Chapter #20A Night and Day in the Life of Steve Patterson by: Seuzz   You slip out to your car long enough to drop the Yumi mask in the back seat and return to the party. Who do you want? Someone new; someone you didn't have to socialize with; somehow who'd be easy to ...
Bingo.
With a grunt you sweep a squealing Cassie Harper up onto your shoulder. It's a good thing she's so small, because even with Patterson's strength she's hard to hold up with one arm.
"How's the air up there?" you ask.
"It's great," she laughs. "How's it down there?"
"Thick. Watch your head." You push through an outside door to a patio where lots of people are partying by the light of tiki torches. You go off to a far corner and with a soft grunt of relief drop her to the ground.
She laughs as you lay down on the grass, leaning back on your elbows and spreading your legs invitingly. You pat your stomach. "Come talk to me."
"Mmmm," she says. "I think I better keep my distance."
"I don't bite."
"That's not what I hear!" But she sits down nearby.
You make no reply, just look her up and down thoughtfully. Cassie Harper is a slip of a thing. She's not popular, either, being a compulsive chatterbox. Not pretty, especially. But you can have your fun and throw her away after. She seems awed that you're paying attention to her. "You can touch me if you want," you tell her.
"Maybe I don't want."
"No? Not even a little?" She shrugs helplessly, and pinches the front of your shirt and giggles. "Oh, you can do better than that." She giggles again, and presses a fingertip against your stomach.
"Let's play a game" you say, worming closer to her. "Wherever you touch me, I get to touch you. So ..." You take a tiny pinch at her blouse. You press a fingertip against her stomach. She squeaks. "You go first. You set the rules." You're being Nice Steve with her; she wouldn't like Nasty Steve. He'll come out to play later ...
"Well ... " Her finger inches toward your chest, and then she flinches and blushes. "Ooh! That's not fair. There are more places on you than— Oh God!" She buries her face in her hands.
You gently pull her hands down. "Touch me here." You brush the side of your nose. She grins madly and touches you. You lightly stroke her nose with your fingertip, lingeringly. Her face is covered in freckles. "How long does it take you to put those on in the morning?" She grimaces. "What's wrong? They're adorable. You need more of them. I wanna kiss each one."
She throws her head back and rocks, her mouth open with delight. She comes in closer and puts her hand on your hip. You put your hand on hers. You soon have your arms wrapped around each other, touching each others' faces with your noses.
"Yo, Patterson, rock on, dude!" a voice calls. You feel Cassie flinch and pull away.
You hop onto your feet in a crouched position. "You lookin' to get yourself fucked up good and hard?" you call back coldly. It's Martin Gardinhire, one of the debate team dweebs who's always trying to act cool.
He gapes and his friends turn away. "I didn't mean— I just—"
"I didn't mean, I just!" You jeer back. "You just thought you'd bust in and embarrass the girl I'm with."
"No! I—"
"You know what I did to the last guy who busted in on me?" You rise to your full height and loom over him. "I pulled his pants down, wrote 'Pussy' on his ass cheek with an indelible marker, and drew an arrow to his asshole. And then for a week I made sure he took a shower every day at the end of P.E." Actually, that's what Patterson and Lynch did to a chess club kid who made the mistake of not sharing his math homework with them, but whatever. "He was one my best friends, too. Imagine what I'm gonna do to you." He stumbles back and away. "Gardinhire! I know where your locker is, and we're not done with this!"
You feel Cassie plucking at your side, and you wheel around and cradle her. "Come on, let's get out of here," you murmur. She is reluctant, and you have to tug her toward a side gate and out into the field next to the Farris'. Outside, she hangs back, and you gently press your hands against the sides of her head until she relaxes and lets you lead her back to your car.
You climb in the back seat and are quickly able to escalate the makeout session until the clothes are off and cock and pussy have gotten acquainted. She loves the first time and the cuddle afterward. She's a little more reluctant to do it a second time, so afterward you loose Nasty Steve from his leash, to gnaw and worry and nip all over her. It gets her excited, but when you pry her legs apart for a third go she pulls away.
