“Thanks, Dad.” I told him.
I certainly did not want to work in one of the sweatshops that was a fast food joint so I didn’t bother applying at any of them. I had nothing but time I knew so I bided it carefully, only putting in applications at places where I knew I would be able to stand the pace. You have to understand that I had spent eight years as a paramedic. For all the gore we have to put up with, for all the responsibility that we are instilled with, for all of the abuse that we have to take, the job was anything but fast paced. On a twelve-hour shift we would respond to an average of six calls, each one taking an hour or so to complete from the moment of dispatch until the paperwork was dropped off at the hospital. That left six hours of downtime on each shift. Sometimes, on slow shifts, it was even more. I knew I would not be able to handle working on a burger assembly line for hours at a time.
It was a pizza joint that eventually ended up hiring me in early March. The manager had granted me an interview and had started it by saying that he probably wouldn’t hire me since he generally only offered jobs to those with previous experience.
“Well, sir,” I told him, “I can respect that opinion. And I understand it completely.”
“You do?” he asked, mildly amused, checking his watch for his next interview.
“I do,” I said. “But I’ll tell you something. If you hire me you will not be sorry. In fact, I’d venture to say that it would be the best hire you’ll ever make. You know why?”
That got his attention. “Why?” he asked.
“Because my father has instilled in me a solid work ethic. He’s taught me that employment is sacred in this life, a thing to be cherished above all but the family unit. If I am given the position you will receive complete loyalty from me. I will show up each of my scheduled days on time and ready to work. I will do whatever jobs you see fit in whatever manner you see fit to do them. I am not your typical teenager who will call in sick when he hears that a good kegger is going on at the falls. I will put aside my personal life in order to fulfill my responsibilities to this restaurant and hopefully you will move me up the ladder of advancement as reward.” I gave him my sincere smile. “Hire me and you will not be sorry.”
He hired me. I started the following week making pizzas in the back and washing up dishes on Friday through Monday night from 5:00 PM to 10:30 PM. I did my job well, showing up on time, as I’d promised, and completing all assignments given to me without complaint. After all, I had an adult’s work ethic. The manager was quite impressed with me. He often commented how mature I seemed. The pay was a pittance, $3.25 an hour, which was minimum wage for that time, but it was income none-the-less and, as a kid, I had no real expenses to speak of. We were paid once a week, on Friday. My schedule entitled me to $71.50 each paycheck. Uncle Sam and Aunt Washington took $12.00 from this, leaving me with $59.50 in cold, hard cash.
In my previous life I’d been a horrible financial manager. I lived paycheck to paycheck, never maintaining a savings account except for my 401k, which was automatically deducted. I’d run up a considerable debt with credit cards and car payments, not to mention alimony and child support. I’d been in the rut familiar to many Americans, that being that you owe so much that you could only afford to pay the minimum payments on anything. This of course left you in exactly the same place each month, each year, since the interest on these things accumulated as fast as the minimum payments reduced them. Even before Mr. Li entered my life, even before the Spokane Fire Department began threatening to take my job from me, I’d always wished that I had my financial history to do over again. Well now I did. I made another solemn vow. I would manage any money I got wisely, utilizing the brutal lessons I’d learned before being recycled. I would not live beyond my means ever again. It was un-American of course, but I was going to do it.
I took $10.00 of each paycheck for personal enjoyment type things. $5.00 paid for the gas I used in my dad’s car and another $5.00 went to insurance rate compensation. That left me $39.50 each week that had nowhere to go. I opened up a savings account at a nearby bank. I was amused and slightly offended to find that I had to have my dad’s permission before the bank would open it for me. My God, what chaos would erupt if minors were allowed to open bank accounts without regulation? I began putting this money in there each paycheck. The interest on the account was a pittance, a mere two percent, but that was okay. The savings account was just a holding tank until I built up some capital. When I accumulated enough money, I had a better place in mind to store it.
My parents watched all this with interest, not surprised at my work ethic, which I’d learned from them after all and which they’d expected nothing less than, but with my frugelness. You see, my money management skills in my previous life I’d learned from them also. My parents, through my childhood and teenaged years had managed their money about as well as I did as an adult, which was not well at all. I’m certainly not blaming them for my later troubles just explaining the fact that they were wondering where I’d learned my money management. They watched my savings account grow each week (they had to co-sign my deposits) with respect and admiration and more than a little confusion. God forgive them, they even suggested I take some of that money out from time to time and enjoy myself a little.
“I’m saving for college,” I would tell them. “And maybe a car sometime soon.”
“I see,” they would reply. “That’s very wise, Billy.”
My work schedule put somewhat of a kink in my sex life since the weekends had been my traditional boffing time. But it was only a minor kink. The girls that really wanted to experience my skills would find the time to be with me on weekdays. I would generally have them come over immediately after school where I would take them to my room, show them the pleasure they were seeking, and send them on their way before Dad got home from work. On most of these days Nina would come over after the latest girl had departed and we would study together or just sit on the couch and talk, drinking soda and munching on chips or something, maybe watching some TV. Mom and Dad were under the impression that Nina was my girlfriend, which actually struck me as somewhat funny. They had no idea that I was screwing the brains out of various teenaged girls before they got home. They even expressed pride that I still went over to Anita’s and mowed her lawn or cleaned her windows or babysat her kids or put her storm windows up or took them down. They had no idea that their dear friend was paying me for these services in something more valuable than mere money. I don’t believe even Tracy knew what the score really was between Anita and I.
The months went by. The frigid chill of winter gave way to the spring of 1983. I heard through the grapevine that Mike was leaving school to go to independent study classes. This rumor filled me with dread and reminded me that I still had a piece of unfinished business. Independent study was one of those state-sponsored atrocities that accounted for more dropouts than anything else. I should actually say is, since the thing still existed before my recycling. What happens is a poor student is encouraged to leave mainstream high school and go to a separate campus for study. They are required to be there only twelve hours a week and are given various assignments to complete at their own pace. They and their parents are told that they can graduate this way if they only complete the meager amount of work that is supplied. What inevitably happens is that the student in question finds that even twelve hours a week is too much and they eventually leave it for the abyss of dropout status. The whole thing is nothing more than a false hope for parents and a dead-end for students. Mike was no exception. He would be in independent study for less than two months before leaving school behind forever. He would eventually pay money to be crammed for his GED so he could get into the Air Force where he would ultimately be dishonorably discharged for marijuana use.
I had to take a shot at preventing this. I simply had to.
That week I had my dad deposit only $24.50 in my savings account, keeping an extra fifteen bucks for myself. Naturally, since this was a break in the routine, he questioned it.
“Swaying from your convictions a little?” he asked as I handed him the deposit slip.
I shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “I guess you guys are right,” I told him. “I should enjoy myself once in a while. I thought I’d just blow fifteen bucks on something this time as a reward.”
“Well good for you,” Dad told me. “What are you going to spend it on?”
“No firm plans,” I lied. “Maybe I’ll just spend it all on video games down at the arcade. You know, Space Invaders and all that?”
“Well you deserve it,” he told me, putting his signature next to mine.
The following Monday at school I found Steph wandering through the halls. She was glad to see me.
“Do you think maybe your brother can get me an eighth of some good greenbud?” I asked.
