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Message-ID: <57111asstr$1199549401@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "blue pervina" <bluepervina@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Jamie's Sick Journey, Part 2, by bluepervina ( fm, F/m, psyche, mast, light scat, ws, voy )
Lines: 2545
Date: Sat, 05 Jan 2008 11:10:01 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Here's a story for the group.  Thanks!
<1st attachment, "jamies_sick_journey_part2.rtf" begin>

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   ----------------

   Jamie's Sick Journey, Part 2



   by bluepervina - ?  2008



   ( fm, F/m, psyche, mast, ws, light scat, voy )



   * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *



   IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to read
(any or specific kinds of) electronically transmitted erotic
material,please do not read anything else in this file.



   This material is copyrighted by bluepervina.  All rights are reserved.
The author specifically grants to an individual user the right to download
and keep ONE electronic copy for that individual's personal reading so long
as all original copyright notices by bluepervina remain included with the
work.



   Any and all reposting requires prior written permission from
bluepervina.



   * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *



   Note: It is *highly* recommended that you read Part 1 of Jamie's Sick
Journey (http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/bluepervina/www/bp2jsj.html), in order to get up
to speed with what's happened up to this point.



   ----1---



   Of course we got caught.



   It was beyond stupid of us to think that we could get that filthy in a
school cafeteria and not manage to leave behind some trace that we'd been
there.  The stainless steel of the industrial kitchen sink had shit smears
around it that we just plain didn't wipe up well enough.  Same with that
cozy lunchlady bathroom we'd played around in.  Shit smears streaked parts
of the tile floor, some tiles on the walls, the toilet handle, the
doorknob.



   We were fourteen, and we'd thought it was immaculately clean when we
finished having our fun.  For us and our silly adolescent standards, it
was. For the adults at the school, though, there was of course plenty
enough evidence to convince them that a serious problem was going on.  The
next day's stern announcement during first period about false fire alarms
and skipping class was all I needed as proof that I shouldn't let Jamie
talk me into any more crazy stuff like that at school.  The principal came
on the intercom and talked all about expulsions and criminal vandalism and
reprobate behavior.  And he was talking about me!



   It was all I could do to sit still and just take it.  My entire body --
and especially my head -- felt flushed and hot.  I was literally purpled
and throbbing with shame.  The fact that not one of my classmates noticed
is still somewhat a miracle to me, looking back on it now.  And I couldn't
help it, I puked right before lunch, just at the thought of going back to
the cafeteria.  Lying on the little vinyl bed in the nurse's office, I
imagined I was confined to some tiny cell in the juvenile detention center,
and no one in my family had come to see me for months and months.  I threw
up again, and my mom came to school and got me.



   Jamie, of course, had a different view of the fallout.  She was rapidly
growing more confident, more brazen, as if her newfound sexuality was
really a new personality being born whole within her.  By the end of the
next week a new person come alive, sauntering fully-formed into the world
wearing little skirts, tight shirts, and a devilish grin.  In her husky
exuberance, Jamie leaned close in the hallway that next Friday morning and
whispered, ``Brett, I wanna do it again so bad!'' Her hand found my crotch
and squeezed for a long, horrifying second, just as her wet tongue slid
across my ear.



   My knees wobbled as I half-crouched in shock, recoiling from my
girlfriend with that instinct so strong in every young teen male alive -- I
didn't want her to embarrass me in front of anybody.  And I couldn't
believe any girl would be so slutty right in the middle of the hallway and
just grab at my dick like that!  The people around who saw it, though,
didn't laugh or call out or anything.  They stared and whispered to each
other, more shocked than anything, and I was able to stagger away to my
class with a freshly written note stuffed into my fist and a raging boner
prodding sideways against my thin and tenting pants.



   Of course, by the end of the day -- and certainly by the next week --
word got around that Jamie was a slut.  It hit me as bad and as good,
depending on how I thought about it.  There was definitely a lot that was
cool about being one of the only guys in school who was going out with a
publicly-witnessed floozie.  Yet there was the problem of her really being
the bad sort of girl who makes a boy get a certain reputation himself, and
I honestly began to worry that I might be making things hard on myself for
later, when I'd want to find a girl who'd be the sweetheart of my dreams.



   But, then again, until Jamie had her accident in the alley, that was
exactly the kind of girl that she was.  Maybe all of my dream girls would
turn out that way.



   ----2---



   Her note was pretty plain:



   I've never felt like this before!

   Do you love me like I love you?

   Yes or No.

   If it is Yes, then you and I will

   do more dirty things, OK?

   I love it so much!

   We need to do more tonight

   when we sneak out to the alley.

   OK?

   I am eating a lot of pizza tonight

   cos it makes me poop lots when I do.

   You get your mom to get you a

   pizza too, before we get together.

   OK?

   WB with Yes or No.

   TLA - Jamie

   PS, did you have a taste in your

   mouth that was SO bad?  If you

   have gum you can bring it tonight

   for riding in the car after.

   I think I can tell mom

   I stepped in something and

   she'll believe me

   but just in case.

   OK?

   WB Yes or No!



   ----3---



   I answered No.



   It was on one sheet of notebook paper, folded four times, with her name
on the outside.  My word, ``No'', took up most of the lines on the inside,
and I made sure to write my name neatly at the bottom, to dispel any
confusion she might have.  I handed it to her that same day, casually
flipping it over her shoulder from behind as I walked rapidly past her
toward the bike rack.  I'd ridden my BMX that morning just in case I had to
get out of there fast.  And I did.  It was the one and only time in my life
that I broke up with a girl when I knew for sure that she wanted me and
only me.  It hurt like hell riding away from that school.



   But I was freaked.  Looking back now, I guess it was just the way Jamie
changed so suddenly.  It was like some kind of horror movie come to life,
how she did this one weird thing and then from that point forward an
amazing and grotesque transformation began to occur which could not be
undone.  The monster was born, and it was going to have its sick fun.



   She screamed my name over and over until I had simply ridden too far
away to hear her anymore.



   ----4---



   Jamie never once called me.  A week passed, and nothing.  I didn't get
many calls from girls anyway, but I did expect at least one more from her.
That's what girls did, right?  They got the last word in.  But Jamie must
have had other ideas.



   In the halls at school she would not look at me, always leaning in close
to this girlfriend of hers Karen a nerdy girl that Jamie had known since
kindergarten.  Jamie was a nerd, too, but she was pretty and funny, so
everybody was always willing to ignore the fact that all her classes were
advanced and that she'd won the state science fair back in the sixth grade.



   Jamie and Karen would pass me in the hallway, whispering to each other,
their heads together, and pausing to giggle wickedly whenever I was close
enough to hear.  It was clearly a revenge strategy of hers somehow, but I
couldn't figure it out.  Ever since Jamie had grabbed me in the hallway the
previous week, the word got around that she was slutty and that I was some
kind of stud.  So I had a lot more girls flirting with me by then, and
Jamie, I'd heard, was getting her ass grabbed a lot in the lunch line and
during class changes.



   And then my parents drove me to school early one day.



   Nearly three weeks after our fun in the school's kitchen, the
investigation was done.  I sat in the dull beige-papered principal's
office, listening to Principal Tanner explain due process to my parents
concerning vandalism and hate crimes.  They sat on either side of me,
alternately rubbing my arm or patting me on the knee reassuringly.  A
guidance counselor and Mr.  Holt the teacher who'd given me my pass that
day were also in the room.  I could hear them both breathing behind me.  A
gigantic, muscular sheriff's deputy loomed a little ways back behind the
principal, stuffed into a small wooden chair.



   Mr.  Tanner was a thin, pleasant-looking man.  I'd never seen him this
close up, but it was obvious that this sort of meeting was the last thing
he ever wanted to do.  He seemed to be wishing he was far, far away from
us. His eyes hardly ever left the papers on top of his desk; he constantly
shifted around lightly in his faux-leather executive chair, alternately
sticking a pencil up behind his ear and taking it back down just so he
could check the sharpness of the point.  Never once did he actually write
anything with that damn pencil.  Yet he was firm and did his job, and I've
never once resented him.  ``We think Brett has displayed a clear desire to
get people sick, Mr.  and Mrs.  Robinson.  There is no other reason to?  to
distribute that kind of filth unless he thought he could use it to harm
others.  Now, did he want the cafeteria ladies to suffer did he not like
the shepherd's pie the day before, for instance??''



   I kept my fists balled in my lap and stared at a particularly mildewed
patch of the wall, just beneath the air conditioning vent.  In the close
quarters of the office, under the full weight of my parents' wrath and the
other adults' disgust and dismay, I could barely breathe.  Every part of me
was tight and getting squeezed tighter.  Tears flowed freely down my
cheeks. My face felt so hot, but at the same time my arms and legs were so
cold!



   Nevertheless, I couldn't help but snort a little at the shepherd's pie
theory.  The stunned silence that answered my stupid gaffe gave me clue
enough that the mounting outrage in the room was real, and I didn't make
another sound for the rest of the meeting.



   Principal Tanner went on, ``But our best guess, really, is that your
Brett was attempting to play some kind of sick joke on his fellow students.
You know, a kid plays a wicked prank and then lets everyone in on it later
so they can all feel stupid and disgusted.'' He leaned forward from behind
his desk and folded his long fingers together, staring at me hard, the one
and only time he seemed to forget about his pencil.  ``Now, we're surprised
that Brett still hasn't told anyone about his little stunt, to be honest,
and so we got tired of waiting for him to come out with it.  We'd like to
move on, frankly.'' He sat back and rearranged some papers, bringing the
pencil down from his ear and tapping it lightly against the neat little
stack.  ``We've finished with the state's OSHA team and their final cleanup
and inspection, and now our cafeteria ladies and our school's concerned
parents would like to know that this...  um, menace or threat or whatever
is going to be gone from their midst for a while.''



