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Message-ID: <50779asstr$1111623003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Spitfire and Messerschmitt Ch 29 {Gina Marie Wylie} (teen, mff, cons)
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Date: Wed, 23 Mar 2005 19:10:03 -0500
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<1st attachment, "Davey Ch 29.doc" begin>

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	The following is fiction of an adult nature.  If I believed in
setting age limits for things, you'd have to be eighteen to read
this and I'd never have bothered to write it.  IMHO, if you can
read and enjoy, then you're old enough to read and enjoy.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a blunder on my
part.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	Official stuff:  Story codes: teen, mff, , voy, cons.

	If stories like this offend you, you will offend ME if you read
further and complain. Copyright 2004, by Gina Marie Wylie.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	I can be reached at gmwylie98260@hothothotmail.com, at least if
you remove some of the hots.  All comments and reasoned
discussion welcome.

Below is my site on ASSTR:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gina_Marie_Wylie/www/

My stories are also posted on StoriesOnline:
http://Storiesonline.net/

And on Electronic Wilderness Publishing:
http://www.ewpub.org/

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Spitfire and Messerschmitt

Chapter 29 :: The Sun Goes Out of Sunday

Sunday was awful.

It started a little before eleven, with a phone call for Wanda. 
She'd started to carry the phone back to her room, but she
stopped, turned pale... then went and dropped the phone back in
its cradle.

Dad looked up from the paper and saw her expression.  "What is
it, Wanda?"

"Pammie's father has decided that Davey is Satan incarnate, the
Anti-Christ, and is guiding people astray.  Davey was her
father's sermon topic this morning.  Too much dancing, swimming
in skimpy clothes and the like, all because of him.  He called
Davey the pied-piper of sin."

I gulped.  That was the church Mercedes and Shellie went to.  The
phone rang again and Wanda picked it up, and after a second,
offered it to me.  "Mercedes."

I braced myself and said hello.

"My father told me a few minutes ago he didn't want me to go out
with you again.  I told him I'm moving out.  Right now he and Mom
are having a fight, and I'm packing."

"I'm so sorry," I told her.  "I don't want to cause trouble."

"Davey, you haven't caused any trouble.  Mom is on his case
because a few years ago he went to San Antonio to pick up his
sister.  While he was there the car got stolen.  Mom says by his
logic, she should have kicked him out.  He's not rational.  So,
I'm going to stay with my sister for a while.  It's not a big
deal."

We talked a bit more, and then she said she wanted to call
Shellie and see how things were with her.

Mercedes called back about one, telling me that Shellie's parents
had simply forbidden her to come to our house, but agreed that
Shellie could continue to study with the group.  Mercedes had a
big laugh at that.  "My sister has said we can use her apartment.
 She works from two to eleven, afternoons and evenings."

The phone kept ringing all day long as various and sundry people
took sides.  Even the police chief issued a statement saying that
people should stay calm and not rush to judgment.  The way the
statement was worded was vague enough so that you could take it
to mean about Fesselhof's guilt -- or mine.

Still, by the end of the day, I was pretty depressed.  I was a
little cheered up when Jack came over to see Wanda, only he
brought Chuck along.  Jack and Chuck said they wanted to talk to
me outside, so we went out on the pool deck.

"We have some things to say," Jack told me.

Chuck took over for a second.  "My old man nearly busted a gut
when I told him about the poker game last night.  He asked me
what did I expect?  I told him I didn't expect to be shorn like a
sheep at the spring haircut.  He thought that was hilarious.  He
patted me on the head like I was six years old when I told him
about the advice we got on wild cards.

"Your father told us that if we came to play, we'd be playing
adult, serious poker.  So, even though it cost a lot, Jack and I
don't hold it against you."

"Hold what?" I said, smiling.  "We played poker.  One thing they
are really big on is not whining when you lose or gloating -- too
much -- when you win."

Jack spoke up.  "We called around today to the team.  I couldn't
believe Rev. Grissom today at church.  Davey, I got up and walked
out halfway through the sermon.  A couple of the other guys did
too.  I'm not sure why he's saying what he did.  It's just plain
nuts."

I shrugged.  "I'm not out to make trouble for people."

Chuck chuckled.  "I'm trying to make up with Pammie.  She was
telling me about how many chin-ups you do."

"I've been doing chin-ups for years."  And more importantly, how
did Pammie explain being in my bedroom that early in the morning?
 I seriously doubted if she mentioned to Chuck how she woke me
up.

Chuck went on, "I don't know how you do it, Davey.  You have two
girlfriends, Wanda and Pammie are always going on about 'Davey
did this' or 'Davey did that.'  Karen talks about you, hell, even
the cheerleaders are talking about you, and that's a very good
sign."

"A very, very good sign!" Jack agreed.

"Can I ask you guys a really personal question?"  I asked.

"Sure," Jack said and Chuck nodded.

"The cheerleaders give out prizes for winning games and those
that are key to the effort.  Are you guys really okay with
that?"

"Motivation 101," Chuck said with a grin.

"So Wanda's okay with some one else giving you a blow job?" I
asked.  "You're okay with her doing it to another guy.  And if
they decide to party on the bus..."

"No one asks them to," Jack said, although he sounded defensive.

