice in her glass. With no credit card, I would’ve been in trouble if I were ‘normal’. All I had in my wallet were a ten dollar bill and a one dollar bill. Bus fares in the city weren’t extravagent back then; in any case, Shawn had her Municipal Transit Youth Pass and I had enough spare change to get back home.
With a little psychic finagling, I was able to convince the waiter to mistake the one dollar bill as a ten. The bill came in under $20. I left the change as the tip.
Shawn lived near Golden Gate Park, around Fulton and 20th. I escorted her all the way back, the two of us enjoying one another’s company. It had gotten chilly then so I gave her my coat. We got off about three blocks from her house. As we neared her destination, she grew anxious.
“Here,” she shrugged off my coat. “Take it back.”
“Keep it,” I said with bravado, “It’s cold.”
“How am I going to explain where I got it?” she pushed it against me. “My parents think I was at Ashley’s house.”
“So you borrowed one of her coats,” I said. “One of her butt ugly ones.”
“Nonsense,” her teeth began chattering immediately, “I don’t want to get busted.”
“Keep the coat,” I wrapped my jacket around her again. “Just give it back to me next month.”
“You mean Monday,” Shawn caught onto my poor jest.
“Exactly.” I kissed her.
“I know where you live,” she said quietly. “I could just drop in again.”
“Only if I could do the same,” I chuckled.
“Don’t you dare Stanley,” she hissed. “My dad’ll kill you if he found out—”
“That you’ve been such a bad girl?” I squeezed her butt under the coat.
“Good God,” Shawn pounded her fist lightly on my chest. “Can’t you stop that and be serious for second?”
“Only for a second,” I counted one-thousand-one and patted her ass.
Shawn did eventually make it home right around eight. Predictably, she gave me back my coat on Monday. Shawn was thankfully discreet and coolly left it on the editing bay’s chair so I could abscond with it after class. I later wrote a quick poem/thank you note, folded it into a paper crane and slipped it into her locker. We began passing notes back and forth, and I had a time just keeping up correspondence with Janet, Rachelle—and now Shawn—with some sort of frequency.
Whoever said a man having more than one lady friend was lucky obviously never put the work and effort into maintaining them. Thankfully, Melanie wasn’t as demanding and greatly relieved my stress when the others couldn’t. Eventually, I did meet the Hortens during Shawn’s last year of high school. I had to, since I was taking Shawn to her (two!) proms.
WINTER OF DISCONTENT
I eventually met the man known as Tseng. I sometimes wonder if it would’ve been better to have not, but I guess things turned out the way it did simply because of events that weren’t under my control. Tseng caused the rift in my family and threatened to tear apart the people I loved (literally tear the people apart—not the bonds between). However, without his influence, I believe that I would not have been alive today.
It was early December; our school’s Winter Ball was generally held on the first or second weekend of the month. It was to be the senior class’ Christmas ball. A shame it had to end the way it did.
As I promised Rachelle, I took her to the Winter Ball. Faraz and I were looking to having a good time with our girlfriends. Since a limousine was out of the question (an extreme extravagance), Faraz and I determined that he’d have to drive us in his car.
We arrived at the hotel ballroom where the ball was held. There’s not much else to say about that night: Ghandia giving Faraz a bare-back blowjob after Rachelle and I got dropped off would’ve been the gossip that crowned the evening, but as things turned out, it wasn’t to be.
Rachelle gave Heidi and Jon-Peter hugs as we met in the lobby. I settled for a simple handshake. Heidi’s date was resplendent in a dark dress uniform. He was going to West Point next fall and was dressed for the part. He complemented Heidi quite well. Some (non-alcoholic) drinks, some light dancing, and a pretty good buffet. I took note of the pork and pointed it out to Faraz when he finally showed up.
“So what the hell are you smiling at?” I asked him as he nearly skipped up to the buffet table.
“Hello Stanley my friend,” he beamed, “Ghandia is a wonderful girl. She gave me a ‘party kiss’.”
“Oh is that what girls call it now?” I flipped through his mind and that’s how I found out what Ghandia had done. “You two okay?”
“Better than okay,” Ghandia slid between us, grabbed a prawn and fed it to Faraz. She then busied herself with filling her plate, but I could sense the intimate closeness between them. Obviously, I was the third wheel here, so I grabbed some cider and took my leave.
“I’ll leave you guys alone.” I grinned at Ghandia then winked at Faraz. He was smiling like a goofball and managed to wave once before he surrendered to Ghandia’s charms. I made my way across the room and back to our table.
“Hey you!” Rachelle flashed me a bright smile. “Have you seen my date?”
She was wearing a white strapless dress that was pretty damn flimsy for a girl her height. Unlike Heidi’s or Ghandia’s dresses, Rachelle kept her dress to the bare minimum so her body would be accented. With just a mink stole to keep her warm, little was left to the imagination. The color of her skin contrasted with her dress, and it kept some guys staring through the night, much to the chagrin of their dates.
“Sugar,” I put down the ciders on our table. I had begun to return Rachelle’s affectionate moniker ever since I caught it being used by William Powell in his Thin Man movies. She didn’t mind, although sometimes she wondered if it was an unconscious reference to, “brown sugar” and I assured her it wasn’t.
“I don’t know what kind of man would just up and leave a pretty woman sitting there,” I remarked and looked at the dance floor. Rachelle took a small sip and smiled. I was duly hypnotized by the movement of the musculature in her neck as she swallowed her drink.
“At the risk of getting beat up when your date comes back,” I offered her my hand, “May I have this dance?”
“Ah screw him,” she said and secured her mink stole.
I took the light-hearted banter I had with Shawn and applied it to Rachelle soon after Halloween. At first, Rachelle wasn’t comfortable with it, but as I read further into her, I chose my words carefully. She cared only about certain subjects, and didn’t care too much about things that Shawn and I enjoyed talking about.
Nevertheless, Rachelle enjoyed the banter. It was attention lavished on her by a suitor she liked, and to this day, I know of no woman who doesn’t enjoy that kind of positive attention. I’d never taken dance, so I simply slow-stepped with Rachelle. It was all casual and such when ...
A piercing scream rang through the hall. Not even the music could drown out the wail of despair. I had my back turned to the hall’s entrance, but I could see Rachelle’s eyes grow wide as the commotion and panic grew.
I felt Rachelle’s hand gripping mine tightly. I heard her but didn’t listen and let my hand slip from hers. I had started towards the entrance without thinking. There was no fire alarm, no sprinklers, and no emergency lights, so whatever it was, it wasn’t the hotel in trouble. That meant something else.
“Find Ghandia and Faraz and stay with them,” I turned my head back towards her. “I’ll go check it out.”
I slipped away from Rachelle before she could protest. I slid though the crowd, getting a quick sample of everyone’s thoughts: ‘Someone’s been stabbed.’ ‘It was a guy.’ ‘Was it a robbery?’ ‘No, some kind of fight.’ ‘Were there weapons?’ ‘No gun, it was something sharp though.’
I edged my way to the front of the crowd and saw Jamie from my journalism class kneeling on the floor, crying. She was cradling a guy about my age in her arms. The difference though, was my own shirt wasn’t covered in blood, and I didn’t have a steak knife sticking out of my chest.
“Holy shit,” I thought aloud. “What the hell happened?”
I turned saw an older Chinese man next to me. Actually, he wasn’t old, but he certainly was out of place at a dance with high school students. At the time, I’d say that he was around his late thirties with receding black hair and wrinkles around his eyes. He wore spectacles, and his demeanor immediately gave me the creeps. His face hardly registered emotion as he viewed the scene.
That was the first time I saw Tseng. As more people crowded towards the front, he seemed to fade from view. Later, I understood that was one of his most devious tricks.
Since I didn’t know who he was at the time, I looked at the people milling about. Someone said loudly that they’d called 911. Still, the guy on the ground wasn’t doing so well. With Jamie holding him at an angle, I couldn’t imagine him lasting long, so I foolishly stepped in.
“Jamie? Jamie!” I snapped my teary-eyed classmate back to her senses.
She looked up at me, her mouth couldn’t form words. She looked back down at her date and a strangled cry came from her throat.
“Howard? Hang in there,” she cradled him. “The ambulance is on its way.”
I took off my rented jacket and wrapped it into a small bundle.
“Let him lie down,” I put the make-shift pillow under Howard’s head. Jamie was reluctant to let go, but ultimately did so.
“Don’t let him lie down,” someone called out. “He’ll bleed faster.”
I ignored it. Howard’s wound was bad. The knife was in his left chest, near where the heart was. Although I wasn’t a paramedic or a doctor, I felt his thoughts fading. And it wasn’t becoming the soft hum Rachelle had displayed when I conked her out. It wasn’t the mass of images from those kids I mind-slapped at the Class Clown.
Howard’s thoughts were slowly going silent. His brain was dying. I looked at Jamie who looked between Howard and me. One of her friends knelt beside her and held her tight. I knew Howard was dying, but I wasn’t going to announce it to the world. Jamie would be crushed. Still, how often would you have wanted to do something for a person who was going out?
I knew. And I wanted Jamie to feel at ease.
“Take his hand,” I motioned to her absently.
She had let go and knelt beside the fallen like a woman in mourning. I knew it was dangerous and reckless, but whatever last thoughts Howard had, I would’ve thought someone should take charge of them for the rest of his or her life. Jamie gingerly took his hand and stroked it.
Watching her do so made me shudder. Janet, Melanie, Rachelle, and Shawn had all done that (or something similar to that) with me after we’d make love (okay, maybe not Melanie, but you get the picture). Witnessing Jamie’s and Howard’s last moments together was something I’d never forget.
I took Howard’s hand as if I was concerned and concentrated. I saw the last instants of his life in my mind. A big Asian tough had accosted Jamie just moments before. The two were shouting, with Jamie refusing him any further attention. Howard saw this and stepped in, not knowing it would be the last thing he did.
Jamie’s ex-boyfriend pulled out a steak knife and went straight at Howard’s chest. I could sense his final few thoughts: ‘Fucking motherfucker ...’ ‘I told you he was bad news. Why didn’t you listen to me?’ ‘Why did you still talk to him? He wouldn’t have known then ...’
His anger welled up at his attacker then as he collapsed, he wanted to tell Jamie that it was her fault. I blinked and decided it would be a bad idea to let Jamie know what her date thought so badly of her, but then again, I had practically volunteered to do this, so I formed his thoughts and leaked it. It was a weak mind-link, but it was enough so Jamie had an inkling of Howard’s final thoughts without knocking her out.
Later on, I heard from friends of her friends that she had felt Howard’s death was her fault. Jamie never seemed to recover from the psychic guilt trip I put her on. Years afterward, I learned that she had a pretty downward spiral, taking odd jobs and the like—but more on that later.
“Hey buddy, we got this.”
I looked up and saw a paramedic and his partner. Finally, the ambulance had come. For Howard though, it was too late.
“Whoa shit,” the EMT asked. “You okay? You got some blood on you.”
I looked down and indeed, I had some of Howard’s blood on my white shirt (I wouldn’t get my security deposit back). It must’ve happened when I was moving Howard around and telling Jamie to take up his hand.
“I’m okay,” I brushed him off. “They catch the guy?”
“I dunno, but there were some police outside,” the paramedic said. “Saw them cuff a guy.”
I nodded mutely as they put Howard on a stretcher and wheel him out. He lingered for about a minute more and I felt his mind go blank. I learned later he was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.
What a way to end a Sunday night, I thought. The party had gone on, although in much reduced boisterousness. I had my jacket back, but it was in a mess next to me and I had my sleeves rolled up. If I had been older, I would’ve looked like a guy who went through hell. I ran it all through my mind again. It seemed so senseless, for Howard to die.
For the first time in my life, I needed an actual drink, but the Winter Ball was strictly non-alcoholic and supposedly chaperoned.
Wait, I thought. Was that older guy earlier a chaperone? If he was, he was pretty lousy at it. I nursed my glass of juice and wondered if I could persuade the bartender to slip in a few shots of alcohol. I knew I could do it, but wondered if it would affect my precious mind. I needed to stay sharp. Just in case.
