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From: "wendy caulder" <she_cries@ftml.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} Ariel: a Punk rock girl - The School Dance - Ch-5 (Mm/f, nc, nerd sex)   by she cries
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Date: Sun, 10 Apr 2005 02:10:01 -0400
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Ariel: a Punk Rock Girl - The School Dance - Ch- 5
Mm/f, nc, exhib, nerd sex

by she cries - she_cries@ftml.net

     
     CH-5
     
     I hadn't expected it to hurt that damned much!  I did
what I said I would.  Really!  I walked into the bathroom,
found the handicapped stall at the end unoccupied, stripped
off the skirt (not bothering with the belts), pulled that
god damned G-string out of my ass and tossed it away.  I
squatted over the toilet, my feet on the seat, my knees
sticking up.  I cupped the glass to my sex and tipped it up.
     The change was immediate and complete.  I went from
writhing with sexual ecstasy to gasping with frigid pain as
the ice settled on my smoldering lips.  I held the cup
there, not letting the ice fall off until the job was done.
My body broke out in goose bumps and shivers ran up my
spine.  I felt the dredges of arousal freeze up and shatter
under the onslaught of the ice pack in my loins.  For good
measure I dredged up a couple of ice cubes from my tender,
seared genitals and tortured my nipples until the ice, and
my libido, had melted.
     To distract me from the pain, and also to get the
fleeting images of Ronnie's blubbering lips cascading over
mine out of my head I made a determined effort to imagine
following my Dad's dog around the backyard picking up its
poop with a plastic baggie.  I made a special point of
remembering how soft and warm the poop was, even as the ice
numbed my fingertips.  Finally I was crying in pain and
frustration.  I let the ice plunge into the toilet, I was
ready to be sick from visions of dog poop and Ronnie dancing
in my head.
     I wanted to throw up.  The feeling was as welcome as it
was disgusting.  It was diametrically the opposite of the
frantic need I'd just escaped from: to spread my legs for
any boy with the persuasive ability of a dead herring.
     Finally I stood up, threw the cup aside and paced the
cold floor in just my shirt and the belts.  I was really
cold, so I started grabbing wad after wad of the tiny
individual paper square toilet paper to dry myself.  The
stuff is rough, like a cat's tongue.  I tried not to think
about a tongue as I scraped it across my red, puffy, tender
pussy.
     Then I tossed the bundle into the toilet bowl and
buried my humiliations with a great, satisfying flush!
     I picked up my G-string.  I didn't like being naked in
the bathroom, even locked in a stall as I was and shook it
out from its proverbial bunch.  But I didn't want to put it
back on, but I'd be damned if I was going out without any
underwear.  What I wouldn't have given for a pair of boy's
tighty-whiteys right then.  Still, I felt an echo of that
rush I'd gotten prancing around in my underwear behind the
crowd of students.
     I stuffed the g-string in my purse.  I just wasn't
ready to feel them on me.  Not yet.  I found the cigarettes
Bones had humiliated me with.  I had half a mind to flush
them, but I was feeling particularly naughty.   I pulled the
pack out and stuffed a cigarette in my mouth.  I struck the
lighter and made it touch the cigarette. I puffed for a
second like I'd seen Dara do until it was lit.
     Nothing.
     I took another couple puffs.
     This smoking thing was definitely overrated.
     I peeked down, looking under the stalls.  Smoke stung
my eyes. There was no one there.  I pulled the cigarette out
of my mouth, but resisted throwing it away.  I had snuck out
to a dance, made out with a man, gotten drunk, and bared my
ass to a bunch of jocks, and been felt up by the worst of
them.  Why not figure this thing out too.
     Unfortunately my efforts to douse my thrill had left me
with sticky thighs;  The pink punch had clung to the ice
cubes and was creating the most interesting tugging
sensations which were a bit like having your lips
paperclipped together.  I picked up the cup and took a peek
outside.
     I was still alone.  I took the two steps to the sink,
dropped the cup in and turned the water on.  The faucet
sprayed up in a light shower, pelting my hips and my belly,
but I just stood there and let the cup get clean.  Then I
put the cigarette to my mouth and inhaled.
     I was on my knees before I knew what was happening,
coughing and hacking, like my first drink, but worse.  My
head was dizzy and light, but it weighed a ton.  I blacked
out for a second and was afraid to move.  I had absolutely
nothing on below my belly button but a pair of belts and my
boots.  Hacking I let the cigarette fall to the floor.  I
stomped the shit out of it when I got a foot underneath me.
The feeling faded fast, fortunately.
     I grabbed the sink to steady myself and turned off the
water which was still splashing me.
     Two girl's voices, loud and clear, laughing.
     I hit the water faucet, grabbed the cup and hurtled
myself back into the stall, slipping on the icy tile and
slamming the door shut, as they burst into the bathroom,
their laughter loud and high.  I leaned against the stall
door and hit the latch before scrambling away from the gap
at the bottom of the door, splashing water all over me.