"And no one says no, either," Chuck added.  "I mean, the
cheerleaders are nice..."

Rationalization 101, I decided.  "And Mercedes?"

Jack looked away, but Chuck laughed.  "Like Jack said, no one
makes them, anyone can say no.  This is the twenty-first century,
Davey.  Be cool."

I wanted to laugh.  I'd wondered how they were going to react
about two girls together, and instead they were worried that I
was upset with Mercedes being with another girl.  I considered
giving them my Guy A, Girls B and C speech and decided they
didn't need to know.

"Oh, I'm cool," I said, smiling to myself.  "I was just hoping no
one was going to freak about Mercedes and that girl yesterday."

"That's Annie, her last name is something Russian I can't
pronounce," Chuck said.  "She's new this year, just moved here
from Russia.  She speaks pretty good English."

"F-e-z-c-k-o," Jack said, spelling it and pronouncing her name
"Fesh-ko."

"We have to be going," Jack said.  "Wanda and I are going with
Chuck and Pammie to a youth group meeting at church tonight."

I grimaced.  "I'm in enough trouble as it is, I hope you can
persuade Wanda to be cool," I told Jack.

"Me?"  He laughed.  "Davey, I listen to her, not the other way
'round."

Chuck excused himself and went inside.  Jack looked at me for a
second.  "Have you ever done any shooting, Davey?"

"Me?  Not much."

"Skeet?"

"What's that?"

"Clay pigeons."

"Oh," I exclaimed.  "I've heard of it, I've never done it.  Never
fired a shotgun, either."

He nodded and went inside.  Curious, I followed along.  Dad was
sitting in the kitchen, watching Mom fix dinner, talking to her.
Jack nodded at Mom, then turned to Dad.  "I was wondering if some
weekend we could get together to shoot a little skeet."  He
nodded at me.  "Davey doesn't know how.  I was thinking, I could
get a little of my money back."

Dad laughed.  "I'm thinking you'd better think up another way. 
You said you knew poker, knew all about it.  Do you know all
about shooting skeet, Davey?"

"No, sir."

"Didn't think so.  Tell you what, Jack.  Let me work with Davey a
few months.  Then you can have a match.  But sure, if next Sunday
you want to kill a few dove, only too happy.  And if you're
interested in a little side bet -- me and you..."

"No, sir!" Jack said.  "I've seen you shoot at the range! 
Thanks, but no thanks!  My bank account is depleted enough!"

Emily wasn't interested in going to church, youth group or not,
with the others.  So we sat in the family room talking about
biology, algebra and English homework.  Later I spent some time
looking through Shellie's stuff on her backup disks.

I found a large folder named "sketch work" and opened it.  There
were a lot of subfolders, one of which was "Chibisama."  Again I
found a lot of subfolders when I looked inside it; these though
were numbered, so I started at number one.

A second later I looked at my door.  It was open; I rarely
bothered to close it.  My desk was placed such that someone
walking in the door could see what was on the screen.  A quick
glance around my room showed no place I could put the monitor
where you couldn't see it from the door.

After a couple of pictures the urge to whack off was nearly
overpowering.  There was no doubt in mind which of the figures
Shellie had drawn was Chibisama, and that it wasn't too
surprising that Shellie had been eager to learn what sex was
really like.  Chibisama certainly had a lot of sex, and didn't
keep her clothes on long, either.  And, like Shellie, was just as
fond of girls as boys.

Chibisama was small in the breast department, and at first I
didn't recognize that they were a self-portrait by the artist. 
Her nipples were different, but all the erect nipples of all the
women looked pretty much the same; it was the breasts themselves
that were different.  Nothing else about Chibisama looked at all
like Shellie, and I doubted if anyone else might notice.  Maybe
Mercedes, I realized.  Did girls pay as much attention to each
other's breasts as guys did?

I closed down the picture viewer and wandered out on the web,
looking for more information on IQ tests and octopi.  About
eleven, Dad turned off the light in the family room, which, I
figured, was a subtle hint to turn off my own light.

I did, stripped out of my clothes and collapsed across my bed.




The next morning I dreaded meeting Mercedes but it was
anti-climactic.  She was in her usual spot, with her usual smile
for me as I sat down next to her.  "The good news about my
sister's," she told me, "is that she's going to be gone every
afternoon.  The bad news is there's no phone there, she uses a
cheap cell phone.  I told Shellie that she could use your cell
phone to call home."

"Sure, no problem."

"The worst news is that my sister has no phone.  And no computer.
 I'm going to have to do my work at school, during computer
lab."

I laughed.  She looked at me, like I'd taken leave of my senses.

"What?"

"Well, I can't do anything about the phone, but as soon as I can
get some wheels, you'll have a computer... the one sitting on the
floor of my bedroom in a box."  The box I'd twice nearly stumbled
over in the dark.  Good riddance!

"You can't just give me a computer, it isn't right," Mercedes
told me.  "That's way too much money!"

"Mercedes, the guy at Dad's plant told me that if I brought it
in, he'd put it in the dumpster there; the city doesn't give the
plant any trouble about what stuff is in the dumpster."  Unlike
what happened if they spotted something they weren't suppose to
pick up at a private residence.  When that happened, they left
everything.

