And she wants to meet me later. A flashback of Arleen’s cold hand sweeping against mine makes me smile.
“What was all that about?” Miss Shields asks.
“What?” I ask distractedly, only barely noticing her tits on proud display.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose a debate before. I think that shows you’re coasting a bit. You need to do some more research. Don’t you agree?” She runs her hand through her hair. Is she trying to be flirty?
What’s wrong with me that I can’t summon up any sort of sexual innuendo? I’m missing a perfect opportunity! Am I losing my edge?
I think about Arleen again and her pretty face and even smarter mouth.
“Yeah, I think I need to do a lot more research,” I agree, though not in the way Miss Shields had suggested.
Miss Shields has a funny look on her face, and suddenly sits up to discreetly straighten her shirt. This time I look at her chest and am relieved when my dick wakes back up.
“Good. Get back to it then,” Miss Shields says with a small smile.
Chapter Seven
It isn’t long after I get home from school that my thoughts drift back to Arleen. Who is she? Where did she come from? At what point had I invited her into my thoughts? And why is the desperation to find out all these answers making the words in my head stutter and tongue-tie?
She said she’d see me tonight.
I can only assume she wants to meet me at the ruins. I’ll go, of course—mostly so that the mysteries can be solved and I can go back to my routine. These small interruptions never last long.
I leave my house before Mom and Dad get home from the country club, grabbing a sandwich on my way. It’s still light when I arrive at the cedar tree, but there’s no sign of Arleen. So I sit against it on the ground and wait.
I don’t know how long I’m there, but the only reason I know I’ve fallen asleep is when I’m startled awake by a voice.
“Hey.”
I flinch for a moment, and allow my eyes to focus on her. The sun has gone down and I have no idea what time it is, but she lightly kicks my leg and repeats her greeting.
“Hey. Wake up.” She gives me a sideways smile.
“Hey,” I repeat with a stretch.
“How long have you been here?” she asks.
A silence lapses when I realize I have a hard-on. Shit!
The leaves rustle and I can see the moon peeking through the swaying branches. “I’m not sure,” I finally say, discreetly placing my backpack on my lap. “It was still light when I fell asleep.”
She nods, sitting down beside me.
“So what was up with debate after school?” I begin, too curious to put off the question any longer. A part of my pride was still stinging. “Are you passionately against a classroom of all girls, or were you just trying to make a point about the pussies in the suburbs that get handed their diplomas?”
She shrugs me off, as if the question – or the answer – isn’t interesting enough to hold her attention. “Can we make a rule?”
“What? A rule?”
Looking out toward the dark woods, she chews the inside of her cheek. “Let’s not talk about school while we’re here.”
I can feel my eyebrows scrunch together at her randomness. “You’re bizarre.”
I see the gleam of her white teeth flash momentarily before she covers her mouth. Her smile fades quickly, and for the first time since she sat down next to me, she makes eye contact.
“I’ve been called worse.” She picks up a stick from the ground and starts fiddling with the pebbles in the dirt.
“So you’re not going to answer my question?” I ask.
She shakes her head and smiles. “Nope.”
I’m at a loss. We have nothing else in common to talk about. That’s what we do in high school: we talk about high school!
“Why do you come here?” she asks.
“Why have I always come here, or why am I here tonight?” I ask her teasingly.
I can’t see her blush, but her shifting has told me I’ve made her feel uncomfortable somehow. So I try to back up and answer her question.
“Sorry.” I feel my stomach turn a little at the thought of making her uneasy. “I come here to get away.” Looking around the crumbling structure, I find a memory to share with her. “When I was eight, my dad and I were out in these woods. We’d come here to try to find new plant or insect species that I could research.” I shrug and huff a laugh, trying to play off how pathetically loserish I must sound. “A storm came, and this was the only place close to take shelter. It was a pretty bad storm. A tornado touched down in the county to the east of here.”
“But you both ended up okay?”
“Yeah. Dad sprained his ankle, though. And we slept here until the next morning. Mom was really scared.” I look down in thought, remembering the way these woods looked then. They’re much denser now—or maybe it was because I was so small that the trees seemed farther apart.
Dad took his coat and propped it up using the cedar tree and some twigs to assemble a makeshift tent to keep us dry. We stayed awake, talking all night. It was that night I’d decided to put away my dreams of becoming Spiderman and focus on becoming a storm chaser.
But sometime a year or two later, I abandoned that dream as well.
“The night of the storm is the last memory I have from when my family was normal.” I try to speak easy, but the sentence comes out as more of a whisper.
I hear her swallow as she continues moving the dirt around with her stick.
I’m not sure what it is about her. Maybe it’s the fact that we met here, where I always felt safest. Or maybe it’s the fact that I don’t feel like she expects anything from me. But for the rest of the evening all I can do is mutter truths and stories from my past—random shit that shouldn’t matter but somehow does.