      I heard the voices fall quiet, probably perplexed at
the noise I was making.  I quickly sloshed a little water on
the stickiest part of my sex and dabbed it dry as footsteps
plodded into the room.  I grabbed the pink and wrapped it
around me, trying to hold the belts up with my elbows, which
wasn't as hard as it sounds.  It wasn't as neat as before,
and the front flap didn't want to tuck in properly, so I
just cinched a belt a little tighter, and that held it in
place.
     By then, however, there were a pair of red heel shoes
under my stall door, and I heard a light knocking.  "Hey, is
someone in there?" I heard a voice whisper.
     "Yeah." I said, pointing out the obvious that there was
somebody in the locked stall.  I didn't see any reason to
hide, though I was still apprehensive, just in general.
     "Are you smoking?"
     Fuck!  I'd gone through all this shit only to be busted
for smoking?  Frantically I started looking for a place to
ditch them.  The rag-can?  Too obvious, flush em?
     "No." I called out weakly, trying to figure out how to
slide them down the stalls without making any noise.
     "Okay." The voice said.  It sounded remarkably
familiar.  "Can I bum one?"
     I was really getting sick of being mind-fucked.  I
played on the level, I was a little weird, but I normally
didn't drink, smoke, or party, much less fuck around, yet
this shit seemed to zero in on my ass tonight.
     I took a gamble and pulled the door open a bit.  A
cheerleader bitch was trying to peer through the crack in
the door, and she jumped back on seeing my face,
     "Oh, it's you."
     I scowled at her, "Sorry to disappoint you."
     There was another girl in the room.  They were the two
I'd seen flash Mrs. Dee and the rest of us.  Both were in
gaudy satin prom dresses.  The girl in front of me had on
blue, her friend, dark green.  They were both seniors, and
felt like giants next to me.  They were both gorgeous.
     Dark Green opined, "She's- It's not like that, we
thought you were a friend of ours."
     "Uh-huh." My one refuge, invaded by cheerleaders.
     "Oh shit, are you okay?"
     "I'm fine."
     "Honey, you're a mess." Baby Blue was stooping to face
me at eye level.
     "I'm fine," I lied, "You still want a smoke?"
     She straightened up, "Yeah, if you got one."
     I slipped out of the stall and opened up my purse,
taking care to stuff the G-string under my wallet. I handed
her the pack.  She took one out with grace and experience,
setting it on her perky rose red lip and lighting it.  She
glanced at me and held it out,
     "Here, you look like you need this."
     She was giving me my own cigarette.  I suppressed a
sign full of irony and condescension.  At least she seemed
sincere.
     I took it anyway.  Pink dress as she scooted the smoke
I'd just stubbed out under the stall as she lit herself
another one.
     "Sorry to alarm you," she said, lighting herself one.
"There's no one out there to worry about.  All the teachers
are too busy with their fucking searches."
     I actually found my feelings in accordance with the
contempt in this snotty bitch's voice.
     Then I saw myself in the mirror.
     She was right.  I was a mess.  My make-up was streaked
down my face.  Red blotches stained my cheeks from too much
crying.  Had I been crying?  My hair was a tousled rag.  No
wonder I freaked Alan out.
     "Honey, how did you get in here in that outfit?"  The
shock in Baby Blue's voice was both sincere and
condescending.  Her contempt was palpable, and I wanted to
smack her.  But I saw myself, breasts clearly visible
through the sides of the shirt, naked down to the waist from
just below the tits, the thin, wrinkled wrap clearly
outlining my emaciated form.
     Green recognized me though, "That's not what you were
wearing when you came in, was it?"
     I shook my head, unable to look away from my
reflection.
     "That's right," Baby Blue said, "You came in with all
those junior varsity boys, right?"
     I looked at her, loathing and hatred burning in me.  I
wanted them out!  This was MY bathroom! I was here first.
     But Baby blue had other ideas, or rather seemed more
perceptive than I wanted to give her credit for, "Oh my god
did they..?"   She looked at her friend, then back at me,
"They didn't!"
     My anger fell off of me like a lead weight in the face
of he horror.  I guess it was stupid to expect anything
else.  I just hadn't realized that I'd have to talk about it
with someone, eventually.  I wasn't alone, all of a sudden.
And my experience was a bit more than a funny thing
happening at the club.  I didn't know these girls, but I
couldn't bring myself to snub then just because they
represented everything I loathe about my sex.  I shrugged
and looked away, "Doesn't matter."
     "Honey, of course it matters."  She scooted up onto the
counter and turned me to face her.  Her pink dress was
bunched up, and suddenly she didn't seem to care how great
she looked.
     "My name is Ariel."
     She nodded, rummaging through her purse for something,
"I'm sorry, dear, my names Chelsea, this is Muffy."
     I looked at Dark Green.  There were actually real girls
named "Muffy?"
