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Senior Year

Teen
2004-08-14

"You know who I wanna fuck?"

Dave took a bite of pizza and made a yummy sound.

A bunch of us - Ron, Dave, Mark, Brett, Clancy, Byron, K. C. and I, all raised our eyebrows. We were hanging out at Ron’s after school and instantly the tide of the conversation had turned from cheap beer and pizza to more important matters.

"Who?" Ron asked.

Dave smacked his lips.

"Mrs. Jennings. "

Ron let out a low whistle.

"Fuck, yeah. " Clancy agreed.

Brett blushed. "Seriously? But. . .

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  but she’s a teacher!"

Everybody laughed at him; the young, weak member of the herd. Mark sensed blood, and went for the kill.

"Brett, you must be a homo," he goaded.

"What? No I’m not!" Brett whined.

"Virgin?"

Brett’s cheeks turned flaming red, but he kept quiet; all but admitting to the damning accusation. Mark grinned happily. Brett Baiting was his favorite past-time, and Brett rarely failed to supply fresh material for him.

"’Cause if you wouldn’t fuck Mrs. Jennings, you’re either that or a fag. "

"Shut up!"

"’She’s a teacher,’" Mark mimicked. "I’d never fuck a teacher!’" He turned back to Dave and threw his two cents into the conversation. "She’s hot. But you know who’s got better tits? Mrs. Carmichael. "

"Oh God, yeah," said Clancy.

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   "Nice ass too. What about you, Ron?"

Ron thought about it. "I dunno. I like my women skinny. Mrs. Carmichael’s a little too thick for me. I think Mrs. Daly’s kinda cute; she’s got that sweet little ass, I’d just like to grab on and. . . " Ron wrapped his hands around an imaginary ass and fucked the air. "I’d fuck her for hours, man. "

We all agreed on that one.

"Yeah," nodded K. C.

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   "Dave and I have her for third-period Lit. " He giggled and poked his hands out of his t-shirt, like he had boobs. "The air-conditioning in her room’s fucked up. It’s stuck on, so it’s always freezing in there. Her nipples are always poking out through her shirt. "

"They look like they could poke out your eyeballs. " Dave mimed one of Mrs. Carmichaels’ tits jabbing him in the eye.

Everybody laughed again. Even Brett.

"I’d do Mrs. Gray," said Byron.

Dave scrunched up his nose and scowled. Mark and K. C.

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   looked stumped.

"Who?"

Byron grinned, his white teeth flashing against his dark face. "You all will never guess. "

"The old cranky bitch in the office?" Dave looked mystified. "The one you said you’d give me a dollar if I could get her to smile?"

"Yep. " Byron grabbed his crotch. "I’d get her to smile. I got her smile right here. Know what I mean? Har, har, har!"

Light dawned in Mark’s eyes. "The Attendance Nazi?"

Byron was pretending to slurp boobage. "Nobody said you gotta like the bitches to fuck ‘em. Mrs. Gray’s got those great, big - POW! - titties, man. I’d get on up behind that fat old ass, grab on ’ta them titties, and - BAM!" He pounded the air with his hips. "Hate fuck th’ old cooze.

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   Right there at the counter. "

"Bet’cha that’s why she’s there. " Mark said.

Byron pumped away. "What’cha mean, man?"

"You never see her or Principal Nelson around during the afternoon, do you? I bet he keeps her there, just to fuck her during lunchtime. "

We all cracked up.

"Yeah," agreed Clancy. "He’s probably like, ‘Mrs. Gray, pardon me, but can you step into my office for a moment?’, and she’s like, ‘Why Mr. Nelson, of course. ’ And then he makes her suck him off under his desk, saying shit like, ‘You like my big, donkey-dick, don’t you Mrs. Gray’. And she says more shit back, like, ‘Mrghphrn, mh-hmm’, while she’s busy bouncing her head up and down. " He bobbed his head, poking his tongue into his cheek and made wet smacking sounds with his lips.

K.

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  C. chimed in. "And then he spooges all over her wrinkly tits, and tells her to go back to work and yell at all the crummy teenagers. "

Ron laughed so hard, I thought he was gonna puke all over the pepperoni. Dave turned to me and grinned.

"You’re awfully quiet, Dev. You used to get all the pussy you wanted, with Cara an’ all. But who’d you fuck now, if you got the shot?"