I went on, "So, either it goes in the dumpster or goes to someone
who can use it.  I vote for making good use of it."

Emily spoke, something she usually didn't do in the morning.  "I
think you should take it," she told Mercedes.  "Tell your dad who
gave it to you."

Mercedes' eyes gleamed -- but then she shook her head.  "Burning
bridges is one thing.  Nuking the bridge is something else."

The bell rang and we trooped inside.  Written on the board was a
different bell schedule for the day to accommodate an assembly. 
I mentally kicked myself... I'd been told about it, but it had
slipped out of my mind.

And it was going to be right after first period. too.

I turned to Mercedes and spoke quietly.  "This is that assembly,"
I told her.  And when she shook her head, not understanding, I
added, "the one they told us to expect that day we had lunch in
the principal's office."

She buried her face in her hands; I was stunned to hear a muffled
sob.  Ms. Weaver came over and crouched down next to Mercedes,
asking what was wrong.

After a second Mercedes lifted her head and wiped her eyes with
the sleeve of her blouse.

"No, it's... just the assembly.  We just want to be left alone! 
Is that too much to ask?"

"The assembly?" Ms. Weaver asked, confused.  "They haven't said
what it's about."

"Us," I said quietly.  "Me in particular.  Why did you move us?"

She looked at me, frowning.  "They said a gang was after you. 
That it wasn't likely to be a problem at school, but it would be
better if you were away from windows and doors."

"You listen real close at the assembly then," Mercedes said
bitterly.  "Listen real close to the kind of gang after Davey. 
And then you'll have some idea what it's like to have a bad day.
A really bad day."

Ms. Weaver got up and starting talking about general cell biology
of basic plant and animal cells.  It was interesting but hard to
concentrate.  Then it was time for the assembly.

You had to sit in your homeroom's seating area so Mercedes and I
sat together, along with Emily on my other side.

Blade and Hammer gave a similar speech to the one we'd heard
before.  The pictures were less gruesome, consisting of craters
with all the body parts missing.  There had been some talking as
the assembly got started, but after the first crater it all but
vanished and did go away completely after that.

At the end it was John Fox, instead of Willy Coy.  All of them
had been dressed in suits; Blade in particular had seemed casual,
but letting everyone see that he was wearing a pistol.

"I'd like to tell you that there is no chance of something like
this happening.  Well, 9/11 means we can no longer fool
ourselves.  It can happen here.

"Can it happen in San Angelo?  No World Trade Center, Pentagon,
Stock Market, and all the other cultural and economic icons in
places like New York City and Washington, DC.  But there's an
airbase on the edge of town that's in the forefront of the war
against our enemies.  It would be foolish to think they aren't
aware of it.

"There'll be a tape of this session run tonight on a local
broadcast channel, the local cable people will be playing it most
nights after tonight for the next few nights.  There is no
immediate threat.  There have been some incidents involving a
number of people that are of interest, but not grave concern.

"What can you do?"  He looked over the assembled students.  "Not
much.  Be observant.  Watch for anything that strikes you as odd.
 If you see something like that at school, let the office know. 
Off campus, call 911.  Don't try to deal with it yourself.  This
isn't carte blanche to spy on your neighbors reporting on them
for every minor infraction, this is simply a head's up, to help
us have more eyes out there.

"Thank you," he concluded.

We walked to English and Mercedes finally broke out of the
doldrums.  "Want to bet?  Tomorrow everyone will think it's a
joke and by Wednesday they'll have forgotten it."

"And your dad?"

"Mom said to trust her.  What choice do I have?"

I patted her shoulder, then squeezed.  What choice did any of us
have?

At least Shellie was there and she didn't look as bad as she had
Friday morning.

At lunch Rob came and sat down with us, but Karen didn't.  Rob
laughed when I asked him if he wasn't worried.

"Don't be silly!  I love to dance!  Next time you have a pool
party, I'll wear a tiny little Speedo bathing suit.  Maybe later
you'll give me an interview; I've never had a chance to talk to
the Anti-Christ before."

"That's not funny, Rob," Emily told him.

He looked apologetic.  "I'm sorry; I know.  But hell, if you
don't laugh at it, it means you're taking it seriously.  It's
those people who are the joke."

"My father," Mercedes said.  "Shellie's parents."

"Well, I told my mother about what you've done for Emily, Davey.
She says that's Christian, unlike standing up in a pulpit
preaching against a high school freshman.  She called up the
church, gave them a piece of her mind and said that when the Rev.
Grissom is ready to apologize to you, Davey, and apologize to the
rest of the people he offended yesterday to call her, otherwise,
she's changing churches."

He saw my face and laughed.  "What?  You look like someone told
you that you can't see Mercedes or Shellie any more."

"That's happened," I told him, grasping at straws.

"And you are where, right this second, eh?  Sitting between them.
 Davey, things happen in the world.  My dad isn't a fan of church
at the best of times.  He'd nearly finished a beer when Mom
finished talking about the service.  He was, ah, doubly rude."

"Doubly rude?" I said that without thinking.

"My father thinks I'm a chip off the old block, but I know better
than to be rude in front of my friends.  Think about it.