   My father, at that point, did the decent thing.  That is the irony of it
all, really; I was raised by decent people and should have had no problem
sticking with a decent, normal way of fooling around with girls.  My poor
dad must have wanted to die from the shame.  He cleared his throat and did
his own forward-lean.  ``Menace?'' he asked quietly, pointedly.  ``I would
like to have you prove how our Brett here has managed to earn such a label,
since this is the first time in his entire life he's ever gotten in trouble
at school.  For anything.  That must be taken into consideration.''



   Mr.  Tanner shifted more papers and did not look at my father.  ``Now.
Now.  He has done a very bad thing, after all.  Perhaps my word was harsh,
but he could have made a lot of people ill.''



   My mother took it from there.  ``You said `hate crime', didn't you? 
Because he was targeting some specific group, right?  Then that means you
have evidence of that, doesn't it?  Some sort of background on Brett here
to prove that he has a history of hating lunch ladies or his fellow
students or something?  Otherwise isn't this just a random thing some
stupid kid's gone and done?''



   At that point the sheriff's deputy, Sergeant Arthur Sanders, who had
been investigating the case, spoke up.  Since his chair was crammed into
the corner behind Mr.  Tanner, I couldn't even see his face beyond the
principal's slouching shoulder.  I could see his shoulders, however, and
one of his biceps.  The man was huge.  In his uniform, he was perhaps the
most intimidating person I'd ever seen with my own eyes.  When he spoke it
was in a rumbling baritone that simply struck me to the bone with its
confidence and power.  There was no way my parents would be arguing against
this guy.



   The deputy went on and on about how ``officials'' had photographed
nineteen different points of contamination in the kitchen and its bathroom,
and how a similar contaminant was found on the fire alarm upstairs.  He
recalled Mr.  Holt's assertion that I'd been out on a pass that whole time,
and that I'd had more than sufficient opportunity to plant discrete amounts
of feces in those places, which was all proof that I'd planned it out and
had a whole scheme concocted in my head to get a lot of people sick.



   When my father asked about other kids out on passes during that same
time, I sat up with a jolt as the deputy answered, ``No one else was out.
We asked every teacher in the school, and no one had another student in the
halls during that time.''



   Of course that was impossible.  There were over 1,100 students attending
my school.  My father even tried to get angry at the deputy about it, but
there was no use.  No nothing.  No future.



   It was like the room was tilting.  I was falling out of my chair.  The
floor was coming up?  so fast?  I couldn't breathe!  But my mother grabbed
my arm and started calling my name and hugging me to her.  Soon we were
both crying hard, and my father was begging the officials for some kind of
a break.



   ``He's our youngest son,'' Dad pleaded.  ``Mr.  Tanner, you knew our
other boys, we've got good kids.  You've got to be decent here!''



   But, in the end, I was out.



   When the court and lawyer nonsense was finally over I was charged and
convicted on vandalism charges, with extenuating circumstances or
something, some special code words they used in the juvenile court to get
me set up with a psychiatrist for two years.  The hate crime stuff was
thrown out, but I was expelled from my school and sent to a new school on
the other side of town.  It was just another normal middle school, but I
had to stay in a special class full of retarded and spastic kids who had
anger problems or got crazy-hyper or whatever, and a teacher or a teacher's
aid walked with me everywhere I went.  Or else one of the deans did it,
scowling at me start to finish.



   The deal was that I had to behave perfectly until I was sixteen.  Moving
up to the high school, even, I would be shoved off into a special class
like that and followed everywhere.  The psychiatrist would still be seeing
me, too, until those two years were gone.  Court officials would come to
the house once every three months and interview me and my parents and
search my room.  Then, at the end of the two years, I would get to go back
to court and let them talk it over.  Maybe my record would get expunged. 
Maybe not.  Maybe I'd get to go back to my own side of town for school. 
Maybe not.  Maybe I'd get the super-duper screwjob and have to go down to
the county juvenile detention facility until I was eighteen and could be
tried as an adult?.



   At home, I was basically on phone restrictions until the two years had
passed.  I was also grounded for those two years.  The only way I left the
house was with my parents or with one of my brothers right there with me. I
had to give up all my sports, of course.  And anyway, the little league
kids had all heard about my expulsion, and they were not nice about it. 
Their parents, in particular, gave my own folks such a cold shoulder that
my dad had to find all new golf buddies, poker buddies, and fishing
buddies. Mom's bridge group and her ``Tennis Wednesdays'' fell completely
apart.  But, being decent, my parents still loved me; their harsh words to
me never hurt as horribly as they could made them to hurt, if they'd really
wanted to be mean about it.  My parents felt so guilty for not raising me
better that it was hard for them to be that cruel to me.  And I think they
could tell that my own guilt was heaped up enough.  It wasn't like I talked
to anyone anymore about anything.  It wasn't like I was even alive, not
even to myself.



   Those things were probably even tougher than the new school and the
maddening self-contained classroom junk.  I had no friends.  There was this
loneliness that really ate away at me.  My brothers were both in late high
school, and they were OK for playing a video game or throwing the football
in the backyard, but they had all their own stuff to do, and they really
weren't around all that much.  So at home I got into this habit of just
staying in my room and reading, doing homework, or playing video games. 
This was back when we only had our old Atari and the 8-bit Nintendo, so it
didn't take me long to get sick of Super Mario Bros and Zelda, let me tell
you!  Defender and Asteroids weren't so bad, but by then I could play them
in my sleep.  And the self-contained stuff they sent home with me couldn't
be called proper homework; Moral Issues For Kids Today was just a bunch of
individual scenarios, each one typed on its own little card, and my job was
to write on the back what I would do in each situation.  Then for half the
next school day I sat together with the rest of the losers and with our two
teachers and with whatever other shrinks and spies they wanted to bring in,
and we'd talk about the stupid little scenarios and our different answers
endlessly, only interrupted by the occasional fist fight that would break
out.  So at home what I did the most, actually, was read.  I discovered it
wasn't nearly as shitty a thing to do as school had led me to believe.



   ----5---



   Mom and Dad never once asked me why I'd done what I did; but they made
sure to build up the psychiatrist like she was the second coming of Christ
Almighty; I had the suspicion that they were deeply afraid there really was
something permanently wrong with me.  Which meant that there was, of
course, something permanently wrong with the two of them.  It was like the
psychiatrist had to save me in order to save us all, basically.



   Dr.  Bodson was a child and family counsellor, which meant she was
supposed to be the expert that got me sorted out.  My parents dropped me
off once a week - every Tuesday afternoon at four - reminding me to be
honest, remember my manners, and prove to the doctor that I was definitely
not some sort of freak.  Problem was, I knew they were wrong, and I wasn't
sure I could fake things in front of somebody who made her living knowing
exactly what "normal" was supposed to be.



   I had no idea how old she was.  I was at that age where everyone between
thirty and fifty looked about the same to me.  It didn't really matter,
anyway, because I'd also reached that age where my cock automatically
responded to hot women in close proximity, regardless of whether they were
old enough to be my big sister, my mom, or my grandma.  Dr.  Bodson was the
first adult I ever met who captivated me like that.



   She stood nearly six feet tall, with a slightly overweight curviness
that made her hips and breasts and ass look incredible.  Her hair was dark
and long, with lush, heavy curls that spilled over her shoulders, the soft
ends of her hair resting delicately atop her mouth-watering breasts.  Never
revealing any cleavage, it was nevertheless obvious that the woman
possessed some heavy, gorgeous melons behind the pricey fabrics she always
wore.  She was in expensive blouse-skirt combos or business dresses for all
of our appointments, so I got frequent chances to watch her calves and
ankles as she sat across from me in her office.  With only a small table
between us for drinks and a lamp, it was easy to act like I was simply
avoiding her eyes, being a sulky teenager, while I zoomed in on her long
feet in the strappy heels she always wore.  It only took a couple
appointments to realize that I wanted more than just about anything to suck
on her perfectly pedicured toes.  I was completely captivated by her.



   She carried herself with an elegance that flat-out intimidated me, but I
fantasized, nonetheless, about touching her, undressing her, licking her
from head to toe.  She'd feed me milk from her fat, pink nipples, and I'd
ask her to let me put my cock between the soles of her feet, and she'd let
me fuck her that way till I came.



   So it really messed with my head and my libido to learn, just as
quickly, that my shrink was a hardcore bitch who wouldn't tolerate
teenagers who didn't give her straight answers.  I came away from most of
our meetings with a terrifying certainty that I was doomed to go to jail
because I never seemed to answer questions clearly enough, honestly enough,
or with enough thought beforehand.  My nerves were a cold rock of ice in
the pit of my stomach, slowly leaking out to all extremeties; I would sit
in that nice leather chair in a cold sweat, swinging wildly between the
need to converse with her properly and the need to hang onto my own little
secrets, to protect my own pride and Jamie's neck.  On top of all that I
just really, deeply wanted to find as many moments in the midst of all that
to check out every luscious little bit of her body that I possibly could.



   It took three sessions for her to go through the process of asking all
about my life up to that point.  I had to talk a lot about school, what I
liked and didn't like about it, which teachers I admired or despised.  I
had to tell her about all the sports I'd played, about Cub Scouts and
summer camps and family trips and all our relatives.  Eventually she wanted
me to try and remember any times in my childhood that I might have been
touched in the wrong way, but of course nothing like that had ever happened
to me.  I was a well-raised boy - that was the whole reason my parents were
so worried about me!  How could I have done what I did?!



   Apparently this lack of aberrance in my childhood didn't disturb Dr. 
Bodson as much as it did my mom and dad.  She simply kept checking that the
recorder was running, and she'd make some notes on a little pad and just
keep on going with the questions.