I felt a slow grin spread across my face, and I looked at each of the guys before answering.

"That’s easy. Ms. Bell. "

"What?" Ron asked.

"Seriously?" Chimed in Brett.

I nodded, my smile getting bigger.

"The French teacher?" asked Byron

"Yeah.

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   Well, my Spanish teacher now. "

Mark started laughing.

"The Bride of Frankenstein?"

He wasn’t kidding. Ms. Bell was kinda weird.

She insisted on the kids in her classes calling her Ms . Bell (‘NOT Mrs. !’), or by her first name: Linda. She was pale enough to make me think she never stepped outside; and the pancake makeup, black eyeliner and bright red lipstick she favored contrasted with her curly, jet black hair, which she wore piled up in mounds on top of her head. And she was really tall; even taller than most of the guys on our school basketball team.

I had the hots for her because she always wore either full-length dresses or tight skirts with nice, silky blouses, black stockings and ‘fuck-me’ heels. For some reason, she always looked really sexy to me. Maybe it was because I got off on old monster movies. I dunno.

I took two years of French with her.

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   Both my freshman and sophomore years.

And I sucked. To this day, I can’t speak a fucking word of French. But I have to give Ms. Bell credit; she worked her ass off with me. She made time for me after school, and somehow I managed to pass her class both years. And all those hours after school, sitting next to her, smelling her perfume, watching her luscious ass wiggle when she wrote on the chalkboard, listening to her speak the ‘language of love’ (as my mom called it), well. . .

Somewhere during those two years, I guess I developed a schoolboy crush.

So when my counselor, Mrs. Neidermeyer, told me that I had to take another language credit if I wanted to graduate, I remembered all those afternoons spent trying to catch quick, tantalizing glimpses of Ms. Bells’ bra or the soft skin between her breasts.

I told Mrs. Neidermeyer that I liked Ms.

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   Bell. That was exactly how I said it. And she replied that Ms. Bell was teaching both French and Spanish this year. I could choose one of her classes, or I could try one of the other two languages the school offered.

I had a choice.

I absolutely didn’t want to suffer through another year of French, and no way was I going to try Japanese, so it boiled down to picking between the German class, with old Mr. Bromberg (and his halitosis and dandruff), or Ms. Bell and Spanish.

My girlfriend - Cara - took German the year before, and told me that after the second month they weren’t allowed to speak any English in class at all.

Fuck that. It wasn’t a hard decision to make.

Unfortunately, I sucked almost as badly with Spanish as I did with French. Fortunately, they were similar enough and I seemed to have retained enough from my French classes that I was muddling through. And Ms.

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   Bell seemed really excited to see me back, and offered to help me out again if I needed it.

This year, one of the football jocks started calling her ‘the Bride of Frankenstein’ after she came to school with a white, wavy streak that ran right up the side of her head, all the way through her thick black hair.

The nickname stuck, and now all the kids whispered it behind her back. She’d earned a couple other names, too. But I still got a huge fucking boner whenever she smiled at me.

Anyway. . . back to the discussion in progress.

"The Bride of Frankenstein?"

Everybody was staring at me like I’d snotted a baseball out of my nose.

"Yeah. " I said.

"Seriously?"

Brett again. Mark hucked a beer at me.

"No fuckin’ way!"

I grinned at the guys and cracked the beer.

 

   Dave was staring at me, openmouthed.

"You’re serious!"

"Yup. "

He squinted at me and cocked his head. Ron caught the meaning in my grin too.

"You. . . you didn’t fuck her. Did you?"

I raised my beer in a toast, and everybody exploded with questions.

"Don’t lie to me, motherfucker. " Dave was grinning from ear to ear. "You’re telling me you fucked Vampira?"

That was another one of her nicknames, and just as appropriate as ‘the Bride of. . . ’.

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I shrugged and smiled.

"This I gotta hear. "

They all leaned in closer. So I took a long sip, savoring the moment, and swished the cold beer around in my mouth.

I gave them the short version. The one designed to impress teenage boys.

Some things aren’t meant for even your closest friends to know. Not all of this story, anyway.

My fucked up, senior year sex life.

So here it goes. The whole story.

It started on a Friday afternoon at the beginning of the school year, right after the last bell of the day.

I had Spanish for my last class, and I’d said goodbye to Ms. Bell and met K. C.

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   in the hall.

