El Sobador
By ElSol

Chapter 3

It was a miserable pair of weeks before Winter Break. I couldn't piss off one high school girl and not get ganged on by her friends. Bailey seemed okay with me ignoring her for a couple of days after I did my thing again, but on the third day all hell started vibrating. She said hello to me in the hallway. It took me by surprise and without meaning to I kept walking. Once you do it one time, it's easier to keep doing it and at some point on the fourth day Bailey gave up. She didn't give up the right to be pissed though or to have her friends be pissed for her. Those friends included Janet meaning I had to deal with nights at home with the Steps.

Of course, it was for nothing! Reggie, being a high school idiot, held it against me anyway. It was just words but the other jocks joined in. The cheerleaders and popular girls settled for mean looks directed at me. They would have pushed it further, causing an escalation on the boys' side, but Bailey didn't share why she was pissed at me. Even I got that Bailey's anger had a little bit of 'Boy that I like is not paying attention to me' vibe, which is probably why Reggie took the initiative and escalated the bullying.

I had never been so happy to see the first day of Winter Break.

------

I couldn't believe it. How the fuck did I get assigned to a cabin by myself? There is being the high school nobody and then there is people whose job it is to make sure you stay out of trouble leaving a teenage male to his own devices. Technically speaking, with Bailey's no-details-disclosed public dispute with me, I no longer qualified as a nobody. Looking around the cabin, I decided not to go find the Retreat coordinator. If they were going to give me my own cabin, then fuck it! I tossed my stuff on the cot and checked out the wood stove to make sure my ass wasn't going to freeze at night.

Our school had a very generous endowment to be spent in bullying prevention and trying to make high school not so high-schoolish for losers. I heard the donator had a rough time at our school. She married money and spread the wealth. My opinion--she wanted to torture jocks, cheerleaders, and popular kids for what her classmates did to her. I couldn't see any other reason someone would give money for something as ridiculous as a Leadership Retreat. Some bright banana thought it a fantastic idea to take the 'leaders' of the student body and the most miserable representatives of the huddled masses to the snow-covered, tree-filled boonies for some trust and role reversal exercises. Clearly, I was on to something with the rich woman using the present set of elites as a proxy for her own torturers. It didn't work out the way adults thought it would. Of course! The high school quarterback can get some of his own back when you yell at him for five minutes that he's a loser and wimp. He might not do it at the Retreat, but adults can't watch us twenty-four seven in the real world.

Personally I didn't think I belonged at the Retreat. I had a thoroughly realistic view of what it meant to be a nobody in high school, abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Not a single jock in the HISTORY of our school made it to the pros; not a single cheerleader went on to be in a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader Calendar or a Playboy Centerfold; not a single popular kid made it to the halls of the U.S. Senate. I didn't see the world in that way because I was special or intelligent or any other bullshit. Someone got into a car while they were fuck-ass drunk, crossed a double yellow line, and killed my mom. I've been in the chair when the cop says, 'I have some bad news'. Life already happened to me! High school was passing the time before they called me an adult. If I went through it unnoticed, it put me on the winning side of the coin toss.

On the other hand, the Retreat got me away from the Steps for a long weekend. It let them be a 'real' family and I didn't have to watch.

It took all of one trust exercise for the idea of my own cabin to start sparkling as long as nobody found out about it, especially Reggie. The trust exercise was the falling into somebody's arms Beast. Surprisingly, only the losers got dropped. God forbid, one of us let a jock's perfect fanny hit the ground.

(To be fair, most of the jocks were okay in that they lived in one world and the rest of us lived in another. Adults do it too, although there it's about the rich and everybody else. The thing is, a few bad apples does ruin the bunch when they literally taste like shit. More of the cheerleaders could be classified as bitches, but loser males, like me, want them and can't have them. It causes a bias, so fucking sue every horny teenage guy who never got his hands under a cheer skirt.)

The first night in my cabin, I had to consider the possibility that the Retreat coordinators were phoning it in as badly as the kids. Nobody had even come to check on me!

The door opened and Bailey stepped inside the cabin. On television, sometimes they show a really smart person looking at a puzzle and through the wizardry of special effects the person's mind makes the puzzle whole. I had one of those of those moments when I saw Bailey. It finally made sense!

"How did you do it?" I asked her.

She put a bag by my cot before smiling at me. "I have my witchy ways."

"Seriously."

"You can have witchy ways but not me?"