“Does the Pope shit in the woods?” she answered. “You got the cash?”
I handed her fifteen bucks-a ten and a five. She took it from me and then peeled off the five and handed it back to me. “For you it’s only ten,” she said, smiling, “if you let me bring it over to your house today to deliver it personally.”
I looked her up and down, remembering what her body had felt like beneath mine. And it was five bucks. I’d certainly made worse deals in my life. “You’re on,” I told her. “Just show up right after school. I have to work today.”
“I’ll be there,” she promised, stuffing the ten into the pocket of her jeans.
She was there. She handed me a plastic baggie of pungent pot and then we retired to my bedroom. I enjoyed her body in as many different ways as I could imagine while she enjoyed mine. She left with a smile on her face.
I stuffed the pot she’d given me under the center of my mattress and headed for the shower. I had to be to work shortly after Dad got home.
The next day, Tuesday, I found Mike wandering through the halls between third and fourth period. I took a deep breath and then walked up to him, matching his pace when I was beside him.
“What’s up, Mike?” I asked carefully.
He looked over at me, his face registering instant hostility, obviously debating whether or not to speak to me. Finally he said, “Nothin’.”
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” I commented.
He shrugged. “Been busy.”
I nodded wisely. “Yeah,” I replied. “Me too. Workin’ and everything. Listen, I was thinking that maybe we could get together after school today. Bullshit a little you know. Just like old times.”
“Naw,” he said instantly. “Got things to do.”
I nodded again. “Okay,” I answered, knowing that I was resorting to dirty tricks but it was a desperate situation, wasn’t it? “Too bad. I just scored an eighth of some killer greenbud.”
His eyes lit up like pinball machines. “Really?” he asked, his disinterest dropping away instantly.
“Yeah,” I said. “But it’s cool. If you got things to do…”
“Well I can prob’ly come over for a while,” he put in. “You know, we haven’t hung out in a while.”
“Cool,” I said, suppressing a smile. “I’ll see you after school then.”
“Right.”
On the way home from school I asked Tracy and Cindy if they maybe wanted to go to the mall for a few hours before Dad got home from work.
“The mall?” Cindy asked, lighting a cigarette. “I was hopin’ you had some new albums to show me today.”
Tracy gave her a look of annoyance and then turned to me. “What’s the matter, Billy, you getting’ shy about your study sessions with our friends?”
“No,” I answered. “Not at all. I have something important to do today. Mike’s coming over.”
“Mike?” Tracy said, disgusted now. “That fuckin’ hoser! I thought you’d wised up and stopped hangin’ out with him.”
“Please?” I said, not offering any explanation. “This is important. If you guys go out for a while I’ll smoke some of the bud I scored with you later.”
That did the trick. I’d long since learned the barter power that the possession of a little marijuana held in a teenaged society. Cindy let me out at the curb and roared away shortly afterword, Tracy in the passenger seat, with a promise not to return until Dad got home.
Mike pulled his Beetle to the curb soon after.
Our conversation was cautious and casual as we went to the garage and smoked ourselves into oblivion with Tracy’s bong. By the time we re-entered the house we were well into the stratosphere. I hoped I was coherent enough to speak my mind effectively through the drug haze. My own intoxication was countered by the fact that Mike, in his stoned state, would be extremely susceptible to suggestion. We watched some TV for a few minutes while we munched on some food we’d found in the fridge. By the time we went to the garage for our second set of bonghits, we were comfortable speaking to each other despite our months of separation.
“I hear you’re going to go to independent study,” I said as I dumped the bong water down the sink and rinsed the chamber.
“Yep,” he said, obviously excited about it. “My parents put in the application the other day. The counselor says it’ll be approved and I can prob’ly start next month. After only six months of it I’ll graduate.”
“Six months huh?” I said. “And you only have to go twelve hours a week?”
He nodded. “Isn’t that fuckin’ cool? And I get to schedule my own twelve hours. I can go six hours for two days and take the rest of the week off, or four hours for three days, or three hours for four days. Whatever I want.”
I carried the bong upstairs and replaced it in Tracy’s room. Mike took a seat on the couch while I was gone. When I returned I sat next to him and took a sip out of a soda.
“Mike,” I asked, “do you realize that you’re being encouraged to drop out of school?”
“What?” he replied, looking at me with renewed hostility.
“The system is encouraging you to drop out of school. Independent study is nothing but a joke, a joke designed to allow people to drop out with some measure of self-respect intact. First they offer you something that sounds appealing: you only have to go to school twelve hours, you work at your own pace, you’ll get to graduate early. It’s an offer too good to be true.”
“What the fuck you talking about?” he asked. “It’s not too good to be true. That’s how it works.”
“Really?” I continued. “How many people do we know that have gone through independent study? Let’s see there’s Rodney, Steve Kale, Michelle Beckenwood, Stacy Smith. Those are just the ones I can think of off the top of my head. None of them graduated, not a single one.”
“Yeah, but they were stupid,” he said defensively. “I’m different.”
“No you’re not,” I told him. “You’re being used by the system. I’m sure the counselor spouted a bunch of bullshit to you and your parents about how this will help you. They’re lying. It doesn’t help you, it helps them. They’ve marked you as a likely dropout in the near future so they’re trying to get rid of you before that happens. They don’t give a shit about you or your future. They want you to drop out. But they want you to do it this way because it doesn’t go on the school’s statistics as a dropout. You’ll go down as a transfer to another school. That way they don’t lose any of their budget money or have their teaching methods audited by the state board of education.
“So off you go to independent study where you’re encouraged to fade politely away. Do you know how they get you to drop out with this program? Do you know what the kicker to it is? It’s that flexible schedule you were talking about. Come whenever you can, you only have to be there twelve hours a week. But you see, if you offer a teenager a deal like that, they’ll abuse it and those fuckers know that. You get up on Monday and say to yourself, ‘I don’t have to go in today because I only have to go twelve hours. I can knock out some hours tomorrow.’ Then Tuesday rolls around and you say the same thing. After all, you don’t have to be there on Monday or Tuesday. Before long you’ll find yourself at Thursday without any hours built up. By that time the thought of spending six hours is too much to take. So you cut for that week; after all, anyone they send to independent study is an accomplished school cutter, aren’t they? Before two months go by it will be too much trouble to go at all. There will be no paperwork done, nothing that says you’ve officially dropped out, but you will in effect have dropped out. Just like they planned for you.”
Mike had simply stared at me during this speech, absorbing what I was saying without expression.
“Where did you come up with all that shit?” he asked me finally.
“My dad’s a teacher,” I told him. “He works for the damn school district. Believe me, that’s the way it is.”
“What the fuck are you tellin’ me all this for?”
I took a deep breath. “Mike, you’re my friend. We’ve been friends since we were kids, right?”
“Yeah,” he agreed carefully, “but what’s that got to do with anything?”
“Friends try to help each other. Remember when Fairview stabbed me? You grabbed him off of me. You helped me. That’s what I’m trying to do for you. Help you. You’re about to make a big mistake, a mistake you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”
“How do you know I’m makin’ a mistake?” he shouted. “Even if I do drop out what makes you think it’s gonna be a mistake? What do I need a fuckin’ diploma for anyway?”