   By our fourth session she'd moved onto recent events and began asking
questions dealing with, as the judge had always called it, 'the incident'.
She read back to me the deputy's report, asking me questions here and there
throughout it.  She asked me about my personal sexual history, very
clinically, trying to see if I'd ever done a lot of playing around with
poop before and whether or not I did a lot of masturbating, stealing things
like pornos from older brothers, stealing my mother's panties from the
laundry basket...  all unsettling to be questioned about, but easy to
answer - always 'no'.



   Then, several sessions later on, she radically shifted the nature of our
conversations.  It was like she wanted to turn me around and inspect me
from some different angles.  She wanted to find some new buttons to
pushs....



   Dr.  Bodson: ``So, Brett, tell me how you felt when you learned all
about the deputy's investigation.''


Brett: ``I don't know.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``We've talked about it all before, of course, but what I
really want to do in this session is to break those moments down into
pieces.  Is that all right?''


Brett: ``I guess.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Good!  Because I've noticed a lot of tension and odd
signs in your body language when we get to certain parts of the deputy's
report.''


Brett: ``Whatever.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``I think you know I'm right, Brett.  Why don't we talk
about what's bothering you, OK?  What is it in that deputy's investigation
that gets you so upset?  Did he make a mistake?''


Brett: ``No.  It was me.  I did it.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Yes.  Of course."


Brett: ``It was.  It really was.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``It's OK, Brett.  Just relax?  that's better.  Did he
anger you by talking about hate crimes or by labeling you as `the
perpetrator'?  Those are pretty serious words, after all?.''


Brett: ``No.  I've watched cop shows and stuff.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Yes, I see.  Obviously.  So perhaps you should tell me
what bothers you about that moment, and then I can stop asking you
questions that only make you shrug and look at my...  carpet.''


Brett: ``Sorry.  I didn't mean it that way.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``No, I don't mind.  It's why I'm here, after all.  To help
you express yourself?.  So??''


Brett: ``I can't tell you.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Tell me what??''



   Brett: ``The deputy did get some stuff wrong, but really really I don't
mind!''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``But if he was wrong, why didn't you speak up, or at least
have your lawyer speak up at your hearings?''



   Brett: ``Because that wouldn't have changed anything for me, OK?  I did
what I did, and I got caught.  That's the deal, right?''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Yet something is eating at you, Brett, and it's clear you
want to get it off your chest.  Am I wrong?  No?  So what is it?''



   Brett: ``God!  Leave it alone!  Leave me alone!  I just can't tell you,
OK?''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Brett.  Let's not yell.  Please try to breathe slowly and
settle down, if you can.  But if that's too hard right now, at least don't
yell.  And please just listen for a minute here, because you might actually
like hearing what I have to tell you.  Understand?  Better breathing... 
yes, good?  OK?  Now Brett, there is no law in this world that will ever
force me to tell anyone else what you say to me, got it?  My promise to
you. I am the best secret-keeper you will ever find.  If you have something
to say that is dying to be said, then I am exactly the person you can say
it to.  You have got to trust me, all right?''


Brett: ``You're just saying that.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``No.  I am not.  It's all true.  I don't tell your
parents. I don't tell the judge.  I don't tell my secretary.  It is just
between me and you and this recorder I use for my notes, which I transcribe
myself for cases like yours.  Now and forever.  It's a part of the job
description, you know.''



   Brett: ``OK, I guess?  But what if your recorder aw, forget it, that's
dumb...  I'm OK now.  Really.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Thank you, Brett.  Thank you for your trust.  All this
will work so much better when you can relax and start to truly speak freely
with me.  This is good.  This is getting somewhere now.''


Brett: ``Yeah.  Thanks.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``So, tell me now.  Is it getting caught playing with feces
that's got you so worked up?  or is that the your playmate didn't get
caught along with you?''



   Brett: ``Fuck.  What the hell?  I told you that it was just me, OK? 
Fuck!''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Brett.''


Brett: ``Yes, ma'am?''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Why are we going through this again already?  Please
don't lie to me.  Tell me the truth.''


Brett: ``I did, OK - I swear!''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``?  Brett.  I'm disappointed in you.''


Brett: ``Yeah?  Well, I'll just add your name to the list, I guess."



   Dr.  Bodson: ``You just don't get it.  I'm the one name in the universe
right now that you don't want to alienate.''



   Brett: ``But you keep asking me things that I've already answered!  It's
pissing me off and it's scaring me, too!''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Well that's good, actually.  You're being honest about
how you feel, at least.  Even if you're not honest about anything else."


Brett: "I don't kn-"



   Dr.  Bodson: "I wasn't finished, Brett.  Please calm down, be quiet, and
listen.  OK?  Now, let's go back to what I already told you, Brett.  All
right?  Remember?  ?Here's what I've already said: I won't get you in
trouble with the sheriff or the judge or even your own parents.  But you
think I'm some sort of liar, don't you?"


Brett: "No!  I don't.  I mean, it's ju-"



   Dr.  Bodson: "Well, if you believe me, then that just means you don't
care - and that means you still don't really understand the kind of trouble
you're still in."


Brett: "Yes, I do!  I really do und-"



   Dr.  Bodson: "Brett, I've heard enough for today.  I can see how this is
going to have to be.  So here it is: I'm adding one additional month of
confinement in your own home, to be served once your current confinement
period is ended.  I will recommend this to the judge tomorrow morning on
the phone, and he will sign off on it without a problem.  That is because
you are wasting my time with your bullshit.  Is all that clear to you,
Brett?"


Brett: ``Oh, God!  Y-yes, ma'am.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``If you continue to come in here and play the fool and
pretend that you can outsmart me, then I'll just continue adding additional
months of confinement each time that happens.  And don't bother trying to
complain about me to your mom or dad or your lawyer.  I doubt they'll take
your word over mine about what's going on in these sessions.  I will not
play games with you, Brett.  It's time you figured that out."


Brett: "Yes, ma'am.  I'm sorry I-"



   Dr.  Bodson: "Now please get out.  I'm ending our session early.  You've
given me a fucking headache."



   ----6---



   Having already been under confinement for a few months, I took the
addition of a month to my sentence by Dr.  Bodson with a great deal of
panic and misery.  I was never going to have a normal life ever again! 
There was no way I could tell her about Jamie and how she was there too,
how she was the reason it all happened, and how I'd probably do it all over
again if she asked me to.  That was a sure sign I was permanently bent, Dr.
Bodson would see that soon enough.  And as the extra months of confinement
kept piling up, she would probably get so angry with me that I'd finally
end up going nowhere but to school and home and the therapist's until I was
eighteen and graduated.



   There were times that I seriously considered running away.  My parents
would be better off without me.  My brothers probably wouldn't even notice
I was gone.  Dr.  Bodson, I was sure, would be glad to be rid of me.  I was
going to be nothing but a hassle for her from now on.  But Jamie, what
about her?  If I ran away there'd never be another chance to see her again,
to put things back together, maybe....  It was the only thing that kept me
from leaving.  I still thought about her all the time.  I still wanted her
so badly.



   I kept this one tiny shred of hope in the back closet of my heart,
hanging there with all the pitiful uselessness of a favorite shirt from
years past, now much too small to wear; but it was a reminder of a better
time and place, and that made it worth holding onto.  Despite understanding
that about my situation, I nevertheless cherished this insane dream that
she and I could hook back up and stay together - as if the shirt would
suddenly fit me again some day.  I knew it was stupid.  She hated me now. I
couldn't forget how she'd screamed after me that day.



   Even if we did get back together somehow, she'd probably still want to
fool around in that same filthy way, and, well, I knew I'd let her.  I
still wanted to do all that stuff, too.  So then they'd end up locking us
both away, and not at home.  I'd heard about juvenile asylums.  State
social workers called them Juvenile Rehabilitation Clinics.  Kids got off
drugs in those places, mainly, but there were also the puppy killers and
the ten year-old arsonists and the kids who raped other kids, murdered
other kids.  And there were shit eaters there, too - or maybe I'd be their
first one.  They'd keep me till I was old enough to be moved to a real
adult facility, and by then no one from home or school would even remember
that I existed.  Meanwhile Jamie'd be dealt all those same cards, and yet
I'd never see her again.  The only bond we'd keep would be our punishment,
our suffering.  Eventually, she'd probably forget about me, too.



   In the midst of this wallowing in self-pity, I suddenly realized the
phone restrictions only really working when Mom and Dad were home.  My
brothers had lost interest in listening in and busting me on my attempts to
make calls.  The punishments I received were never anything worth the
effort it took to monitor and tell on me.  What else could Mom and Dad do?
Take away my Nintendo?  My books?  After that, they'd have to take my
shoes, my light bulb in my room, and maybe as a last resort they'd force me
to skip some meals.  I mean, when you're already cut off from everything
else in your life, how much worse could it get?



   So my brothers acquired a kind of pragmatic sympathy partly due to their
own laziness and ``busy'' lives; and it was partly due, I finally realized,
to true pity for a little brother who never did seem to be as bad as he was
being treated.  Once I started paying attention to this possibility, I
could tell they were torn.  ``How could he be a freak?'' they were seemed
to be thinking.  ``But he is.  Poor freak.'' I got a lot of undeserved pats
on the shoulder from them.  They loaned me video games and old 'Choose Your
Own Adventure' books.  They brought me stuff from the convenience store -
candy bars, Coca-cola, baseball cards - even when I hadn't asked them for a
thing.  And they started to look the other way a lot.



   When Mom and Dad weren't home, I realized that I could finally make
phone calls, unmonitored, undisturbed.  It was an absolute miracle,
seriously, and it's like my misery changed from soul-sucking shades of gray
to this almost-like-dawn sort of lightness.  I could call people.  There
were people I could call!