“Stanley?!” I heard Rachelle call for me.
I looked up and saw her, Faraz, and the rest of the gang gathering around.
“Where’d you go?” Rachelle put her hand on mine.
“Are you okay my friend?” Faraz pulled up a seat beside me, “You don’t look so good playing doctor.”
“No, I don’t,” I echoed him numbly.
While I felt no remorse about the two dickweeds at the pizzeria, I knew they wouldn’t have had problems getting back up (much like Rachelle). But watching someone die in my presence was a mild wake-up call of sorts. Seeing Jamie’s remorse was one thing, but unlike the rest of the party-goers, I had felt it—and it wasn’t a great feeling.
As I grew older, my idealism faded and gave rise to misanthropy, insulating me from much of the negative emotion around me, but I had to deal with this right then.
“That guy’s just hurt,” Faraz said in an effort to cheer me up, even though I knew better. “He should be okay at the hospital, right?”
“Maybe we should go?” Ghandia suggested, “Call it a night?”
“Well we just got here,” Heidi sounded nonplussed. “Besides, it’s really none of our business right?”
“Jesus Heidi,” Jon-Peter admonished her. “A guy just got stabbed.”
“Yes, that’s evil,” she stated, “But that’s got nothing to do with us.”
“Jamie’s in one of Stanley’s classes,” Rachelle snapped then looked to me for help. “Which one was it?”
“Journalism,” I put my hand atop hers. “Don’t worry about it; this should be fine.”
“Actually, speak the devil,” Jon-Peter looked past me. “Looks like the police want to talk to you.”
The group widened as two uniformed police officers stepped towards me. Only Rachelle remained by my side, her hands not moving a whit.
“Hey you’re the guy who was next to the victim right?” the cop asked. “You saw it happen?”
“No,” Rachelle stepped up. “He just helped out—”
“Miss,” the cop moderated his tone as best as he could without sounding condescending, “I’ll have to question your friend alone.”
“I’ll be okay sugar,” I kissed her gently on the cheek. “Go with Ghandia and Faraz.”
I saw the cop’s brow arch. Miscegenous couples were not common then as they are today.
“And hold a seat for me at the table okay?” I called after them. “I’ll be done soon.”
“Okay,” the policeman started once my friends had departed. “What’s your name?”
“Stanley Chen,” I replied.
“What were you doing there with the victim?”
“The guy was bleeding,” I stated matter-of-factly. “I thought I could help.”
“Start at the beginning,” the cop said.
I told him I heard the scream when I was on the dance floor, then made my way to the hall entrance. I dropped any mention of Rachelle or they’d hassle her as well.
“Did you see what happened?” the cop asked.
“Nope. Nothing,” I nursed my juice glass.
“How about your ah—” he found it amusing to say, “Girlfriend? Did she see anything?”
“I was going back to our table when I heard it,” I lied and decided to ask some questions of my own.
“How’s she doing?” I asked, “The girl, Jamie I mean.”
“She a friend of yours?”
“Classmate,” I corrected.
“She’s pretty worked up,” the cop said, “But this is pretty normal. Okay. If you say you saw nothing, then that’s all there is to it. But if the case comes up, we might have to ask you to come in as a witness.”
“Because I saw Howard bleed?” I asked.
“It’s up to the lawyers really,” the cop admitted and bid me farewell.
I got up and wandered slowly back to the table. Rachelle was nowhere to be seen, but Faraz and Ghandia were there.
“You okay?” Faraz ushered me to my seat.
“Yeah,” I looked around, “Where’s Rachelle?”
“She stepped out to the washroom,” Ghandia said flatly, “Some night’s this turned out to be.”
“Yeah,” I stood and grabbed my dinner jacket.
“Where’re you going?” Ghandia and Faraz asked.
“Restroom,” I said curtly and started towards the lobby.
There were still a few cops (including the one who interviewed me) in the lobby, but it seemed pretty wrapped up. I asked one of the bellhops where the restrooms were if I was a guest at the ballroom and he pointed me towards the rear of the hotel. I must’ve been a sight strolling down the hallway: sleeves rolled up, jacket slung over my shoulder, and dried blood on my white dress shirt.
I caught up with Rachelle as she stepped in from a fire exit, one hand with a small bottle of perfume. Regardless of the scented airs she put on, I could smell the nicotine and tobacco around her. She stopped dead cold when she saw me.
“Enjoying a light?” I passed her a wry grin.
“You could say that,” Rachelle adjusted her dress and put the cap back onto her bottle of perfume.
“And here I thought you were such a health nut,” I burst out laughing.
“That’s not funny,” she sat down on a bench near the door. “We only do that when we’re stressed.”
“Who’s we?” I asked.
“Ghandia and Heidi,” Rachelle confessed. “That and exercise keeps us thin.”
“I’m sure,” I sat beside her. “Sorry this dance turned out to be a big boondoggle.”
“Stop!” Rachelle put her hands over her ears. “Didn’t you promise me not to use any more jargon that was popular back in World War II?”
“Maybe I did,” I scowled, “Or maybe all those cigarettes warped your memory.”
“Oh shut up,” she scowled back. “Ghandia told me all about you and Faraz’s smoke breaks.”
“Traitor!!” I howled comically and shook my fist at empty air. “C’mon sugar, back to the dance then. Faraz needs to learn how to keep secrets secret!”
Rachelle gladly accepted and we marched back into Winter Ball. The rest of the night passed without incident. However, it was pretty late when we took off. Faraz offered to drop me off, but Rachelle and I had other plans. We took a cab to my place and quietly snuck into my room.
Despite the excitement at the ball and the partying that went on, Rachelle wanted to experience a night with me. I was reluctant at first—Janet had been the only girl who’d stay that long with me (and I was sure who’d dump me, but she was patient). Rachelle though, was adamant. She even left a change of clothes at my place on Friday and said she’d be back for it.
Who was I to argue?
It was tradition to skip school the next day (even though it was Monday); in any case, the teachers didn’t raise a fuss unless the truant officers were involved. We soothed our tired bodies with a nice hot bath. We stood and rinsed the soap, dirt and grime from our bodies.
My dick grew hard as I watched Rachelle dry herself. Her dark skin shone despite her having toweled off. She noticed and squatted before me in the restroom.
“Oh sugar,” she sang. “What’s getting you so excited?”
I chuckled and touched her gently. Rachelle laughed and kissed me lightly on the lips and cheeks. Her hand caressed my stiff dong. I sighed and held her close. My dark beauty led me towards the big bed. She lavished my cock with exquisite oral attention; her tongue tickled me under the cock-head. I felt my dick rub against the inside facing of her teeth, and I shuddered and threatened to come.
Rachelle encased me with the condoms she preferred, then without much fuss, I buried my dick deep into her. We coupled like old lovers as we kissed and nibbled each other. I kissed her brow, her lips, her face, and whispered vile things in her waiting ear. She gladly returned the favor. I felt her fingernails digging deep into my back and as I slammed her with ever increasing ferocity. I shivered and came. Rachelle uttered her cry of pleasure as I shot my load into the waiting receptacle.
When I had expended myself, she kissed my neck and face. The air was sweet with the scent and odor of our love-making, and we let it linger. Then like a married couple, we settled down for the night. Rachelle slept so I could spoon her. I reached under the covers to hold her close. Although my parents loved central heating, I usually closed the vents since feeding heat to the outer room where my study and bed were was a waste of energy. The room was insulated, but just enough to prevent severe frost. With Rachelle and I sleeping nude, we kept each other warm.
The great part was morning. Rachelle had lied to her parents that she was staying at Heidi’s place. Ghandia covered for Heidi, and Rachelle covered for Ghandia. That left Rachelle and me the luxury of waking up to the first of our shared mornings.
Monday was blast. We showered, dressed, and we stepped out in the middle of the day. Rachelle lived just south of the city’s Japan town but hadn’t taken much interest in it (except the bowling alley). So, I took her there and we spent the rest of the day exploring Japan town. We browsed the books, pastries, movies, and the udon shops. Rachelle took pictures with her little camera. We really stopped and spent some time when we came across the kimono shop on the walkway over.
“Oh Stanley look!” Rachelle was taken completely with the colorful robes.
“Do you like it sugar?” I gazed at her with amusement. Of all the things that could catch her eye, she settled on an old fashioned kimono.
“Wait, is this for daily wear?” she turned towards me.
“Well I don’t know about daily wear,” I gave her a small grin, “Maybe for the Cherry Blossom or special occasions, like hanabi.”
“That is a kimono,” the shop girl chimed in and corrected us. “For weddings only.”
“Oh, I see.”
Rachelle wrapped herself in one of the larger robes, batted her eyes at me and pouted her lips. I knew that look. That and I was reading her mind like a damn post-it note. She wanted it (and badly too!).
“Really?” I asked. “But I haven’t proposed yet.”
She nodded and laughed.
“Well all right,” I glanced at the price-tag and blanched, “But you’ll have to wait two years while I make the monthly payments.”
“Pooh. You’re no fun,” Rachelle stood back and snapped a picture.
I made a mental note to learn silk-making and sewing. It should be far more affordable to make one for her rather than buy one. When we had our fill of Japan town, Rachelle took me north of Fillmore. It was a place she was more familiar with. There, I was bombarded with small quaint shops selling handcrafted jewelry, scarf shops, and various eateries. As the day darkened, we ate at a little Greek place on the boulevard. Having a little more forewarning this time, I had packed the proper amount of money this time to avoid any embarrassment.
After dinner, we hit the bowling alley for a little while. Ultimately, we ended one of the best weekends of our lives just walking hand-in-hand back to her residence. There were no worries, no problems, and no pressures. Rachelle and I had sent out the last of our applications a few weeks before; we were just waiting and enjoying our youth. This was one of the last few carefree moments I would remember.
My senior year in high school was a mix of worry and wonder. Wonder came from Melanie, Rachelle and Shawn. Worry came from Janet, as she was soon to visit me. In the two years since I ejaculated in her 19 year old body, I had somehow been sexually involved with three more girls. How could I explain this to my doting First?
So I waited with some dread and a small amount of anticipation as June neared. I was so wrapped up in Janet’s return and my eventual development in college, I skipped graduation. It was only when Rachelle reminded me of our senior prom did I remember to take her (like the previous dance, Faraz did the driving). Nevertheless, her choice of college at UCLA put some distance between us. Not as much as Janet and I had, but for two poor students it was too much to ask. While it put a mild freeze on our relationship, I devoted time and energy to write her; this and my unyielding attention kept Rachelle from ditching me.
Shawn was still in school, and I would continue to drop in on her during her remaining time in the city. Like Melanie, she’d come over occasionally and hang out, although once I moved from my old place, my house’s proximity lacked the charm she knew when we first dated. Shawn eventually overcame her singular adoration of me (I attribute this to a ‘normal’s’ mind maturing and developing some sort of resistance) but we relied on our shared experiences when we were older and more mature.
Melanie was still the little conundrum. I didn’t know why she was so into me, and she remained my trusted confidant, though she was barely able to grasp things mentally. So it was Melanie who was in my room when I finally got the call I was dreading for months.
“Hello Stanley?” Janet’s voice sounded more nasal than she’d be over the phone.
“Hey Janet,” I fought to control the anxiety in my voice. “How’re you?”
“Good baby,” she slurred a little. Was she drunk already? “I want to see you.”
“Are you back in the city already?” I asked.
“Yeah. Finals let out and I caught the red-eye here the same day.” A long pause, then, “I need to see you.”
“Me too.” I swallowed hard and added, “There’s someone who wants to see you.”
Though I couldn’t read minds over electrical wires, the slow methodical breathing on the other end was as unnerving as if she had kept silent. A hundred things must’ve been swimming in Janet’s mind, but my forward answer likely pushed her off balance.
“Okay,” her reply came back firm and measured. “Someone I know?”
“Not yet,” I replied. She had to be satisfied with that.
“So, when can I see Janet?” Melanie asked when I hung up the phone.
“Stop being so nosy Yu-Ching,” I scolded her.