“What do you want to do with your life, Mike?” I asked him.
“What?”
“What do you want to do?” I repeated. “What would like to do for a living? What would be a dream job for you?”
“Man,” he said, dismissing me, “fuck this shit. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Look, Mike,” I said carefully, “like I said, we’re friends and I’m trying to talk to you as a friend. Nobody else is here, nobody’s gonna hear what you say. I’m not putting you down or anything, I’m just trying to help you because you need some help. You’re on a path of destruction here and I’m trying to steer you off of it. So tell me, what would you like to do for a living? What would be a cool job?”
For a minute I didn’t think he was going to answer. Finally he said, “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
He shrugged. “I never thought about it before. I can’t picture myself in five years, I don’t know.”
“Maybe that’s part of your problem,” I said. “You don’t have any goals.” I looked him up and down for a minute, an idea occurring to me. “You’d probably like a job where you get a lot of days off each week, wouldn’t you?”
“The more the better,” he agreed.
“A job where even when you are at work, you get to spend a lot of time sitting around on your ass.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, like
there are jobs like that.”
“There is, Mike,” I told him. “There is.”
“Yeah?” he said cynically. “Name one.”
There was only one that I could think of. It was one that was well within reach of Mike if he would only graduate from school. “A fireman.”
“A fireman?”
“Yeah,” I told him. “Firemen work twenty-four hour shifts ten days a month. That leaves twenty days off a month. When they’re on shift they have beds, TVs, lounge chairs to sit in, all the amenities of home. They get to sleep while they’re on the clock. And they make damn good money, much more than they deserve to.”
He was turning the idea over in his mind. I could see him doing it and I felt the first ray of hope. Was I finally getting through to him a little?
“And you know what the best thing about being a fireman is?” I asked.
“What?”
“The public fuckin’ worships you. You can do absolutely no wrong. And women dig firemen in a bad way. They’ll practically drop down and give you head right there.”
He was definitely interested now.
“The requirements are that you’re eighteen and have a high school diploma. You also have to be able to pass a physical agility test, but that shouldn’t be too much of a problem for you. You’re in good shape.”
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
“Dude,” I told him. “If you can just graduate you’ll be in.”
“No shit,” he said softly.
“Look, Mike, if you just work through this year you’ll have it made. The school has a work-study program for seniors and fire technology is one of the classes. If you can hang in until then and bring your grades up to a 2.0 average you can go to the ROP classes. That means you’ll just have to take three classes each day and then you’ll spend the rest of the day hanging out at a fire station somewhere. You’ll get to go to calls with them and watch them work and it’ll look damn good on your application after you graduate.”
He soured a little. “There’s no way I’ll get my grades up to a 2.0. I’m workin’ on straight F’s now.”
“I’ll help you with your work,” I promised. “Just come over after school.” I paused and then amended, “well, after my dad gets home that is, and I’ll help you with your work. You can do it if you just go to school each day.”
He shook his head. “I haven’t spent a whole day in school for the last year. I’m not sure I can do it.”
“You can, " I insisted. “Dude, you’re only seventeen years old. You have the rest of your life in front of you. How hard will it be to spend six hours in school for another couple of months? If you work at it we can bring your grades up and you’ll be almost free next semester. A year of ROP and only going to three classes and you’ll graduate. You start applying at fire departments and one of them will take you. It’s not that long and it’s not that high of a price, is it?”
“I guess not,” he said.
It was touch and go for a while. Mike told his parents his decision to stay in school and they accepted it dubiously. However when his parents told the school counselor to withdraw the application for independent study they met some resistance. According to Mike, she tried her damnedest to get him and his parents to change their minds. She nearly begged he told me. But in the end he stuck to his guns and his parents stuck to theirs. The application was withdrawn and Mike stayed in high school.
As I promised, I helped him with his homework. There was some friction at first when he discovered that I wasn’t planning to do his homework for him but to help him do it. There was also some friction when he didn’t show up a few times so he could go get stoned with someone. I talked to him plainly about this, explaining that I would only continue to help him if he showed up each day. He was morose about it but agreed. His attendance at my study sessions improved remarkably.
His attendance at school also improved. Though he whined about it to the point of genuine annoyance on my part, he faithfully showed up to classes each day, only occasionally cutting out for a session with a marijuana pipe or something.
By the end of the first month of our studying together, study sessions in which Nina was a frequent participant, he began to catch on to his work and actually began to complete more of his assignments in school. I felt I’d done well with him and my satisfaction was great.
________________________________________
As the end of the school year drew closer I worried incessantly about Tracy. This was the point that she was scheduled to die. All of the signs told me I’d steered her away from that path. When Lisa Sanchez, the cheerleader, began making friendship overtures to Tracy, she’d been almost rude in her rejection of them. The friendship that eventually evolved into the foursome that was fated to drop into the river never flourished. As a result, Tracy never went to the party where she would meet the football player that would cause her death. Instead she stayed close friends with Cindy, another deviation from the previous path. When Tracy had begun hanging out with Lisa before, the relationship with Cindy had faded away. But despite all this I was worried. Again, I did not know the rules involved here. Was fate absolute? Would Tracy end up dying one way or another simply because she was scheduled to?
On the other hand I did have some indication that things were not pre-destined. Mike was a shining example. As May began winding down towards June and the end of the school year, he was still enrolled in school, was in fact working his grades upward to the C average. This was something that had not occurred before. Mike gave me hope that I’d succeeded in saving Tracy.
The end of the school year came. Mike got his report card and it showed his year’s average to be 2.1. He was qualified to go into ROP the next year. He didn’t give me much in the way of thanks but I understood. It wasn’t in his nature. I received tremendous satisfaction from his accomplishment anyway.
Tracy graduated. I dressed in my suit and attended the ceremony with my parents. Though my sister and I had never talked about my prediction for her fate on that night since the first time, it was obvious she remembered what I’d said. She was perhaps the only member of her graduating class to go home with her parents after the ceremony. She took off her dress and went to bed early.
When I got up the next morning I staggered downstairs and found her sitting in her pajamas in the living room. The television was on, tuned to the local morning news program. Dad and Mom had already gone off to work so we were alone in the house. I can’t begin to tell you how glad I was to see her there. She was alive, still drawing breath a day after she’d died in her previous life. Things could be changed!
My elation was dampened a little as I got a good look at her. I could see immediately that she was upset. Her face was pale and she was trembling.
“What’s the matter, Trace?” I asked carefully.
“I’ve been watching the news,” she told me slowly, turning a pair of haunted eyes to my face.
“Yeah?”
“There was an accident last night,” she said. “Near the falls.”
I felt all the spit in my mouth suddenly dry up. My arms broke out in goose bumps. “Was there?”
She nodded. “A Camero with four people in it crashed into the river. Lisa Sanchez was killed. She drowned in the car.”
I was speechless as I listened to her, numb with shock.
“There were other people in the car,” she went on. “A guy named David Mitchell was driving. He’s a football player at the college. Another football player named Rick Manchester was also in the car. Rick was Lisa’s boyfriend. And there was one other girl in there. Barbie Langston, she’s David’s girlfriend.”
“What happened to her?” I asked unsteadily.