"Bailey, I don't have witchy...can we not say that again? Ever! I had some backwoods medical training from some women who, looking back, didn't have all their marbles in the same brain sac."

"I talked to Maggie's grandmother." Bailey reached into the bag and pulled out some candles. Walking around the room, she lit and set them on the floor. "Maggie talked to her really, but I was there. The old woman is proud! You know what I mean? Like she's been through shit but washed herself off and kept walking through life. She was a good healer before the arthritis got her. You're better. A lot better!"

"You don't know anything about this stuff, Bailey," I said.

"Not my words," Bailey replied, setting a pair of candles on a shelf. "You know what it takes for woman who has been failed by most men in her life to admit a teenage boy is better than she ever was."

Bailey pulled a jar out of the bag and gave it to me. "Orange, right?"

Removing the stopper, I smelled the contents before pouring a couple of drops on my hand. I rubbed the oil into my palm, high quality and from the scent a custom item.

"I ordered it," she told me. "Does it smell right?"

"Bailey..." I stared at her and shook my head. "This is a bad idea."

"You're from the same country as Maggie's family," she said. "Her grandmother told us a legend about their witch doctors. Like every three or four generations, there's a boy who is trained by females in all the healing disciplines. The boy can teach other witch doctors, but not everything because the truth is he's born knowing things the women don't."

Despite myself, her story was interesting. It could have been the way she kept pulling up the shirt to expose her belly.

"Maggie's grandmother said she never lied to her patients about what she could do." Bailey stared at me intensely. "But she's heard if it doesn't kill you right away a boy like that can perform miracles. You're one of them, aren't you?"

I raised my hand in a WTF gesture.

"You knew what is wrong by touching me," she said. "Not evil spirits invading my body, you knew it was my neck and back. You also knew about my breasts before my doctor did."

I shrugged.

"Mateo, maybe the neck and back thing I could buy, but my mom died of breast cancer," she said. "My tests came back positive. Doctor Yeh is amazed I caught it so early."

"You're too young," I said.

"Evil." Her hands balled into tight fists. "It really is the best word."

The last thing I would have ever wanted was to have that in common with her.

"My mom was killed by a drunk driver," I told her. "I think it sealed the deal for my stepdad and me being strangers to each other. He tried help me make sense of it, but it doesn't! You die of old age, and I get it because life isn't forever. When there's no reason for it..."

We stood in silence for a couple minutes.

"You're the one Janet owed," I said.

"Yes," she told me with a smile. "Some of it was selfish, Mateo. Janet and I were friends in grammar school, I made it clear to the people who start the crap that whether we hung out or not I remembered braiding our hair together to pretend we were Siamese twins."

"You're joking," I said laughing.

"Oh no," she replied. "Pretty sick, huh?"

"Your idea?"

She nodded. I laughed the hardest I had in a years.

"I'm going to die like my mom, aren't I?" she asked me. I looked at the orange scented oil jar in my hand.

"Bailey, I don't know anything about what Magdalena's grandmother told you."

"Everybody but you calls her Maggie."

"I'd be offended if you called me Matt or Matthew," I said. "My mom gave me a name. I'm sure Magdalena's mother thought about it too."

"She doesn't mind--Maggie, I mean."

I shrugged, "I can help you."

Bailey bit her lower lip, "You have to know that's impossible but you say it like it's nothing."

"You came to me."

"And Susan, Jennifer, Janet, pretty much every one except Maggie thinks I'm crazy."

"My mom only let me work with kids," I told her. She stared at me with her eyes growing wider and wider. "I know things and I can't explain how I know them. That part of what Magdalena's grandmother told you is very true. I know I can help you."

"She said you would," she said, "but I'd have to be naked."

I smiled. "Yes, Bailey, you would have to be naked. Skin to skin contact. What you have is rarely just in one place. I'm also going to break up the focal point, which will send it out to your entire body. What happened with your neck and back is that one area got stronger working to weaken another area. What I do is about everything, you can't afford not to attack evil everywhere."

"It wasn't about everything before."

"An injury isn't disease. If I'd given you the whole treatment you'd..."

"You cheated me!" she interrupted.

"I could have finished the job instead of letting your body do it over a couple of days."

"This is the weirdest conversation I've ever had," she said sitting down on the cot. "I don't believe you can help. Not really, you know what I mean?"

"It's not voodoo, Bailey," I said.