"The point is he talked to me later.  Things happen to all of us.
 Sometimes those things are catalysts for something a lot greater
than we could ever imagine.  Anything, he said, that gets people
off their butts is a good thing.  Particularly if they start
talking about what it all means.  9/11 was like that; everyone
had flags on their cars, then we kicked the butts of the bastards
in Afghanistan.  Dad says the terrorists won the same sort of
victory on 9/11 that Japan did at Pearl Harbor: a victory that
cost them a hundred thousand times as much on the back end.  If
any terrorists come here, he says we'll probably only be able to
get back ten or twenty thousand times as much... but we will kick
their butts."

"Not to mention," Shellie said, speaking for the first time in a
while, "if there are terrorists here, they didn't come halfway
around the world to take pot shots at Davey Harper."

I kept my mouth shut.  The police might have tied Fesselhof,
however vaguely, to Hannelore, I wasn't so sure.  In any case,
they weren't advertising it.  Then I realized something very
important: Fesselhof and Hannelore shared something else.  They
were total fuck-ups.

I smiled and Mercedes caught it.  "Feeling better?"

"I'm here, with you two," I told her.  "You four."

"Changing the subject radically," Rob went on.  "Speaking of
interviews.  I was going to have Emily do hers Saturday.  We
decided that wasn't a good idea.  How about next Saturday
afternoon?  And maybe I can interview you, Davey?"

"I'll be glad to help, Rob.  But if it's at my house, Mercedes
and Shellie can't come."

"Well, we'll do it at my house, no problem.  My parents are
cool."

"And no, I don't want to talk about it," I told him.

"Hey cool, no problem!  I wore Emily down!  I'm patient!"

"You're a friend, Rob, so I suspect you're not going to go
running out and shouting it to the rooftops.  Not only don't I
want to talk about it, but I've been asked not to talk about it
by some of the same people you saw at the assembly this morning.
If you get my drift."

"Put like that, I'll only give the occasional nudge."

Emily giggled.  "What, you're not going to kiss him, too?"

Rob blushed and the three of us on our side of the table laughed
uproariously.

Just before the end of lunch Shellie handed me another jewel box
case.  It was one that held four disks in it.  "I'm going to have
to change how I do my backups, because I can't afford so many
DVDs.  This is thirty dollars.  I'm broke."

I smiled.  "Funny, that's about what I won Saturday night?  Want
some DVDs?  Maybe Johnny Ito can get me some.  Lots of ways to
get more."

"If my parents found some guy was giving me money they might wake
up.  Right now, they are so wrapped up in church and things, it's
like they are asleep.  I'll figure out something."

I made a decision that whether or not Johnny Ito could do
something, I would and if necessary, lie to Shellie about where
they came from.

"I was looking at some of the stuff on the last disks.  Chibisama
cartoons."

She blushed.  "Oh."  She walked a few more steps, and then looked
at me mischievously.  "Chibi sure gets around, doesn't she?"

"That's one way to describe it," I said, laughing.

"Anyway, on the disk marked number one, there's a folder called
'First Draft.'  Take a look at it when you get a chance, and let
me know what you think."

"I will."

Then it was geography.  Colonel Terrell stood in front of the
class, looking at us without speaking as we sat down.  It was a
little unnerving, as he usually had something to say.

"A treat today," he said after the bell rang.  "Only one
question.  Just me sitting on my desk pontificating, after the
question.  Who here has been to Israel or flown on El Al?"

There were no hands raised.  He nodded.  "I didn't think so."

He looked at us.  "You heard a little today about terrorism or
asymmetric warfare, as we professionals call it.  Let me tell you
a great truth: terrorists have never changed a government. 
Guerillas have, but not until they formed themselves into an army
or had armed help from somewhere else."

Shellie raised her hand.  He looked at her, and for a second I
thought he was going to ignore her.

"Yes, miss?"

"Castro, sir.  Cuba."

He smiled.  "Thank you.  There are times when a government loses
all legitimacy, and when that happens it can take a remarkably
minor push to send them running.  It happened in Eastern Europe
in 1989 and the Soviet Union over the next few years.  And Cuba
in 1959.  When Batista fled, he had thousands of soldiers and
Castro had hundreds of guerillas in the hills.  The soldiers
stayed in their barracks and Castro came down from the hills. 
Very good question.
"But, I digress.  I want to talk about Israel.  As a general
statement," he nodded at Shellie, "terrorists can't change a
government by themselves.  What they hope for is to be a catalyst
for change.  Frequently, they have little or no plan on what to
do when they take over.  Like the French peasants in 1789, who
simply wanted the nobility out but who got the Reign of Terror,
then the horror that was Napoleon.

"Israel has been under attack or under siege since its inception.
 Actually, there was active combat there for years before that,
once the British promised the Jews their own state in Palestine.

"In 1948, in 1967 and in 1973, the Israeli army soundly trounced
their neighbors in a series of wars.  The first and last times,
after they were attacked; the time in the middle the Israelis
launched an attack a few days before the Arabs planned to attack
Israel.

"I'm not here to argue right or wrong; there is plenty to go
around to all the parties, including the US.  Just the facts. 
The facts are that in 1948, and in 1967, large numbers of
Palestinians were displaced.  They became refugees.  For a
variety of reasons, they were never resettled.