“She got out. Lisa was the only one killed.”
“Wow,” I whispered, trying to figure out what that meant. Barbie was a cute redhead who had found her way to my bedroom last summer during my ‘male slut’ period. She had been installed in Tracy’s place when Tracy did not meet and begin dating David Mitchell. She had lived. Why? Was it because she had lived past graduation in the previous life? Was she simply a better swimmer? Was there any meaning to be found with her non-death?
“Billy,” Tracy said softly, “all of those names were the ones you gave me that day except for Barbie. You described the car, the driver, the passengers, the accident location, everything. How did you know?”
“I can’t tell you, Tracy,” I said. “I just can’t.”
“Billy, for Christ’s sake! I would have died yesterday if I hadn’t listened to you, wouldn’t I have?”
“Yes.”
“You scared me that day when you started talking about all of that. You scared me bad. But I never really, you know believed it could be true. I didn’t think it would really happen. Even when little things started to click into place. Lisa Sanchez trying to make friends with me, stuff like that, even then I never really believed it. But Jesus, you were right!”
“I know, Tracy,” I said. “And you’re alive today instead of dead. I’m glad you listened to me.”
“Christ,” she said, shuddering and trembling. “I could have died.”
“But you didn’t,” I told her. “You didn’t.”
Summer vacation began. Tracy sent off college applications and was accepted into the University of California at Berkeley on an academic scholarship. She spent a good portion of her vacation preparing for the move to California. My parents, who had no idea how close they’d come to losing a daughter, were preoccupied with helping her at this task. They took out a second mortgage on their house to help pay for some of the expenses until Tracy managed to get a job in the Bay Area. I could tell they were worried about money although they never mentioned it to either one of us.
I was able to increase my work schedule an extra hour a day and an extra day a week now that summer was upon us and there was no school to attend. By the beginning of August I had nearly a thousand dollars in my savings account. It was time to make my first move.
“Dad,” I said at the breakfast table one morning, “I need you to do something with my money.”
He looked at me over his paper. “Your money?”
“Yeah,” I told him. “I want you to pull it out of the savings account and take it to a stock broker.”
“A stock broker?”
“Here,” I said, handing him a slip of paper upon which I’d written careful instructions.
He looked at it for a moment, his eyes widening. “You want to buy stocks?”
“I do,” I affirmed. “As you can see there, I’d like to invest six hundred dollars in Lytech Corporation and three hundred in Smith Manufacturing Corporation.”
“Billy,” he started slowly, as if he were speaking to a lunatic, or a teenager. “Do you understand what you’re doing? Investing in stocks is a risky business. You have no guarantee that you’re going to get any return. You could lose all of your money.”
“I’ve studied up on it pretty well, Dad,” I assured him. “I’m pretty sure that these two corporations are going to go through the roof in the next year.”
“What are they?” he asked. “I’ve never heard of either one of them.”
“They make latex products,” I explained. “Condoms and surgical gloves mostly.”
“Condoms and surgical gloves? You think there’s money to be made there?”
“It’s a matter of timing, Dad,” I explained. “You know about AIDS, right?”
“Of course I know about AIDS,” he told me. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well,” I said, “I’ve been following the news on AIDS as well as checking the business section. Right now AIDS is mostly confined to homosexual men and IV drug users. But that’s slowly changing. As more and more heterosexuals become infected the fear of this disease is going to grow, probably into a paranoia.”
“That’s all very interesting, Billy, but…”
“When I got stabbed,” I told him, “I remember that the paramedic who was treating me was not wearing any gloves. I’d been cut open and I was bleeding and he was touching me with his bare hands. The nurses and the doctors in the hospital did the same thing. It wasn’t just me, it was almost all of the patients I saw there. Nobody was wearing gloves on their hands as a matter of routine. It just isn’t done right now. Are you following me?”
“You’re saying that is going to change?”
“In a big way I predict, and soon. As more heterosexuals get the disease and the epidemic grows, ambulance companies, fire departments, hospitals, nursing homes, every medical office is going to start ordering huge supplies of latex gloves. There might even be a shortage of them for a while. The price of them will go up according to the law of supply and demand and their sales figures will probably increase by at least four hundred percent, maybe more. This is the perfect time to invest in the latex business.”
He was impressed with my reasoning of the subject but I could tell he still wasn’t convinced.
“It’s still pretty risky, Bill,” he told me. “Are you sure you want to invest all of your money in this?”
“All of it,” I confirmed. “Can you do that today?”
He gave me one last glance and then said, “Sure. I’ll do it during lunch hour.”
________________________________________
The summer rolled on. I continued to have plenty of sex on a fairly regular basis but my heavy work schedule put something of a ding in the variety I was getting. I was down to three females that I enjoyed, rarely getting anything new. Anita would still have me over to do some work for her a few times a week, after which, or sometimes before which, we would go to her bedroom and enjoy a long sex session. She always had me over in the evenings when her kids had gone to bed. Cindy still came over to check out albums with me during the day when my parents were not home. If fact, with Tracy gone a lot of the time on various missions to prepare for college, Cindy’s visits became more frequent. It seemed she felt a little guilty about screwing me while my sister was there. With Tracy gone we enjoyed the best sex we’d ever had, with no worries about being too loud or too obscene. The third girl was Maggie Bartlett, a friend of Cindy’s. She would come over on the days when Cindy did not. I tried to talk them into a threesome a couple of times but they just giggled and told me they weren’t into that. A pity.
Nina and I remained in contact with each other even though we no longer had to study for anything. We would meet a few times a week at my house or hers, just enjoying each other’s company. A few times we drove into nearby Idaho to spend the day at one of the resort lakes. One such day I found myself looking at her in her bathing suit while we soaked up rays on the hot sand. She was starting to fill out nicely. Her breasts, which the previous summer had been almost non-existent, were now pushing at the cups of her one-piece. Again I remembered her classy good looks as the bitchy emergency room doctor. Now that I’d removed the bitchiness I figured she would make some guy very happy someday.
“What are you looking at?” she asked, blushing a little as she found my eyes upon her.
I smiled. “Just seeing how your tan is coming along,” I told her.
“Well?” she asked. “How is it?”
“It’s lookin’ good,” I answered. I picked up a bottle of sun lotion. “Can you put a little of this on my back? I don’t want to burn.” That was the advantage of having a girl for a best friend. You could have them put oil on your back. You certainly wouldn’t ask a guy friend to do something like that.
“Sure,” she said softly, taking it from me. I noticed a slight tremble in her hands as she squirted some into her palm.
Dismissing this, I laid on my stomach on the towel. Her hand began smearing the slippery lotion across my back. Her hands on my skin felt good, I realized. They were soft yet eager, gliding over my shoulders and through the small of my back. Her touch was almost sensuous and I felt myself, to my surprise, getting a hard-on beneath my suit.
What a mind-blower, I thought. Nina is giving me a boner. What a strange world.
________________________________________
On September 2, Tracy left the house for California and UC Berkeley where she would begin her first semester as a college student. She planned to get her graduate degree in Business Administration and then move from there to law school. Her hopes were to one day be a rich corporate lawyer. At least she was honest about it.
I gave her a big hug before she climbed into Dad’s car for the trip to the airport.