We walked to our lockers together. I was idly spinning the dial on mine, waiting for Cara to pop by before her mom picked her up. K. C. was noisily listening to his walkman at the locker next to mine, jamming out to some serious funk, dancing and singing out loud, when Cara walked up and kissed me on the cheek.

Then she broke up with me.

"Seriously?" I knew that I sounded like Brett, but I didn’t care. I had my pride, after all, and I wasn’t going to take this lying down. "You’re breaking up with me to go out with Keith?"

I wasn’t yelling yet, but I was close.

"I can’t fucking believe this. "

I knew Keith, a little. He was a big dork who kinda ran in our circle of friends, but way out on the edge. Right now, he was hanging out with the jocks and the cheerleaders down the hall, waiting for Cara to finish up with me, I guess.

"Look, don’t be mad.

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   I don’t want to do this either, Dev. "

Yeah, sure. She didn’t look upset about this at all. In fact, she looked almost happy .

"But he’s a really nice guy. "

Keith was busy scamming one of the cheerleaders, slobbering all over the front of her sweater.

"Cara, he fucking drools . "

Cara rolled her eyes at me.

"Don’t be such a baby. "

"I hear he’s got a really big dick, too. " K. C. had turned his walkman down to a dull roar when he noticed I was getting worked up. "That wouldn’t have anything to do with this, would it? Hmmn?"

"Fuck you, K. C.

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  "

I grinned maliciously at my buddy.

"Are you saying she’s breaking up with me ‘cause I’ve got a little dick?"

He shrugged into his coat and started stuffing homework into his backpack.

"Nope. Never. Uh-uh. No way. Why would I say something like that? You hurt me with your huge man-meat everyday after gym. Heh. "

K. C. cracked up, trying to smooch me. Then he pinned me to my locker and started dry-humping my leg.

"Oh baby, oh baby!" He cackled.

"Knock it off!" I laughed, trying to push him off me.

"You jerks.

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   Shit. Sorry I even tried. " Cara threw up her hands and stomped away.

She ignored the cheerleaders glaring at her and grabbed Keith by the arm, dragging him in her wake.

He smiled and waved back at me

Prick.

"Ahh. Don’t worry. She’s a dumb twat anyway. " K. C. watched her go, and then slapped my back. "Who needs a drink?"

I sighed. "She was my dumb twat. "

Cara jumped up on Keith’s back. He ran down the hall, slobbering and giggling like a girl, with her bouncing on his shoulders.

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"Not anymore. " He turned and zipped the backpack.

"Kinda harsh, man. "

I glared at my friend and he shrugged. "It’s a harsh world, Dev. Looks like somebody wants to talk to you. " He was staring over my shoulder when a silky smooth female voice startled me.

"Devin?"

I jumped, and turned to find Ms. Bell standing right behind me, smiling.

"Oh, Jeez. " I grinned up at her.

In her heels, the top of my head was barely even with the tip of her nose. And I wasn’t a small kid. She looked nice today, kinda sexy, dressed in a tight black skirt that was slit a little way up her thigh, and a sheer, low-cut white blouse.

I tried not to stare at the lace from her bra, just poking over the top of her blouse.

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"Could I borrow you for a little while? Maybe half an hour?" She asked. "I need help moving some boxes for tomorrow. "

"Uh, sure. I guess so. " I looked over at K. C. .

"Have fun," he adjusted his earphones, cranked up the volume on his stereo and left me alone in the hall with one of the scariest teachers in school, just minutes after my girlfriend of the last three months, two weeks and four days left me hangin’ and ran off with the Drooler.

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"It’s this way," Ms. Bell said over her shoulder. I followed just a little behind her, so I could watch her juicy ass swish in her skirt. "You don’t know how much I appreciate the help. These boxes are really heavy, and the supply guy always sticks the ones I need on the very top shelves. "

She turned a little when she spoke, and I snapped my gaze up to her face.

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   She caught me looking, I think, but she smiled and I blushed a little.

"Here we are. "

She stopped by the door to a storeroom that was a couple halls over from my locker and picked through a batch of keys. She unlocked the door and ushered me inside. The door shut behind us with a click, and I could hear her breathing next to me in the dark.

I took a long, slow breath of my own, smelling her sweet perfume. Memories of all those days sitting alone with her in class came rushing back. Then she swore and I heard something heavy fall over.