   So that Friday night I called Jamie.  How could I not?  I masturbated to
the memory of what we did every night.  I got off thinking about Dr. 
Bodson, too, every now and then, but usually the fantasy morphed into some
sort of filthy m?nage ?  trois involving Jamie, and she always ended up
dominating my entire libido by the time I'd come.  The nights I'd do it in
the bathroom were the most intense.  I'd lovingly caress my turds with
trembling fingers as they slid out of my ass into the bowl, then I'd jack
with my shit-slicked hand and pinch my nipples and get all smelly and
embarrassed at myself and so horny I had to jack again almost right away,
even before a shower and extra deodorant and cologne and stuff.



   The first call I made to her, after I was sure the coast was clear,
lasted about ten seconds.  It had been nearly four months since I was
expelled.  But it felt like it was yesterday, you know?  All those last
moments of my former life still stood there stacked up in a great teetering
pile at the front edge of my memory.  It felt like going back to them in
real life might crush me for good.  I freaked.  The phone picked up at the
other end, and I slammed mine down, reeling.



   But about an hour after that (and two of Dad's beers snuck from
downstairs), I called her and actually talked, reeling and all.



   ``Hey,'' I said, my voice cracking even worse than normal, I was so
nervous.  ``It's Brett.  Remember me?''



   There was an enormous pause, and I could hear a television commercial in
the background.  The Clapper.  Nothing is more absurd in life than scenes
like that, let me tell you.  A huge emotional moment arrives and I've got a
ridiculous 80's jingle piping up in the background as my soundtrack.  I
almost hung up.



   But then she spoke, just a little.



   ``Oh my God, are you OK?'' She was whispering, and the sound of the TV
had faded away to nothing, as if she'd walked into another room.



   ``Yeah, I'm OK?'' I said.



   ``But I God, it's like oh, God I've been dying to talk to you, Brett!''
My heart was pounding to hear her voice again.  Everything came flooding
back like it had all just happened.  Her long blonde hair cascading around
her slender naked body.  The way she squatted and squeezed out those fat
turds.  Her wild, sluttish joy.



   It seemed she was undergoing the same experience.  Her words quickened,
and she sounded out of breath.  ``Oh, God!  I'm so sorry for what's
happened to you.  You gotta believe me but I was so totally terrified and
you were just like cut off from the world and, God, I mean, arrested?  I
still can't believe it.  I was so scared.  And I felt so bad for you but I
still thought I'd get cops taking me away, too, so I was feeling real sorry
for myself and started doing stupid things and that just made it all more
horrible, right?  ?And I'm still scared a little, too.  You know?  Like I
can't help it.  Like I'm this jumpy little bird, my daddy says, maybe
'cause I'm still detoxing or whatever.  Oh, but you don't even know about
that, do you?  ?  Well, anyway, if he really knew what it was, God, I can't
even think about it, I shake so much!



   ``?Thanks, though, for not telling on me.  And I do miss you, really, I
mean, so so so much.  But?  well, I don't know?  Forget it.  Nothing.''



   ``But what?'' I asked, feeling some sort of terror rip through newborn,
still-fragile joy.  My cock was like pure steel against my loose shorts,
though.



   ``Well, I guess I can tell you, after all?'' Jamie chuckled a little,
then whispered even lower, ``I found somebody else to play with me.''



   The roof could have fallen on my head and crushed me in that instant,
and I would not have felt a thing.  My entire body was numb.  A trembling
sort of palsy swept through my brain and down into every nerve ending of my
body, and I suddenly suffered through the worst case of goosebumps in my
life.  The shiver they gave me almost made me drop the phone.  For a long
time I sat there, barely able to do more than hold onto the phone.  Jamie
must have understood the weight of what she'd said; she was waiting for me
silently on the other end, I could hear her shallow, quick breathing.  I
finally managed to speak.



   ``Wh- Who?''



   Jamie took a deep breath, and then her respectful reserve crumbled.  She
giggled some more, this little whispery titter of girl-sounds, and then she
whispered, ``Why, Karen of course.  She's only my best friend since
forever. Who else would it be?  Silly boy!''



   ``R- Right?  Karen.  That's, um, good.'' was all I could say.  I
couldn't even remember what that girl looked like.  I could place her in a
bunch of memories involving Jamie at school, but that girl Karen had only
ever registered as this quiet, small shadow right at Jamie's elbow, too
meek or plain or something for me to remember, in terms of knowing any
details about her.  Or maybe Jamie, in all her radiance, had simply blinded
me to everyting and everyone else around her.



   ``You don't believe me,'' she pouted.



   ``No, I believe you,'' I quickly asserted.  And I did.  Nothing would
ever surprise me about Jamie again, that was for sure.



   ``But I've really missed you.  Really.  I mean, I have this place in my
heart for you for what you helped me find out about myself.  You know? 
It's like?  well, I love you in this special way, no matter how long it'll
ever be that we don't talk or see each other or whatever.'' She practically
purred all this through the phone at me, working me all over again, just
like she used to do.



   Too fucking easy and stupid and horny and everything, that's what I was
and what I am!  So at that point I pulled out my cock and began to stroke.
I was dying to ask her what she was wearing and if she would take it off,
just for me.  It was nearly nine o'clock on a Friday night, so I was pretty
sure she'd be in something that had her close to naked.



   ``Missed you, too,'' I muttered in my awkward fourteen year-old way. 
She could toss ``love'' out there all casual like that; but she was a girl,
after all.  I couldn't do that even if I was in Alcatraz for life and she
was promising to mail me her dirty panties once a month.  But I threw her
my own version, the ``miss you so much'' stuff; that was easy to say back
to her right away because it was absolutely true.  She'd been in my mind
every day for four months.  So I had to say it, just to let her know I did
still care, even if I'd broken up with her: ``I'm glad you didn't get
caught, like I did.''



   There was another pause.  I listened again to Jamie's rapid, light
breathing, and I wondered whether or not she could hear the sounds my hand
was making as I sat there jacking off.  I hoped she could, but I was too
scared to tell her what I was doing.  My cock was almost ready.



   ``I let Deputy Sanders fuck me,'' she said simply.  And I came.  Just
thinking for that split second of the huge sheriff's deputy leaned over
tiny Jamie's nude body, her feet in the air around his ears, her blonde
hair spilled all over the place while she lay there and let the man pound
away.  It was too much.



   ``Brett?  Are you OK?'' I was trying to catch my breath, and then she
said, ``Oh, God, I'm so sorry Brett!'' Another long pause.  I was waiting
for her to tell me more, but I was afraid to ask for it.  Instead, I just
sat there with the phone to my head, wiping up globs of my come from my
chest and trying hard to figure out what the hell I should say or how I
should feel.  It felt like I was riding out a sudden, shattering
earthquake, and it was all I could do to hang on.  Meanwhile, I guess she
was trying to figure out the reasons for my silence.  Finally, she'd had
enough.



   ``Well, what was I supposed to do, Brett?'' she hissed.  ``He told me
that was how I'd get out of trouble!  Do you have any idea how much it
fucking hurt?  And he was my first I gave up my first time to stay out of
jail, you know?  Do you know what that means to me, how special my first
time was supposed to be, how horrible it is to lose it that way?  Do you?
And for two solid months I fucked him whenever he wanted!  And just thank
God I didn't end up carrying his baby or anything!  Thank fucking God,
Brett, because then everybody would have had to know everything!  You
asshole!''



   Jamie's phone went dead.  She'd hung up.  It took me nearly an hour to
do anything besides stare blankly at the wall.



   ----7---



   The next night, around ten, I tried calling her again.  Mom and Dad
liked to go out on dates on Fridays and Saturdays, now that we boys were
all older and more self-sufficient (well, my brothers more than me,
obviously), so I took advantage of the lack of supervision to try and find
out more about what Jamie had done.  I think I'd been hard that entire day,
and I know for sure that I masturbated at least three times thinking about
her fucking Officer Huge Guy.  It made me feel so crazy inside to imagine
Jamie weeping, hurting, maybe even bleeding from all that pain.  It was
awful, but it was wonderful, too.  God, maybe I could make her bleed, too?
get my cock bloody inside her tight little hole?  make her cry a little? 
and then she'd start wanting me deeper and deeper, and she'd wrap her legs
around me and fuck me back and tell me how much she wanted it!



   There was no way I'd ever be normal again, of course.  I realized that
fact about ten seconds after I came for the third time; I'd been imagining
her sucking me off, with my cock covered in her own cunt's blood, and at
the same time she was shitting a huge turd and catching it in her free
hand, rubbing it all over her little titties and her belly and her wounded
crotch.  Afterward, I lay back on my bed and dreamed it all over again,
rubbing my still-hard cock lazily, surprised at how calm I felt even
though, obviously, something in me was permanently, horribly, wonderfully
damaged.



   This time when she answered the phone, Jamie was ready with something to
say, even if I really still wasn't.  I guess she didn't want to cut the
conversation short this time.  Or call me names.



   ``OK, Brett, I want to tell it all to you, but there's no way I can do
it on the phone.  You know how it is.''



   ``Yeah.'' Did I ever!  (It's such a different world now, with text
messaging, emails, chat rooms, IM's?.  No wonder things are so twisted
these days.  Look at how hard it was to get twisted back then - you really
had to work for it!  Now you can get dirty texting your sick girlfriend all
night long and still sit right there on the living room couch next to Mom,
watching Survivor and pretending to use your phone's calculator to help you
do homework.)



   ``Anyway,'' Jamie said, ``Samantha Giles from school lives on your
street and says her mom told her that you can't go anywhere without your
family with you, and you're on all these horrible restrictions for forever
and all that.  Like ?  is it called `house arrest', right?''