Melanie looked at me and grinned. Her eyes betrayed her honest sincerity in meeting the woman I was in love with. Despite celebrating her eleventh birthday in January, my diminutive dark haired angel had already engaged in rapacious activities that would put most adult women to shame. Still, Melanie retained an eerie unshakeable loyalty to me and (at the time) I wondered how long it would last.
“Are you taking me to meet Janet, Stanley?” she asked.
“Who else?” I knelt down to look her in the eye. Melanie gave me a quick peck on the cheek then went back to her drawing.
It was June. Janet and I made plans to meet in Chinatown, in one of the city’s more accessible teahouses. It was a noisy, smoky affair (the city-wide smoking ban was not implemented until a few years later). Somehow, I was able to persuade my parents I would shop with them on Sunday, and I won a Saturday for myself.
By now, most of my college letters had returned. While I was a good student, things were still not entirely in my favor. I had not interviewed with any school and I hadn’t expressed any interest in any particular campus. Hence, the rejections started coming in. My parents expressed considerable disappointment as I struggled to find an institution of higher education.
I finally decided to head to the local community college. The decision now hung over me like a pall. Despite Melanie’s now constant presence, I now felt like a mental inferior. I wasn’t the smart kid any more, nor was I highly ear-marked in the ‘normal’ world. I still hadn’t realized how much I could’ve exploited my power. Back then, I wasn’t sure how far I could push them.
Worming my way through the teahouse with Melanie in tow, I worried less about what Janet would think of Melanie than how Janet would regard me now as an academic fay-lo*. [* Cantonese: fat failure; corruption of the English word failure and a homonym of “fat dude”]
Janet was waiting at a corner table near the kitchen. The doors constantly swung open and shut, giving patrons a nearly constant view of the kitchen where steamed dumplings and other Cantonese cuisine were prepared. Janet had cut her hair short. She had hinted that she had changed her style, having been in Chicago for some time, but I was a little startled by her new look. The shoulder length hair that she had in high school was gone. Now, she wore her hair short and smoothed over her scalp; it made her look a little more boyish than I cared for.
In lieu of the dark pants and blouses of a school girl, the Janet who sat before me now wore a petite gray business suit. It made her appear smart and professional. Her frilly white shirt made me think of the Renaissance fairs I had seen on television. I eagerly clasped her hand and we kissed. Instantly, I felt the ire from Melanie. My youngest of darlings bored her gaze into the back of my head and then leveled it at Janet.
I introduced Melanie to Janet and sat down to await the inevitable explosion. It didn’t happen at the restaurant. Janet was happy outside, but I sensed her trepidation on the inside. We ordered various dim-sum from the cart-pushers; the special dishes came from the waiters when ordered. Meanwhile, Melanie chattered away with Janet. She addressed her as Janet jie-jie* [* Cantonese: Sister Janet] which bespoke of Chen’s genteel upbringing.
After lunch, we took a walk through the shops lining the multitude of streets of Chinatown. Melanie was polite, but sampled a great many things. Having dressed somewhat appropriately for lunch, I looked a little older than I was. In one shop, one of the shopkeeps confided that we were indeed a very young couple. Janet visibly went crimson with embarrassment and I simply demurred to the shopkeeper’s mistake with a smile.
Melanie and I came by bus, but Janet drove us home. Well more precisely, drove Melanie home. Janet was quite surprised how close we lived to one another. Having dropped off Melanie, Janet came to my place. Chen was miffed at first, but a silent glance from me and she entered her house after waving goodbye.
My parents were away from the house with Andrew—visiting family across the bay. Hence, it was a good time for Janet to visit. Janet draped her suit jacket over the kitchen chair, her pumps clacked loudly on the vinyl. She suddenly turned red-faced, having remembered that I always removed my shoes before entering the room. She slipped off her shoes and presented them to me.
“You haven’t changed,” she remarked as I took them from her.
“Not really,” I placed her shoes neatly in a corner. “Is that a bad thing?”
“That would depend,” Janet stepped into my bedroom. She sniffed the air and her eyes narrowed. “How’d you meet Yu-Ching?”
“At Andrew’s school,” I said. “Last year or so.”
I was amazed how fast time had gone by. Janet sat on the corner of my bed as she had so many times in the past. She surveyed the room, her carefully manicured head craning to and fro.
“Is that so?” Janet regarded me with her soft brown eyes. “Tell me something Stanley—have you been seeing someone?”
I sat in my chair by the desk and faced her. It had been nearly five years since we sat like that, tutor and student. Despite her earlier remark, I had changed. We both had. Each time we met, a little bit of the other person disappeared or became something else. Despite the time and distance that separated us, I still harbored strong feelings for Janet. But how to explain Melanie? And Rachelle? And Shawn?
I took a deep breath and started. It was probably the hardest thing I had to do for many years. The kicker was that I wasn’t hostile to Janet. I loved her, but I loved others as well. My stomach knotted as I told her about Melanie and Rachelle. By the time I ended my sorry tale, I could sense Janet was inwardly a mess, although she didn’t show it. I decided to leave out Shawn for now.
“Well,” Janet stood to leave. “It’s been good to catch up. I’ll be seeing you.”
“When?” I croaked.
To that she simply shrugged. I caught her gingerly by the arm. “It’s been a while.”
“And you’ve kept practice,” she said flatly. “I’m not in the mood.”
Something in me rankled at her rejection and my tongue became rather caustic.
“Then I guess you’ll just have to lay there and like it,” I wisecracked.
It didn’t help the situation. Janet slapped me, then lost it as she pummeled me. It wasn’t the playful punching I was used to from Shawn, but full on savagery. I fell back a step and put my arms up. I didn’t want to hit Janet but I could sense it was going to get nasty if I didn’t stop her. I threw myself against her, tackling her onto the bed. In the midst of the struggle, I extended a finger to touch her cheek. This left an opening in my defences for Janet to rake my face with her lacquered nails.
The sting was momentary, but Janet’s look was what rooted in my memory as she felt the effect of my mind. Unlike the fight at the pizzeria, I didn’t attack her with a hate-message. I wasn’t in euphoria like that time I was with Rachelle. I fed her a simple message, one that would hopefully alleviate her anger—
Love. A flash of old memories came up. Our times at the boardwalk. The cold nights when we kept ourselves warm. The constant sneaking about at night to keep our parents in the dark about our sexual activities. Her eyes glistened as I stared at her like a guy who had done the stupidest thing in his life.
The stir-crazy loneliness she felt while in Chicago must’ve amplified the remorse I fed her (my hand was still in contact with her cheek) because Janet simply collapsed and started crying uncontrollably. She curled up and fought me feebly as I helped her get comfortable in bed. Janet lay on her side and sobbed. I decided to give her some space and quickly left the room.
I examined myself in the bathroom mirror and saw her nails had ripped up some skin, leaving red angry scratches. I muttered and cursed softly. There would be no hiding that from anyone for a while. I washed away as much of the blood as possible and wandered back to my room. Janet was still on the bed, but she was eerily quiet. I didn’t dare to disturb her, so I went around the other side of the bed and found her staring blankly at the opposite wall.
“Janet?” I knelt on the carpet beside the bed.
Her eyes flicked towards me with a glare of recognition. I took her hand, half expecting her to jerk away in a fit of anger. When she didn’t, I felt a little more at ease.
“Damn you,” she finally said. “God damn you, Stanley Chen.”
I remained mute and concentrated on staying positive. I knew I could get her seeing the brighter side of things. My side of things.
“How could you just—” Janet swallowed and then closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I said matter-of-factly, “But I feel for Rachelle and Yu-Ching.”
“Do you love them?” Janet’s voice held steady.
“Yes,” I didn’t hesitate and squeezed her hand, “And you. You’re my first—how can I not?”
“That’s not how it goes,” Janet sighed. “I’m sorry Stanley—I’m not a Mormon or whatever. I can’t do this.”
I felt dejected but not discarded—she still had feelings for me —if only I could seize on them! I could have it all. Janet swung her legs towards me and sat up, a little wobbly but otherwise okay. Still holding her hand, I put my other hand on her knee and looked at her.
“Janet,” I implored. “Please stay.”
She put her palm gently on my injured cheek. I could feel her emotions running the gamut of love, hate, envy, and rage. Without knocking her out, I was using my gifts to dampen the negative emotions in her while fanning the positive. Most women would’ve knocked me out and left, but Janet stayed.
“Stanley,” Janet sniffed. “I want to but—”
“But what?” I interjected gently. “You’ve got to have friends, guys and gals. I’m not jealous of them because you won’t allow me to.”
Despite our argument, she found the chance to find humor in it.
“It’s not the same,” Janet fought the small smile that threatened her stern face. “I’m not sleeping around with them.”
“I’m talking about the time you spend with them,” I said. “I want you to be with me.”
“You’re just a jealous little boy,” Janet snapped. “And that’s a ridiculous comparison. I’ve been away all this time!”
“Well,” I stood up in a huff, “That’s how I feel. I was lonely. Yu-Ching was friendly and Rachelle was—”
“She’s a little too friendly,” Janet glared at me. “Never mind Rachelle, are you trying to go out with that innocent little girl?”
“Like I said,” I returned her glare, “Yu-Ching’s friendly.”
“We kissed once or twice,” I lied but Janet knew better. “Nothing more.”
The young woman wasn’t a mind-reader, but she was experienced. Plus we had been together the better of part of five years. Janet knew I was obscuring some of the truth.
“God,” she turned away in disgust. “You’re an animal.”
“Hey,” I knelt before her. “She came on to me. I already said I had a girlfriend.”
“Not in here you don’t,” Janet shook her head.
I looked intently at her, “Is this what you want?”
Despite her assured looks, Janet dipped her head. She wasn’t sure! I felt it. I was inwardly elated, but I still knew it was too early to celebrate. I had to take back control.
“Y’know Stanley,” she started, “To you, I may be that first girl you shacked with, but—”
“Janet,” I sat on the bed beside her and put my arm around her.
“Don’t,” she began to shrug me off but I held fast.
“Then I won’t,” I said quietly but already my mind began to permeate hers.
My proximity helped, and the familiarity of our surroundings gave me an advantage. I picked up bits and pieces of her: doubt, jealousy, envy, desire, and curiosity. I spoke absently about my true feelings for her while digging deeper into hers. Janet had Melanie in mind. Apparently, what I had said earlier had piqued her interest. She was now starting to wonder what I had done with the small girl.
“I want you,” I finished lamely, “Please stay. Wo-bai-tok-li*.” [* Cantonese: I beg you please.]
Janet turned away but lay down next to me, her body across the ends of the bed. I lay beside her and held her fast—afraid she’d get up and leave. My fear intrinsically transferred to her and I felt Janet’s warm hand encompass mine. It was the only answer I got that a ‘normal’ would be able to see; I felt Janet though, and her mind may have been a jumble of feelings, I knew she was willing to stick around. We didn’t say much after that, but eventually it all worked out. It had to: she was my First.
I stopped and caught my breath. Melanie was beside me on a bright sunny sidewalk in Parkside.
“I’m okay,” I soured knowing how out of shape I was, “Let’s go.”
We were walking towards the Wu residence. It was a couple weeks since Janet returned and the blow-up that came with it. Melanie heard it from me second-hand, then (I guess) first-hand from Janet. One of the stipulations I had yielded to my lovely First was Melanie’s telephone number.
Melanie came to see me earlier in the week, and said excitedly that “big sister Janet” wanted to see us both that coming Saturday. In fact, right after lunch. I managed to excuse myself from family business and headed for the bus stop. To my surprise, Melanie was there waiting for me.
“Were you here long?” I asked her.
My littlest darling smiled as I drew near her. I noticed she had a small bag under her arm. I didn’t ask her about it the entire ride over, but I gathered it was part of Janet’s meddling. Speaking of Janet, I hadn’t heard from her since she left my house weeks before. Now with this bizarre summons, I wondered what was going on. When we arrived, Janet greeted us, and bade us to come in.