"Shit. Oh. . . sorry. I didn’t say that. "

I laughed a little as she rustled around.

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"I can never find the light switch in here. "

Something soft bumped into my hip.

"Oops. Sorry. "

Her arm brushed against mine, and when the soft material of her blouse touched my skin, my dick went berserk.

Then the lights went on.

We were in a small room lined from the floor to the ceiling with shelving overflowing with boxes of school supplies. Ms. Bell grinned at me and pointed at a light hand-truck leaning against the wall.

"We’ll put the boxes on that, so you don’t have to carry them. "

"Okay. "

She pulled out a stepladder and climbed up, balancing on her tippy-toes. Her high heels made her a little wobbly as she stretched out and tugged on a cardboard box.

I couldn’t understand how she could walk in those things, much less stand on a ladder, but she managed it. From my view, her long legs seemed to go on forever, and I stood like an idiot, watching.

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   The hem of her blouse pulled out of the band of her skirt as she stretched and pulled, and I was treated to a nice, if quick, glimpse of her soft, creamy white belly.

She managed to lever the box off the shelf, and almost dropped it on my head. Somehow I managed to catch it; a feat that was just as impressive as her climbing the ladder in her heels. Her hands flew to her mouth with equal parts concern and embarrassment.

"Oh, God! Devin, I’m sorry! Are you okay?"

I plopped the box on the floor next to the hand-truck and shoved it into place with my foot.

"Yeah. . . " I grunted. "I’m fine. Are you sure you don’t want me to do that instead?"

She was already busy tugging on another box.

"I. . . think.

 

  . . I’m okay. . . "

By the time I’d dropped the first box on the hand-truck, she was stretched out full-length, with one foot lifted off the ladder. Her shoe slipped off her foot and dangled from her toes, and she grunted as she pulled and wiggled the box, trying to slide it to the edge of the shelf.

"I’ve. . . uff. . . had to do this. .

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  . by myself. . . uff. . . for the last. . . uhhff. . . few weeks. .

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  . " She gave the box a good, hard tug, and her hands slipped. "Hooo. . . !"

The heavy box fell, almost knocking the ladder over. It teeter-tottered precariously one way, then the other, and she lurched backwards with her arms pin-wheeling for balance. I couldn’t reach the ladder in time to support her, and she slipped and fell, her arms spinning wildly.

Her ass smacked me dead in the face.

As I’ve said, I’m not a small kid, and I’m in pretty good shape. I’ve been on the varsity wrestling team since my freshman year, and I work out or play basketball almost every day. But the impact of her butt mashing into my face snapped my head back, hard.

"Ooomph!"

Somehow, I managed to catch her around her waist and let her slide - slowly - down. She ‘ooophed’ too, and when she was safely on the floor, I held her still until she got her breath back. I tried to block out the pain that was shooting back into my skull from my nose, but I knew there were tears in my eyes when she finally turned around.

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"Oh, God! Devin! Are you okay? You’re bleeding!"

She touched the tip of my nose, softly, with her fingertip. I jerked my head away and hissed in pain.

"I’m fine. Really. Just. . . don’t do that again. "

I gently ran my hand over my nose. It was tender and swelling and my eyes were still watering, but nothing felt broken or dislocated.

I’ve had a few accidents during my wrestling career, and this wasn’t bad.

I could live with having her butt shoved into my face.

"Are you sure? I heard you grunt like. . .

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  "

"No, really. I’m okay. " I wiped the blood away and pushed her back at arms length, in case she got any other ideas. "How about you?"

She looked herself up and down, and nodded.

"I’m all right. "

"Good," I said, and started up the ladder. The damn thing never tipped over. "My turn now. Just stand back and I’ll finish getting this loaded up. " I yanked the crummy box of the shelf and walked back down the ladder. "How many of these do you need?"

Five heavy boxes later, I parked the hand-truck in her classroom and left the boxes next to her desk.

"That’s perfect," she said. "Here. "

She gave me the keys to the storage room and I took back the truck while she started unpacking. By the time I got back to her room, she was working on the second box.

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"Ms. Bell? Is there anything else I can do for you?" I asked, dropping her keys on her desk. "It’s kinda late, and I think I missed my bus. I should probably get going. "

She looked up from the mountain of packing Styrofoam and smiled, gracing me with a great tit shot, right down her blouse. I couldn’t help staring. Her breasts jiggled in her bra as she dumped the static-sticky little peanuts into a big plastic garbage bag. They were a lot bigger than I’d thought.