"In spite of the hostility of the Palestinians and the larger
Arab community, the Israelis prospered and various accommodations
were worked out with Palestinians who lived within Israel's
borders.  There are Palestinian members of the Knesset, the
Israeli parliament, although for PR's sake, they call them Arab
members.

"Still, the fundamental issues were no closer to being resolved.
Ten years ago, a secret meeting in Norway produced what is called
the Oslo Accord.  That was supposed to be a blueprint for peace.
Then came Camp David and President Clinton's initiatives for
peace.

"Finally in 2000, the Israelis proposed a sweeping settlement. 
The Palestinians, under Yasser Arafat, turned it down.  The
current intifada started; there was an earlier one in the 90s,
but it was relatively bloodless.  Relatively.

"Mind you, Israel has been subject to terrorist attacks almost
from the beginning of its existence.  Planes have been hijacked,
Olympic athletes murdered in the Olympic village.  Israel has
adapted itself to these.

"People complain about the checks they have to undergo to get on
a plane in this country.  In Israel, every single man, woman and
child boarding a plane is searched.  Thoroughly.  All bags are
carefully inspected, and all passengers are subjected to a
session with an intelligence officer that lasts from ten minutes
to two hours, where you are asked questions.

"Since the most recent intifada started, the security has
tightened.  There are roadblocks and checkpoints everywhere, with
armed soldiers.  In the US, gun control advocates have tried to
limit the ability to carry firearms.  In Israel, firearms are
ubiquitous.  That is, perhaps as many as a third or half of the
people walking down the street at any one time are armed. 
Members of the army, the reserves, the national guard.  Settlers,
those Israelis who are trying to establish communities in the
occupied territories, are almost always armed.

"The Israelis have undergone the most drastic changes to their
society you can imagine, and they continue to maintain something
approaching a democracy.  It's not a democracy you or I might
approve of, but they do elect their representatives to the
Knesset, and the Knesset elects the government.  On the other
hand, don't expect to get in your car and drive to a movie on
Friday night, after sundown.  In Tel Aviv, maybe, but not in
other places.

"The changes wrought to Israeli society, caused by terrorism,
have been huge.  That said, they still go about their business. 
People still go to nightclubs and movies.  They shop in stores,
eat pizza in pizzerias.  All of the above have been bombed in the
last few years.

"We haven't come to that in the US.  I'd like to think that no
matter how strict our security has to become, we'll maintain our
fundamental democracy.

"We need to keep a careful eye out.  Sometimes, even with the
best of intentions, people make mistakes -- including our
Congress.  It's one of our jobs as citizens to watch what they do
and voice our opinions, one way or another, about what they do. 
Sometimes, small people, people who have big opinions and small
brains, say things in a public forum that are hateful and
hurtful."

I'd been cruising along, listening, mildly interested.  When he
got to "big opinions and small brains" I was stunned.

He went on smoothly, as if recent events had never crossed his
mind.

"I refer specifically to hate groups.  Be they the KKK, skinheads
or more recently, those who preach hatred of all Muslims.  A free
society means that they have the leave to speak -- and we can ask
them to leave."

There was nervous laughter in the room.  At a guess, most
everyone had heard about the sermon and were adding up two and
two and not believing the answer was hate groups in general.

He looked at the clock.  "We have a few minutes.  Are there any
questions?"

Shellie's hand shot up at once and she was recognized once more.
"Colonel, you said a lot of people in Israel go armed.  Are there
a lot of murders there?"

"Some.  Up until the intifada, you were safer on an Israeli
street than in New York.  But that was before Mayor Guiliani and
the intifada.  Now New York's much safer and Israel isn't.  If
you disregard terrorist bombings, Israel is as safe as Canada or
Holland.  Move to Japan if you want to be really safe; there's
only a relatively small amount of crime there."

He looked around.  "What's the most dangerous country in the
world, murder-wise?  What's number two?"

I raised my hand.  "Mr. Harper."

"Sir, you said, there wouldn't be any questions."

He smiled.  "Son, I was a Marine.  We learn to exaggerate with
our mother's milk."

"The US, then."

He shook his head.  "Sorry, we're not in the top ten.  Or the top
twenty.  Last year, we were tied for twenty-first in murders per
capita."

I blinked.  "We're not number one, sir?"

"I'm not sure why you sound disappointed, Mr. Harper.  No, we're
tied with the likes of Uruguay and Bolivia.  Top is Colombia,
with such other sterling places as South Africa, Jamaica,
Venezuela and Russia rounding out the top five.

"One of the safest countries is Switzerland, where firearms are
almost as prevalent as in Israel.  Almost all adult males in
Switzerland are part of the army reserve, and all are required to
keep their weapons at home."

Once again it was brought home that things I thought I knew
weren't true.  I wrote down a little note to myself to check the
Colonel's assertion.  But I had trouble believing he'd lie.

And that made me wonder, too.  I'd been introduced to the Rev.
Grissom once that I remembered, when I was about ten years old. 
I hadn't liked him at the time, and nothing I'd heard since had
changed my first impression.  How could he say the things he'd
said about me without knowing me?

I wrote my sister's name on the sheet of paper and drew an arrow
and put Pammie's name there.

There were a few more questions, and then it was off to PE.