In my youth, I had gone to Janet’s house just once or twice. She was satisfied visiting me at my place. Hence, I was not only surprised at the richness of the house’s interior, but also its luminous nature. Her parents must’ve redecorated. The carpet was plush and the walls mostly white with dark trim and accents. I was chiefly surprised at how neat and spotless everything was (unlike my place). Janet set a tray of glasses, a water decanter and some lemon slices and Melanie helped herself to a cup. I was simply content to sit.
“Just you at home?” I asked.
“My parents are in Reno,” Janet explained. “Gambling excursion.”
“So,” Janet clapped her hands gently. “I guess I should announce the news.”
I felt my stomach knot up. I was trying to gauge Janet’s mood, but I wasn’t too successful.
“First off,” Janet turned and gave Little Chen a small smile, “Yu-Ching wants to be called ‘Melanie’ from now on.”
I glanced at Melanie and saw her beaming proudly.
“Yu-Ching?” I said haltingly, “Do your parents know?”
“I asked my mom and dad,” she replied, “And it’s about time I got an American name; I’m starting sixth grade!”
I looked back towards Janet and she eyed me steadily. I had an inkling what news came next would be about us.
“Good. Secondly, I want to talk about you, Stanley.”
I was right. I felt inwardly sick but excited. It was that moment in time when every possibility could be, and you’d wonder about the answer that would come.
“I’ve decided I’ll stick around,” Janet’s words hung in the air as she studied my panic, “So, you can breathe easy.”
“Thank you,” was all I could manage.
“But,” Janet became pensive, “Only because Melanie asked me to.”
“Yu-Ching?” I shifted my gaze to Melanie.
The little girl shuffled to Janet’s side and hugged her, “dwoujie-jie-jie*.” [* Cantonese: Thank you sister.]
I didn’t say a thing. I was simply confounded. These two had worked something out without me knowing about it. It was one of the few times I had felt powerless despite my gift of persuasion.
I hadn’t ventured to say anything so far, but Janet and Melanie had embraced for some time. I didn’t blanche when Melanie gave Janet a quick peck on the cheek, but when Janet lifted my little darling’s head with her delicate fingers and did a lesbian lip-lock, I practically fell out of my seat.
I was half sitting, half squatting on the floor while two of the most important women—no, make that girls—were engaged in what could be described as homosexual make-out session. After what seemed to me to have been a long while, Melanie pushed herself away, shaking her head.
“I’m sorry Janet jie-jie,” she wiped her mouth on her sleeve, “I don’t feel anything.”
“Nothing special huh?” Janet grabbed a napkin from the tray and wiped her mouth, then motioned for Melanie to come close so she could be cleaned up as well.
“I bet Stanley enjoyed the show though.” Janet again became her smug, self-assured self again.
“What just happened?” I asked stupidly from my spot.
“Janet jie-jie called me,” Melanie said brightly. “And we talked. A lot. About you Stanley.”
“Yeah,” I got back into my seat. “I bet you did.”
“Melanie,” my darling’s name rung crisply from Janet’s lips, “Was curious. For shame Stanley.”
I felt my body grow hot. Melanie had told—?
I saw Janet eyeing me mischievously, and I sensed my First now knew of Melanie’s quest of watching us fuck. Apparently, Janet and Melanie stepped out to a cafe and had a long conversation about me.
Melanie’s parents would not have approved of the meddling I’d done in their eldest daughter’s choice of partner. From Melanie, Janet had gotten the rest of the story out about Rachelle, Shawn, and her; to Melanie’s credit though, she also pleaded my case. My two lovelies went on to explain that they got to discussing how to best work out the situation, hence why we were here at Janet’s place today.
“So there you have it,” Janet glanced at me sternly. “That’s what happened.”
“I see,” I said quietly, wondering what would happen next.
“God, Stanley,” Janet scoffed, “I’d think you’d be a little more excited about this.”
“I am,” I gave the biggest grin I could muster, “I’m just— surprised, that’s all.”
Now, all I had to do was break the news to Rachelle and Shawn.
“See jie-jie?” Melanie continued using the Cantonese honorific, “I told you he’d be happy.”
Janet gave us both a thin smile as she stood up. She beckoned us deeper into the house. In the bowels of the house was a hot tub and spa. A shower and toilet were in the same room.
“My parents built this when they knew I was going to Chicago,” Janet said. “Empty nest and all that, y’know?”
“Ah, I see,” I fidgeted uncomfortably. “I didn’t know we were soaking in the sauna today.”
“So?” Janet flicked on the fan and began filling the tub with water.
“I didn’t bring my swim trunks,” I said flatly.
“Oh yeah?” Janet said casually and slipped off her top. “Neither did I.”
I let out a low hiss as she stripped herself nude and hopped into the shower to clean up. Melanie had already undressed and stood next to the shower.
“C’mon Stanley,” she motioned. “We need to shower beforehand.”
“You think you’re so smart now,” I reached menacingly towards Melanie. The girl squealed and tore away from me at high speed.
“NO RUNNING!” Janet hollered over the shower spray.
She popped her head out, wiped her face with one hand and gave me a disapproving look.
“Get in here before you crack your heads open,” she said gruffly, “God. Can you imagine? A girl her age showering with a boy your age along with a twenty-something me?”
“I’d get in trouble—” Janet and I spoke almost in unison.
We stopped, our eyes met, and we shared the first smile for what seemed to be a long time. So we were friendly again, I knew. Then I went and wrecked the moment.
“Whoa wait.” I looked at her. “You mean in there? Together?”
“Not together, but get clean,” Janet’s cheeks dimpled. “Otherwise we’ll muck up the spa.”
She opened the frosted shower door a little wider. Melanie and I saw my First’s lovely smooth body, slick with lather and water. It was enough to persuade me. I shucked off my clothes, being careful to fold them into a neat pile.
Janet stepped past me as I went into the shower. I felt her nails scrape lightly against my midsection and my fingertips grazed her hips. It was like old times. Meanwhile, Melanie had recovered and quickly slipped in before I could close the door.
“Hey, wait your turn,” I growled.
Melanie only shivered and hugged herself to keep warm. I could hear her teeth chattering, so I let her stand in the spray. Melanie’s shakes died out as she quickly rubbed herself down. She barely got the tail end of her hair wet, then she quickly hopped out again.
“That was quick,” I called to her as she sped to the warm spa.
“I showered before I came out,” Melanie sang back and slipped under the frothing water.
“Hmph,” I turned my attention back to the shower and lathered up.
It was weird, I thought. I was in the presence of two beautiful nude girls, and I was barely aroused. I looked down at my body as I rinsed and felt a little ashamed I wasn’t able to offer much more. Was it my extra-sensory gifts that attracted these women? Or was it something else? Something that a ‘normal’ would have?
Presently, I felt a slight chill. Despite the warm spray of the shower, I was feeling a little chilly. I had been in the shower so long my body had acclimated to the temperature. I turned off the shower and stepped out. I could hear Janet and Melanie chattering in Cantonese. Their words flowed so quickly, I could only catch bits and pieces—this and my rather rudimentary grasp of the language limited my eavesdropping. However, I did get the feeling from both that they were discussing me again.
Janet and Melanie looked up as I settled into the Wu family spa. The water was frothy and a small jet of water was tickling the small of my back.
“So, here we are,” I said matter-of-factly.
“Here we are,” Janet said, then her hand came up so she could snap her fingers. “Damn. Forgot the water glasses.”
“Ah leave it,” I said, “I’m not thirsty—are you?”
“I’m not thirsty,” Melanie clung to the spa’s rim and flipped twice; her body was small enough for her to do so.
“You will be after a bit,” Janet sounded stern, but she settled down, “I guess it can come later.”
The three of us settled into the water, and we got to talking. School again dominated the discussion (keep in mind, the three of us were all Asian) although Melanie and Janet did manage to chat about some rock bands.
“Yeah Stanley,” Melanie turned towards me. “What do you listen to? I’ve never heard you play any of your music.”
“That’s because he doesn’t have any,” Janet jumped in before I could answer.
“I can’t play any when you guys hog the boombox,” I shot Janet a sour look.
Janet laughed and splashed me playfully. Melanie grinned and emulated her jie-jie. I rose and trudged my way through the water to sit next to Janet. My First quickly dipped her eyes and tried to act casual. I knew it was still a little weird for her—Melanie had been accustomed to slotting her time between Rachelle and Shawn but Janet was still very self-conscious.
“Jie-jie-ngho-nghoysum*,” Melanie half paddled, half trudged and sat next to her. [* Cantonese: Don’t be unhappy / bashful / ashamed.]
Janet sat sandwiched between us, and she was trying her best to be comfortable. Melanie had taken Janet’s hand under the water, and I could sense she was trying to soothe the older girl in her own way. I sat on the spa’s built-in bench, with a hand on Janet’s bare shoulder. Janet smiled at me, then turned her head back to Melanie, who smiled back.
Then something wicked came to me. What was it that Melanie had pestered me so much about when I still called her Chen? Good God, I swore mentally. That would be over three years ago.
“Yu—” I stopped and corrected myself as the girls glanced back my way, “Melanie? Remember what you asked about a long time ago?”
“About what?” Chen Yu-Ching seemed a little miff about me cutting into her moment with Janet.
“Janet and me,” I stroked the older girl’s shoulder, “You know. ‘Doing it?’”
“Oh,” Melanie broke into a small smile. “I forgot about that.”
“Wait,” Janet’s eyes glinted with mischief as she stared at her. “You want to watch Stanley and me? I mean—?”
“I am curious jie-jie,” Melanie dipped her head. “Can you show me?”
“Interesting,” Janet turned towards me and rose. “Well Stanley? Shall we?”
I rose as Janet turned off the spa’s jets. Melanie splashed in the spa a little longer before she pulled the drain plug. We dried ourselves then headed into Janet’s bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it was luminously bright. The blanket on Janet’s bed were unmade and disturbed, and an overnight bag sat in the corner of the room. The room was otherwise clean and uncluttered save for a small dresser and a nightstand. Janet ushered Melanie to a cushy seat at the side of the bed, then approached me.
“Ready?” Janet whispered.
I nodded. I was nervous about the whole thing. While I had no problem having intercourse with either girl (oral with Melanie, coitus with Janet), I did have reservations with having intercourse with one while the other watched.
Hell—of all the things to make a guy nervous!
Janet sensed my apprehension and rested one hand on my shoulder to calm me. She put her palm gently against my cheek and I looked at her like I was just a stupid kid. My First’s eyes glistened as I recalled the good times we had together. Some of my thoughts must’ve filtered back to her; we were in such close physical contact it was impossible not to.
Watching us rekindle our love, Melanie sank back in her comfy chair and sighed. I coiled my arms around Janet’s waist and pulled her close. We kissed for what seemed to be the first time in a long time. I felt her tongue dart over my lips, playing with them and asking me to let her in.
I did and felt Janet lick my gums and teeth. I guided her to the bed and as Janet lay down, she pulled me down with her, head first. I fell atop her with a groan and felt my dick start to stiffen. Melanie’s presence had fallen to the wayside as I re-discovered the joys Janet had to give.
Despite her boyish haircut, Janet was still the excitable vixen I knew in my youth. She reached down, caressed my manhood and I felt my ears burn, my head dizzy. I was ready. I shifted to get into position, then Janet gently pushed me to the side.
“You’re ready baby,” Janet’s voice was raspy; she looked at Melanie. “Come here. Lie down.”
“Me?” Melanie breathed.
“Her?” I felt a chill and my cock began to soften.
“Come on,” Janet pulled Melanie towards the bed.
My First pulled the young girl so she would lie beside her. From the nightstand, Janet took a tube of lubricant and squirted a thick helping onto her fingers. She dabbed a bit onto Melanie’s tiny slit, then began slowly working her digits into the girl’s baby smooth cunt. Melanie groaned at the intrusion. Her face was one of mild discomfort, but she began to relax as Janet worked on her.
“It’s a special lube,” Janet said casually. “Warms to the touch.”