And she laughs when she should, nods when it’s appropriate, and doesn’t speak a word. She continues to let me ramble on and on about everything and nothing.
It’s the best conversation I’ve had in my life—which isn’t saying much, considering how few real conversations I’ve had in the past few years.
It isn’t until I’m home and about to sleep that I realize all the things we talked about were the reason I used to go to that place by myself to think. It felt good to get it all out—to feel like I could say those things without being judged. And to not worry about what signs or signals she’d give me.
Constantly thinking about how to get in a girl’s pants is pretty damn exhausting. And it was nice relating to a girl in a way that had nothing to do with getting her naked.
Not saying I didn’t want to see Arleen naked.
Because I did. But I also liked talking to her too.
Huh.
Interesting.
Chapter Eight
Number Five: The Maserati GranTurismo
February 30, 2014 (Six months ago)
Tricia is what I considered the Maserati GranTurismo—the mother of all beasts. Complete with a six-speed sequential transaxle and shock absorbers, this girl was freaky fast. Well, at least the freaky part.
She had definitely come prepared, and wore a black pleather corset under her sweater. Her blond hair was slicked back into a ponytail, and her lips were stained dark red. I suppose I should’ve been a little more observant of the situation when a set of handcuffs fell from her backpack, but I was still a bit naïve when it came to this lifestyle.
What started out as a simple debate research study date ended up with a red tennis ball and gimp mask. Shit, I don’t even want to know what she did to my dick that night, but thank God there were no piercings or tattoos involved.
There was no long-term damage to my body, but my psyche is still trying to recover.
She had my clothes off in record time, and my wrists were tied to the bedposts. From my research on subs and doms, she had the whole thing a little mixed up. Then again, I wouldn’t exactly call myself an expert. This
was definitely a first.
It was all a bit emotionally scarring, so I’d prefer not to rehash the details. But of all the girls on my list, Tricia was the one that I felt absolutely no remorse for never contacting again after that night.
Chapter Nine
I feel like I need to apologize.
Weird, right?
But I want to find Arleen and tell her that I’m not normally in the habit of word vomiting all over people I barely know. That I can be a good listener too. That I’m not into one-sided friendships where it’s all about me.
With the mystery growing of who she is and why she’s here, I know she’s got a story. And yet I went on and on about all my shit, and never gave her a chance to spill hers.
I search for her at school. I check the library and cafeteria. After coming up empty-handed, I stay close to the doors, looking at every face that enters the building.
But the first period warning bell rings and I still haven’t seen her.
“Simon?”
I turn to my name.
Miss Shields.
I can feel my eyebrow arch as my body goes on an autopilot of suaveness: My shoulders relax. My stance shifts. And my hand goes up to my hair to sweep it backward.
“Hey, Miss Shields.” I say her name softly.
“May I speak to you for a moment?” She gives me a tight smile.
My jaw tightens as I smirk, lifting my thumb to graze my cheek. “After you.”
She’s in jeans today. Tight, dark blue jeans. Normally I would be ogling her fantastic ass as I walked behind her. But now, I barely spare it a glance.
“I’ve been meaning to speak with you about Saint Louis. The tournament is in one month, and we have to make all the final sleeping arrangements with the team in the hotel,” she says quietly.
Her words surprise me. Is she asking me what I think she’s asking me? “And what did you have in mind?”
She laughs and scratches her head. “We have three extra students this year that we didn’t have last year, which makes our count uneven.” She licks her lips a little nervously. “It looks like someone will need to room alone.”
She takes her hair down, and shivers start at my calves and swiftly make their way to my crotch. Sitting on her chair, she bends over to tousle her hair before flipping it back upright. Damn, I love it when she does that shit.
“Well, if you wanted to room alone, that’s fine. But I’m going to make sure that the room adjoins mine—you know, just to make sure there’s no funny business going on. I was a teenager once myself.”
Fuck! Did I hear her right? Was she actually offering to put me in a room next to hers? With a door where we could go between them without being seen?
I knew it. This whole time it wasn’t just in my head. Miss Shields wants me.
But there’s something missing in my reaction to this news. I’m not as excited as I thought I’d be.
But I find myself nodding. “Yeah, I can definitely do that.”
“Good, it’s settled then.” She smiles. “I’ve been meaning to ask you…” A stack of papers sits on her desk and she points to it. “I have some packets and brochures from colleges here. I can write you a letter of recommendation. With your debate team experience and grades, you shouldn’t have a problem getting into any of them.”
I shake my head. “I’ll have it all figured out soon,” I promise, though I’m preoccupied with the thought of a single room. With a door to hers.
Shit! Was this really going to happen? Am I ready for this?
“Good. Let me know.”
I reach for the doorknob, but her voice stops me.
“Simon. You’ll need this pass to give to your first period teacher.” She slides the slip to the edge of her desk, her fingers brushing mine as I take it.