After school I went to meet Mercedes, Shellie and Emily.  I was
hoping Karen would be there too, but she wasn't.  We were going
to walk to Mercedes' sister's apartment.  As we started to walk,
I saw Wanda and Pammie, talking near the pay phones in front of
school.

I walked over and Pammie nodded and asked me, "Looking for
Karen?"

"Among other things."

"I told you once, a long time ago, what would happen to Karen if
she got kicked out of our house.  That's what my father
threatened her with yesterday.  Off to the funny farm with her,
if she ever gets near you again."

"And you?"

She grinned.  "I haven't done anything the asshole has asked me
to since I was six.  Fuck 'em!"

"Would it help if I talked to him?"

Pammie laughed, holding up her fingers in a cross.  "Get thee
hence, Satan!"

I felt someone touch my arm and I turned to look and saw Ellie. 
"Hi!" I said.  She hadn't been to the party, Saturday.

"Do you hear much gossip, Davey?" she asked me.

Wanda laughed.  "My little brother is the black hole of gossip. 
Garbage in -- and there it stays."

"Someone told my boyfriend about Saturday on the bus.  He called
me up yesterday and told me... well, he wasn't nice."

"I'm sorry, Ellie," I told her.

"And I am," Wanda said, "going to find out who talked and cut off
his balls!"

Ellie shook her head.  "Desmond knows about the bus; fuck him! 
He plays basketball.  He's been on the bus enough times!"  She
turned to me.  "I wanted you to hear it from me, Davey.  It's
him, not you, not me.  He's being an asshole."

"And he will pay," Pammie said darkly.  "We all know him.  He
will pay."

"Please," Ellie said, "just let it go."

"Not going to happen, girl," Wanda said patiently.  "If we let
one person bust the rules, then anyone can.  And that means the
end of the bus.  Trust me, Ellie.  There are a lot of guys who
don't want that."

"Not to mention a few cheerleaders," Pammie interjected.

"This is getting out of hand," I said sadly, for the first time
understanding the drug dealer's dilemma in the second Crocodile
Dundee movie.

"We'll deal with it," Wanda said firmly.

Ellie touched my arm again, nodding at Mercedes and Shellie.  "Is
that them?"

I figured that she had to mean just one thing.  I nodded.

Pammie laughed.  "Yeah, I know.  You're not the only one to want
to drop a hook in that pond, girl!  But they keep him happy."

"That's the name of the game," Wanda added.

I decided it would be a good time to get started on the rest of
the afternoon and excused myself.

We had, Mercedes told us, about a mile and a half to walk.  We
weren't in any rush, and I smiled at Shellie after a few minutes
and spoke what was on my mind.  "Shellie, Saturday I made love to
someone else."

She nodded gravely.  "Mercedes says we don't talk enough.  About
things other than..."

I shrugged helplessly.

"If I don't understand, Chibisama does," Shellie told me.  "I
mean, about not talking.  The other...  Davey, Mercedes told me
about her.  She told me that you'd finally work up the courage to
talk to me and that I should be patient.

"I've been patient all my life, Davey.  I never thought it would
happen.  Now..." she giggled.  "I'm more jealous than anyone
else... not the kind of jealousy most people would think.  I wish
I had someone else, too."

"I talked to Annie," Mercedes said.  "She is nice, but she's in a
bad situation herself.  In Russia, it's still a crime to be gay.
Not enforced very much, but it's still a crime.  Her parents are
Orthodox, but not very religious.  She doubts if they would
understand a boyfriend, much less a boyfriend and two
girlfriends."

Shellie giggled.  "It does take a little getting used to."

Mercedes giggled too.  "Didn't take us very long!"  There was
heavy emphasis on the pronoun.

"Hey," Shellie joked, "I said it took a little to get used to!" 
This time the emphasis was on the adjective.

We got to Mercedes' sister's place and Mercedes used a key to let
us in.  Mercedes was apologetic.  "This is a one bedroom
apartment, my sister and her boyfriend slept in the bedroom,
except they broke up.  I get the couch.  I tell you the truth; I
don't know what I'm going to do.  She needs help with the rent,
or she's going to end up having to move back home.  I'd have to
go back too.  I'm back to looking for gigs babysitting."

That reminded me, and I plucked the cell phone from my belt.  I
called Wanda.  "Say, later, can you run me over to Mercedes' new
place?  I want to give her my old computer."

"No problem, little brother.  And that other problem?"  She
laughed wickedly.  "Can you spell erased?"

"What do you mean?"  I felt my heart sink.  Just how far were the
repercussions going to go?

"I mean, there's a football team meeting going on now.  Tomorrow,
baseball practice and a team meeting.  A team meeting you
understand, no coaches?"

I was afraid I did, but Wanda wasn't finished.  "And Thursday, a
basketball team meeting.  He wasn't that good anyway."

Oh shit! I thought.

"Pammie and I are still working on the other problem.  We think
we know who... at least she doesn't have to worry about having
her balls cut off." Wanda stopped talking and I wanted to start
jumping off a cliff.

"I don't suppose I could ask for you to go easy?"

She was silent for a second.  "Davey, if this was just about you,
I'd think about it.  But this is about a lot more than you. 
Desmond, Ellie's ex-, was free to tell her that he wanted to
break up with her and no one would have cared.  Instead, he said
something we find upsetting.  This isn't, Davey, the first time
someone has gotten pissed about what's happened on the bus.  Some
guys are going to talk to him, and remind him that there's more
riding on this than Desmond's ego or getting his wick dipped."