"Can I keep my panties on?" she asked. "My breasts are the problem so you're going to be handling them but my vagina isn't involved."

"It's like washing a dog and cleaning up that area."

"You didn't fucking say that!" Bailey exclaimed.

Fuck yeah, I did! Idiot! (Me being the idiot.) "I didn't mean that you're a dog."

She crossed her arms over her breasts.

"I told you in Janet's apartment you're gorgeous," I said. "I'm not going to be thinking about it when I'm touching you."

"Really?" She put a whole lot of 'unconvinced' into her tone of voice. I couldn't blame her either since there was no way I'd have my hands on her pussy and not think about the fact my hand was on Bailey Rose's pussy.

"Look," I said. "You're going to be very relaxed so if I do that towards the end you won't notice it until you think about it later. Plus it's not as embarrassing as with your ass."

"What?!? You're not touching my asshole."

"I shouldn't have said that last part!"

"You're really going to..."

"Bailey! Take my word for it, after a few minutes you're NOT going to notice most of what I'm doing." I said. "It's going to be much tougher for me than you."

"So you are going to be thinking about it when you're touching me?"

"If you don't want to do it, it's fine with me," I told her, "but could you go so I can get sleep? I have a full day of dealing with your ex-boyfriend tomorrow."

"You don't have to be an asshole!" She didn't get up from the cot. "Turn around and get the light."

The cabin had an electric lightbulb, not that it did much. I flipped the switch and waited for Bailey to finish.

"On the cot?" she asked.

"Yes, on your back to start."

"You're not making it easy, Mateo," she whined.

"I figured you wouldn't want me to start with massaging your butthole." A few seconds later, we burst out laughing.

"I'm ready," she said.

I took a deep breath before turning around. She had not covered herself with the blanket. Looking at Bailey in her naked glory was not as much fun as it sounded. My dick hurt! The candles flickered, lighting and shadowing different parts of her.

"You might as well take a good look," she said. One of the candles caught her eyes perfectly, making them glow. "It will probably be easier that way."

I stood over the cot drinking her in; breasts not too big, a neatly trimmed bush, a flat tummy without showing muscle, a half dozen beauty marks strategically located to enhance her beauty by marring perfection. I wasn't going to get used to it so I poured a line of oil from her belly button to the hollow at her neck. I poured additional oil into my left hand before putting the jar down beside the cot.

She watched my hands as I rubbed them together. The old women used to start with people's arms; it's how they tried to train me. I reached down and touched Bailey at her temples. We looked into each other's eyes. I waited for her to trust. I didn't need it--she did. Her breathing was too fast. I waited. Bailey's cheeks tightened. She must have been biting her lip. I waited, letting her see I was going to wait as long as it took. She didn't relax, instead she closed her eyes and gave herself over to me. I nodded, relaxing Bailey was my job. The heat poured from my fingertips into her temples. I applied the tiniest amount of pressure and rubbed them in small circles. Her breathing evened out until it matched mine. She was almost to the point I wanted. I always started with the face because it got us over the line of trust sooner.

"Your hands are so warm," Bailey whispered. She wriggled, her mind making her body physically represent taking the final step into my care.

My fingers drifted down her face until I could pass them over her lips. "No more talk."

The face can't take much pressure without pushing the person out of the moment. If the problem lay there, I always came back to it at the end. Bailey didn't need it so I only traced my fingertips over her skin. One pass with a little strength and I moved on.

Moving to the top of the cot, I massaged Bailey's neck. Her head arched back as my fingers wrapped around her. My fingers stroked the back of her neck while my thumbs circled and reversed, circled and reversed. Her neck could take more heat than her face so I fed it fully. I'd done her a bit of wrong by not doing a better job when I realigned her, so I spent extra time letting the heat from my body whisper to her.

I reached down and grabbed her by the armpits. Straightening, I pulled her arms up and let them fall until I was holding Bailey's hands. Given a different environment, I would have worked Bailey's hands individually. Whatever Bailey had done to get us privacy, I doubted it precluded the chance of a coordinator realizing that putting one of their charges in a cabin of their own was not the greatest of ideas. I worked her hands fast and moved down to her wrists. By the time I finished Bailey's arms she was dead to anything but the feel of my hands on her body.

I lay my hands flat above her breasts. It's evil to me, the sickness in a person. Not because I believe in good and evil the way religious people do, it was the only word for a shard of anti-life driven into someone's body by fate or, in Bailey's case, genetics.