     "Hi." I mumbled.  I took a drag off the cigarette,
imitating Chelsea.  It made me cough, but the instant buzz
that clouded my head rewarded me for the effort, and I made
no move to resist Chelsea as she started mopping up my face
with a Kleenex from her purse and spit from her own mouth.
     "Muffy, shut the doors."
     I didn't think they were allowed to do that, but I
wasn't going to protest a little extra privacy.
     "Tell me, Ariel, tell me what happened."
     I shook my head, "It's stupid."
     After much ministration and coarse scrubbing Chelsea
seemed satisfied that my make-up nightmare was over, but she
wouldn't let me look at myself.  She started finger brushing
my hair with one hand, smoking with the other.  I tried to
smoke, but couldn't without burning her.  Her pampering was
getting annoying.
     "Did they rape you?"
     "No!" I said stubbornly, like a little kid embarrassed
to talk.
     But that's what I was.
     I didn't look back at her, but I said, "Mrs. Dee made
me take off my dress."
     "Take it off?"
     I nodded.
     "With everyone there!?" Chelsea cried out.
     "Yeah," I nodded.
     Muffy wasn't so sympathetic, "We all had to do that."
     I turned to her, "I had to strip to my underwear."
     I wasn't as satisfied as I'd thought I'd be when
Muffy's mouth fell open.
     "...then there was this fight..." I was choking for the
words, phlegm building up in my mouth and I shut up,
pretending not to be completely freaked out to talk about
it.  What if they blamed me.
     Chelsea nodded, "Pierre and that other new boy.  They
were picking on Marty."
     "She left me alone with them." I sobbed, I was crying
like a pussy.  I turned, I wanted to find the stall to hide
in, but I couldn't see shit.  All this crap was in my eyes,
but Chelsea had me and was mopping me up again.
     "She left you In your underwear?" Muffy asked of them
asked.
     I was shaking, I couldn't find the door, but I nodded.
     Suddenly there were arms around me, and I was bawling
into this cunt cheerleader's tits (I think they were
Chelsea's), letting all the pain and frustration erupt in a
violent sobbing breakdown as she patted my head and held me
tight, "They..." I was trying to speak, "They wouldn't let me
go unless..."  I couldn't find a way to articulate it as sobs
wracked my tiny frame.
     The voluptuous girl held my head against her gigantic
tits as I lost it.  They could have eaten both my breasts
and still be hungry for my ass.  "There, there, what?
Unless what?"  She purred at me.
     "This stupid bet!" I sobbed, and cried and kept on
crying.
     
     Over the next half hour I related the story, in
fragments.  I learned to chain smoke.  I loved the buzz, it
was like drinking had made me feel, but not so stupifying.
     Wiping my eyes with Chelsea's Kleenex I told the girls
how they'd tried bet that I was wearing a thong.  That
they'd insisted on me taking the bet after I was undressed,
in order to get inside dance because I was.  I left out a
lot of the gory details, namely how fucking turned on I had
been because of Wade, and how every touch seemed to trigger
an eager willingness for more as my body drove me to embrace
their cruel mauling.  I didn't tell her how I'd asked Alan
to have sex with me, nor how I'd grinded myself against
Ronnie's cock and let him fondle me, aching for the feelings
to overtake me.
     They sympathized with me, but didn't seem to believe
the whole story; Namely my interpretation of Ronnie and
Jerry's intentions.  Instead they stood up for the boys,
claiming that they were probably just teasing me, having fun
with my predicament.  It was unbelievable.  Chelsea tried
telling me a couple embarrassing anecdotes of her own, one
which actually led her to having sex with two guys at the
same time!  They were actually trying to assure me that it
was all harmless fun; a position which left me alienated in
spite of their empathy.
     They seemed to take it for granted that in their world,
date rape and molestation were the norm, and a girl ought to
take it in stride.  In fact, they reserved most of their
contempt for Mrs. Dee.  Muffy assured me that her father, a
wealthy and influential attorney, would see Mrs. Dee out of
a job.  I did take some consolation from that, but they
insisted on insisting that I should go hang out with the
guys and show them that it didn't really bother me.  They
were nuts, really.  Just like I thought they were.
     I couldn't take a lot more of this.  I really didn't
buy the whole premise of a little sexual harassment being
okay so long as you got to run with the in crowd
(particularly, I suppose, since I didn't and never would run
with the in crowd).  Muffy maintained  that I must have done
something to make them think I took the bet before I'd had
to strip   She so adamantly defended the sweet, honorable
nature of Jerry and Bones (she didn't know Ronnie who was
relatively new to the school) that I started to half believe
her until she offered to go bring them in here so they could
swear by the innocence of their actions.
     I knew she would be able to pull it off too.  I just
knew they'd be lying, and that they'd have dragged my ass
outside and raped me if I hadn't gotten away.