   A lump had grown in my throat, and my cock shrunk.  The humiliation was
so overwhelming.  People hadn't just ignored my little situation after all.
Kids I barely knew had parents that were better informed about my life than
they probably were about their own offspring.  I stammered, ``Right,'' back
to Jamie before she got worried again.



   Jamie plowed on, seemingly unaware of my pause.  ``But I figure I can
ride my bike over there and hide notes in the yard for you and stuff.  You
know.  Cause I'm not restricted or nothing.  Not anymore.''



   ``OK,'' I said, my cock waking up again.



   ``And?'' she paused.  I was busy trying to think of a decent hiding spot
in our yard for a note, so I wasn't quite catching on.  Jamie had to clear
her throat and say it again.  ``And...  there's something else I can do? 
maybe?.''



   ``Huh what?'' I had just remembered our two garden gnomes!  They each
had a hollow base big enough to hide a note inside, if Jamie could tilt
them up just a little.  The problem would be getting close enough to the
front of the house to do it without being seen.  She'd have to try it at
night.  Maybe pretty late.  But Jamie was talking again, and I didn't have
the chance to tell her about my great hiding place.



   ``I mean, why don't I just sneak over there when the coast is clear and
come on up to your room?'' There was a clarity and lightness to Jamie's
voice that hit me in the pit of my stomach.  I could tell she was totally
confident this would work, and she knew I'd probably agree.  It sounded
like her wickedness had not dissipated in any way over the past few months.



   ``Oh, Jamie, I just don't know,'' I muttered.



   But she was ready.  ``Listen, Brett, Samantha tells me that your parents
go out on a date like almost every Friday and Saturday.  Her brother talks
about it all the time how he can go over there like clockwork and smoke
weed with your brothers because it's guaranteed safe time.  Your parents
are out for hours and hours on those nights, according to what he tells
Samantha.''



   I had to laugh.  ``I didn't even know Bobby and Brian smoked weed!''



   But Jamie didn't have time for that.  ``Yeah, everybody does.  Didn't
you know that?  But alcohol's better for when you've got problems and
you're worried, but that's just what I think?  Karen would stick with the
pot, any day?.  Anyway, just get over it, right?  People use stuff all the
time!  It's not like you can help it, OK?  ?My point is that there's all
this time when you're like locked up alone inside while your brothers are
off getting stoned in the backyard in that garage or shed or whatever
Samantha said her brother told her, and it's just perfect for me to come up
there and see you again.''



   She made her voice small and irresistible, ``That is, if you still want
me.''



   Instantly I blurted, "Oh God, I do!" And so Jamie got her way.  I agreed
to come up with a plan that would get her into the house.  And out of her
clothes.  But to start with, at least, I told her about the garden gnomes.
She giggled and promised to leave me a special note, one way or the other.
"I maybe could get Karen to do it, I guess," Jamie muttered, "since she's
never grounded or nothing and her mom's always at work.  Karen can go
anywhere she wants most of the time, you know?" Clearly Jamie wasn't too
worried about hurting my feelings, or else she just forgot things for a
minute; meanwhile, I sat on the other end of the line and tried to ignore
her accidental cruelty.  The descriptions of Jamie's new sexmate and her
seemingly unbounded freedom slammed me with more jealousy and despair than
I'd ever felt up to that point, in all four months of my confinement.  How
the hell could Jamie still be interested in me at all with a lover like
that running around?



   Jamie, though, was on a roll, so I just sat there choking on the lump
that was swelling so sickly in my throat.  "I guess that's why Karen and me
are always together so much.  Her house is empty like ninety-nine percent
of the time, so we're over there lots just fooling around and stuff...  but
then Mom and Dad'll let her stay over most weekends just out of feeling
sorry for her, I guess...  or feeling sorry for me since they can't hardly
talk to me anymore without this huge fight blowing up every time.  But,
anyway, she'll be able to get over to your place after dark real easy, just
riding her bike and stuff like she always does."



   I managed to find my voice just enough to croak out an "OK..." before
Jamie plowed on, suddenly much more lively on the other end.



   "So that's it!  I'll get Karen to start bringing you notes and stuff.  I
better get her over here tomorrow after school to plan out how to do it, I
guess.  That's gonna be so cool, Brett!  Sending you little things to hide
in that gnome!" She squealed and giggled some more.  "But don't you go
peeking under those little guys until you know that something's there
waiting, all right?"



   "OK..."



   "Good!  This is gonna be fun!  Call me tomorrow night, OK, and maybe
Karen'll already be on her way over with something!"



   "OK..."



   "Oh, Brett, you're such a boy!" Jamie groaned, clearly having a good
time entertaining the new plans.  "I just got a killer idea for some things
I can do with these notes and stuff, but you don't sound like you care...."



   Now she was pouting, pretending.  The smile in her voice was so
palpable, so full of the same sort of longing that had been torturing me. I
began to feel warm all over.  The lump in my throat plummeted back down to
my gut, where it exploded into a thousand little butterflies that suddenly
made everything quiver inside me.  She wanted to send things to me, to plan
things to do with me, to be with me - despite her new lover and despite all
the problems that we were going to have to get around just to do even a
tiny bit of anything that she might devise.  She'd told me so many times on
the phone lately how much she loved me.  Maybe she really did!



   I couldn't help myself - I laughed out loud, smiling like an idiot,
shaking my head.  "No, no, no!  I can't wait to see what you'll send to me
- really!  It's really fucking cool, you know?  It's going to be awesome, I
know it is.  I'll call you tomorrow night.  I promise!"



   And then, when she went to hang up and said her "I love you", I finally,
for the first time in my life, managed to say mine back.



   ----8---



   Dr.  Bodson: ``OK, Brett, I read the journaling exercise you did at
home. It looks like you've been pretty faithful about writing in there. 
I'm really proud of you.''


Brett: ``No problem.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``You mentioned something in there about a friend named
Jamie.  You're hoping she can come over to your house to to, um, I guess to
just?  what?  ?hang out?''


Brett: ``Yeah.  She's cool.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Is she from your new school?''


Brett: ``No ma'am.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``I see.  ?Did the court approve of you having contact with
other children at home?  Especially girls.  Are you super wait, wait. 
Wait. ?I'm sorry.''


Brett: ``What's wrong?  Am I in trouble?''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``No, it's not that, Brett.  ?I'm so sorry.  ?Just well,
forgive me.  Please.  It's not a part of what I'm supposed to do, and I
almost did and ruined so much trust.  ?You need to know that I don't report
to the court on your actions exactly.  I'm just here to get to know you and
make sure you're OK on the inside.  I am not ordered nor obligated to tell
on you, if you know what I mean.  And I don't want you thinking that I'm
looking over your shoulder the way that they have to do.  I'm not like
that, and I want to be sure you understand that.  Do you, Brett?''


Brett: ``I guess so.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Good.  It's really important that you can trust me and
relax with me and just let all your troubles fall off when you're here. 
Let's not forget that.''


Brett: ``I won't.  I'm not mad.  Don't worry.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Good, because I want you to feel totally free here.  Not
to hold anything back, OK?''


Brett: ``Right.  No secrets and all that.  I get it.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Even about dirty and shameful things, too.  That's why
we're here, after all?.''


Brett: ``?  Um, yes, ma'am.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Great!  Now, tell me more about Jamie and how you feel
about her.''


Brett: ``She's this girl I was seeing at my old school, that's all.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Ah, a girlfriend.  I understand.''


Brett: ``We sort of miss each other after all this time and stuff.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Why do you miss her, Brett?''



   Brett: ``I don't know.  She was my girlfriend - is my girlfriend, you
know?  I guess I like her and stuff.''



   Dr.  Bodson: "But you haven't seen her since you left your old school?"


Brett: "No."



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Did you ever kiss her, before you had to leave your
school?''


Brett: ``Yes.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Did you ever touch her body by rubbing on her clothes or
by reaching under her clothes?''



   Brett: ``Yes, ma'am listen really, seriously, am I gonna get in trouble
for this?''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Oh no!  No, no?.  Remember trust me and let it all out.
There's no harm coming to you from what you say in here.  This is the place
where your secrets don't have to haunt you anymore.  You can set them free,
remember?''


Brett: ``OK.  So, yeah, I did um feel her up a lot.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Did you ever let her touch you like that?''


Brett: ``Yeah.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Did the two of you take off your clothes and do things
together that way, too?''


Brett: ``What?''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``I mean, have you ever...  seen Jamie naked and touched
her naked body?  And has she seen you and touched you naked, too?''


Brett: ``Yeah, sorta.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``How did that make you feel?''


Brett: ``Good, I guess.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Yes.  Good.  I can tell you're not sure what to answer,
but I can also see clearly that you're trying hard to be honest.  That's
all I'm asking for.''


Brett: ``All right?.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``So, tell me, has she sucked on your penis?  and have you
licked her little pussy?''


Brett: ``Excuse me?''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``It's OK, Brett.  You can tell me.''


Brett: ``Did you just well, I mean?.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Did I what?  Did I mean to ask if you have eaten her out?
Should I have asked if you've licked her clit yet?  Or gone down on her,
munched her rug, or whatever?  Is that what you're trying to say?  Or did
you wonder if I meant has she given you head?  Or should I say blowjob?  Or
maybe I could ask you if you've face-fucked her yet?''


Brett: ``Mrs.  I mean, Dr.  Bodson, this is getting weird.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Don't worry, Brett.  I just want you to see that I know
what I'm talking about.  You're not the only person in this room who knows
about fucking.  That's a point I want to get across.  I know what you've
been through.''


Brett: ``I don't know if you do, really.  No offense?.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Well, then we'll just have to find out, won't we?  ?So,
is she in your own grade?  Does she even have much hair down there yet?''