I watched with fascination as Melanie’s once tight slit began to crack open. Truly, my tutor had the magic touch. Janet was so close to Melanie as if she was spooning the other girl. Melanie’s hands were not idle either. With one hand, she was rolling one of her nipples (Janet fiddled with the other) and her other hand was on Janet’s thigh.
“C’mon baby, she’s ready now,” Janet’s fingers slipped from Melanie’s snatch, her index and middle fingers wet with lubricant.
“No saran wrap?” I asked with a wry smile.
“Melanie hasn’t had her period yet,” Janet lifted her young charge’s head, “Right?”
“No jie-jie,” Melanie replied faithfully.
Both women looked to me. My youngest darling spread her legs as wide as her eyes. Finally, she was going to get what she wanted, first-hand. As I climbed on top of her, Melanie instinctively reached out, mimicking Janet’s earlier performance. Janet in the meantime, came up behind me and helped me with my dick.
“Tab A into slot B,” Janet’s breath nicked my ear.
I could feel her wet warm fingers tickling my balls. She held my shaft and squeezed it ‘tween two strong fingers. I felt her rub my tip a few times—the pre-cum—and work the lubricant over my cock-head. Janet pushed down on my ass and I lowered myself on Melanie. I saw Melanie’s mouth make a big “O”, and heard her suck in her breath as I buried my teenage cock into her preteen puss.
I let out a satisfied groan and looked down. My body cast a large shadow over her, but in the bright room, I could see I was more or less in her. Only an inch or so remained. I began to push myself when I felt Janet tug my ear.
“Not so fast,” my First scolded gently and turned to Melanie. “Are you okay?”
Melanie’s breathing was sedate but the excitement I felt from being this close to her was undeniable. I knew she wanted me to hilt myself, but what we wanted was much different than what we could do.
“wo-mo-xie*,” she murmured. [* Cantonese: I’m all right / undisturbed]
“Okay Stanley,” Janet slipped back to Melanie’s side. “Slowly now, or you’ll hurt her. If she says stop, for God’s sake, STOP. I’ll be right here, okay?”
“Okay,” I hadn’t the foggiest notion of how I could hurt Melanie.
Janet was always in control of her body when we made love, so it hadn’t occurred to me that an average (physically, not mentally) guy like myself could make a young girl bleed to death by roughly fucking her.
I moved my hips and I saw Melanie wince and shut her eyes. Janet held her by one hand, and gave her a comforting squeeze. I sensed that she was in mild pain, and stopped. It took a lot out of me to just stay in that position but I did it, fearing what could happen.
“It’s okay,” Janet stroked Melanie’s flat little breasts. “Here, gimme some room Stanley.”
I arched back as far as I could so Janet could come between us. Melanie gasped as Janet began flicking the girl’s nipples. I heard my little darling moan softly. Melanie ran her hands through Janet’s styled hair and made it a neat mess before my First drew back.
“Better?” Janet brushed her hair back.
Melanie nodded then said, “Can you do that to me Stanley?”
“Yeah,” Janet gave me a playful poke, “Do some work here.”
“I’ll try,” I mumbled.
It was hard, but I fell over Melanie once more and kissed her lewd little mouth. Considering all the times the little girl had sucked me off, it was a nice change of pace to actually kiss her properly. My hips were thrusting at a regular rhythm now. With me occupying Melanie’s mouth, she couldn’t have cried, ‘Stop!’ or much of anything else. However, I could feel her thoughts as more of our skin shared contact.
Despite our proximity, I couldn’t get a clear line of thought from Melanie. I wondered if she was either like me, or somehow immune. Now that was a frightening thought.
Melanie opened her eyes and gave me a peculiar look. Her mouth opened to let me in. Now I fucked her mouth with my tongue as I porked her cute cunt with my swollen dick. Her legs were unlike Janet’s— Melanie was still this spindly little thing. My hands easily encompassed her ankles when I held her legs when we fooled around and I didn’t find her all that sexy until she began sucking my cock.
Nevertheless, feeling her moist warmth around my shaft was more than I could take. I began thrusting her so forcefully that Janet took immediate notice; however, she sat on her haunches and said nothing. Melanie wasn’t uttering anything save sweet exultation and she had relinquished Janet’s hold so she could clasp me closer.
I felt my balls begin to ache and my vision narrow. I avoided kissing her for fear I’d knock her teeth out with my stronger pummeling. I buried my head in the nape of her neck, completely filled with Melanie’s sultry scent and Janet’s mix of powders and perfume from the pillow.
In spite of the absence of a flow of thoughts from Melanie, having that tight young body under me was enough. With one final, powerful lurch, I threw myself so hard against Melanie I thought I’d crush her for sure. I propped myself up, hoping I hadn’t crushed my little darling, and shot off. Melanie was quiet till now but she squealed mightily as dick vomit splashed inside her. With each new spasm I had, she gasped, clutched my arms and pawed my chest.
At last, I had finished and I meant FINISHED.
It might’ve been the weeks of angst and worry over Janet, or Melanie’s freshness, or simply a mix of other factors, but I had expended a lot of energy. I pulled out and Janet was quickly on me.
“Here,” Janet handed us some damp towels.
I hadn’t even noticed Janet had left the bed to get ready for the aftermath, but that was how considerate my First was. I lay back a warm towel on my crotch, a smile on my face as I watched Melanie rub her cunt a few times. Janet took her to the bathroom and I heard her telling her how to douche.
“Well aren’t you the lucky guy?”
I opened one eye and saw Janet slinking towards me. I was about to move to one side of her bed when she hopped on top and pinned me to her bed.
“So studly,” she brought my hand to her breasts. “Got any juice left for mama?”
“Kinky,” I pulled her down, “But you’re no momma yet.”
“Do you want to?” Janet batted her eyes and bit her lip sheepishly.
“li-xieng-xshie*,” I bit her gently on the nose [* Cantonese: literally, Do you want to die? figuratively, street slang equivalent to ‘Yeah right’ or ‘You wouldn’t dare’]
Janet chuckled and pulled a condom from her nightstand.
“Hey wait,” Melanie came running through the door. “Don’t start without me!”
So that’s how the first time went. Eventually, it was more convenient (and polite) for me to spend private time with my darlings alone. From a “normal’s” point of view, I suppose it would be like eschewing some great opportunity, but romantic intercourse is much like a gourmet meal—partake too much and you’d do yourself more harm than good.
Besides, of those four—Janet, Melanie, Rachelle, and Shawn—I could definitely say that none of them were bisexual. The same could not be said though, of my next conquest.
INTERLUDE—DESERT, PLAINS, AND A DAY WITH RACHELLE
In my dedication of this memory to how I met each of my darlings, I had neglected to tell you more of my immediate family. You may have already guessed that I have a mother and father, just like any other ‘normal’ in the world. How it was that I was gifted and my younger brother Andrew was not is still one of those mysteries. Unlike what is regularly portrayed in comic books and science fiction, blood relationships do not necessarily mean a stronger prevelance of extraordinary “gifts”.
In any case, Andrew was pretty much a quiet fellow and kept mostly to himself. This sense of quiet reserve could easily be mistaken for docility, but he possessed one of the most violent tempers if he was provoked. Hence, I generally stayed on his good side. Not that we had many arguments, but sometimes he would chafe under my authority as his older brother.
Despite all our similarities and differences, we were both under the authority of our even sterner father. Every year since Andrew was 4 (and I about 11), our parents would take a week or two in our summer vacations and bring us to see the sights and sounds of America.
The first couple of years, we traveled to Reno for the family-oriented Circus-Circus casino and resort. Once Andrew was older and could hike, our family visited some of the national parks in California. In the last few years of my high school, we visited various cities my parents had lived in before they settled down on the West Coast (chiefly the Midwest).
We stopped along several spots where I dared practice my gift in plain sight.
As I mentioned before, I had the ability to dull or excite a person’s mind. If I am in physical contact, then I can do much more damage. I kept in practice and prevented my mind-skills from falling from memory. The more I did it, the more adroit I was at manipulation. Since we didn’t spend any more than an hour or two at any one location on the side of the road, it was rather difficult to do much; however, that insured that I wasn’t around when things got weird.
Would you like to hear of some highlights?
Somewhere in Nevada, a saleswoman who worked at a fireworks outlet (or factory) and I groped and kissed for a minute or so when we went briefly in the back to grab some fireworks my father requested (and later bought).
In Temple’s Square at Salt Lake City, Utah, I mentally brought a girl my age to an orgasm simply by shaking her hand. When she collapsed, her body completely shivering, I convinced bystanders it was heatstroke and prudently left.
For a short while when I was driving, I found myself driving ahead, adjacent to, and (sometimes) in the back of a young couple in a small coupe. By luck, both our cars stopped at the same gas station. After I used the restroom, I was overseeing the rest of the refueling. The woman and I were alone at the pumps for a brief period and I was able to persuade her—at range (without physical contact)—to lift her t-shirt, to scratch an imagined annoyance. I was more impressed with my skill than the brief flash of titty.
Coming back, on the Utah/Colorado border, I met a Native-American girl who was slightly older than Melanie and Andrew. She was running a roadside souvenir stand all by herself near the hotel we were staying that night. Seeing her against the fading desert sun, I missed Melanie’s tender presence. While I wanted to do more, I couldn’t under the circumstances.
That last encounter left me rather frustrated, as I often had the company of Melanie, Rachelle, Shawn, and (sometimes) Janet for the past couple years. I was beginning to chafe at the lack of sexual activity, and I was getting more agitated. The final leg of my last trip with my parents before college was in Las Vegas.
Having put up with me and my brother this long, my parents decided it was time for some relaxation and booked two rooms (one for the kids —i.e., Stanley and Andrew—and one for mom and dad). This meant I was again left to my own devices—kinda. As I was not yet 21, I had to take care to avoid the casinos and alcohol-present establishments. This meant Andrew’s care was on my shoulders.
Unlike Reno, the family-friendly establishments in Vegas were rather limited in the early 1990s—the Luxor, Caeser’s Palace, and a few more theme hotels were just finished a few years earlier but the extensive remodeling by venture capital and entrepreneurs hadn’t yet reached critical mass.
Still, I couldn’t be trusted to drive the family’s rented vehicle without my father or mother around. That meant Andrew and I were fairly limited to browsing stores on the Strip and meeting my parents back at a predetermined hotel or restaurant at a specific time (or earlier) or risk getting stranded.
Fun. If you’re waiting for me to describe some altercation or risky encounter with a Vegas showgirl, dancer, or prostitute, you can move on. With my kid brother under my wing, the most exciting thing I did was to buy a Zippo butane lighter from a smoke shop, along with some flints and some lighter fluid. Considering I didn’t even persuade the shop keeper to lower the price, I’d say I pretty had as much fun as I could have. Ah, but for the fear of discovery!
Actually a few weeks before my family trip (but right after Janet’s visit) I had the pleasure of taking Rachelle to a theme park in Santa Clara. Well, it was more like our trip to the boardwalk last year, except this time we had no chaperones. Faraz managed to borrow the family mini-van and the whole school gang made it a point to chip in. The vehicle was roomy enough for seven: me, Rachelle, Faraz, Ghandia, Faraz’s sister Ami (short for Ameena), my brother Andrew, and Rachelle’s two younger twin sisters Letitia and Tanya.
Jon-Peter and Heidi opted to drive themselves up (in their defence, their families were a little better off) but they also carried several trays of fruit juice and snacks for the kids. As it turned out, it would’ve been better for me to have sat in their car and had my place in the van occupied by the snacks and juice boxes.
Andrew and I were used to long period of inactivity from our annual family trips to the desert and Midwest with our family, but Rachelle’s and Faraz’s sisters were not. We had to stop three times during a short drive to the park so they could get out and stretch.
We found Jon-Peter and Heidi waiting patiently by their car once we got into the park’s parking lot; Heidi paged her location to Faraz and we all drove up apologetic.
“Oh children,” Heidi sighed.
I was mildly surprised. She was handling our tardiness more politely than her normal self. As Rachelle and I began passing out drinks to our young charges, Faraz rolled his eyes. He was about to say something when Jon-Peter quickly motioned for him to stay quiet. Both Faraz and I cocked our brows. Something was up. Rachelle later told me that Jon-Peter had proposed to Heidi, and they were planning to get engaged in a year or two.