     At one point, between hacking up phlegm, and chugging
water from the sink to douse my throat (had I really smoked
four cigarettes?) I started washing up in the sink and
running the hot air hand dryer nonstop.  I smiled and nodded
at Chelsea while she moved her lips, saying whatever.  I
thought that was about the funniest thing I'd seen all day,
this brainwashed tramp so enthusiastically educating me how
to be a good little slut for the team.  I did reflect at
that point that if anything this experience was helping me
get over my trauma.  If I could laugh at the bimbos so soon
after my escape, maybe I could laugh at tonights horrors
someday too.
     I wondered if all popular bitch girls started off as
girls like me.  That this was some kind of initiation ritual
to exploring the wonderful world of self-mutilation through
fashion and dating.  Recipe:
     1. Take one 90 pound fifteen year-old girl,
     2. Add one virile college quarterback for 15 minutes
until moist.
     3. Remove quarterback, add fifteen year-old to crowd
scene.
     4. Repeat steps two and three until she's on her back
with her legs up in the air begging for more.
     I'd have to send my pics off to suicidegirls before
they got through with me so I'd always know that once I
wasn't a loser.
     
     The girls were absolutely in love with the G-string.
They were tickled pink with the pink swatch, and made me let
them play with it, asking where I got it, "A friend," I said
(they nodded at each other knowingly, Daria was more
notorious for her wild clothes in school than me, and they
knew that I was her prot�g�),  Muffy even offered to trade
panties with me!
     That offer I refused outright.  The girl wasn't as well
rounded as Chelsea.  I could possibly have fit into her
panties.  But the thought of swapping panties was definitely
rubbing my homophobic button, which was pretty sensitive at
fifteen.  But what really stopped me was the though of some
cheerleader using my G-string to impress this pitcher she
was trying to score with made me feel like I was scraping
bottom barrel here.  The thought of covering my ass appealed
to me, but the implication that the reason we wore such
underwear was because it would help expedite penile vaginal
conjunction made me feel really, seriously slutty.  That
feeling I did not like.  Not in the cold light of the
bathroom lights with two senior girls judging me, no.  I did
not like it at all.
     I wore them because they made me feel sexy, sure.  They
made me feel like an older woman, sure.  But to attract guys
who already had my skirt off?  I didn't see the point in
making them think I was a slut as well as their lover.  I
figure a girl could be wearing a diaper and if she's hot at
all no guy is going to toss her out of bed.  The idea that
this extremely hot girl thought she'd need extra motivation
to get her adolescent fuck fantasy into her body seemed the
height of naivety.
     But  for some reason I didn't want to offend her.  Both
girls had been really nice, in spite of their delusions.
There presence had kept me in the bathroom for half an hour,
in safety-no matter who came and went.  One look at the
bitches was enough and they'd just pee and split.  Maybe
even wave hi when they were passing by their friends.  They
pulled me out of the self-destructive fit I was spiraling
into and kept me from having to think about dog shit to
forget the pawing, groping fingers, and malicious stares.
They even brought me into their little world of fashion,
propping me on the counter and having fun teaching me how a
"normal girl" does her make-up.
     I had to admit: I liked having them fawn all over me.
The attention was something totally new to me.  How do
dingbats preen?  When I looked in the mirror I was
astonished to see how bright my eyes looked.  I almost had
cheekbones, the way they had daubed a little blush on.  My
lips were bright red, and though I resisted Muffy's subtle
insistence that I remove my nose ring and labret piercing,
the make-up made me look totally boring, but I did look
suddenly cute.
     Chelsea said something weird at that point:
     "You know, when you're a senior, and you're popular,
and everyone knows you," (she said redundant things a lot),
"Girls are going to be sticking needles through their faces
to imitate you."
     We all laughed at that, but her sincerity made me
wonder what her sophomore year had been like to make her
claim something like that.
     By now I was mostly restored, except for my clothes.
Neither could figure out a way to get the shirt to hide my
breasts, and no one seemed to have anything in their bags or
under their skirts to help me, even though they embarrassed
the Hell out of me by asking every girl who walked into the
bathroom, and telling them how I'd lost my dress.  Reactions
varied from sympathy to more cynical implications that it
was somehow my own fault for, get this: Leading the football
players on.
     Finally, they determined that they had to go out lest
they ruin their own chances of getting a senior varsity
player of their own (reminding me, by the way, that I could
do a lot worse than having a Junior Varsity football player
as a boyfriend).
     Muffy, however, declared that she wouldn't let me go
outside without at least a bra.
     Both girls started checking out each other's chests,
and making rough comparisons with mine.
     "Whoever's a better fit, I guess." Muffy said and
unzipped Chelsea's dress.
     "No, guys, that's really okay."
     Chelsea wouldn't hear it, "You can not stroll around in
that thing, Ariel."
     Muffy added, "They've gotten you into enough trouble
already." I tried not to scowl at her reference that I was
somehow to blame for my situation.
     "I'm too small," I said.
     "You've got lovely tits, dear," Chelsea was not ashamed
to admit, "But even if it doesn't fit it will keep you
covered up." And with that she was unzipping the back of
Muffy's dress.