"I thought you said something about erased?"

"I did, didn't I?  The consensus is that he's a brain-dead moron
who thinks with his dick and won't listen to reason."

"The trouble with Fesselhof," I said, "started when he got the
boot from the team."

"That's not the story I heard.  First he was rude to your
friends.  Then he was rude to you, then he fucked up by the
numbers on the field and then he got the boot."

"Well..."  She was right, of course.

"Davey, you may well hear from Desmond.  He's that kind.  Just
keep your cool, and don't do anything stupid."

"I haven't done anything, stupid or otherwise!"  I slammed the
phone shut.  I was so damned angry!

I took a deep breath and handed my phone to Shellie.  "You can
use this, if you want."

Shellie looked at me and shook her head.  "Are you okay, Davey?"

"I was telling Wanda I haven't done anything stupid.  Would
yelling at her be stupid?  Letting a girl I've never met go down
on me Saturday?  Then making love to her?  Something stupid like
that?  Shellie, I didn't even use a rubber!  Didn't even think
about it!"

"I have to admit," Mercedes said, "that I didn't either."  She
started laughing.

I glared at her and she stuck her tongue out at me, still
laughing.

"Davey," Shellie said, reaching out to me.  She wrapped her arms
around me and put her head on my shoulder.  "In my Chibisama
stories, in all of anime and hentai, which is the even raunchier
version of anime, no one has protected sex.  I never asked you
about protection."

"And I never asked you," I said, suddenly contrite.  "Mercedes
said..."  I looked at Mercedes who stared blandly back.  I'd
trusted Mercedes.  What if she'd been lying?  Or simply didn't
really know?  Or if Shellie had lied to Mercedes?  What if, what
if, what if?

"Mercedes knew why I was in the nurse's office, just like I knew
what she was doing.  The first week of school you have to take a
number, Davey, it's that busy."

"I should ask, though."

Shellie nodded.  "You should.  But Davey, it's the girl who gets
screwed if she gets pregnant."

I thought of Emily and nodded.

"Yeah," Shellie said, reading my face again.  Damn it!  Why did
everyone see what I was thinking!  "Emily knows about us, doesn't
she?  And she and I have talked, and she's talked to Mercedes. 
Do you think we don't know what you did for her, Davey?  What
your family is doing for her?

"The thing, Davey, is that you should ask.  But I'll tell you
true, when the urge is on me, I'm no more interested in whether
or not you've asked, than you are about asking."

"Ditto," Mercedes confirmed.

Shellie used the phone and while she was doing that Mercedes
wrapped her arms around me and started kissing.  I kissed back,
and in no time at all, Shellie was behind Mercedes, kissing her
ear and rubbing her breasts.  That got Mercedes going, and the
voltage of the kiss jumped considerably.

I reached up and started on Mercedes' blouse, and Shellie helped
pull it off.  Then I undid her jeans and Shellie and I had made a
naked Mercedes sandwich!  And Shellie had first dibs on first
munch!

So, when she was going down on Mercedes, I started undressing
her.  When she was nude, I undressed myself and came up behind
Shellie.  She wiggled her butt, telling me what she wanted.  I
knelt behind her like I'd done for Mercedes the last time and
starting rubbing by erection over her pussy, coming in from
behind her.

She had nice buns, and if they weren't as muscular as Mercedes',
they were still pretty nice.  I ran my palms over them, then
along her sides, leaning close, and found that I could balance
better than I'd been able to with Mercedes.  I could get both my
hands around her breasts and Shellie started to squirm.

Mercedes was already squirming, and I guess I wasn't sitting
still, either.  Still, while I could reach her breasts and rub
her pussy with my hard-on, it wasn't possible to move very fast.
I laughed at myself.  I was, though, getting better with
practice.

Shellie was getting moist, then downright wet.  On one trip,
instead of sliding past as I'd intended, I slid in.  Shellie
reached back with one hand, and briefly caressed my balls, before
returning her attention to Mercedes.  I could see Shellie's
tongue fluttering rapidly over Mercedes' clit.  Again, I wanted
to laugh.  Mercedes had trimmed her bush!

I saw Mercedes' eyes were on me, and I smiled at her.  She blew
me a kiss, then started rubbing her own breasts, and arching her
back.  I thought about teasing Shellie like I'd teased Mercedes;
after a few seconds, I decided that it was something I'd have to
take slowly.  Mercedes overflowed with self-confidence and
Shellie was day-by-day changing, but I wasn't sure she would take
it right.

Mercedes sighed, and then sighed again, her eyes closed now.  I
noticed once again she was rubbing her breasts a lot harder than
I'd ever done.

I felt Shellie's fingers again, but this time the contact was
incidental -- she was rubbing her clit.  No, I thought, I don't
think Shellie wants to be teased.  But that was okay, because I
was quite sure she wanted what I wanted.

It wasn't hard to step up the pace; in fact, I'm not sure why,
but with Shellie, I had trouble staying slow and measured.  My
balls seemed to turn inside out, blowing my load deep into her. 
I pressed further inside, holding still, in that instant between
pleasure and pain.