This time I was sure she caught me looking.

"Linda. Please. We’ve known each other long enough that you can call me Linda. ‘Ms. Bell’ is starting to make me feel old, like I’m the goofy old neighborhood lady who lives in the big, creepy house with a dozen cats and talks to herself. " She laughed self-consciously, like she knew what kids said about her, and held up the bag.

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   "Here. If you help me unpack this stuff, I’ll give you a ride home. "

"Really?"

"As long as you don’t mind riding with your teacher. "

"Sure, okay. " I said, my eyes threatening to drift back down to her cleavage. I half-wished she’d sit up, but my dick informed me that I was an idiot to ever think that, and advised me to enjoy the view.

I think she eyed my bulging crotch - just for a second - and smiled before going back to work.

 

About forty-five minutes later, we pulled up to the curb in front of my house in her old VW beetle.

It was still light out, and warm, but the leaves were turning gold and crimson and air had the crisp feel of fall. She hunched down, leaned over me and peered out of the passenger window to admire my house. My dick almost ripped out of my jeans, and I literally got dizzy as the blood drained from my head. Her soft hair brushed my chin as I opened the door and stepped out.

"See you Monday Ms. Bell. " Somehow, I managed a weak smile.

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"Linda. "

I grinned and my dick twitched like a snake that’s just had its head chopped off.

"Right. Sorry. " I agreed. "Linda. "

"Thanks again Devin. Sorry I squished you. "

I wanted to climb back into her car and tell her that she could squish me anytime she wanted. But instead I blushed and shut the car door.

She waved and I stepped back onto the sidewalk.

I live in an older neighborhood, full of big, old bungalows and Victorians. Our house is on a corner lot at the bottom of a hill. Just a few blocks away there’s an elementary school with a big public park, and a popular golf course that takes up several city blocks.

The mother of one of my old friends appeared at the top of the hill, just as Linda beeped her horn and turned the corner.

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I met John and his little brother Steve at the park when I was five. My family used to live right across the street, and one day I was there, swinging, when John shoved his brother off the merry-go-round. His mom, Ingrid, yelled and punished him, and John shuffled dejectedly over to the swings.

We were the same age, and we were instant buddies.

Eventually my family moved, buying a house just two doors down from John and his folks.

John’s family, I discovered, were a little odd. They were the family that everybody else in the neighborhood talked about in hushed tones.

John’s dad just never spoke.

At all.

Both he and John’s mom were fitness fiends. Whenever I saw John’s dad, he was working out. Once, John showed me an old trophy that he claimed his dad won at a bodybuilding competition back in the seventies, and a blurry, black and white photo of a huge, muscle-bound guy that didn’t look anything like his dad.

John’s mom was from Germany. She and his dad met mountain climbing in Switzerland, and she moved back here with him after she got pregnant. She was a nurse in Germany, but had an awful time finding work here.

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They had a lousy marriage.

I think John was about seven when they divorced. His dad kept the house here, and she took the kids and moved back home.

A few years later (for some reason John could never figure out), they moved back, and John’s dad moved out. This time, Steve went to live with his dad. But John stayed with his mom, and he quickly turned into a thug.

John inherited his dad’s thick, muscular build and his mom’s height. By the time he was twelve he probably stood around six feet tall, and he was already into some serious drugs. That was when he started hanging out with a really rough crowd. He barely made it through his freshman year, and things just got worse, especially with his mom nagging him all the time. When he started ripping off cars and stealing to support his habit, we pretty much stopped hanging out.

He spent a lot of time in juvie, and his mom spent a lot of time crying, wondering what she did to turn him into the big, violent creep he was becoming.

My mom was always nice to Ingrid (unlike most of the other people who lived in the neighborhood), I think partly because she felt bad for her. She always called her Inga. To this day, I think I’m the only person outside of her family who knew her first name.

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Ingrid had few things in common with her ex-husband, as far as I could tell, except for their kids and excercise. She never failed to take a long walk every night around six or seven o’clock, when it started to cool down. Over this last summer, I usually saw her leave the house dressed in a little tank top, satin running shorts and tennis shoes. She wasn’t a pretty woman, really, but striking. She was tall, lean and long, graceful, and she carried herself with kind of a regal bearing, which is one reason I figured the neighbors didn’t like her; I think she threatened them. She wore her light blonde hair unflatteringly hacked off just above her shoulders, and always had a dissaproving, pinched look to her face, like she’d just tasted something sour.