   Brett: ``Yes, ma'am.  Yes to both, um?  but you should know that we've
never actually you know?.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``You haven't fucked her yet?''



   Brett: ``Well, no?.  I mean, sorta, maybe in a way, but not really.  Not
yet.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``'Sort of', but not.  Hmmm...  OK?  Why not?''


Brett: ``What?''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``I should say, rather, how does it make you feel that
you've been so horny for this girl Jamie but you haven't been able to fuck
her yet?''


Brett: ``Well, I don't know?  it's not like I'm desperate or anything.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``?I see.  Why not?''


Brett: ``Ummm?.  ``



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Brett?  You can tell me.''


Brett: ``Do I really have to?''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``If you want the court to be satisfied that I've
thoroughly evaluated you, then yes, you do have to answer all my questions
as openly and honestly as you can.''


Brett: ``But I thought I wasn't getting in trouble!''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Oh, Brett, that's different!  I won't tell on you, OK,
but I have been ordered to thoroughly examine you.  And you have to let me,
or we'll be doing this for way longer than either of us wants.  And that
will include your home confinement, too.  Don't forget - I'm the biggest
voice about that to the judge, you know....''


Brett: ``Oh, God.  I didn't mean to mess this up again.  I'm sorry.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``Don't be sorry, just be honest!''


Brett: ``OK.  I will.''



   Dr.  Bodson: ``So?  just why aren't you desperate to fuck this beautiful
young girl?''


Brett: ``Well, I guess um I just...  take care of it...  myself.''



   Dr.  Bodson: "You mean masturbating?"


Brett: "Yeah."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Do you do that a lot?"


Brett: "Yeah, I guess."



   Dr.  Bodson: "How often?  More than once a day?"


Brett: "I don't know...."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Brett.  Yes you do.  You do know how often you masturbate.
You need to tell me.  It's important.  How many times a day, on average, do
you fuck your own hand with that horny cock of yours?"


Brett: "Dr.  Bodson!"



   Dr.  Bodson: "Brett, remember, it's just you and me.  You don't have to
worry about anyone knowing.  This is a safe place for you to do anything
you want."



   Brett: "It's just - um - you're cussing so much.  Talking dirty.  Is
that really OK?"



   Dr.  Bodson: "Does it make you uncomfortable?"



   Brett: "Yeah - well, I mean, no.  Not really, I guess.  It's just
weird....  I've never heard a lady like you cuss before.  And not about sex
stuff, that's for sure."



   Dr.  Bodson: "What kind of lady am I, Brett?"



   Brett: "You're a doctor, like this high class person and all that. 
You're talking like some kind of slutty girl, you know?  But you're not. 
You're too...  too..."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Too old to be a slut?"



   Brett: "Yeah.  I guess that's what it is.  I guess I didn't think adults
and doctors and stuff would ever have much to do with sex stuff and talking
dirty and everything."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Well, Brett, you need to understand that you're not nearly
the first horny teenager to walk through those doors, OK?  I've had a lot
of experience with young men and women like yourself.  One of the things I
found out early on is that I can get a lot more out of you if I shock and
surprise you a little.  If I can raise your pulse, I know I have more of
your attention.  If I can raise your cock - or, if you were a girl, I'd say
'make you wet' - then I know I'll probably have a lot more interested
participation about the subjects I want to discuss.  So, trust me.  I know
what I'm doing."


Brett: "OK, whatever, I guess.  I won't be freaked out anymore."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Brett, you can freak out as much as you want, just as long
as you keep answering my questions honestly and allowing us to have a
complete conversation."


Brett: "All right."



   Dr.  Bodson: "So, are you hard right now?"


Brett: "What?!"



   Dr.  Bodson: "Your cock, Brett.  The meat between your legs.  Your
fuckpole.  Did it stiffen up when I started talking dirty?"


Brett: "Yes."



   Dr.  Bodson: "What's that?  Could you please repeat yourself and speak
up?"


Brett: "I said yes, OK?  I got hard."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Good.  Now tell me: how many times a day, on average, do
you stroke that hard dick of yours?"



   Brett: "Oh, God...  um...  God, I don't know...  probably at least three
or four times, sometimes more."



   Dr.  Bodson: "More when you sneak phone calls to this girl Jamie?"


Brett: "What?!  How did - well, never mind.  The answer is yes."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Do you jack off while you talk to her on the phone?"


Brett: "Yeah, usually, I guess."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Does she masturbate herself at the same time?"


Brett: "No, I don't think so.."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Is that a problem?  Does it worry you?"


Brett: "No....  I never really thought about it before, though...."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Does she know that you're masturbating when you talk?


Brett: "I don't think so.  That would be embarassing."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Why?"


Brett: "I don't know.  It just would."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Do you think she'd like knowing that your fuck your own
hand while she's talking to you?"


Brett: "Yeah.  I know she would."



   Dr.  Bodson: "So why don't you tell her what you're doing?"



   Brett: "I don't know.  I guess I just don't want to freak her out by
accident or something.  She can go a little crazy sometimes and get mad at
me."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Are you afraid she'll stop liking you?"


Brett: "Yeah.  I - I really don't...  don't want to lose her, you know?"



   Dr.  Bodson: "Does she tell you she loves you?"


Brett: "Yeah."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Does she tell you she wants to fuck you?"


Brett: "Um...  yeah, sorta...."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Please explain what you mean, Brett."



   Brett: "Well, she just talks about how she wants to...  um...  fool
around, I guess.  Just other naked stuff mainly.  I don't know.  It's like
we've never really talked about going all the way, specifically."



   Dr.  Bodson: "What other naked stuff do you mean?  What else is there
for the two of you to do besides fuck?"



   Brett: "Um...  OK, like a sixty-nine and us sucking on each other and
using fingers and stuff."



   Dr.  Bodson: "And that's it?"


Brett: "Yeah, pretty much."



   Dr.  Bodson: "But there are...  other things...  that the two of you
want to do, too?"


Brett: "I don't know."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Oh, I think you do know, and you need to remember about
being totally honest with me!  I think some of these things you want to do
are things you've already done together in the past.  Am I right?"


Brett: "Yeah.  You're right."



   Dr.  Bodson: "And usually those things are her idea?"


Brett: "Yeah."



   Dr.  Bodson: "But you've gone along with it every time?  No matter what
she wants?"


Brett: "Yeah.  I have."



   Dr.  Bodson: "Even when she asked you to play with her shit?"


Brett: "No!  NO!  Why the hell are you saying that?"



   Dr.  Bodson: "Brett, I'll give you one more chance here to tell me the
truth...."



   Brett: "Oh God, Dr.  Bodson!  Don't give me another extra month! 
Please!"



   Dr.  Bodson: "Tell me the truth about what you've done with Jamie,
Brett."


Brett: "No!  Please!  I can't!  You've got to understand, she's-"



   Dr.  Bodson: "That's enough, no more yelling.  Please go on out and wait
for your mother to pick you up.  We've got nothing more to discuss today."


Brett: "But, why can't you-"



   Dr.  Bodson: "Enough!  Get out of my fucking office, Brett.  Don't say
another word, or it'll be two more months that I assign you today instead
of one.  Now go."



   ----9---



   Friday evening, three days later, I was still trying to decide whether I
should be pissed or afraid about the way things were going with Dr. 
Bodson. It seemed pretty clear that she was trying to drag Jamie into all
of my problems, yet I wasn't so sure that she'd get her in trouble for the
things she'd done.  Dr.  Bodson really did seem to hold the privacy of our
sessions as the ultimate commandment.  My guess was that I could tell her
all about me and Jamie and it would never go any further than the room,
just like Dr.  Bodson said.  But the lady was getting too pushy about it,
and I wasn't ready to give in.  No matter how curvy and sexy and powerful
she was - no matter how seductive I constantly found her, even in the
middle of getting every wall around me torn down, trampled, and set ablaze
- I still wanted to keep my secrets about Jamie.  My secrets were nearly
all I had left.  My own thoughts were still free.  I didn't want to give
those up as well.



   Yet Dr.  Bodson was hard to refuse.  She had these dark blue eyes that
almost turned purple when she got to talking about sex.  And she wouldn't
take them off me when she really zoomed in with all her cursing and dirty
talk.  Those eyes stripped me and saw every last wrinkle, fold, and
freckle. It would have been so much better if she'd smile or at least
almost smile when she pinned me like that, but she didn't.  She kept the
same straight, serious face, the same professional posture, her legs
crossed at the knees or ankles, her notepad on its clipboard resting
lightly on her lap.  No matter how many times she'd asked me about
masturbating or blowjobs or whatever, she always kept herself as still and
ordinary as the little recorder sitting on the table between us.



   The only time she did show emotion was when she ended our sessions
early, when she'd kick me out of her office, telling her secretary to make
sure she wasn't disturbed for the rest of the day.  Her mouth would
tighten. Her voice dropped to a vicious growl.  She didn't pin me and strip
me with her eyes then.  She burned me alive.  And she wouldn't sit still
anymore, either.  Before kicking me out she'd put her feet down flat on the
floor, several inches apart, and lean toward me, as if she was about to
lunge and attack me.  She'd jab her finger at me.  Her curls would all fall
forward over her shoulders, wreathing her beautiful face in a dark, silky
cloud of hair that shook back and forth as she snarled.



   Those were the only times I ever could smell her - her perfume or lotion
or whatever; her scent hit me strong enough to stun.  I couldn't help but
notice it, inhale it deep, savor it, even in the midst of getting chewed
out.  She didn't smell like flowers or fruit or a candy store, like my mom
and other women and girls I'd been hugged by or whatever.  No, Dr.  Bodson
smelled like sweet spices, like Mom's kitchen when she was baking for
breakfast or cooking french toast.  There was this powerful odor like
cinnamon and butter, like brown sugar syrup on peaches, nutmeg on pumpkin
pie.  Nowadays I am forcefully reminded of her scent whenever I order up a
strong, fragrant chai tea; her aroma was like that - an exotic, delicious
ambrosia.