“Take care of yourself,” I told her. “And be careful.”
“You too,” she answered.
She climbed into the car and a minute later it backed out into the street. As I watched it go I felt a tear running down my face. Tracy was still alive.
My senior year began. Because Cindy had graduated and enrolled in college that meant that I was without a ride to school. Though Mike had improved in many areas over the last few months his driving was not one of them. I attempted to mellow him out a bit by letting him know that the fire department would not hire him if he had too many points on his driving record. I suppose this did some good, he never got any points put on, but I still was not going to get into that Volkswagen with him. Strangely enough, though this subject had prompted our long estrangement, he seemed to understand. The subject was never brought up. But this still left me without a lift to school and I’d been driven so long that I’d lost my taste for walking. Nina came to the rescue here. Her mom, who was a housewife and who thought I walked on water, had always been in the habit of driving Nina to school all through high school. It didn’t take much convincing on Nina’s part to persuade her mom to run by my house in the morning and again in the afternoon. Her mom, who was considerably older for a parent-Nina had been a late child-drove like an eighty-year-old grandmother. That was just fine with me. I felt there was little chance of getting killed with Mrs. Blackmore at the wheel.
The reason I’d known so much about our school’s ROP program was that I’d taken it as a senior my first trip through. I hadn’t taken fire technology but health careers where I’d been assigned to the emergency room at one of the local hospitals as an ER tech. It was this part of my life that had seduced me into my eventual job as a paramedic. I took the health careers once again, as did Nina. I tried to remember if she’d been in it with me before and I couldn’t. She had been such a forgettable person back then. Nina planned to sign up for emergency room assignment since she figured, as I had all those years ago, that would be the most exciting. Though I was tempted to do the same-I missed the thrill of the unknown that came with working in emergency situations-I chose central supply instead. Those who chose central supply were sometimes hired by mid-semester if they showed some responsibility. I planned to show lots of it. Central supply techs were paid six dollars an hour.
Mike was accepted into the fire tech ROP program. Like with our health careers program, it was required that you spend the first two months in a classroom learning the finer points of your career assignment. He grumbled about having to spend three hours a day in a class instead of in a fire station like he’d thought but he stuck with it. I knew his grumbling was good-natured and offered only because it was expected of him. He was actually finding the classroom lectures on the basics of firefighting interesting, perhaps the first thing besides marijuana and pussy stories that had ever interested him. I began to feel that Mike was going to be okay.
I perhaps suffered the worst through the classroom portion of ROP. They were teaching us how to take blood pressures, temperatures, pulses, and how to respond to various hospital emergency situations like fires or floods. This was all stuff I knew not just intimately but genetically it seemed. There were, however, some interesting perks to the classroom. It was made up of mostly girls. I had a fresh hunting ground to pick from and an additional challenge thrown in since most of the girls did not know who I was because ROP classes were made up of students from all the regional high schools.
As I went to work on a few of the more attractive students I noticed that Nina, who was in the same class, would become morose and even throw some dirty looks my way. What was up with her? I wondered. Was Tracy right? Was Nina in love with me? I hoped not. She was my best friend and I was her best friend but I’d never done anything to encourage her to love me. If it was true, how could it have happened?
In deference to her feelings I tried to keep my flirtations discreet when she was around. There was no sense hurting her. And if she did have some love-like feelings for me they would eventually fade, wouldn’t they?
I was troubled by these thoughts but not too troubled. By my second week there I enticed a girl named Susan Kelly, a breasty brunette whose ambition was to someday work as a registration clerk, to my house after school. I was glad to find that I still had the touch after the long summer.
________________________________________
In September of that year the United States sent a force of Marines to Beirut as part of a peacekeeping force. I knew that tragedy would befall 240 of them at the hands of Muslim extremists. With their deployment came the opportunity for some experimentation on my part. I knew what was going to happen. Could I, in good conscience, simply let it occur without trying to stop it? I could not.
The question was, how could I stop it? I put some thought into the matter while I read as much on the peacekeeping force as I could. A plan developed in my mind by the end of September.
Using plain paper and pen I drafted a letter to the commanding general of the American forces there. I stated that I was an American Muslim and that I’d received information about an impending attack upon the forces there by way of relatives in Lebanon who were part of the extremists but not as radical as their friends. I explained exactly what was to take place and on which day. I made 25 copies of the letter and dropped each copy into a separate envelope, all of which I addressed and labeled CONFIDENTIAL. I put stamps on all of the letters and then borrowed my father’s car one Saturday morning, telling him that I was going to an all-day party. I promised him I wouldn’t drink and he gave me the keys.
I left the house at 9:00 that morning, getting onto Interstate 90 and heading west. Four hours later I was in Seattle; a large, anonymous city that I had never lived in. Careful was my watchword and if any feds tried to find the deliverer of the message, as I was sure they would, I wanted no trail leading them to Spokane. I dropped the letters into a mailbox in one of the suburbs. I had a quick lunch and then headed home. I’d taken my shot. My conscience was assuaged.
Of course I had no way of knowing if my letters had reached their destination and, if they had, if they would be taken seriously. I hoped that they were enough to at least take simple precautions. I listened to a news station on the radio all day on October 15, the day the attack was to take place. Nothing came across about a tragedy in Beirut. But towards the end of the day something else came across.
“U.S. Marines,” said the announcer, “have captured a group of Muslim extremists who were setting up heavy caliber mortars near the Marine barracks, apparently with the intention of shelling the soldiers inside. A source tells us that the Marines were acting on information they received via an anonymous tip that the attack was to take place. General…”
I’d done it! I had prevented a tragedy! The Muslims who had been about to shell the barracks, destroying it and killing 240 Marines had been captured before they could do it. I had changed history!
I walked around in a state of elation for the next seven days, beaming with pride at what I’d done. What else could I change? The Challenger disaster was coming up in a few years. I could probably stop that also. In the course of that week I had myself believing that I could prevent the Persian Gulf War.
And then came October 23. I awoke to the news that a suicide bomber with a truck full of explosives had rammed into the Marine barracks, killing many inside. My elation died the instant I heard that.
It was two days before the final death toll was announced. 240 Marines had been killed. 240! That number put an icy finger of dread upon my heart.
In my previous life the Marine barracks had been shelled from outside the base by Muslims armed with Russian made eighty-millimeter mortars. 240 had been killed by the attack. In this life I’d prevented that from happening but a week later a suicide bomber had hit instead. 240 had been killed by that attack. I wondered if the death list of those 240 was the same in both lives. Instinctively I knew that it probably was. I had prevented nothing. 240 Marines had been killed, as if they were fated to die. As if they were fated!
I had prevented Tracy’s death in this life. Was she too fated to die? Was she just going to be killed in some other manner now that I’d changed her original destiny? Was there anything I could do? Could I really change anything here? Was I fated to end up a paramedic in debt again? Was Mike fated to end up an unemployed loser? Was Nina fated to end up a bitchy emergency room doctor? If so, what had been the point of coming back? What had been the point?
Bros…. how does one rate the thread with the stars? i cant seem to see that function anywhere?
Quote:
Originally Posted by
futonranger
Bro,
Keep it up.. the waiting is killing me…
Quote:
Originally Posted by
charsiew
TS, enjoying your story… do continue please.. 2 thumbs up!!
cs
posting!!