     "Besides, when Johnny figures out that I haven't got a
bra on in the slow dance he's going to lose it, right
there!" Chelsea declared to much laughter between the three
of us (I don't know, maybe they were starting to brainwash
me).
     
     I latched the bathroom door and turned to face the two
girls.  Women, really, considering they were both a head
taller than me, and had something like twenty years worth of
female development on me.  I was starting to get nervous,
knowing that this would be essentially a dick measuring
competition, only with tits.
     I walked up to the counter to put my purse down, glad
that I wasn't so fuzzy headed anymore, but wishing for
another drink all the same (not a cigarette, I had just
gotten over feeling sick to my stomach from them).  I wanted
somehow steel myself to the idea of baring my chest to these
older girls.  I had to strip down to my underwear in PE all
the time, and I really hated that.  This was even worse,
though they were being nice to me.  Half of me was convinced
I'd get the shirt off and they'd make a break for it,
leaving me worse off than before.  I set the purse down, my
hands trembling, and it dropped the last few inches, a loud
metallic clank echoed through the large stall.
     "Darling," Chelsea looked at the purse, knowingly,
"What else have you got in there?"  She had just pulled down
her dress and was unhooking her bra.
     I shook my head trying not to stare at her buoyed orbs
of flesh jiggling in front of Chelsea.  "I don't know,
Ronnie had it for a long time," I opened the bag.
     A present from my tormentor, it seemed.  Somehow he's
secreted a half-full bottle of Wild Turkey in the bag,
"Whattaya know, the little troll wasn't so bad after all." I
said ironically.
     "You see," Chelsea insisted, "He's just trying to score
with you."
     Muffy agreed, as if that made everything okay, "You
see.  Rapists don't leave surprises for their victims,
Ariel."  She actually said that.  I swear to god.
     Anyway, Ronnie's courtship techniques left a lot to be
desired, and I said so to much laughter and derision.  Then
I uncapped the bottle and took a tentative sip.  How could I
have carried that around for so long and not noticed?
     Well, the answer to that was pretty obvious.  I had
been running for my life.
     We passed the bottle around, the girls helping
themselves to very large portions, "We're catching up with
you." Muffy insisted, handing the pint bottle back to me
where I took another little sip of the caustic stuff.
     "Okay," Muffy declared, "Let's see those titties!" and
she and Chelsea started giggling uncontrollably, as if the
seven seconds that had passed since they had imbibed were
enough to make them into gibbering idiots.
     I thought about that for a moment, and realized that
apparently it was, as my reluctance to strip down in front
of them was substantially diminished and before a few second
had passed my shirt was on the floor.
     Both girls scrutinized me for a minute.  The silence
made me very uncomfortable.  I was aware of how top-heavy my
chest was on my skinny frame.  Nearly a B cup, my 32-inch
bosom didn't fit too well with my 22-inch waist.  The
mismatch did, however, make my chest seem much larger than
it was.  My breasts were also capped by two generally
swollen, puffy, pink nipples, barely a shade darker than the
skin around it, which seemed to exaggerate how pronounced
the mammaries were atop a stack of bony ribs.
     "Are those real?" Muffy asked suspiciously eying my
tits.
     "I'm fifteen, who's gonna give me a boob job?"
     Both girls had to nod at the logic.
     "If my boobs were that big sophomore year," Chelsea
opined, cradling one of her more substantial C cups, "I'd be
falling over by now."
     I knew the shirt did a lot to minimize the actual size
and shape of my chest.  I didn't realize how much the
contrast between my body frame and chest size seemed to
exaggerate my proportions until then.
     Muffy stepped up, "I have to check," she held up a
hand, "I'm not a lesbian, I just-You're sooo skinny!"
     And before I could gather up a reaction she had my boob
in her cold hand.  That sent shivers up my spine, and to my
embarrassment made my nipples harden as she squeezed and
poked me.  I grabbed the whiskey up and offered it to her,
just to get her to stop the exploration, but she just took
it with her free hand and chugged a bit, never letting go.
My breast was definitely smaller than Muffy's, but the
contrast on my body made mine look bigger until they were
right next to each other.
     "Come here Chelsea, You have to see for yourself."
     And to my horror, suddenly I had two women, icons of
feminine development fawning over my boobs.  They  groped
and squeezed them while I got shoved into the sink counter.
I couldn't get away fast enough.
     Was this some kind of weird bitch ritual, I wondered?
Was this what I'd been missing by refusing to pee in school
during class breaks and lunch?  Was this some kind of sizing
up competition?
     I didn't know, but I knew it was starting to feel
really nice having all the attention, and that made me
scared.  Were they some sort of closet lesbians?  I tried to
grit my teeth against the fact that the strobing, tingling
sensations growing in my breasts were being stimulated by
their deft hand movements.  The idea that I was just as
capable of being turned on by a girl as by a jock with a car
made me want to cry.  Was I really that hopeless of a
horndog?