The rest of the day was fun. The three girls ran amok with Faraz, Rachelle, and Heidi taking turns playing chaperone (this was so the other couples could have their quiet time). Andrew was quite content to follow me and Rachelle around. He even showed Rachelle the subtle nuances of different arcade machines (a passion of his). I was glad my brother got along well with her; to this day, Andrew is closer to Rachelle than the others.
We all met for dinner at one of the restaurants in the middle of the park. At the end of the night, most of us were tired enough that we contemplated snoozing on the side of the road, but Jon and Faraz both managed to tough it out and bring us home.
A few days after I came back from my family trip, I saw Rachelle off to her new university in Los Angeles. By now, I had earned a provisional license. That and all the times driving in the desert gave me just enough confidence to get to the airport, shuck out $5 for parking and see my dark lovely off at the gate.
It was now the fall semester again, nearly three months since I deflowered Melanie. Less than a month ago, I celebrated my 18th birthday, which meant I had to keep Melanie’s hooks out of me (and me out of her) until the new millennium to avoid going to a State pound-me-in-the-ass Prison.
Janet had gone back to Chicago to finish her senior business degree. Her plan was to come back to the area and keep me company after that. She was setting her sights on Stanford or the University of California to finish then pass the state’s Bar exam. Apart from that, my First again would be at arm’s length again.
Rachelle was in a new school in Los Angeles (she stayed with Ghandia to defray the rent). We kept our correspondence close but reserved—I didn’t want to spring a surprise (not yet anyway) and her promises of coming back for visits brought to fore Janet’s predicament. My arrangement with Shawn was still secret; I wondered how strong of a hold I’d have on Rachelle if and when the shit hit the fan.
Yu-Ching’s parents had Anglicized her name (with Janet’s influence), and she was now officially “Melanie” and starting at the middle school I had attended some years ago.
Shawn was still in the same high school, but a junior. I knew it would be bad if Shawn decided to tattle on me, as I was now an adult, but we’d occasionally hit it off (though not often). I would find time every week to devote to one of my four darlings, my brother and family, and then myself.
I was back in school but at a community college and desperately trying to transfer elsewhere. With such a hectic schedule, that didn’t leave me with much time to explore my own horizons. When it came to school work or practicing the cheap mind-tricks I had developed, I was often crude and to the point (with the telepathy, not the school work).
Nevertheless, I did manage to pull out a book or two from the college library about ESP and the sixth sense. Using a series of old “guess what this card is” tests, I finally suspected Melanie of being a latent empath, or really good at guessing games. I even persuaded Shawn to give Melanie the same test, saying it was for my school work.
“I thought you were into architecture,” Shawn countered.
“I’m shooting for other pursuits.”
“Just like with Janet huh?” she teased. I gave her a dirty look but Shawn had already started administering the test. From these homemade tests, I noticed Melanie’s powers seemed to manifest only when I was with her. She fed off my desires, and I’d be the catalyst for her selfish little id.
For all that poking around, I had to suffer through a lengthy mall trip, holding Melanie’s bags and accompanying her into a wide variety of shops. I also dedicated a night to Shawn, taking her out to the Equinox at the Embarcadero. Whoever said a man dating multiple women was lucky obviously didn’t know how much MONEY it required.
In spite of the short-term cost, I eventually noticed that most ‘normals’ were more at ease—and psychically susceptible—when both Melanie and I were in their proximity. I surmised this may have been what happened when Melanie agreed to meet Janet.
Did Melanie know what she was? That was the question to which I had no concrete answer (not yet anyway). I couldn’t read her like the others; it was like she was mentally invisible. The one time I asked her if she could read my mind was years ago when she was just a precocious little child. It was a question that dogged me right up to the point I met my most raucous darling, Viktoriya.
At the time, I hadn’t made my final decision on my major yet, but I was still doing some private research on psychology and ESP. My architectural studies meant I spent more time in design studio and not a library, but it was still time.
CAD (computer aided drawing) was still in its infancy, and only rendered raster images. Vector graphics and the realistic walls, floors, and skies you see in modern MMO-RPG games were nearly non-existent then. A housing project with simple monochrome walls, roofs, and floors took a roomful of Pentiums six days to render, as opposed to the six seconds on a single GigaHertz computer (and I am sure in due time, those of you who read this will doubtless laugh as your personal computing devices will multi-task in cyclical measurements far further than a few TetraHertz).
Nonetheless, that was how things were. Hand drafting construction documents is possibly one of the dullest, if not tedious tasks one could imagine, although the end result is sometimes pretty impressive. It certainly impressed not only my parents but several others as well. It was something that I had to learn in order to keep up appearances in the ‘normal’ world.
I had finished yet another round of ESP/telepathy books and I had returned to the small campus library. This was when the stacks were still at Science Hall (before everything was moved to the newer building between Batmale and the student union). I delved into a few more books, but I was pretty much running out of material. Since new information was so scant by now, I simply pulled the books I wanted off the shelf and made photocopies.
A few hours later, I had taken what interested me. In the fall and winter, the sun set pretty early. By the time it was around 6 o’clock, the sun was already a dark red orange on the horizon. The librarian, an old fat bat by the name of McCullen, started clearing the place of stragglers. Community colleges had night courses on campus, but their libraries (and even student union) closed rather early.
Having nothing else to do but put back some books, I took the ones I didn’t need and headed back to the shelf where I found them. One of the student librarians was a shapely, voluptuous Slavic girl with dark eyes and hair, milky white skin, and a beguiling innocence that masked her feral carnality. I had first seen her back in high school in my civics class but never caught her name. She popped up again in my English course at City College before I finally knew who she was.
Viktoriya Lychenko. That was the name she had on her paper. She didn’t bother to introduce herself when we paired up to critique each others’ papers. When I gave her my name but she didn’t give hers, I asked and she simply tapped the corner of her paper. What I thought was Russian efficiency at the time masked a darker secret.
I had guessed (correctly) she was a recent emigre from the Russian Federation. Her sense of fashion was dated though. She wore pleated skirts that were probably forty years out of fashion, but she wore those skirts when most of the girls at school opted for either pants (or jeans, like Rachelle) or miniskirts (like Janet) meant Viktoriya Lychenko turned heads when she walked around the campus.
I found Viktoriya standing on a step stool in a blue dress with white polka dots. She wore black pumps but no pantyhose. Her calf muscles flexed as she tip-toed to slip in a book on the top shelf. I didn’t know how long I was standing there admiring her legs, but it was enough to bring back that bizarre line from Arthur Koestler’s “Darkness at Noon,” of the woman who had, “thighs like a wild mare.”
My eyes drifted from her throbbing calves past her sexy smooth thighs to her wiggling, jiggling bottom. She was high enough for me to just peek under her skirt if I had dared to stoop, but that would be too much. Hence, I just settled to watch her shake booty right at eye level.
“Hey! Hey you!”
I felt the wind of someone clapping their hands together inches from my face. I blinked and saw Viktoriya pointing at the books I had in my arms. I sheepishly turned handed them to her and I saw her lips curl into a cruel smile. I knew that she knew what I had been looking at all this time.
As Viktoriya took the books from my hand, her fingers contacted mine and before I had any regrets, I had accidentally leaked a sliver of what I wanted to do to her raw naked body. I could see her face slacken as she felt my unbridled lust sting her psyche. Despite the long day she had, her mouth slowly formed an “O”. She leaned drunkenly against the stacks, with me still handing my books to her.
“Hey you two! C’mon! I have to get out of here,” McCullen’s shouts snapped Viktoriya out of her reverie.
“Sorry ma’am.” I let go of my books and glanced at Viktoriya. “Thanks.”
She didn’t say a thing as she watched me leave, but I could feel her eyes on my back. I didn’t know it yet, but I had met one of my most formidable darlings.
I had yet to adjust my own schedule from having classes annually to a semester by semester basis. My first semester had comprised of: design studio 100A, college English 1A, art 29A, calculus 1A, and— interesting enough—colloquial Chinese 1. One of the transfer prerequisites for IGETC and for the University of California was to successfully complete two semesters of a foreign language.
Since Cantonese didn’t count as a foreign language, I took the next best thing: Mandarin. The ease of it was supposedly in how the written language was the same. I thought I could ask Melanie (of all people) for help, but she was swamped in her middle school homework she often didn’t have time to do much else during her visits. Unlike me, Melanie was a bright cookie, so she’d hit the books easily. So for Mandarin, I had to cheat and learn what I could on my own.
Still, our conflicting schedules meant she stayed at her place more often than not. Only when I had the days to spare would I be around to let her in. In any case, I was so wrapped up in my xut-bai* mentality [* Cantonese: Failure, refers to either an event or personal failure], I even thought about a remedial course or even dropping out all together.
Design studio was getting on my nerves. The demand on materials was enormous—the classes cost the same, but the materials and tools for inking, drawing, and whatnot nearly quintupled the price (it got worse as I advanced). Miniature models look interesting, but the amount of time needed to cut, trim, and glue those damn things nearly drove me out of my mind.
By the time Thanksgiving had come and gone, I was pretty much fried and distracted; all in spite of Janet’s reassurances, Melanie’s presence, and Shawn’s friendship. To my chagrin, Rachelle herself was straining with pressure, but she bore it better than I.
And lo, I thought! This was just my first semester! I was so distracted I didn’t even notice how late it was at the library when I heard a light rapping on the reading desk. I looked up and saw Viktoriya eyeing me warily.
“Ahem,” she spoke in slightly accented English, “Six p.m. We are closed.”
“Oh yeah,” I stood and packed. “Sorry.”
The brunette nodded then turned on her heel. I was hypnotized by the little Russian minx as she strode away, her bare legs occasionally peeking past the slit in her skirt. She wore a sleeveless white blouse. Viktoriya turned at the end of the stacks so I could see her in profile. From the way her tits jiggled, she was not wearing a bra.
I caught her staring right back at me, her stern gaze skimmed over the tops of the books as she strode off towards the front desk. I sucked in a breath and wondered what the heck I was doing.
Four women not enough? I chuckled so low only I could appreciate the ludicrous predicament I was in. I could barely keep up with their demands for my time, let alone deal with my academic life. I shook my head and shoved my notebooks, books, pencils, and other stuff into my bag and headed towards the exit.
“Oh hey,” I hefted the books I was carrying. “Can I leave these here?”
Viktoriya nodded and pointed to the return counter. Ha-ha. Of course, I thought. Just leave it here. Someone like her will clean it up.
“So, you are studying? ESP? Telepathy?”
Viktoriya spoke so suddenly, I simply stopped and stared. When I didn’t answer immediately, her gazed flicked towards the books I had just set down.
“Oh,” I sputtered, “This is just a hobby. Fun reading.”
She nodded sagely, as if she already knew what I was reading. Viktoriya rarely volunteered extraneous information aloud. I shook my head and said it was just something I was interested in.
“Uh hey,” I felt foolish about what I was going to say next but I did so anyway, “It’s getting kinda late—do you need a ride—”
Viktoriya smiled but shook her head.
“—or a drink?” I felt my stomach growl and added, “How about something to eat?”
Despite my present hunger, I realized I only felt a desire to fuck the shit out of Viktoriya. I wanted to get her nice legs around me and hear those nice wet “schtupping” noises.
“No thank you,” Viktoriya said firmly but politely. “I dance. I must keep fit.”
“You do a very good job,” I blurted before I could control myself.
“I know,” her smile grew predatory. “I remember from the library.”
“Well,” I gathered myself and stuck out my hand. “I’ll see you in English class later.”
She took my hand, but her shake wasn’t firm. I felt the scraping of paper being slipped into my hand.
“I will see you,” Viktoriya’s eyes bored into mine.
My knees quaked and threatened to buckle as I mumbled a hasty goodbye and slipped away. Outside the library, I felt a weight being lifted as I hurried down to the bus stop. I didn’t even take a look at my hand—at whatever she had given me—until I was well past the bookstore and on the small green path to the bus shelter.