I never noticed any effort by her to appear feminine or attractive.

But over the summer, the sun had turned her freckled skin a nice, golden brown, and her hair almost glowed with light blonde streaks. The pale blue satin shorts she wore on her walks emphasized the smooth muscles in her butt, legs and calves. And today, instead of her usual tank top, her perky breasts were packed into a white sports bra. Her footie-socks had little balls of blue cotton that bounced at the back of her sneakers as she loped down the hill towards me.

"Devin!" She greeted me with a smile and stopped to watch Linda drive away. "Who was that?"

"One of my teachers. I stayed late today to help her with some stuff, so she gave me a ride. "

"That was nice of her," she said.

 

  

"Yeah. Hey, how’s John?" I asked.

She frowned. Her German accent was thick when she finally answered.

"Johnny. . . Johnny was arrested again. "

I didn’t know what to say to that. John had been arrested continuously over the last few years.

"Really? I’m sorry. "

"He’s going to be sent to jail for. . . for a long time, I think.

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   He. . . " she swallowed; her thin lips trembled as if she were fighting back tears. "He was caught stealing a car, and he was full of the drugs. He fought a policeman! Did I raise my sons to be like this? To have no respect?"

I didn’t know what to say, so I shrugged. "I’m sure he’ll be okay, Ingrid. " Somehow, that seemed to calm her down. She sniffled and smiled at me.

"After, he doesn’t want to come back home. H says he’s going to live with his father, just like Stephen. I’ll never see my boys again. " She sniffled again and wiped her eyes. "You’re a good boy, Devin. I wish my Johnny would’ve been more like you.

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  "

I felt sorry for her. I think she tried to be a good mom. For some reason, I gave her a hug, and she collapsed against me and bawled like a baby on my shoulder.

"It’s all my fault," she sobbed. "I. . . I don’t know what to do. . . "

"I’m sorry. . . " I said, and rubbed her back. I felt her shoulder blades under her shirt, felt her body trembling against me, and I started to get horny.

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   My dick slowly pushed out of the top of my jeans, and I tried to back my hips away from her so she wouldn’t notice my boner.

Eventually, she cried herself out.

She wiped her eyes, smiled, and gave my cheek a little kiss.

My dick throbbed.

"Johnny’s going to be home this weekend to pack his things. You should come and have dinner with us and help me say goodbye. "

"Oh. Well. I don’t know. . . " I shuffled my feet and tried to back out of this as gracefully as I could.

"Please? You’re my Johnny’s best friend. I. .

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  . I don’t think I can. . . "

She started to cry again. I took her by the shoulders and gave her a little smile.

"Okay. Sure. I’ll be there. When?"

She sniffled again. "Tomorrow? I’ll send Johnny by?"

"Sure. Sounds good. "

"Thank you. Thank you, Devin. "

She smiled happily, and I swear, she almost skipped home.

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I exhaled with a whoosh.

"The shit I get myself into. " I laughed at myself, and went inside to jack off.

That afternoon I told my folks what was going on, and they both wished me luck. Ingrid’s an awful cook besides being a health fiend, and I’ve suffered through many an interesting meal over at John’s.

He used to live to spend the night at my house, just so he could eat normal food.

The first time he stayed with us, he ate two boxes of Fruity Puffs and a dozen donuts in one sitting. And God bless my mom. John loved her, partly because she always covered for his sugar high when he went home to soybean pancakes and tofu bacon.

Needless to say, I was not looking forward to dinner.

John ambled over around six o’clock. His eyes were puffy red slits and I could smell the pot cloud that surrounded him as soon as he stepped through the door. Having been a hippy in the sixties, my mom wasn’t a fool about drugs. She wrinkled her nose when John gave her a hug hello, but she smiled and they talked for a few minutes.

"Well.

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   You take care John. " She said, finally. I wanted to get going and get this over with.

She patted my shoulder and gave me an encouraging smile.

"Enjoy dinner. "

"S’up, Dev?" John bopped my fist.

I shook my head.