     Chelsea was a little more perceptive than her obsessed
friend, and stopped the mauling to put a hand on my cheek,
"Oh dear, I hope we're not scaring you, dear?"
     "It's a little weird."
     She took Muffy's hands off my bosom and then reached
her arms up and cradled me against her shoulder, taking
extra care not to smudge my make-up.  She seemed to think
that my discomfort with being groped would be assuaged by
rubbing her bare tits against mine.  "We do this all the
time, honey," she said,  "We just forget that you're not
used to this."
     Muffy didn't seem concerned about my feelings at all,
"You've got a really great rack.  Now I know why all those
guys are after you."
     I goggled at her.
     She went on, "I mean if I were a guy, and you took off
your dress in front of me, I'd be fighting my friends to get
some of that." She pointed at my tits, "You really ought to
show them off better."
     I wanted to tell her that I did show them off a bit
when I was in clubs where date rape wasn't a positive and
encouraged norm, but just shrugged instead.  I couldn't find
a way to not sound bitchy.
     Muffy smiled at me, "Come here." I took a step towards
her, and she reached back and pulled her dress down to her
waist.  She had on a very nice, red, lacy bra.  I could see
her nipples through the lace, under red swirls of
embroidery.  They really weren't much bigger than mine, her
tits, though I had never worn an underwire.
     I tried to look away as she unclasped the bra, in back,
like a woman's bra, and let her tits fall free.
     "Come on, don't be shy." And she reached for one of my
hands.
     "I'm not shy," I said, "Just embarrassed."
     She grinned at me, "Well, it's time to grow up, little
girl." And she put my hand on her bosom.
     I was surprised to find the breast as soft and fleshy
as mine.  Somehow I'd always imagined these firm, tanned
breasts as being something akin to sofa pillows, firm and
only a bit pliable.  Actually it felt a lot like mine,
buoyant, like it floated on water, yet very supple.  I could
squeeze it practically to a pancake, which made us both
laugh.  She was about the same size as me, just a lot
heavier on the bottom.  She had a bit of curve folding at
the bottom, whereas mine sort of stuck straight out.
     "That'll change in a couple of years," she assured me,
"You'll be a C cup by senior year.  No doubt.  Your rack is
gonna put me and Chelsea to shame."
     As if we were re-enacting some teen spank flick Chelsea
burst into giggles, "Come on, me too, me too," and before I
knew it, we were in some kind of a circle jerk.  Three
topless girls, feeling each other up.  Both of them were
really into my chest the way it stuck straight out, yet was
so soft.  Chelsea had much larger breasts that Muffy or
myself, and we had a little fun making them bounce and
jiggle.  I was really weirded out by all this.  Though the
tingles had stopped, and I was no longer afraid that this
was some sort of lesbian initiation or some cruel practical
joke, I was too scared to question them about it for the
implied lack of trust at the two girls who were feeling me
up.
     I just had to take it for granted that this was the
sort of thing teen girls did.  I wondered (correctly, it
turns out) if guys had a similar ritual.
     Both Muffy and Chelsea, each determined to get laid
tonight decided to go without a bra, though it was pretty
obvious that I was destined for red lace rather than white
chiffon (just as well, I thought).
     What I didn't see coming was Muffy's next request.
     "Come on, let's see the rest of you."
     I don't know if I was drunk, or brainwashed, or just
wanted to play along, but her meaning was clear, and I gave
the wrap a little tug.
     Suddenly I was naked.
     Both girls regarded me for a long minute, again, making
me uncomfortable, standing there like that in nothing but
belts and boots.
     "Tomorrow," Chelsea insisted, "You are coming down to
my salon and I am going to wax you bald." It wasn't a
request in any way, but I had to cringe.
     "Ouch.  Those things hurt like a bitch!" it was bad
enough that I shaved my legs and pits, and I had to admit my
black pubic bush seemed to stand out like a scarlet letter
on my pale body, particularly given my bleach-blonde hair.
     "No butts!  It's on me.  I cannot let that travesty of
womanhood go unplucked."
     She and Muffy burst out into hysterical laughter, a
mass of baby blue, green, and jiggling, bouncing boobies.  I
couldn't help but laugh myself, astonished at their
ridiculous behavior, and aware that I too was jiggling with
the pair of them.
     I handed Chelsea the near empty bottle now and started
wrapping the skirt around my waist.  Muffy was behind me,
"Here," she said, "If you really want to keep your virginity
tonight, though I don't know why you bother," she was
tugging at the wrap, and unbuckled one of my belts, letting
it fall to the floor, "You're going to have to find a way to
keep this skirt on."
     She glanced at Chelsea, who took another swig from the
bottle and nodded.
     Muffy had produced a bunch of safety pins from her
little dainty purse and was fiddling with the remaining
belt, drawing up the skirt around me.  "I can speak from
experience," she said, pins in her mouth, "That Jerry will
take about three seconds to get this thing off unless you
take measures."