"Well, if that's enough for you it's enough for me," you say with a sigh and start to put your clothes back on. She says nothing. "What, you're gonna wait till I throw you out to get dressed," you roughly ask.
"Are we, you know ..." She stammers.
"You're not bad, but you need more practice. I can give you the names of some specialists if you like."
She sits quietly for a moment, then grabs up her clothes and jumps from the car. You wait until she's pulled most of them on and started running back to the house before climbing into the front seat. They warn each other all the time about you, Patterson, you think to yourself, shaking your head and grinning. Why don't they ever listen?
* * * * *
Sunday is church. Happily, Steve and his friends patronize Our Lady of Perpetual Pussy and Booze. That's the name for your Sunday morning sessions up in the loft over the high school gym. It's one of the little perks Coach Porter gives his star players: one key to the outside gym door and another to the storage space over the weight room. The administration knows about the first key—it's supposed to be for extra practice or something—but not the second. Presumably it's the coach who leaves the occasional bottle of Jim Beam up there for his boys, along with some of the harder-to-acquire porn magazines.
Lynch and Black are already there when you heave yourself to the top and flop onto a dirty gym mat. "Faugh! Were you up here jacking off last night, Lynch? It stinks like you."
"Bite me, Patterson." He jaw works, not over your taunt but over the pictures he's ogling. The intense blue eyes look like they're drilling laser holes through the pages.
"How was Cassie?" Black glances up from his magazine to scrutinize the picture Lynch has turned to show him. He shakes his head.
"Tight, man. Like, she was screaming and I was hurting. Not fun."
"Huh." He hasn't been listening. He shakes his head over another one of Lynch's pictures. "Christ, I need fresh meat," he mutters.
"Why don't you dump Chelsea, you moron. She's turning into more and more of psycho." You shake your head over the Cindy/Seth business. That was bad stuff; if Gordon were any more pussy-whipped ...
"Shut up. I just need someone who isn't her." He reaches out to take the magazine from Lynch, and snaps his chewing gum appreciatively as he drinks the photo in.
"So lemme set you up here again." You retrieve a warm beer from the corner. "That handcuff and blindfold trick was gangbusters. Irene still doesn't know it was you who took her between sessions with me."
"You'd set me up if you weren't so gay for Black," Lynch mutters darkly.
"Oh, cram it with prairie oysters, Lynch." You crack open the beer and take a long swig.
Gordon pulls the gum from his mouth with a lascivious slurp and presses it against the photo, between the model's cock-greedy legs. He shapes it with his fingers and thumbnail into a hairless pussy and clit. He sniffs it hungrily. Then he passes it back to Lynch. "There you go," he jeers. "That should be small enough she can feel you when you go in."
It's an open secret that Jason Lynch has one of the smallest cocks anyone at the school has ever seen. He hurls himself on Gordon with a snarl. He's strong, and he's on top, and he soon has Black at his mercy. But Black says nothing, just sneers up into his face.
"If you're done trying to cum against Black's leg," you tell Lynch in a bored voice, "you should get off him before I help him kick your ass. There's two of us and only one of you. Six of us and half of you, if you want to turn it into a cock-slapping contest."
Lynch swears a blistering string and stalks off to the far wall, to sulk while staring out the window.
"Lynch has a point," Gordon grins. "If we can't get him laid soon—"
"Fuck you!" he shouts. He looks back out the window and does a double take. "Holy shit! It's Lucy Vredenburg!"
"I'm gonna come over and knock your teeth out with my cock hammer if you don't put a sock in your shit," you yell. You snatch up a magazine impatiently; you are hungry to look at a girl.
"Great," Lynch jeers. "Just more of her for me to stare at."
You and Gordon exchange a quick glance and scramble over. Sure enough, Lucy Vredenburg is down in the parking lot. She carries an open bag from the top of which protrudes one of Blackwell's astrolabes.
The fuck is going on?  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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