I looked at the paper she gave me, and a note was written in small, crabbed script. It said: ‘Friday. Library. Stay after 6. Viktoriya.’
I was curious, excited, and sick at the same time. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to start another relationship with another woman, no matter how innocent. If I kept going, I laughed, I’d have to devote something like a whole day to each girl, and leave myself two days out of the week for myself. It would be like a damned job. I surprised even myself with my smugness as I let Viktoriya’s note drift away in the wind.
Friday eh? I juggled my schedule. I’d better tell Melanie and Shawn not to expect me at home.
Actually, the simple act of me telling Shawn and Melanie to cool their heels, followed by some electronic correspondence with Rachelle and Janet made me think a bit about our future. Melanie and Janet were already pretty much in the loop. Shawn knew about Janet and Rachelle (I introduced Melanie to her later), and Rachelle was mostly in the dark (although she too, began to suspect something was up).
I needed to know where I was going in order for everyone to be happy. I had thought about the future—my future with my lovely darlings—since Faraz had mentioned how polygamy was an accepted fact in some parts of the world. The man always was able to provide amply for his household.
With my gifts, I was limited to being a terrorist, a specialist, or a hermit on the fringe of society. I didn’t want that for any of my girls or myself. Hence, I would have to find a method to use my gifts invisibly and surreptitiously. There had to be a way to apply them in a non-criminal fashion.
Insider trading and embezzlement were too obvious. The Lincoln Savings and Loan scandal had taught me that. It would have to be something where I could be in close contact to those whom I would benefit from—some job which would let me cast my influence. I was racking my brain on the career that’d let me do that when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“Hallo Stanislav,” Viktoriya’s voice was soft in my ear. She called me by my Russian name. “You made it.”
I was absently doodling in my notebook so I closed it. Had I known then what I knew later, I may as well have told “Vika” everything on my mind. I looked around and most of the lights in the library were off. The place was pretty quiet. Her hand fell off my shoulder as she sat on the desk of my study cubicle. She put one foot on the edge of my seat and crossed her bare legs. This let more of her thigh show past the bulk of her skirt. I glanced at her, then the library’s front desk. The place seemed a little too quiet.
“Is it six already?” I asked. “Where’s McCullen?”
Viktoriya smiled and—incredibly—lit up a cigarette. I blinked and stared at this vixen.
Who was she? And how brazen was she to do something like this?
“Do not worry about the librarian. She is taking a nap.” Viktoriya took a quick drag of her cigarette, held her breath, then hopped off and breathed it into me.
“Oh Jesus,” I coughed and choked as my eyes watered. “Y—you can’t smoke in the building.”
“Do not worry about that,” the girl blew out a stream of acrid white smoke. “I know what you are. You know what I am.”
“Wait,” I wiped my eyes and composed myself, “What do you mean? I don’t know you do I?”
Viktoriya stood and stubbed her cigarette on the underside of the table. Only now did I smell the odd lingering of nicotine in the air. I reached under the table and swabbed the edges of the underside and my fingertips came back black and sooty. This girl had done this many times before!
Meanwhile, Viktoriya ignored me and was holding the cigarette butt at eye level, she muttered something in her native tongue as she slipped off her black pumps. Barefoot, she splayed her legs apart slightly as she held the crumpled cigarette in her hand.
I felt a psychic disturbance that made me jump. I looked around but the library was quiet. In the distance, I could see what Viktoriya had meant by McCullen taking a nap. She was fast asleep in the most uncomfortable position on her desk (simply hunched over and asleep). I felt my heart skip a beat as I realized what Viktoriya was—then I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw what she could do.
Viktoriya’s crushed cigarette butt was still at eye level, but she no longer held it aloft. In fact, there was nothing holding aloft save by the sheer will of her beautiful mind. Her dark eyes beheld the little wad of tar scarred cotton with serious concentration. She saw my look of surprise and laughed. Her face then worked into a snarl and the stubbed cigarette flicked itself against my chest.
The girl swayed uneasily after this little stunt. Despite my caution, I reached to hold her steady. Her hand caught mine and we immediately felt what the other thought. I felt Viktoriya’s fingernails dig painfully into my hand. It was enough to hurt, but she sensed that I enjoyed it.
With the ferocity of an animal, she grabbed a handful of my hair and pushed me down so I was kneeling before her. I was shocked to say the least. I wasn’t used to being treated this way and I was wondering if I should try what I did to Rachelle the year before or that idiot at the pizzeria. Viktoriya must’ve felt my shock or intent (most likely it was both) and quickly let go. She didn’t put immediate distance between me and her, but she understood my fear and surprise. She thought-spoke quickly to allay my fears.
‘I will not hurt you Stanley.’
‘What is this?’ I was still kneeling but the sight of her luscious legs placated me, especially since she had released her physical grip.
‘I speak to you. Mind to mind.’ Viktoriya felt my interest and she indulged me by unhooking her dress. She let it fall so she was standing in topless before me. I stood back up and gazed at her.
“I like talking,” I was surprised by how hoarse my voice was. I inhaled and continued, “How’d you do that with the cigarette? Are you like me?”
At the time, Viktoriya was about as tall as I was. She was taller than Shawn, but shorter than Rachelle once she stood on her bare feet. She stepped close and draped her arms around my shoulder. She looked straight into my eyes and thought-spoke her answer to me.
‘I am like you ... but I am not like you.’
I was slightly confused by her answer, but it didn’t stop me from resting my palms on her back. The psychic brunette grinned wickedly and put her face dangerously close to mine.
‘You are a little like me: you love many girls. I too love many girls—’
“You’re a lesbian?” I interjected, “But wait—you’re too pretty —”
‘—and boys.’ Viktoriya kissed me lightly on the lips.
“So,” I put on my bravado and managed a devilish grin. “You’re bisexual.”
“Why yes,” Viktoriya finally spoke and laughed. “You don’t believe me?”
Her fingers slid through my hair, her fingertips grazed my scalp, and I felt little bits of her life float into mine. I felt a rising attraction to the sights and smells of the girls’ locker room. I arched my brow as Viktoriya showed me the covers of the latest GQ magazines, but I understood her attraction to good-looking chiseled men.
I felt my hard-on return though, once an image of a girl came up. It was a little blurry at first, but then an image of a pretty dark haired Asian girl came to fore. The location? I couldn’t make it out clearly—perhaps Viktoriya was obscuring it—but it was dark. I could smell the girl as if I was the one eating out her pussy. Then an image of Rachelle popped up. My dark darling often enjoyed running at our old school and did stretches before starting.
I felt a sudden bit of unease. How did she know Rachelle? Sensing my trepidation, Viktoriya showed me more. From the new mind-images, I realized that she had caught a glimpse of Rachelle one day during our final year of high school, and it turned her right-the-fuck on. As she closed in on the kill, she sensed Rachelle and I were an item. Suspecting I was something like her, Viktoriya backed off and observed. I was speechless.
‘I am a very good observer.’ Viktoriya came through triumphantly with her thought-speak. ‘I would do anything to have someone as beautiful as Rachelle.’
I didn’t know what to say or do. You’d figure that a half-dressed psychic girl and a psychic boy who used mind games to bag young hotties would be jumping at each other when the chance arose, but the truth was a little more sinister. Had Viktoriya been preying on boys, she would’ve likely left me alone. However, since she was bisexual she’d eventually intrude into my world.
“So what do we do now?” I asked her the most straight-forward question I could think of. Actually, with her so close to me, it would be impossible for me to be sly with her.
‘I just want to talk.’ Viktoriya canted her head and pouted.
I wasn’t taking her for face value.
“So let’s talk,” I said aloud. Despite the fact I could think-speak to her, I was more accustomed to using audible words. “What do you want?”
‘Nothing you don’t have already.’ Viktoriya’s mouth didn’t move, but I felt her sensuality ooze behind her reply.
‘I want to try Rachelle. Maybe her two friends as well.’ She cocked her head. ‘They are still friends?’
I couldn’t really lie to her so I nodded. “They stay in touch.”
‘Ghandia.’ She plucked the names from me. ‘And Heidi. I would like that. We can have some fun.’
“Maybe you should ask first,” I said.
‘We are better than they.’ She flinched when I regarded her remark with repugnance. Viktoriya immediately back-pedalled and explained herself. ‘I mean we are better in regards to our—’ she used a term in her native tongue but I understood her meaning: “mental-selves”.
Her bigotry still fresh on my mind, I contemplated what to do. With this much of our bodies in direct contact, Viktoriya could sense my feelings as easily as I could hers. I felt her incessant probing of my mind and nudged her away from what I regarded as private info. The amount of probing simply increased manifold—she was good.
Still, while the girl probed me, it meant she wasn’t guarding herself well. I managed to get occasional glimpses of her private thoughts as well. She was originally from Ukraine, near the area bordering Moldavia. She immigrated into the United States in 1987. If we both tried to overload each other’s brain synapses, maybe, just maybe ...
‘It will not work.’ Viktoriya heard what I was thinking. ‘What we are doing now would drive most insane by now.’
“Really?” I sounded more worried than I was. “But this is nothing!”
‘You can hear me only because you are touching me.’ Viktoriya licked her lips. ‘Skin to—’ She gave a muffled squeal as I pressed my lips against hers and finished her thought: ‘—SKIN.’
This was certainly much more than I asked for than a simple trip to the library. While I eagerly breathed in this fresh new foreign odor, I (figuratively speaking) had a million questions: who, what, when, and how—
‘How many?’ Viktoriya drew back to catch her breath.
“Yes,” I nodded, although it was fairly pointless to do so.
‘There are others but I do not know how many.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘You are the first I have met here. In America.’
“So there others like us,” I felt her caress the back of my neck. “Who do you know?”
Viktoriya’s eyes dipped. ‘Just my half-brother. But someone killed him. Someone like us.’
My neck hairs stood when she thought-spoke that to me. My fear and surprise hit her harder than I wanted. She nearly jumped out of my arms, but she calmed down quickly and hugged me.
‘I know it was not you.’
“How could you be sure?” I savored her proximity despite the potential danger.
‘I sensed you did not know about Pyotr.’ Viktoriya became coy. ‘And you would have to older. He died at Tchornobyl.’
The name sounded familiar.
“You mean the Chernobyl nuclear plant?” I blinked. “That was 1986.”
‘Yes.’ She looked at me. ‘You and I are the same age, no?’
“Yeah, so you must’ve been—”
The same age as Melanie, I realized. Viktoriya leaned close and hugged me. I sensed a certain degree of camaraderie, like she had found someone she could communicate with. I hugged her back. Even as telepaths, we both understood the tenderness behind this physical act.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured but she stopped me with a kiss.
‘You are so clumsy with your words Stanley.’ Viktoriya fingered the buttons on my shirt before she began undoing them. ‘But so sweet.’
‘I am?’ I thought-spoke to her and she grinned wickedly.
She slid off my shirt, exposing my chest. ‘Yes you are.’
I felt Viktoriya’s breath on my body and my pants tightened appreciably. She teased my nipples with her tongue then she suddenly clamped down on it hard enough to hurt, but not enough to draw blood.
“Aaaggh,” I gasped and dug my fingers into her ass. She returned the favor by biting down a little more, almost enough to break my skin.
‘One of them knows you like that does she not?’ Viktoriya’s feral eyes regarded me darkly.
That would be Shawn. Damn. Was there nothing that she wouldn’t drag out of me?
Viktoriya caught my last few thoughts and giggled.
‘I know what you want.’ She brushed back her long black hair and pushed away from me. ‘Help me.’
I felt my pulse quicken as she hopped on a foot to remove her panties. I steadied her then quickly picked her up. Viktoriya gasped. It was hard to surprise her at this point, but I managed to do so briefly. I carried her to one of the larger reading tables. With her lying on them, I took her panties and let my eyes dance over her sexy athletic body.
It didn’t matter that the library was closed. The librarian was psychically knocked out (Viktoriya was more adroit at that) and the only two people conscious were two telepaths who wanted some time alone. Viktoriya was full of gaeity as she sat up on the table and offered her hand to me.