     "Ouch!" I cried as a pin poked me in the ass.
     "Sorry, shit." I was startled as she kissed me gently
on the back, "Too much to drink, sweets." And she went back
to work.
     Chelsea who had clearly had more to drink than she
ought leaned heavily against the stall door watching me
closely, her eyes flicking all over my body.  I tried to
ignore her, talking to Muffy.
     "The same, Jerry..."
     "Mmm-Hmm" she affirmed, pins stuffed in her mouth.
     "What did you do?"
     Muffy stood up, coming around front to work, "What do
you think?"
     "You fucked him?"
     "Of course I did.  I gave him a ride home after the
first game." She paused reaching up under my skirt and
almost stabbed me again, "Sorry.  They lost.  He was benched
for a fumble.  We stopped for a while to talk.  Things
happened."
     "But... He's a junior, aren't you..?"
     "A senior, yeah.  I'm also two years older."
     I looked at the woman pinning my wrap.
     She glanced up, then resumed work, "They held me back a
year in jr. high.  I'm nineteen next month."
     "So you and Jerry are..."
     "No. He's a junior, seniors don't date juniors."
     "Oh."
     She shook her head, "Don't oh me, dear."  She gave a
tug on the skirt that hurt, "Sorry." She said
unapologetically.  "Jerry and I were talking, he had a
couple beers, and we started necking.  I just felt sorry for
the creep."
     "You slept with him because you felt sorry for him?"
     "That's what I'm talking about, Ariel, you're not
listening.  I was in my cheerleader wrap.  We're supposed to
wear hot shorts underneath, but I'd changed into a thong
after the game because I was, like, totally lusting after
Chester Houston."
     `Like totally,' I thought.
     "Only this slut beat me to him." She gestured at
Chelsea, who looked pretty bad considering how lively and
bouncy she had been a few moments before.  I thought she
would collapse on the spot.
     "Anyway," Muffy went on, "Jerry finds the clasp, and
the next thing you know it I've got nothing on but my thong
and the tank top."
     "That's what happened to me."  I cried out, somehow
finding her situation similar to mine.
     "I know," she was looking really uncomfortable, "What
was I supposed to say, 'I wore it to score with another
guy?'"
     I understood that.  The way Jerry had acted around me
when he knew for a fact that I was in a G-string left me no
doubt to how unable it made Muffy to cope with his
persistent demands.  I knew now how persistent guys could
be, how they wouldn't give up.  But I had run.  Muffy had
just taken it.
     "So I let that little fucker do me.  Just to get him
out of the car."
     "He was in your car." I said, realization dawning on
me.
     "You know, Bill's really not that bad of a kid.  He's a
lot better than Jerry."
     "He's a creep." I snarled.
     "They're all creeps, but you could do worse.  He'd keep
Jerry and Ronnie off your back.  You think Jerry would have
tried that with me if I'd been fucking Chester?"
     The thought of giving myself to a boy I didn't want to
protect me from another boy I wanted even less made me feel
like even more of a whore.
     Muffy stood up, and started adjusting my belt, "At any
rate, I'm gone this year, so I don't have to do the little
bastard any more."
     I looked up at the older girl, "You still do it?"
     She shrugged, then gave me a piercing look, "What am I
going to say to him, Ariel?  `I'm not that kind of girl?'
`I'm not in the mood?'"
     I shrugged, "How about you don't want to."
     She was actually embarrassed now, "I do want to.  He's
not that bad, now that I've trained him a bit.  He's got a
really big dick."
     I nodded, understanding what she meant about wanting
in, in spite of the man.
     She put a tender hand on my cheek, "I almost wish you
and he..." she looked away, "Sorry, I was just thinking if he
had another girl he'd leave me alone."
     "Why don't you just tell him off?" I demanded, the
alcohol giving me confidence to tell this girl how it should
be.
     "You know how men are," she said, waving her hands in
the air as she stepped away from me, not wanting to look,
"They wait until you're totally hot and bothered, and then
they make the move.  I'm sorry, I like sex, what can I say?
Does that make me a slut?"
     "I feel like a slut." I said, leaning against the stall
door, eyeballing Chelsea who had been squatting on the floor
and not talking for the whole conversation.
     Muffy shook her head, "No, I'm a slut.  You've got some
standards."
     I tried not to nod at the surprising praise.
     She looked me over, "I mean, let's face it.  That's why
we make fun of you.  We're jealous."
     "Bullshit." I said, but I couldn't help but smile at
the statement.
     She smiled too, "And the clothes, and the piercings,
yeah, that too."
     She put her hands on her hips, straightening up, "Well,
what do you think?"
     I had managed to completely forget that we were both
topless during the entire conversation, and was more
surprised to discover that my tenuous wrap was now pinned to
the belt.  Disturbing was how much shorter it was, nearly
half it's previous length.  I did have to admit that having
it doubled over was a lot better than having paper thin
fabric be all that stood between my bare behind and the rest
of the world.  I was disturbed, however, by how the flap,
which had so neatly wrapped twice in the front was now a
slit!  Granted, it went down my thigh, but if I wasn't
careful when I walked I'd be flashing a whole lot of hip.