I was depressed and edgy for the next week as news of the bombing in Beirut was swallowed up by news of the successful invasion of Grenada a few days later. Nina, who knew me better than anyone, picked up on my mood and tried to discover the source of it in her gentle, probing way. I told her nothing, claiming that everything was just fine. What else could I say? How could I possibly tell her what was bothering me? That I feared my sister had a death sentence hanging over her head. That I feared that everything I’d done over the last eighteen months had been meaningless.
“Do you believe in fate?” I asked her as we rode the bus to our ROP classroom one day.
“Fate?” she asked, looking at me. “What do you mean?”
“You know, that everything is pre-destined. That we have a schedule we follow in life and that we’re powerless to change anything?”
“No,” she said. “You don’t believe that do you?”
“I didn’t used to,” I said. “But lately I’ve been wondering.”
“Are you okay, Bill?” she asked tenderly. “You’ve been kind of, well tense the last few days. What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing I can put into words,” I told her. “I guess I’ll get over it.”
I turned my head to look out the window and as I watched the traffic pass by outside the bus I felt her hands on my shoulders. They began squeezing and kneading the muscles there, forcing them to relax. It felt wonderful and I leaned my head back and sighed.
“That feels good,” I told her. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
“I’ve been reading on massage techniques,” she told me. “Am I doing it right?”
“Perfect,” I said, closing my eyes and letting the sensation take me away.
As I felt her squeezing and caressing me a thought occurred. Nina had put her hands upon me completely uninvited. She had simply reached over and done it. Nina, who had been so shy once she wasn’t even capable of smiling in front of someone, who couldn’t even bring herself to answer questions in class, who wouldn’t have dreamed of touching someone with or without permission the day I’d first approached her in the cafeteria.
Nina had changed. She was no longer the mousy butt of everyone’s jokes. She had friends now. Me, Tracy, Cindy, even Mike. She had learned to socialize with people even to the point of taking some bonghits at a party. I didn’t think it possible that she would evolve into the Dr. Blackmore I would one day know. She would become Dr. Blackmore but she wouldn’t be the same person. She couldn’t become that person at this point because the psychology that had formed her future personality had been altered. Was it possible that maybe things could be changed? That maybe they tended to fall into pre-destined patterns but that rule was not absolute?
In Nina’s comforting hands I found some hope.
________________________________________
We graduated from the classroom portion of ROP and were given our assignments. Nina went to the emergency room at one of the smaller hospitals as an ER tech. I went to the supply room in the basement of the regional trauma center and was put to work sterilizing and packaging medical supplies and instruments. Mike was assigned to Spokane Fire Station #3 near downtown.
It took me only a few days to be trained in the routine I would be following. Central supply was a little more challenging than making pizzas, but not by much. My work mate was Julie Salinas, a cute Mexican girl who had been in my training class. I’d tried once to initiate some intimate conversation with her but she had shot me down without a second glance, stating in no uncertain terms that she was engaged to be married after graduation. I’d shrugged her off. That kind of thing happened from time to time and there were plenty of other targets in the class.
When I walked in and saw her there the first day I assumed it was not going to be pleasant. She had been a little snotty in her rejection of my advances. But I was surprised to find that she was friendly to me as we spent three hours together each day. With our bodies covered by baggie scrubs, our shoes covered by paper coverings, our hair covered by paper nets, we would chat easily as we went about the tasks of putting forceps and scalpels and syringes and little bottles of medicine into sterile packaging and then labeling them for the appropriate departments within the hospital. It was a fun relationship. She was pleasant to talk to and since I already knew that she wasn’t interested in me I was releived of the sexual tension that usually went along with being next to someone like her. Or so I thought.
As the first few weeks went by I couldn’t help but notice that Julie was always there when I got there. I knew she had her own car which allowed her to drive to the hospital instead of taking the bus but why in the name of God would she show up earlier than she had to? Finally, when our relationship matured to the point that I could ask such things, I asked her.
“Because,” she told me, “I intend to get hired here at mid-semester. Can you ima
gine? It’s a dream job. If they hire you, you get paid for your time here and still get the school credits. You also get another three hours on the clock at $6.00 an hour. So if I get noticed by showing up a half an hour earlier than everyone else, so much the better. They only hire three or four of us each year you know and there’s more than twelve of us working down here.”
“That’s a pretty good idea,” I said with complete honesty. After all, I was counting on getting hired also. To do so would nearly double my current income. “I wish I had a car so I could do it too.”
I meant nothing by this statement. I was merely speculating out loud, wondering in my mind if I could break loose some of my portfolio to purchase a cheap car. If it helped me get a job it would be a sound investment, wouldn’t it?
“If you want,” Julie said, looking at me thoughtfully, “I could give you a ride. I have to drive right by your school to get here and right by it to get home. I’d rather work with you then some of the other losers they got around here.”
“Really?” I asked, looking at her, trying to gauge her intentions. Usually when girls asked me something like that what they wanted was sex. I wasn’t so sure about that with Julie though. After all, she’d already told me she was engaged. She in fact talked quite a bit about her fiancée, who was in his second year of junior college where he was learning the finer points of drafting. She was also a practicing Catholic-a religion which most definitely frowned upon pre-marital and extra-marital sex.
Finally I decided it was a genuinely innocent offer that a friend makes to another friend. “I’ll take you up on that,” I told her. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” she assured me.
________________________________________
Nina and I had arranged our school schedules that year so we shared the last two classes before lunch and ROP. We always sat together in the classroom during those classes and then walked together to the lunchroom where usually we would sit with Mike and eat lunch prior to heading off to our job sites. Mike had had the same idea as Julie. He drove his Bug to the fire station, getting there earlier than he was required. He also tended to stay a little later than was required. He talked repeatedly of his experience at the firehouse, continually and obviously inflating his stories of what they allowed him to do. For instance he told me once that they’d allowed him to don breathing gear and go into a burning building to help fight a fire, something that they would never do. But I was gladdened by his exaggerations. It meant that I’d hit upon just the right thing when I’d suggested firefighting as a career.
After he took off from lunch break to head downtown Nina and I walked out to the bus area where the ROP buses picked up the students. As we walked I explained my new riding arrangements to her along with the theory that it would help me get hired at mid-semester.
“Julie?” Nina said, frowning. “You’re going to be riding with her?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That way I’ll be able to…”
“But she’s engaged!” Nina nearly yelled. A very un-Nina-like display of emotion.
“So?” I asked, looking at her. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You’re gonna…” A pause as she tried to formulate her words, “… get a ride from an engaged girl?”
“Well yes,” I affirmed. “Is there something wrong with that?”
Her face was actually turning red as her eyes, once so soft and mellow, burned into me. What the hell was the matter with her? “No,” she said stiffly. She turned away from me and started heading for the bus stop.
I followed after her, grabbing her by the arm. “Nina?” I asked. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all. I’ll see you later.”
Right then Julie, driving her little Japanese car, pulled to the curb in the red zone. She saw me and smiled. “You ready?” she called.
“Just a sec,” I told her, turning back to Nina. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m fine,” she said sadly. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Do you still want to ride with me to school?”