"Not much. "

What the hell do you say to a guy who you haven’t seen in three years, a day before he goes to jail? Have fun? Write soon?

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah, sure. What?"

He squinted at me and lit a cigarette.

"What the fuck did you say to my mom yesterday?"

"Huh?" I didn’t know what he was talking about.

"She’s all dressed up, like the fucking mom in Leave It to Beaver, dancing around the house with this shit-eating grin on her face. It’s like I’m going off to college instead a’ jail. " He took a deep drag and puffed out a swirling ring of smoke. "So what the fuck did you talk to her about, dude?"

"Nothing.

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   I just stood there. She talked. She was upset about you. "

He shook his head and took another deep drag, flicking ashes into the breeze. His cigarette was already half gone.

"Crazy. "

We reached his house just as it was getting dark. John reached over and unlatched the gate to their driveway. The gate swung in with a squeal, and we stood outside while he finished his smoke.

"You ready for dinner?"

I grinned. At least we still had this in common.

"I dunno. What’s cooking?"

He grinned back, dropped his smoldering butt on the cement and ground it out with the toe of his boot.

"Some nasty shit. " He sighed.

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   "You’d think I could at least get a real fuckin’ dinner on my last night here. "

He clapped me on the shoulder.

"C’mon in. I’ve still gotta pack up some stuff. We can toke out for a while ‘till the shit’s ready. "

The side door opened onto a landing which led in two directions: downstairs, where John’s dad used to keep his weights, and up a few steps to a swinging door and the main floor of the house.

John hopped up the steps and smacked the door open.

"Hey, Ma! Devin’s here!"

He led me down a short hallway, and whispered, "Check her out. "

I peeked around the corner. Ingrid was in the kitchen, a daisy-decorated potholder pulled over her hand, bent over the open stove, giving me a nice view of her ass.

John wasn’t kidding.

Ingrid was wearing a black dress with a full skirt that was a good thirty years out of fashion, with black stockings and heels. She’d curled the tips of her hair, and a string of tiny pearls gleamed around her neck. I could see a matching set of earrings under her bobbed hair. She stood up and almost floated over to me, her skirt swirling around her long legs.

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   She gave me a bone-crushing hug, and a flowery perfume over-powered the rancid smell of whatever was cooking in the stove.

She saw me and broke into a giddy smile.

"Devin! I’m so glad you could come tonight!"

John rolled his bloodshot eyes and I stiffly patted her back.

"C’mon, Mom. Let Dev go. We’re gonna head upstairs ‘till dinner’s done, okay?"

Ingrid let me out of her clinch, and grinned.

"Good, good. Dinner will be ready soon. "

"Cool. C’mon up, Dev. "

I followed John up to his room. He pushed open his door and crashed on his filthy bed. I settled into the captain’s chair by his battered old desk while he lit up a huge bong and took a hit. The aroma didn’t smell like pot to me, but I guessed that I could of been mistaken; it’d been a long while since I’d smoked anything.

"See what I mean?" He grunted, and offered me a puff.

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I took a nice long hit, held the smoke in for a second, and coughed.

"Yeah. "

Definitely not pot. Whatever it was though, it was nice and smooth.

John opened a window and waved for the bong.

"Should you be doing that?" I asked. "I mean, y’know, since you’re. . . "

"Going to jail?" He grinned and puffed away. "Shit. What’re they gonna do, bust me again?"

I shrugged and looked at the bong.

"What is that stuff?"

He kicked off his shoes.

"Hash. "

My eyes popped open.

 

  

"S’matter? Don’t you like it?"

I was already feeling pretty good.

"It’s. . . it’s not bad. "

He blew smoke out the window and laughed.

"What?"

He laughed harder.

"I bet you could fuck her. "

"Who?"

"My mom. "

He must be stoned, I thought, and giggled.

"No way. "

John rolled over on his back and pillowed his head in his hands. He grinned at me and wiggled his feet.

"Yeah. I bet you could.

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   She’s got the fuckin’ hots for you, dude. That’s probably why she’s all dressed up. "

"Naw. "

"Think about it. She’s wearing fucking nylons, man. I haven’t seen her dressed like this since. . . since. . . " He stared at the ceiling, trying to remember. "Fuck. Forever, dude. I think I remember her an’ my dad going out to dinner once when I was little.