Granted, I would have a matching pink G-string underneath
that skirt.
     I knew G-strings were against dress code, and I was
pretty sure that waist high slits were even more so.
     "You're trying to get me fucked, aren't you?" I said
accusingly at Muffy.
     She giggled, so did Chelsea, "You look great.  I'm just
showing off your strengths."
     "What strengths?"
     "Your legs and your tits, girl."
     I looked over myself, now in what amounted to a mini
skirt (though it did reach down to a pretty safe length).
The bare skin of my leg revealed through the slit was
actually quite compelling.  The slight exposure revealed the
skin, and worse the bareness of it, but it also hid the fact
that those thighs were skinny enough to wrap my hands
around, and my hands were tiny.
     "You are trying to get me fucked!" I jabbed my finger
at her.
     "I'm doing you a favor, Ariel.  Get yourself a man, get
it over with and those boys won't bother you any more.  I
promise."
     "And not that weaselly kid you came here with," Chelsea
slurred from her spot on the floor.
     "What's wrong with Alan?" I asked.
     Muffy gave me a `don't be stupid' look, "Alan won't get
you any respect.  The boys will walk all over him, and
they'll still find a way to get you in the back of their
car."
     I threw up my hands, conscious of how my tits jiggled
as I did it, "Why can't I just date someone I like?"
     Muffy took up her bra and approached me, "That's just
the way it is.  You want to end up like me," she had me hold
my arms up while she threaded the bra over them, "You go
right ahead and see how much fun it is.  Spreading your legs
for a guy your little brother's age who's hung like a
horse."  I thought of my little brother Eric, two years
younger than me, and suppressed the urge to hurl.
     She hung the straps over my shoulders and turned me
around, "Scoop." She said, and I pulled the cups against my
chest.  I didn't really hang down enough to need to scoop up
my tits, but I knew what she meant.  She pulled the bra
closed; it was actually a pretty good fit around the ribs
since it was adjustable.
     "Look, Ariel, if you want to take a chance and keep
your chastity, more power to you.  I'd be really happy if
you got Jerry off my back for a few weeks.  He's not bad
looking."
     "Jerry doesn't even like me," I said.
     "Good," she said, turning me around, "Then you've got
nothing to worry about."  Her tone was so light I winced at
the forced change of subject.  I realized I'd pissed her
off, but I'd be fucked if I'd let Jerry fuck just because
she couldn't say 'no.'
     She checked me out, then turned me to face the mirror.
I looked pretty good.  The bra went really well with
Chelsea's lipstick, and even though I didn't fill it out it
did a really good job of keeping my tits covered.  They
still bounced a bit.  Gravity had really only had a year to
work on them, but it was much better than being in just the
shirt.  I felt like I might make it out alive after all.
     "Zip me," I turned to find Muffy holding her hair out
of the way, her bare back exposed.  That was when I saw
Chelsea leaning against the big stall door.  I remembered
that she was still sitting on the ground, topless, rolling
her head around.
     "Chelsea?" I said tentatively, but it was Muffy who
responded.
     "That girl can totally not handle her alcohol." She
walked over and pulled the bottle from Chelsea's inert
hands, "You know why they call her one-drop Debbie?"
     "I can guess."
     "Girl's had more sex than any guy I know, and always
blames it on being drunk."
     "That's got to suck."
     Muffy gave her friend a light, but firm kick.  Chelsea
moaned and waved a hand at the foot, but didn't look up.
Muffy turned to be, taking a sip of the bottle.  "She's a
slut, she just won't admit it and has to drink herself
stupid to justify it."
     I could sympathize with that intent.  I'd been thinking
along those lines back behind the palm trees, when it seemed
pretty clear that I was going to have to have sex with the
five boys tormenting me.  It had seemed easier to get drunk
so I could give in to the hormones raging through me and not
pay attention to the fact that the boys fucking me were just
about the last guys on Earth I'd choose to do.
     "Last sip?" Muffy held out the bottle to me.  What was
left looked like less than a sip.  I couldn't believe that
the three of us had drunk so much, but then, I'd been naked
and fondling their tits ten minutes ago.
     I took the bottle and put it in my mouth, tipping it
back.
     Maybe I had spoken too hastily about the last guy on
Earth I'd fuck, because as I did that I saw a tousle of red
hair peering out of a stall door near the entrance and a
telltale metal band revealing the headgear.
     I sputtered on the alcohol; it spilling down my chin
and down my neck, "Rusty!"
     Muffy spun around, her bare arm flying up to hold the
dress to her breasts, and a high pitched cry went up, Rusty,
king of the nerds, crashed out of the stall door, two other
boys tumbling forward on top of him in a tangled sprawl.
     One for each of us, I thought.
     
     End of Chapter 5

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