“Of course,” I said, “but aren’t we going to get together and study today after school? We have to go over that calculus.”
“Not today,” she said coldly. “I’ve got things to do.” She turned away from me once again and disappeared into the crowd of students waiting for the bus.
With a troubled mind, more troubled than I cared to admit, I went to Julie’s car and got in.
By the time we arrived at the hospital I was suspicious about Julie’s intentions. She was overly friendly and openly flirty with me; signs I’d learned long before to both recognize and take advantage of. Despite my troubling conversation with Nina I found myself responding to her banter.
All through our workday it went on. She stood closer to me than was really needed, always taking the opportunity to touch my hand or bump her hip against mine. A few times she even turned so that the swell of her breast rubbed across my shoulder. It happened a little too frequently to be accidental. By two o’clock thoughts of Nina were forgotten as I pondered the prospect of bagging Julie and started working the problem of how to get her back to my place through my mind.
That turned out to be much easier than I’d thought it would.
As she drove me towards home she asked, “So, are your parents home right now?”
“No,” I told her. “My old man doesn’t get home until a little after four.”
“Really?” she said, a smile blooming on her face. “You know, some of the other girls said they went over to your house and studied with you.”
“Did they?” I asked, familiar with this opening line.
“Uh huh. Susie, Lori, and Stacy all said you’re a great study partner.” She looked over at me. “I need to study you know.”
I chuckled. “I don’t think your fiancée would like you coming over my house to study,” I told her, my own personal form of legal disclaimer. “There are those who say my study techniques are somewhat radical.”
“Well I sure ain’t gonna tell him,” she informed me, as I’d known she would. “I’m not married yet.”
“No,” I grinned. “I guess you’re not.”
There is of course a certain amount of subtle nuances and so forth that must take place in such encounters before the real action begins. You can’t just go inside, tear of your clothes and start rutting like an animal on the carpet. Well at least not for a first encounter. Thankfully with Julie, this period was brief. We started on the couch, were coy with each other for a few minutes, and then we began kissing.
I pulled her sexy body to mine and probed between her large lips with my tongue, licking and sucking each lip while my hands ran up and down her back, feeling her hard body beneath the T-shirt she wore, tracing the outline of her bra strap. She returned my kisses eagerly, showing some skill of her own with her tongue in the way she caressed the inside of my lips with it, the way she probed teasingly in and out, sliding it with mine on a film of saliva. Her breath was sweet and scented with the bubble gum she’d recently been chewing, it’s ebb and flow increasing as she became excited by my actions.
I moved from her lips and kissed my way down across her puffy cheek to her neck, licking the salty taste on her dark flesh, nipping with my teeth and sucking lightly. She threw her head back and cooed softly, her hands sliding down to my butt and then up under the back of my shirt where she ran them up and down my bare back. Her hands were soft as they glided across my skin, punctuated by the occasional scratch of her painted nails when I gave her skin a little suck or bite.
I dropped my own hands to the hem of her shirt and slid them underneath, running my fingers up her smooth flanks on each side, feeling her soft skin and the harsh roughness of her bra when I reached her chest. I brought my hands together in the front, moving them along her bra, cupping her firm tits through the cotton and wire, squeezing them together. I could feel her nipples protruding against my palms.
I went back to kissing her, more gently this time as I ran my hands around to her back and began toying with the clasp that held her bra together. She returned my kisses while her own hands slid down my back and into the back of my pants, worming their way through my underwear until her fingers were squeezing my ass cheeks, kneading them. She pulled me tighter against her, so that the bulge of my cock was pressing against the crotch of her pants.
She broke her mouth from mine for an instant. “You have a nice ass,” she breathed, nipping at my earlobe with her teeth.
“Thank you,” I breathed back, pulling her face back to mine and continuing our dance of tongues.
I undid the bra clasp with a quick, expert twist of the fingers and then lifted my arms, pulling her shirt and the bra off in one quick motion. She raised her hands in the air to assist me, breaking the kiss only long enough for the shirt to clear her head.
I slid my hands around to the front again, taking her tits in them, feeling the yielding but firm flesh, the hard nipples. I s+++ed them up and down, gliding my fingertips around the perimeter of each nipple, finally tweaking them a little. They were as rigid as stone it seemed. I broke the kiss and pulled away from her, looking at her chest, drinking in the sight of those beautiful mammaries. As I’ve mentioned before, teenagers have the nicest tits; they can truly be taken as a sign that there is a God. Julie’s were no exception. They were perhaps a little larger than was considered average but they had no sag to them. They were pale in contrast to the darkness of her skin except for the nipples, which were the color of ripe cherries. I hefted them a little in my hands, stroking the sides and bottoms of them, running my fingers beneath them.
“You like them?” she asked sweetly. She knew that I liked them.
“They’re all right,” I shrugged and then smiled.
“You asshole.” She giggled. “You want to taste them?”
“If I must,” I said, feigning a sigh of a laborer contemplating an unpleasant job.
“You must,” she told me, grabbing me by the shoulders and pulling me towards her.
I sucked and licked her nipples for several minutes, tasting their texture, making her squirm on the couch beneath me.
“You know,” she panted, running her fingers through my hair and sliding her denim-clad leg up and down in my crotch, “I heard that you have some really cool study methods.”
“Yeah?” I answered between tongues on her right nipple, which was dripping with my saliva. “What might those be?”
“You know?” she groaned. “Like doing things with your mouth.”
I switched to the other nipple, cupping the bulk of the breast with my hand. “I’m doing things with my mouth right now,” I told her, sucking the flesh on the side of the tit.
“Other things!” she insisted. “Things a little lower.”
I looked up at her. “Your toes?”
“Higher,” she giggled.
“Your belly button,” I guessed, sliding down and sticking my tongue into it, making her squeal.
“That tickled,” she said, delighted. “But you’re getting warmer.”
“Well,” I finally said, “maybe you should just come upstairs to my room and show me what you mean.”
“Maybe I should,” she said, getting up.
Upstairs, standing near the foot of my bed while I watched her, she kicked off her shoes and socks and then unbuttoned her jeans. They were tight on her and it was with some effort that she pushed them off her body to the floor, revealing the dark elegance of her legs to me. Her panties were blue and cut high. They did not leave her body with the jeans, but remained behind after being dragged down just far enough for me to see a few tufts of her black pubic hair peeking out the top of the waistband.
Julie was certainly not shy about displaying her body. She even teased me a little, sliding the panties up and down a few notches, revealing more and more of the top of her bush before she finally slid them down and off her body. Her bush was thick and black, the lips of her pussy all but hidden in it. I stepped forward and ran my hand up her thigh, feeling the skin, finally probing lightly through the kinky hair until I felt warm wetness against my fingertip. I withdrew my finger and brought it to my nose, inhaling her scent, letting the pheromones do their work on me.
She reached forward and undid the snap on my jeans, pushing them down. Mine were not as tight as hers were and they slid easily to the floor where I kicked them and my shoes off. I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it to the ground while Julie slid her hand into my underwear, grasping my cock.
“Nice,” she said, feeling it up and down. With her other hand she tugged at the elastic, pulling them down my legs, her head traveling downwards as her hands pushed them to my feet. As she reached my dick her tongue slid out and circled the head for a brief second, just enough to make my whole body twitch.