Holy shit. I can’t believe I’m finally going to get my hands on Miss Shields. I wonder if she wants me to call her Miss Shields when I’m fucking her, or if she’ll prefer Katie.
“Thanks,” I say, giving her a devilish smile, and leave the office.
I’m going to have to find Number Ten, and fast. I wasn’t expecting Miss Shields to submit so quickly.
I’m feeling a little stressed about the whole thing. I don’t have much time.
As I make my way up the steps to class, I’m in total shock. It was one thing to fantasize about something. It was another knowing it could quite possibly happen.
I don’t think I was misreading the vibe Miss Shields had been throwing out. Because it definitely seems like in less than a month I’m finally going to know what it’s like to have Miss Shields.
I’ve spent three years obsessing over Miss Shields. Now, in a couple measly weeks I would taste her, devour her, and treat her like the woman she is.
I’m so lost in my thought that my mind doesn’t process what I see when I get to the top of the stairs. But as I walk toward my classroom, I can see Arleen at the end of the corridor.
She seems to be in a heated discussion with two girls. But I can’t make out what they’re saying. My smile fades as I take in the encounter and feel an urgency to get to her kick in. I pick up my pace and before I know it, I’m scowling and jogging in their direction.
“You’re next,” one of the girls snips. She’s hovering over Arleen threateningly.
The two girls spot me before I can get to her and run in opposite directions. Arleen’s hair is a mess, and her backpack is on the floor. By the time I reach her, the girls are gone.
“What was that? Are you okay?”
She swallows, closing her eyes. When she opens them again, she’s scowling at me. “It’s fine, Simon. Go away.”
She sounds angry with me, and by the way she’s gathering her books and shoving them into her bag, I can’t help but wonder what the hell I did wrong.
My hands go up. “What?”
I’m dumfounded.
“Arleen, wait!” I call behind her, trying to catch up. “Who were those girls, and what were you talking about?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Please. Just go.”
I stop in the hallway in front of my classroom and watch her scurry to the steps. It’s just getting weirder and weirder with this girl.
I have no idea what this is all about, but I’m going to need some answers when I see her again at the church ruins.
Chapter Ten
Number Four: The Ford Ranger
January 3, 2014 (Seven months ago)
The debate team made a quick trip to Garfield Heights for the day. A debate was being held for the semi-finals in order for our team to move on to the Regionals in March.
It was supposed to be an ordinary trip, nothing special. But I’d been up the night before researching the debate topic, and I found myself alone on the bus when I woke up from an impromptu nap. The rest of the team was inside a McDonald’s when I heard my name being whispered.
It was Bobbi, a.k.a. the F-Series Ford Ranger.
Typically, we really only see the Ranger in bodybuilders or lesbians. They’re a rare occurrence, indeed, and if I wasn’t so shocked by her forwardness, I probably would’ve tried to get her off me. Yet there was something so unique about the situation that it compelled me to let her continue.
Practice is practice, after all.
She used brute force, letting her four-wheel drive keep up her pace. And like the Ranger, probably could’ve hauled a four-foot-wide piece of plywood on her back while straddling me. But with her big titties bouncing up and down, and the force of her thrusting, I kind of felt like she was using me as a post to grind against. There was no magic. No after-spooge cuddle. Only a pat on my back when she finished six minutes after she’d begun.
She didn’t even care whether or not she got me off.
Which, to be honest, I was thankful for. It had almost been painful.
Chapter Eleven
I’m actually twiddling my thumbs. I look down and watch the absurdity of them, smoothing out the wrinkles in each one as I debate what I’m fee
ling. Whatever it is, I can’t remember a time I felt so unsettled. Then again, I don’t remember a time I was ever worried about a friend who might or might not be in trouble somehow.
Is that what she is—my friend? I try to remember the last time I had one of those.
“You’re next,” the one girl said. Were they going to kick the shit out of her?
This girl, Arleen, can’t be from the suburbs. The drama with girls around this town consists of embarrassing Facebook videos of Saturday night parties and whether or not their best friend tagged them in a meme of their favorite people.
Not physical harm.
My questions continue to mount, and with my assumed answers, a gut feeling of concern tears at my chest.
Oh, God. I’m turning into a chick. Why am I suddenly so attached and emotional? I dry heave at the thought.
It’s past nine o’clock now, the usual time she appears, and my stomach flips at every cricket and frog I think might be her footsteps.
“Been here long?”
I jump up at Arleen’s voice, not taking the time to ask myself how she could have approached without me hearing her. I have far too many different questions I want to ask.
But the second I see her, and how the moon casts shadows over her skin, my mind empties and I forget all the things I want to know. I swallow hard and try to act as casual as possible by pushing up my sleeves and shoving my hands in my pockets.
“Are you okay?” is all I manage to say.
A half-smile appears and disappears on her face. She scratches her temple and walks toward me. “Were you worried?”
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