I pressed down and passed my palms over Bailey's nipples. Some animal part of my brain appreciated the symmetry in the ratio of nipple size and shape versus breast size; the areola slightly wider than a fifty cent piece with the nipple a hair less wide than a dime.

The evil had not traveled outside of Bailey's breasts, which made things easier. I could dilute it and use the rest of her body to fight it. I cupped the bottom of her breasts, using my thumbs to rub the nipples. My hand guided the heat I was putting into Bailey's body. It surrounded the darkness, walling it in and squeezing it into a tighter space. Tighter and tighter, I drew the heat around Bailey's death. One final circle and I shot heat into the center of it. Some broke off, trying to find purchase elsewhere in Bailey's body. I didn't have enough time to do more, but Bailey appeared willing to do what was needed so I'd have multiple sessions as long as this one went well.

I lifted my hands and shifted to stand at the side of the cot. Some oil had pooled in her belly button. Not enough time passed for the rest of it to dry on her skin, but I poured more onto Bailey's torso. The hard part was over; I only needed to give the rest of her body enough heat to fuel the battle against the piece I'd broken away from her breasts.

Bailey's tummy was flat. I placed my hands, wrist to wrist, on her belly button. I breathed in and pressed my hands down then up towards her breasts. I rubbed the sides of her ribcage, tracing each bone. I spent time on her stomach wall, pouring heat into Bailey.

Her thighs were slightly spread, giving me access if I wanted it. I decided to wait until the end. She could go deeper and touching her pussy might have shocked her out of it. Like her belly, Bailey's thighs weren't as muscular as I would have thought, smooth to the eye and my hands. I smiled wondering how long it took for Bailey to shave her legs knowing there was a good likelihood I'd be running my hands up and down their length. I gripped her thighs and squeezed. Bailey opened them wider, I thanked the candlelight for not letting me see more than I could handle.

Bailey wriggled as I touched the bottom of her feet. I strengthened my grip to get her over that hump. I spent longer than I should have on her feet because not much more was left, bringing me closer to touching Bailey intimately. At her breasts, the disease distracted me, but at her core there would be no such relief.

Her body accepted the signal to turn over. I bunched her hair and flipped to the left side of her neck. Most of a massage is rub this part and then that part and then another part. Each part is unique though; you can't encircle someone's spine at their lower back the way you can at their neck. You can't press down on their neck the way you can between their shoulder blades. Tracing a fingertip down a woman's side isn't the same as walking the highway of her spine.

There wasn't as much intimacy in touching Bailey's back as there was to her breasts or belly. I stood over her with my hands flat on her skin, my elbows locked. A flood of heat traveled from my body into Bailey. Her breathing slowed and deepened as I filled her with my essence. It was something else the old women didn't do; they always rubbed their heat in. They asked me repeatedly why I did but even as a child I instinctively knew they could never understand. They didn't have enough heat or control over it to transfer it so directly to another person.

Bailey pushed her ass up as I worked her quads, the back of her knees, and calves. It was time; I had given her buttocks a little attention but there was only the final line left to cross.

Bailey breathed out a high pitched moan when the oil invaded the valley of her ass-cheeks and wet her most feminine area. She pulled her knees in a bit to raise and open her ass. In this Magdalena's grandmother was right, I knew things I could not explain--like, though it had never been a part of what I did, Bailey needed the orgasm as much as everything else. Crossing that line would make her come back rather than chase her away.

Two of my fingers started at the top of her ass, found the separation between her cheeks, and followed it down and around. My fingers barely touched Bailey's pussy when she threw her knees out and her ass up. I found the button and rubbed hard. Bailey pushed against my fingertips; I rubbed harder.

She screamed!

Floating in the aftermath, Bailey didn't notice my fingertip when I massaged her anus. I kneaded her buttocks waiting for Bailey to come down. It wasn't long before her knees moved in and down. Her groin settled back on the cot. I took my hands away from her and stood beside the cot.

She turned over and opened her eyes. She looked up at me. I hadn't intended it, but the tent in my pajamas was the most prominent thing in her line of sight.

Bailey reached up.

"Don't!" I cried too late. Her hand touched me through the thin layer of cloth. I wasn't wearing any underwear!

I grunted in release.

For everything I did to Bailey, all the way to the orgasm, her touching me was the most embarrassing part for both of us. We didn't look at each other or speak as she dressed and walked out.