“How about you show me how to study now?” she asked.
I nodded, stepping around her and lying on my back on the bed. “Come here,” I told her, patting the mattress next to me.
She lay down and I pulled her body against mine, sliding her on top of me, chest to chest, face to face. I kissed her again while I felt the glory of her form pressing against mine. Remaining on my back I put my hands into her armpits and tugged a little, forcing her to move upward on me. I pushed upwards at the same time, bending her back a little and those tits were dangling in my face. I reached out for them with my tongue and worked them for a minute, getting her back into the swing of things and then I let go of her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked me, looking at my intense stare.
“Do you want me to eat you?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she nearly hissed.
“Bring it up here,” I commanded, touching my lips with my fingers. “Put your pussy on my mouth.”
“You mean, sit on you?” she asked, her eyes sparkling.
I nodded. “Come on.”
She didn’t have to be told twice. She slid her crotch along the length of my stomach and chest, inching forward until her soft thighs were pushing against my ears and her hairy pussy was hanging only inches from my mouth. Using my fingers I probed through her thick nest until her pink, juicy lips were visible. They were swollen and ready, gleaming with moisture, thick with the aroma of arousal. I brought my head forward and began to lick at her, driving my tongue into her passage.
My reputation among the girls was based almost entirely upon my skills at cunnilingus. For that reason, whenever I got my mouth on a pussy I gave it my very best. You had to leave the customer satisfied after all. I ate Julie until she battered my face beneath her and dented my wall by slamming the headboard of the bed into it. Her juices poured over my face and I lapped them up. When her first orgasm faded away I put her on her back and ate her again in the traditional method, starting slower this time, working my way from the bottom of her slit upwards so that by the time I reached her clit it was once again swollen and ready for a fresh assault. Her second come was even more powerful.
When that one was done I crawled up her body, which was now slick with her aroused sweat, and positioned myself atop her. She spread her legs wide for my coming penetration. With my mouth kissing hers, with my hard cock nestled in her pubic hair, feeling the waiting wetness, I reached over and opened the nightstand drawer next to the bed. Inside of that drawer, among other things, was a bible that my mom’s sister, a religious fanatic, had given me long ago. What I was doing was a practiced and perfected maneuver. Without needing to look, or even take my mouth off her, I flipped open the bible to the middle where I’d cut a hiding hole in some of the pages. Inside this hiding hole were my condoms. I pulled one out and then flipped the book shut again. Less than a minute later the condom was firmly on my cock and the wrapper was resting on the nightstand.
“C’mon,” Julie panted. “Do it.”
I slid my dick through her swollen lips for a bit, wetting the condom. When it was ready I positioned the head between her lips.
“You ready to get fucked?” I asked her, looking in her brown eyes.
“Yes!” she cried, kissing my neck and squeezing my ass. “Do it! Fuck me!”
I drove forward, feeling my dick slide between those lips and into her tightness. She moaned as I penetrated her and my own voice joined hers as I felt her chamber squeezing at me. I began to move in and out, slowly at first but quickly increasing to a full-blown grind. She slid her legs up and down mine, her hands up and down my back while her hips rose up to meet me.
She came again after about five minutes, clawing my back as she did so. I continued to pound away at her until she came again. Now it was my turn to come. I picked up the pace, angling my thrusts for the maximum sensation, anticipating the feeling of blasting inside of her hot body.
But I couldn’t come. My mind simply would not make the vital connection that allowed the process of orgasm to begin. It was not the first time this had happened. I’d noticed it happening over the last few months, though it was usually when I was fucking Anita or Cindy or Maggie. It was something that had happened to me in my previous life after I’d been married for a while. The mind was no longer able to generate orgasm through sensation alone, it needed a little something else. That something was usually a fantasy and I’d always figured it was required because I’d grown a little bored by screwing the same person over and over. But I’d never screwed Julie before. Why should I require a fantasy now? Julie was something new, something fresh. Wasn’t she fantasy in and of herself?
I continued to fuck her, moving in and out, feeling her tits with my hands, stroking her legs, kissing her mouth, her neck. I tried to will myself to come. I’m fucking a beautiful teenager, I told myself. But I still couldn’t come.
I began to run various fantasies through my head as I screwed her. Those that have been married for any length of time will probably be familiar with this method. I thought of the first time I’d fucked Cindy. That brought a little stir in my nether regions but no orgasm. I thought of what it would be like to fuck Darla Watson, a cute blonde at school that had always rejected my advances. I imagined it was Darla’s body beneath mine, Darla’s mouth kissing me. No good.
Sweat was now pouring off of my face and I was starting to get tired. Though Julie was still enjoying herself beneath me I knew that if I didn’t come soon I was going to have to call a halt on the grounds of fatigue. I couldn’t keep up this pace indefinitely. I was loath to do that since I needed to come and since it’s damn near impossible to take a condom off your cock if you haven’t blasted into it.
I raised my hand to my forehead to wipe the sweat out of my eyes while my hips continued to rise and fall and Julie continued to buck and moan against me. Suddenly I was thinking of Nina. I don’t know what brought her image into my mind but I wasn’t thinking of her as the friend I knew. I was thinking of her naked and sweating beneath me.
I felt a tingle run up my back at that very thought. The fantasy expanded. I closed my eyes and pressed my body tighter into Julie, my hips picking up speed. I imagined that instead of Julie it was Nina beneath me, her flesh pressing mine, her breasts against my chest, her sex grasping and squeezing my cock.
“Ahhhhh!” I groaned as my mind blew a circuit breaker of some sort and a powerful orgasm went slamming through my body almost without warning.
“Yess!” Julie screamed, feeling the change in my rhythm.
I bucked up and down atop her like I was in seizure, shooting blast after blast into the condom until I feared I was going to overfill it. Finally, drenched in sweat, I collapsed atop her.
She kissed and licked on me, telling me how great I’d been but I barely heard her.
Had I really been fantasizing about Nina? Had that fantasy really given me one of the most powerful orgasms I’d ever had?
I rolled off of Julie and removed the condom, tying a knot in the top and dropping it into the wastebasket next to the bed (which I would of course empty before Mom and Dad got home). I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling and she curled up next to me, resting her head on my chest.
We made some small talk with each other for a few minutes and all the while my mind was spinning. I’d gotten off thinking about Nina. What did that mean?
When Julie finally got out of bed and went to use the bathroom I started to run the fantasy through my head once again. I started to really imagine what it would feel like to kiss Nina, to feel her body against mine, to make love to her. These thoughts were not, I found, the least bit unpleasant to contemplate
This is end of chapter 4.. going to start on chapters 5 if response if good. total story is 15 chapters.. let me know bros…
Story is by Al steiner…
Please go here and read… This author writes fantastic story.
http://storiesonline.net/auth/Al_Steiner
You may need to register an account. It is read though.
Search for these as well:'
A Perfect World
Greenies (to be read after A Perfect World)
Aftermath
and of course.. Doing it Over again.
TS sorry for posting a reply to deviate pple away from your post, but i love this author too much for pple not to recognise him and thinking you started the story. I have read all the above mentioned story for 5 times now (gd to have iphone ard while travelling =))