Brad's triumph was complete. My God, what a hot little whore dug into her, deeper and deeper. An unbelievable fire rose in his vitals. It singed through his shaft in delicious agony. His mind turned into a whirling kaleidoscope. "Mmm, mmm." He tried to swallow his cries of delight.
Their bodies ground to a halt and locked, cumming in short jerky spasms against each other. They stood still. Knowing nothing. Feeling everything with their bodies. An out-of-this-world feeling enveloped them as their orgasms jerked on. Too soon, the pleasure ebbed away, leaving them stranded in the every day world.
Brad's flaccid penis slipped out of her soft, satisfied womb. It was dripping with secretions. Her vaginal opening looked dark and cavernous and shone wetly. He watched his now small organ slip ignobly back into his pants.
Angie stood up slowly, shakily. Her muscles ached. Her stomach felt filled with the hot wetness of his sperm. She stared at the wall in front of her, afraid to face Brad.
"Don't forget your panties," he said, holding them up to her.
She turned her head and their eyes met. His eyes showed neither cruelty nor laughter.
"Thanks," she whispered.
She looked at them. They were ripped down one side. She wiped her wet vaginal area and her thighs with them, then folded them and put them in her purse.
"You hair ribbon is falling out," Brad whispered.
Giggling, they helped each other dress and repair pair the damages. Before the left, Brad kissed her long and hard on the lips. Angie kissed him back hungrily.
"That's thanks for this time," Brad whispered. "Shall we have more on Friday?"
"Oh, yes!" Angie whispered back. "I like it now!"
Brad paid court to Angie all week. Always smiling, always gracious, always humble. They had long discussions in the quadrangle at lunch times. He carried her books between classes. He flattered her in front of the other students. Mary Jane and her crowd were green with envy at the attention she was getting.
Angie felt like a queen, what with Brad and his friends and Mary Jane and her friends all paying court to her. All thought of Doug went out of her mind. Now he seemed pitiful to her, walking around all hunched over, his eyes lonely and grieved. Brad and how this situation was going to end, she wasn't going to. Brad would never tell on her as long as he got repeat performances. And she intended to oblige him. Why not? They turned each other on like Roman candles. Why not enjoy each other?
On Friday afternoon after school, when she stepped inside the front door of her home, she heard her mother's voice. It sounded like it was coming from the direction of the kitchen. Angie tiptoed nearer to eavesdrop. She peeked and saw her mother talking into the telephone.
"… you're absolutely right!" her mother said, "they say teaching sex in the classroom will lessen ignorance of sex, reduce the numbers of illegitimate pregnancies, and reduce the incidence of venereal diseases. But I don't agree. I think teaching sex in the classroom will give the children more knowledge than they can handle. They'll get all excited about it and want to try it. It's too dangerous, teaching sex without teaching morality too. It just can't be done."
Her mother paused to listen momentarily.
"Oh, Moira! Did I tell you? I had the most wonderful experience last week. Angie and I had a very private discussion." She paused to giggle girlishly, "You guessed it! I told her all about it. It was such a memorable experience! Just think, I wouldn't have had it if I had let Angie go to those sex classes at school. I'd have been cheated out of it!"
If she only knew, Angie thought as she tiptoed away. What would she do to her? She couldn't imagine. Maybe I should quit, she thought. Play it safe. But, oh, how she'd hate to give up Brad, now that he was so hot for her.
Angie banged things about in her room, thoroughly annoyed with her mother. If she would only stop talking about sex, Angie thought angrily. She doesn't know anything about it. Why does she have to go and on? She makes me feel sick. I don't want to talk about it or hear about it or do it. Ever again.
That evening, Angie curled up on her bed with a good book, some chocolates, good resolutions, and Salome as she had planned. She even turned the stereo down to a medium rumble so she could concentrate on her reading. Even so, when the doorbell rang, she heard it immediately.
"I'm not going to answer it," she said out loud to Salome. She cuddled the cat closer to her and petted it immediately.
Salome began to purr loudly.
The doorbell continued to ring at intervals. Then Angie could hear loud knocks on the door.
I don't care who it is. Let them go hang, she thought. Especially her mother and Doug and even Brad.
But the ringing doorbell and the knocks began to jangle her nerves. She endured it patiently as long as she could; then she became upset. "Whoever it is has no right to bother me. I'll call the police," Angie told Salome. "I'm going to tell them."
She marched down the hall righteously. "Hey!" she shouted. "Stop banging on this door. Stop ringing the doorbell. Or I'll call the police."
"Let me in," a boy's voice called. "Please. I just want to talk to you."
"Who is it?" Angie called. She tiptoed to a living room window and peeked around a curtain. It was Brad. And he had two friends with him! How dare he bring his friends! Who did he think he was! She tiptoed back to the door.
"Me!" the voice said.
"Who's me?" Angie called out.
"Can't you recognize my voice?"
"Don't you know your name?" Angie countered. "Or does it begin with B?"
"B?"
"Yes. B for bastard."
"Open up; I'll surprise you."
"Get lost, Brad," Angie said impatiently. "I know it's you. I saw you through the curtain. You'd better leave or I'll call the police."
Angie stood behind the door and listened. The footsteps moved around on the porch a little, then they seemed to walk away. She smiled to herself and went back to her room.
The excitement at the door had spoiled her contented mood. The book and the chocolates and Salome had lost their appeal. Her mind strayed hopelessly. The slightest sound interrupted her reading. The wind sighed in the trees and sounded ineffably sad. The house creaked. Loneliness seemed to creep out of its gloomy corners and sit watching her.
"My parents have been going out Friday nights for a long time," Angie told Salome. "I've never felt this frightened before."
She hugged the cat to her and listened for the next noises.
When she heard the doorbell ring again, she felt almost relieved. She padded down the hall to the front door.
Angie called out. "I'm going to count to ten. If you're not gone by then, I'll call the police, Brad."
"I'm not Brad," a muffled voice called back.
"Who is it?" Angie sneaked around to the window but the person was standing close to the front door and out of her range of vision.
"Doug," the voice said indistinctly.
"Who?" Angie called. The voice didn't sound like him.
"Doug," the voice said a little clearer.
The tone was funny. Maybe he's been smoking pot, Angie thought. Or maybe he's been drinking. The desire to tell him off good overcame her.
"You don't think I've forgiven you already, do you?" Angie ranted.
The second she opened the door a foot stepped in the crack. Angie looked up into Brad's grinning face.
"But you have already forgiven me, remember?" Brad said laughing.
Angie threw her body against the door violently, hoping to crush the foot.