‘Come to me—’ her mind slipped into her native tongue then back to English. ‘I want you in me. I have dance class at eight.’
“Dance class?” I looked at her and remembered she mentioned it before. “I didn’t know City offered that.”
“They do,” Viktoriya nodded and spoke aloud. “But I am transferring next year.”
“Where to?” I felt an immediate pang of regret.
“Dance and motion-performing arts at Berkeley,” she said proudly, then it was back to her thought-speak. ‘You will see me again.’
She held out her hand and I took it as another question came to me.
“How can you be so sure?”
‘We are so unique.’ Viktoriya’s eyes slid down toward my cock. ‘And you are not repulsive.’
I chuckled. Her vernacular was still hampered by her trying to acclimatize to English. I sensed she meant no disrespect; it was just her choice of words were limited. Viktoriya read my mind and shot me an unhappy look.
‘So you think you’re so smart eh you—’ she slid again into her native tongue but I got the meaning.
Feeling foolish, I leaned towards her and kissed her. She returned my kisses, but awkwardly. I climbed over her, my body longing to plunge into her lithe dancer’s depths. Viktoriya sighed as I grabbed her ankles and spread her legs apart.
‘Slow.’ I heard her voice in my mind. ‘Slow please. I—’ The briefest crack in her mental defences allowed a small sliver of private information to slip into my consciousness. Beyond her lewd experiences with the girl, I got the distinct feeling she was hiding something. Stumbling through her thoughts, I found her secret.
“You’re a virgin?” I blurted absently.
How was it that she was a virgin despite the fact she could probably take control over any man she desired? Viktoriya’s eyes went wide and she clumsily tried to shut her legs. However, I was already between her legs and my cock hovering over her furry, cushy cunt.
‘Yes.’ She sat up and looked at me defiantly. ‘Boys are too much risk.’
“Maybe you’re just shy,” I said.
‘As I said, I am not like you. I cannot tell someone to do my bidding without showing myself. I would be naked in mind and body.’
I smiled absently, thinking how she was so nekkid right now.
‘What is so funny?!’ Viktoriya looked angrier than she really was, and it made my smile wider.
‘You were a virgin too. With that old hag you call Janet!!’ Her thoughts bordered on jealousy more than anger and I stroked her sides gently to calm her.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “It’s just you looked so—”
‘Do not take me as one of your women!’ She slapped my face. It was not a deliberate attack, but it was not gentle either. I rubbed my cheek and grinned. Her face went from rejection to one of uncertainty and fear. I was starting to enjoy Viktoriya’s light-handed abuse and she knew it.
Viktoriya was still sitting in a vulnerable position. I was probably less physically fit than she, but I didn’t let on as all I had on my mind was fully fucking this nude Slavic slut-minx just inches before me.
‘I ... do not ... want to ... hurt ... you.’ The girl’s thought-speech was hesitant and soft. She was losing her concentration and was trying to establish dominance once more. That or her powers were indeed of little use in persuasion—clearly my strong suite. I caught her hand gently and put her palm against my injured cheek.
“I’ll be gentle,” I whispered.
She gave me a doubtful look as she surrendered to my advances. I gingerly urged Viktoriya to lie on the table. She watched—eyes and legs wide open—as I stroked my dick over her fuzzy slit. She let out a sigh as I pressed the length of my shaft on her little hood. As Janet showed me, some times a woman’s clit needed some coaxing to make it emerge. Once it did though, the clit could be played with along with some long deep strokes to make a girl feel great.
I reached down with my free hand and gently tweaked Viktoriya’s dark nipples. Her hands began stroking her oily slit and cup her breasts. After a few minutes of foreplay, my cock was hard enough that I could push it in. She sensed what I was going to do and propped herself up on her elbows.
I sensed the thoughts from her mind: ‘Will it hurt more than it would with my fingers?’
Momentarily forgetting that Viktoriya spoke with her mind, I began working the tip of my engorged cock into her. She gasped and put a hand on my chest.
‘Will it hurt more than two fingers?’ She stared at me and her face wore a worried look.
“Sorry,” I muttered, “It might just a little. I’m not that big but if it hurts too much, you just tell me and I’ll stop.”
Her body relaxed and her hand fell away. I looked at her for permission to continue. Viktoriya nodded slowly and bade me to proceed. Her mouth opened as her eyes followed my unsheathed, uncircumcised dick slid slowly into her virgin cunt. My blood pumped through my arteries and veins, and I could feel myself pulse within her.
It was enough to cause Viktoriya to throw her head back. Something guttural fluttered from her throat as I hilted myself into her juicy cunt lips. I stayed perfectly still, enjoying the moist warmth that was Miss Lychenko, ex-virgin. I toyed with her breasts, and reached behind her to pull her close. When Viktoriya pulled herself forward again, I could see some slobber hanging from the edge of mouth.
Her eyes saw I was fully vested into her body. She looked up and we locked eyes. Sensing her desire, I seized her and kissed her deeply. I drew away slightly as I began moving my hips and she let out a short yelp. Viktoriya gripped me roughly and savagely bit my neck and lips. As she got used to my motions, she relaxed and let me work on her.
I pushed into Viktoriya bare-backed. After a few minutes more of my hard rod plumbing her funky depths, she signaled her readiness to cum. I held her as she veritably leaped into my arms (telekinesis most likely) and rode me until I was ready to burst. She screamed like a banshee as I repeatedly rammed my cock into her.
Had it been any of the other girls, I wouldn’t have been so rough. Once Viktoriya got going though, she was a feral bitch in heat. I shot my sex scuzz deep into her eager womb, neither caring or wondering how she’d avoid winding up in a state of embarrassing pregnancy (she told me later that she pushed my gunk out with her telekinesis—that and some modified form of Kegel exercises from her motion study courses).
I felt Viktoriya body’s shudder at the same time a weird, warm feeling began to flow down my inner thigh. I plopped the little nymphomaniac on the reading table and saw that she had pissed out some musky clear liquid. Both of our crotches were slick, wet messes and Viktoriya was still shaking from the experience. It was just like the girl who I induced an orgasm back in Utah.
Watching Viktoriya jerk her gaping, sloppy hole gave me my second wind. Before she could think-speak, I had put myself into her again. She shrieked once at the uninvited intrusion, but she quickly devolved into hoarse cries as I fucked her with my sperm covered prick. I practically drained my balls as I emptied my sack of fluid a second time. This time, her orgasm wasn’t as loud, but her wail definitely resonated off the building’s walls. Thankfully, the librarian stayed sedated.
It was nearly seven. We dressed as best we could, and while I wiped down the mess in the reading room, Viktoriya tapped the librarian awake before we skipped out. We had a quick dinner at McDonalds. It wasn’t much, but after such a workout, we were both unabashedly hungry. It would be one of the few times I saw Viktoriya wolf down a whole jumbo burger without worrying over her figure or her health.
Despite my workload, I accompanied her to dance class. For the rest of the night, I watched Viktoriya frolic, stretch, and dance her sensuous dancing. It was some serious business and I was duly impressed. After class, we shared a little more than a cheap dinner. The scent of our love-making was washed off only in the wee hours of the next morning.
Unlike Janet, Rachelle, and Shawn, Viktoriya was very much my partner in extra-sensory powers. In fact, I noticed that my gifts increased in number and potency when we were together. Viktoriya was one of those rare psychokineticists. Eventually, I learned much more about my mysterious darling. I also acquired some of her gifts and she, some of mine.
I could do some of the tricks she could (like with the cigarette butt) but only with simple objects, like a can of soda or a relatively smooth sphere or even shove aside cars (though they generally get dents afterwards). To this day, I have some difficulty juggling oranges without crushing them simply because of their rough skin. Apples are far easier thanks to their smoother skins.
Viktoriya however, was able to manipulate more complex surface areas hence she could lift larger, more “delicate” masses like motorcycles, furniture, and vehicles without tearing them apart.
Together though, we were more potent: I could affect objects more complex in nature (the ones Viktoriya could handle by herself) but my dusky Russkie was able to lift extremely complex objects like whole trains (with various car types) or a whole marina of boats of different shapes and sizes. And that was before she’d get pissed off and really concentrated.
Viktoriya wasn’t only my partner on the psychokinetic and extra-sensory department. Later, when she and I weren’t busy drafting or model-making or dancing, we’d look into Melanie. Of course getting little Chen to spare her precious time was the other thing. While Melanie didn’t mind spending time with me, she was naturally jealous of Viktoriya’s presence. Nonetheless, the two of us experimented and explored Melanie’s powers.
As it turned out, my hypothesis about my little darling turned out to be somewhat true. That would eventually make Melanie one of the most sought after people in the empire.
MEETING THE MASTER
I remembered that day. I had passed two semesters at the community college. Viktoriya bade me farewell on the last day of finals; she would be commuting daily to the university in Berkeley from her parents’ place. She lived in a slightly different part of town, but attended my old school. Her program demanded a different kind of investment than mine but it was still substantial. Her physical training for dance was demanding and we’d like not meet each other— physically speaking—for some time.
‘But I can still speak to you.’ I heard her clearly in my mind as the bus pulled away. Viktoriya didn’t look at me but I heard her hum a homely little ditty. Her song was still in my mind some 20 minutes later and she was clearly out of sight. Then I heard her thought-speech again.
‘I am home Stanley.’
I relaxed inwardly and bade her a goodnight.
There was a brief pause, then I glimpsed her briefly. Viktoriya was stark naked before a mirror, her legs split like a gymnast on the floor of her bedroom. I saw her dark Slavic eyes gazing at her own reflection and realized she did so for my benefit. What she saw, I saw through her. I took in her strong features, tight dancer’s body, B-cup breasts.
‘Think to me when you are with them.’
I then realized what Viktoriya wanted. She wanted to use mind-sight to watch me fuck a girl. What a twist. A stupid grin crossed my face as I headed towards the bus shelter going the other way. I had to go meet Melanie and Shawn. Janet would be coming back soon. And Rachelle was due back for a quick visit. How great was Viktoriya’s timing?
As the bus passed through Golden Gate Park, it went under a small overpass. The interior of the bus darkened as went through. I suddenly got this bizarre feeling that I was being spied on. I passed a glance around the interior of the bus but saw no one who I recognized or took notice of me.
No one should’ve noticed me once I was alone. Unless I was with one of my friends, I found it handy to practice becoming invisible to ‘normals’ around me. It was handy to avoid paying bus fare (although it was moot when my mother would buy me a bus pass each month). It nevertheless gave me more practice, and I was quite good at it.
Hence, anyone who managed to pierce my veil meant he (or she) was adroit with their gifts, or was not affected by my powers (like Melanie). I felt distinctly uncomfortable—enough that once the bus cleared the park, I hopped off the first stop available. I stood at the corner of the street and felt the presence lingering. It was incredible. I paused and wondered what to do.
Was it Viktoriya? No—this was different. When she and I experimented with mind-sight, it was to see how far we could maintain it (its range was virtually unlimited). It didn’t come all too handy in English class (the tests were critical thought essays, not multiple choice) but it did come in handy. For example, Viktoriya and I scored some sweet deals shopping in two different markets clear across the city.
When we used mind-sight though, we were always keenly aware that the other person was peering through our eyes. After-all, we were broadcasting our thoughts. But the feeling I had now was one where I was being watched externally—out of my mind.
Since it wasn’t Viktoriya, I considered contacting her immediately; perhaps it was another one of our kind. But I stopped short. While a second telepath would be handy, I realized had feelings for Viktoriya. To endanger her needlessly was not my modus operandi.
It was then that I saw him. He was the same man I saw over a year ago at the school dance—the place where I held another classmate in my arms as he died. He looked the same, exactly the same. He had the same receding black hair and wrinkles around his eyes. His simple black clothing was brightened by a chalk gray blazer. He saw me notice him and he motioned languidly with one hand. I hesitated only for a moment then stepped towards him.
“Who are you?” I asked. I didn’t know how, but I knew he was the one who was spying on me.
“My name is Tseng,” he replied laconically, “Come walk with me. We have much to discuss.”