   Obviously, her role in my masturbations began to increase.  She
dominated a large chunk of my fantasies, and I started to wish she'd not
only get naked and fuck me, but that she'd slap me and spank me, that she'd
tie me up and use me in all sorts of sick ways.  There were some thoughts I
began to have about her that made what I dreamt about Jamie look like
kindergarten story time.  Dr.  Bodson was getting to me.



   Nevertheless, I still wanted Jamie to get to me first, for real, and I
could hardly wait to put the first stage of our plan into action.



   The radio was up loud in Bobby's room, and I could hear the TV
downstairs as I went into the kitchen to check things out.  It appeared
like people were close by, even if I couldn't see them.  But then I snuck
out to the end of the backyard to Dad's big workshop.  Sure enough, Bobby
and Brian were in there with Alex Giles and three other boys, all smoking
pot and listening to Rush.



   Three hours later, they were still there, still stoned, still smoking,
still blasting music.



   Thank you, Samantha Giles!



   I got Jamie on the phone, and she breathlessly whispered, "Karen's just
got back, Brett!  Go check the gnomes and call me back, OK?"



   The next minute I was in the garden in front of the house, flipping over
the two little gnomes and extracting a thick white envelope from each.  One
felt like a letter, for sure, but the other one wasn't like a folded set of
papers, it felt more squarish and thick and stuff slid around a little as I
held it up in the darkness, tipping the envelope this way and that. 
Suddenly I heard a high, screeching guitar riff soaring somewhere back
beyond the house - I remembered my brothers, then, and decided not to even
think about opening the envelopes there in the yard.  I bolted back
upstairs and threw myself into the chair at my little study desk.



   Turning the envelopes over and over in my hands, I saw that Jamie had
only written a B on the front of each, and on the back of each in red
lipstick was a full kiss from Jamie's own soft pucker.  Bringing the
envelopes up to my face, on at a time, I sniffed deeply and inhaled the
unmistakable aroma that was Jamie's perfume, which reminded me of gardenias
and jasmine.  It was almost too much.  I briefly put my lips to where she's
put hers, and then I slowly and carefully ripped open the thick envelope
containing the letter.







   Brett,



   I put some little surprises in the other envelope, so I hope you checked
both gnomes!  Karen thinks you'll open the other envelope first, but I told
her no way, that you'd read my message right away because that's how you
are!!



   Anyway, how's everything?  It's so weird to write this like it's a note
I'd pass you at school, but it's a little bit like that, you know?  It's
not a letter like I'm a million miles away - not since you're going to be
seeing me soon (I hope, fingers crossed!) and we can do some things like
you know what I mean....



   Samantha Giles is probably watching your house now, since I asked all
about you and stuff.  She probably thinks I'll be running over there all
the time to do it with you now.  Everybody at school thinks we were doing
it before, anyway.  Karen says people talk behind my back about how I'm
this big slut and that you got sent away because you knocked me up.  Can
you believe that?!  But it isn't really such a weird thing when you think
that you disappeared and then like two months later I'm in detox for two
weeks so that's like the perfect timing to be absent and make people think
I got an abortion or something.  I can't even imagine!



   So I asked Samantha on the phone about it after school today.  We aren't
like best friends or even good friends, really, I mean it just isn't like
we ever hang out or anything since she's a year younger and I hardly ever
see her at school.  Anyway, she said that all these boys talk about me like
I'm about to go out with them, and the girls just call me names and hate me
for being some kind of whore and for being pretty or smart or whatever.



   But all that stuff's normal, right?  I mean, if you were still here
they'd probably talk about stuff even worse, wouldn't they?  Like because
we'd really be doing it by now, I think, and we'd sort of be for real what
everybody would just say rumors about.  Samantha told me she thought I was
doing it with you, too, so she wasn't surprised that I was asking about
going to your house.  I told her not to tell people, but I know she will,
you know?  Do you think your parents will find out if she tells?  I hope
not!  I guess all you'd have to do if they ask you about it is lie, right?
And if you're anything like me, you can lie to your parents and not even
break a sweat!!



   So did you see Karen riding her bike over there?  She's scared she'll
get caught trespassing or something silly like that.  I told her to ride
her bike right up to your garage door, just like she belonged there, like
you were expecting company - even though it'll be dark!  She's going to
wear all black anyway, just to be safe.  If she gets hit by a car because
of that, though, I'll just die.  I can't lose both of you!!  She better be
careful.



   My parents are yelling at me a lot this week.  I don't know why I'm
telling you this, but Karen says I should.  She says you really love me
because you told me you did, and that boys don't just say that.  So I can
tell you about other things and how I feel, not just about stuff between
you and me.  Anyway, my dad is still an asshole about everything I do. 
Nothing makes him happy anymore.  I think it's because he knows I was doing
it with the sheriff.  I don't know how he knows, but I think he does.  He
talks all furious about me being an alkie and how I better not embarass him
anymore and how I was lucky I still made good grades and hadn't started
doing drugs and stuff.  But there's this thing he does now when he looks at
me that isn't the same kind of hateful look like he used to give me when he
first found out.  He goes off all the time now to the garage to work on his
car and drink a bunch of beer, and he used to only do that on Sunday
nights. It's weird.



   Anyway, Mom used to tell him to stop yelling at me, but now she sort of
joins in.  She gets on me about all these other little things, too, like
chores and how I don't keep my bathroom clean and how my little sisters
have to look up to me so I better stop being so bitchy all the time.  Like
I care!  I think she's just mad that she's had to cut back on her drinking
since I got caught sneaking so much of her vodka.  It wasn't hard, you
know, since she was buying it by the case a couple times a year and keeping
this supply of booze for herself down in the closet next to the laundry
room.  It's like so stupid how parents don't think you're smart enough to
go through their stuff when they're not around!  I mean she just leaves the
key to that padlock right there in her jewelry box where anybody can see
it. I just went down to the basement, opened up the lock, and I could pour
out a nice big glass whenever I needed it.



   And now the lock's gone and the vodka is totally disappeared.  Like out
of the house completely, I think.  I've looked for it everywhere, too. 
It's not like the detox was a total success, you know?  I still want vodka
pretty badly, but now there's none around to get!



   Deputy Sanders used to smell it on me in the mornings when he'd pick me
up on the walk to school, so he gave me stuff to spray in my mouth that
sort of helped hide it, and he told me to chew gum a lot.  But he called me
a drunk little cunt, too, and sometimes he had some Smirnoff in those
little airplane bottles that he'd give me to drink before we'd get to the
little place behind the shopping center where we'd do it.  Like he wanted
me to be drunk so he could make fun of me more, you know?  Or maybe because
he wanted to make me need him for the alcohol, too, right?  I don't know.
All I can say is "thank God" because Miss Sullivan in homeroom smelled the
booze on me finally and got me talking to the guidance counsellor.  (Have
you ever seen her?  Mrs.  Oliver?  She's usually the girls' counsellor only
because of the condoms and family planning stuff that she is supposed to
do. She's kind of creepy sometimes, but she's helped me out.)



   Anyway, all the stuff with the deputy stopped pretty quick, once other
people got involved.  I still can't believe he didn't tell everybody about
what I did with you in that bathroom.  I mean, the only reason I was doing
it with him was so he wouldn't tell people!  Isn't that funny?  It's almost
like he felt sorry for me, I guess.  Or maybe he told people and they
didn't believe him or something?  Because it sort of looked like he might
have had problems with girls like me before, so they probably just thought
he was making things up.



   But it doesn't matter now, because that stuff's all over.  Well, the
thing he's going through isn't done, according to the guidance counsellor,
but some people from the Sheriff's Department or a lawyer or somewhere
decided to do something with him that kept everything out of the papers,
and that way not even my parents had to know!  How cool is that?!  This guy
Lambert came over with this lady one day and met me with the Mrs.  Oliver
during lunch, and they said how they knew I was sad to be hurt so much by
Deputy Sanders and how they would usually press charges except for the
Sheriff being Deputy Sanders' dad and stuff, so they didn't want a scandal.
They gave Mrs.  Oliver all this money and asked her to tell a story to my
parents about my drinking problem and to go ahead and set me up for this
detox clinic thing that I had to go through.



   So we both promised to keep things secret about me doing it with the
deputy.  I figured that was OK because I could still get off the vodka
(well that's what I thought then!) and Mrs.  Oliver was going to share the
money with me that was left over from paying for my clinic.  But I gave
Karen the money so she could get some new clothes, you know?  She really
needed them, I mean like she was still wearing stuff that could barely fit
her from the sixth grade!  Her mom just doesn't care.  I think I hate her
almost as much as Karen does!



   OK, that reminds me!  You need to tell me something.  Karen says you
don't know her at all but I said that was stupid because she was always my
best friend since forever - even closer than me and Allison Hannah, who by
the way is the real slut of our school for sure (you can't believe how many
high school boys she sees!) - so I think you do know Karen.  Do you?  I
mean you and her have talked before, right?  Karen says no, but I can't
believe it!  We've got to make sure you two are good friends!  Especially
now!!



   You would never believe how much the three of us have in common (know
what I mean?) - and Karen's even wilder than that!  Really!!!  I told her
that was all OK with me as long as it didn't make me a lezzie because I
like you so much, too, you know?  So if I was a lezzie that would be
impossible, right?  But Karen thinks she's all 100 percent lezzie since all
she ever likes is girls.  And me as her favorite girl for fantasies since
like the fourth grade, she says.  But that's OK, isn't it?  That means she
isn't some other boy that can take me away from you!  Because I can't marry
her, can I?  And that means you don't have to worry about Karen in like a
jealousy kind of way.  I hope you don't!