A few seconds later, Shellie pulled forward, then climbed up next
to Mercedes, laying down with her head in Mercedes' lap, looking
up at her.

"I love you both so much..." Shellie said quietly.  "Words... I
wish I could find the words to say how much."

Mercedes leaned down and kissed her forehead, about the only part
of Shellie she could reach, I realized.  I crawled a little
closer and kissed Shellie's hip, then put my arm around her
stomach and rested my head lightly just beneath her breasts.

Shellie reached out and put her arm on my shoulder.

"Words," Mercedes said, "are nice.  But this really says it all.
You two have to promise me, as I'm going to promise you: we can't
let any problems fester.  We have to talk about them.  My mom
says that nowadays people just don't talk to each other like her
parents did.  Little things, big things.  Easy things, hard
things... every last thing about what we like, what we don't
like."

"I love you both," I told them.  "It's not always easy for me to
talk about some things, but I will.  Other times, I can't keep my
mouth shut or my fly zipped."

"I love you both, too," Mercedes said.  "Like Davey, I don't mind
someone undoing my zipper and buttons.  All my life I've had
dreams, and now I'm living them.  But even in my dreams, there
was never just one person.  I don't know if I'll ever stop
wanting to check out all the new flavors out at Thirty-one
Flavors."

I laughed, and so did Shellie.

Mercedes reached out and took Shellie's hand, lacing her fingers
with Shellie's.  "Tell you what, I have a surplus, you have a
deficit.  Simple solution: I share."

"Would it sound terrible if I said Davey is all the boy I need? 
I'd like it to be another girl?"

Mercedes giggled.  "Sweetie, the thought of another guy never
crossed my mind.  And if you look at the way Davey's blushing
just now, it's pretty clear he wasn't thinking about another guy,
either!"

Well, I was blushing because she was right.

Then we learned another downside to Mercedes' sister's apartment.
 It had one bedroom and a bathroom with a shower enclosure that
was claustrophobic when one person was in it.

Eventually I walked Shellie most of the way home, but didn't dare
get closer than a block, because her mother was home by then.  I
grinned as I finally sat down in front of my computer, shortly
before six.

I looked at a few more web sites.  Why bother?  The odds had
never been good, her father was never going to let Mercedes go
anywhere with me, not if it was in his power to stop it.  He had
the power, because there was just about no way on earth for us to
get that kind of money.  And, thinking about that reminded me of
something else: I wasn't going to leave Shellie behind.

A little later Mom knocked on my bedroom door.  "Davey, a
favor?"

"Sure, Mom!"

"Your father will be here shortly.  Go eat large piles of onion
rings and huge steaks.  Blow holes in innocent targets.  Don't
come home early."

I raised an eyebrow -- she reacted by shaking her head.  "This is
like what we did with Emily, dear.  Please, let us take care of
this."

"Can I ask who for?"

She looked at me steadily for a second.  "You of all people
trying to help would make it worse, Davey.  Karen."

I nodded.  "I would if I could, but I realize right now I'm more
likely to make it worse."

She nodded.  "I know you'd like to help.  Phil would offer to
help.  But it would get out of hand very quickly.  Just go, enjoy
dinner.  Have a good time."

A little later Dad collected me and I got into his car.  He
grinned at me.  "Steak and onion rings?  Or would you like to go
downscale?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, tonight is bowling night for the admin group.  I can
skip it, but I'd rather be there.  It means greasy spoon
hamburgers and fries at the bowling alley."

I'd bowled once or twice; Dad liked it, Mom and Wanda didn't, so
it wasn't something we'd done often.

"Sure, why not?" I told him.

So, we went bowling.  And sure enough, I was dragooned onto a
team with Dad, Johnny Ito, and Mercedes' mom.

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised.  The last time I'd gone
bowling I'd been about ten.  Back then the ball frequently
wouldn't go all the way to the pins, most often ended up in the
gutter and I scored in the low teens.  Now I was a teen, and when
I threw a bowling ball, it didn't have any trouble making it to
the pins.  After a couple of practice throws, Dad took me in hand
and gave me a few pointers.

I have to admit; the slam of the ball into the pins, them all
flying into the air was a big hoot.  With so much pin action, I
was getting one or two extra pins, which meant, once I got the
aiming part down pat, things went even better.

My first game I scored 146, then I got a 167, then 178, which Dad
said wasn't shabby at all.

When we got home the lights were out, even though it was just a
little after 10:30.  We got out of the car and Dad touched my
arm.  "Your mom has said maybe a million times that she isn't
happy with the way things are, wished there was something she
could do, even in a small way, to make things better, to make a
difference.  Emily, Davey, was a fine thing for you to do, but
for the first time your mom been able to make that difference
she's so very much wanted to make.

"I have no idea what she's working on now, but I hope you will
give her some space to do what she wants."

I was confused.  "I don't think I understand.  I'd never dream of
interfering in things she was doing."

"Well, in case you want to put on your Don Quixote suit of armor,
climb aboard Rosinante, ready your lance and check the landscape
for windmills.  Talk to her first before you do anything, okay?"

"Sure," I told him, shaking my head.  Sometimes parents are just
weird, you know?

<1st attachment end>


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