   But we only started doing "things" after I told her what you and me did
together.  She knew when you gave me that note that there was something
really weird going on because I spent all sorts of time after that crying
and telling her that I couldn't tell her things.  And then when I started
letting Deputy Sanders pick me up on the way to school and making Karen
swear not to tell she got so worried!  She lost a bunch of weight for those
months I was doing it with him because she was too worried to eat.  And her
pot smoking got really bad.  Not that her mom notices!  (You know she deals
it at her work, right?  For that car salesman guy she dates?) Anyway,
whenever Karen's mom is home she smokes so much all the time herself she
never misses the stuff that Karen steals.  She'll grab a big baggie and
papers and everything, and then later her mom's like "Oh...  shit...  now
when the hell did I sell that...?" She's so stupid!  I hate her!



   Anyway, before all that I had no idea how she felt about me or anything.
We were BFF and all that elementary school sort of stupid stuff and
painting each other's toenails and everything and she'd talk with me about
boys like she liked them just as much, you know?  I had no idea she did the
stuff to herself that she does and that she used to feel me up and sniff my
panties and everything when she'd sleep over and all that.  But now it's
like it is now, like BAM!  get naked all the time and stuff.  It's crazy! I
hope you can see us together soon so you can know what I mean!!



   Karen says it's all right to tell you that, by the way, just so you know
I'm not going behind her back or anything.  She says it's only fair, since
she knows about what you did with me.  Is that OK?



   Well, SSL and WBS!!  Leave me a note or something under the gnomes for
the next time Karen comes so she can bring it back to me!  Won't that be
cool?!  It's like we're spies or something.  Jamie Bond!  Ha!



   TLA!



   Jamie

   xoxox







   It was six pages of medium-sized, very neatly-written cursive,
punctuated at regular intervals with little doodles between paragraphs and
tiny drawings, mainly of hearts and stick people holding hands.  It remains
to this date the longest letter that anyone has ever written to me by hand.
I read it straight through three times in a row before I even thought about
putting it down.  For a while I hardly even remembered about the other
envelope!  It was my first experience with a girl who'd opened her heart to
me.  I'd never imagined up to that point that any 14 year-old could
possibly want to write that much, first of all...  but to not be embarassed
to share such private things with somebody else, that was truly amazing! 
Yet, to a numbskull teenage boy like me, it was also more than a little
intimidating.  Did this mean I had to pour out my heart and soul, too?



   Needless to say, I was put completely off my guard for what I found in
the second envelope; as soon as I opened it, though, everything else I'd
been thinking just vanished.  Any worries I might have had about all that
mushy "heart and soul" stuff were completely blown away.  Five Polaroid
pictures spilled out onto my desk, each one showing Jamie in a different
pose, completely nude.  It was the first time I'd seen her in over four
months, and there she was naked!



   I picked each picture up, one at a time, and very slowly studied every
last detail.  My hands trembled, and it was all I could do to keep my pants
on until I finished looking at all of them.



   In the first one she stood with her back to the camera, up a little on
her toes, her feet wide apart, pulling her ass cheeks open.  The picture
wasn't bright enough or clear enough to reveal much about her crack - I
couldn't exactly see her little pink asshole, but I knew it was there.  In
the second one she stood facing the camera, cupping her small breasts, the
thumb and forefinger of each hand pinching a nipple.  She was winking,
biting her lip just a little.  The third picture showed Jamie up on a bed,
on her hands and knees, grinning back over her shoulder at the camera.  Her
feet, legs, and ass dominated the shot, and in that one I could make out
not only her asshole but her pussy as well; since she had her knees well
apart her mound was easy to see, the lips just barely spread apart and
caulked with a thin rope of whitish goo.  In the fourth picture Jamie was
lying on her back on the bed with her eyes closed; her legs were spread,
her feet up in the air, her knees wide apart.  Her cunt was completely
exposed to the camera.  The white stuff had run down from her hole quite a
bit - it was a thick blob of cream that hovered just above the bedspread,
covering her asshole.



   I picked up the fifth and final photograph.



   She was squatting on the floor in the same room, but I couldn't see the
bed.  Tennis shoes, sandals, flip-flops, and all kinds of dirty clothes
were scattered around her.  It looked like she was halfway in her closet.
And then I realized what she was doing.  She was pissing onto a folded-up
bath towel.  Her face, neck and chest were flushed.  It looked like she'd
just finished running all around her room, and now she was totally out of
breath.  Long, soft, blonde hair was pulled across her face in several
different directions, like she'd thrashed her head around.  Some of her
hair was caught in her mouth, which seemed to hang open almost
accidentally, like Jamie was panting for breath.  One of her hands braced
against the nearby wall for balance, while the other held her pussy open.
She was so pink inside!  A thick stream of urine poured from her cunt to
the towel in a glittering, unbroken arc.  It looked like water from a
faucet; her pee was so clear and the flow was so heavy and splashy at the
bottom.  I could see shiny little drips of piss that had already hit her
ankles and calves and begun to slide down toward the carpet.  Jamie's eyes
were unfocused, nearly closed.  It was the sexiest picture I'd ever seen in
my life.



   Within thirty seconds I'd whipped down my pants and masturbated to a
gigantic orgasm, taking care to keep my ass low in my seat and shoot up
against the underside of my desk so I could keep the pictures clean.  I
came several more times that night, taking my time with each photo.



   I could still remember just how she smelled when I'd hold her close and
make out - and just how she smelled after she'd filled her panties behind
the movie theater.  I could see so clearly in my mind the way her smile
would go all crooked when she got a perverted idea.  I could still remember
so perfectly that afternoon at school, in the deserted kitchen's bathroom,
how her groans rose and fell and vibrated right through me, right down to
the base of my cock.  There was her ass crouched above the toilet.  There
was her turd in my hand.  She was reaching down into the bowl.  Dark,
stinking waste snaked out from between her dripping fingers.  Her hand was
in her mouth.  She was masturbating right there in front of me, letting me
watch her get off.  My hands were on her tits, smearing her till she was
brown.  She was calling my name.  My name.



   And she'd sent those pictures to me.



   I finally finished stroking and managed to clean up.  When I called her
she answered with a giggly little "Hello".  I could hear another girl -
Karen, I guess - giggling quietly in the background.



   "Thanks," I managed to say, completely unsure how to talk to her.  What
was I supposed to say to a girl who'd sent me slutty pictures hidden inside
a garden gnome?



   The weirdness of it suddenly overwhelmed me.  I knew we were way outside
the norm, I had no doubts left about that.  Girls posed in Hustler and
Playboy, yeah, but they were grown up girls.  Not fourteen year-olds.  And
even those magazine women didn't pee in front of a camera - and not even
into a toilet!  How could I lust for a girl like that so much?  Why was I
about to crawl out of my skin with this insane yearning to touch her naked
flesh?  She'd gone crazy, for sure, and yet there I was chasing right along
after her, dumping my own good sense along the way.



   Her nervous giggling finally settled down.  I heard her take a deep,
long breath, then let it out with just as much deliberation.  When she
finally spoke, I could tell that it was with great relief.  She sounded
happy, relaxed, and more confident than ever.



   "So, I guess you really liked our little Special Delivery, huh?" Her
voice dropped to a husky, sexy breath at the end.  It was like I could feel
her mouth right next to my ear.  My cock, though getting sore, was already
stirring again.



   Before I could answer she went on, "Did you masturbate when you saw me
naked?  Did you take off your pants and fuck your own hand, Brett?"



   "Oh God, yeah, I did," I instantly replied, my hand reaching down to
pull out my cock once again.



   "Good," Jamie purred, letting a silence fall between us.  I wondered
whether or not she could hear my hand slapping back and forth on my meat,
and I hoped she could.  I hoped I was making her wet.



   It was like she read my mind.  "Can you hear that, Brett?" she asked.  I
stopped jacking off and strained to listen.  There were sloppy, squishy
noises, and I knew instantly what they were - the unmistakable soft, wet
sounds of Jamie's pussy as she played with it.  The phone was right down
there next to it - had to be!  For several minutes I simply sat there and
listened to her fucking herself, while my cock drooled and waited in my
hand.  From a long way off I could hear her moan every now and then.



   Suddenly her voice was back: "Baby, did you hear me?"



   "Fuck yeah, I did," I weakly croaked.  "You sound so wet!"



   She chuckled a little.  "Well yeah, I am.  You make me that way, Brett.
Don't you know by now that you've turned me into a total slut?  Don't you
know how much of a whore I want to be for you, baby?  Your nasty, dirty,
rauchy little girlfriend?  Do you know what kind of filthy things I want to
do with you, Brett?"



   When I could only mumble a quiet, "Oh God, yeah..." before she chuckled
again and went on.



   "So I'll get out the Polaroid again, maybe?  Show you a little more of
what I want?"



   I finally whispered, "Yes.  Please...." My cock was ready to explode
again.  But there was something else I had to tell her first.



   "Write me another letter, too, OK?  I liked that a lot." It was nothing
but the plain and simple truth, and only a moment before I said it had I
realized it.  I didn't even have enough time to get embarassed about the
prospect of telling her - it just came out of me.  And another moment later
my semen came out, too, very nearly the penile equivalent of the dry
heaves, at that point!



   And I could tell that Jamie was smiling.  Big.  "Oh, Brett, I really DO
love you!" she squealed.



   [end of part 2...]



   ***************************



   by bluepervina, ?  2008



   Your feedback is welcomed!



   bluepervina [AT] gmail [DOT] com

   or
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/bluepervina/www/bp2contact.html
http://bluepervina.blogspot.com/
   
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