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   For an anniversary, maybe? I dunno. It’s been a long fuckin’ time. "

"Quit shitting me. "

"I’m not. You know what?" He grinned and hiccupped. "She’s got some nice titties. "

I felt my eyes bug out, and my jaw dropped.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"No, seriously. Dude, I’ve seen her when she gets out of the shower, after she gets back from her walks. She’s got nice tits. Her ass is okay, too. " He laughed again. "You thinkin’ she doesn’t shave?"

I blinked at him. "What?"

He shrugged. "Well, y’know.

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   She’s German an’ all. But she shaves her pits and her legs. Really. I know her face’s butt-ugly, but you could just bend her over the counter and. . . "

Just then, a soft knock at the door. I pushed the bong behind my chair as Ingrid poked her head into the room.

"Dinner’s ready! Why don’t you boys wash up?"

John was giggling so hard he couldn’t talk, so I piped up.

"We’ll be down in a minute. "

Ingrid smiled happily and we heard her heels clicking down the wood stairs.

"She’s not that ugly. . . " I started, and John burst out laughing.

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"HA!" His feet flopped around. "You would fuck her!"

"John, she’s your mom, man. What the hell are you talking about?"

A light went on behind his bleary eyes.

"Dude! I know! Here, I’ll get something to help you. "

He rolled back over and slid off his bed. There was a small door next to his desk that led to a storage area that ran along the entire side of the house. When we were kids, it was our secret agent hide-out. For the last few years, John used it to hide his stash.

"Here," he said, and shoved a big, folded cardboard box at me.

I opened it up.

"Holy crap. John. "

"I’m not gonna need any of that shit for a while. It’s all yours. "

"Look man, I can’t.

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  . . "

"Yeah, yeah. Yeah you can. Use it to fuck her. There’s at least a years worth of acid and a bunch of other shit in there. Some dude gave me a ton of that date rape drug too. Where the fuck did I put it. . . "

He dug around in the box and pulled out blotters of acid, little packets of stuff that looked like sugar, and baggies of white powder and pot. He found a packet of the sugary stuff, shook it and stuffed it in his pocket, grinning wickedly.

"That should do it. C’mon. We’ll get her fucked up.

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   If we’re lucky, we won’t even have to eat the crap she made. "

He scrambled up.

"You’re gonna drug your mom. " I shook my head.

"Yep. And we’re gonna screw her. "

"What? You. . . "

"Dude. I’m horny. Pussy’s pussy. And I ain’t gonna be gettin’ any for a long fucking time. "

I sat there with the open box in my lap.

"C’mon Dev.

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   Let’s go. "

Ingrid fussed as we got ready to eat.

"Johnny, you sit here, and Devin, you sit there. . . "

John got the chair at the head of the table. His mom sat to his right, across from me. She spread her napkin in her lap and smiled at me, then bent her head to say grace. I watched John roll his eyes and whisper obscenities at her until she finished.

She looked up and smiled. The table looked as dressed up and ready for a formal party as she did.

"Okay. Johnny, will you serve us, please?"

John grinned at me.

"Yeah, sure mom. " He picked up a large, covered serving dish, and paused.

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   "Hey, mom, could you get me one of those big fork things?"

"Oh. " She looked around the table. "I thought I laid out. . . "

"Nope. "

"I’ll be right back. "

She left her napkin and walked back to the kitchen. John pulled out the little packet from his pocket and tore it open, then dumped the powder into her glass of water.

"John!" I whispered. "Shit! Don’t. . . "

He grinned and held his finger up to his lips, then used it to stir her water. He gave me a thumbs-up, and pulled a serving fork out from under the table.

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"Hey, mom! I found it!"

Ingrid clicked back in from the kitchen.

"It was here all the time. "

He pulled the cover off the platter and wrinkled his nose. Steam rose from what looked like dirt brown sawdust that had been formed into something resembling pork chops.

"Smells. . . good. " My stomach flip-flopped when John handed me my plate of. . . stuff. "What, uh, what’s for dinner?"

Ingrid beamed.

"Soy steaks. I know you boys like meat, but it’s so bad for you.

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   This is much better. It’s good food for you. It will help you be strong men. Don’t wait for me. . . go ahead. " She waved her hands in the air. "Eat. "

John was busy staring at his plate, poking at the brown crap with his fork. He looked as queasy as I felt. But I took a bite, and somehow managed to choke it down between gulps of water.

I reached for the pitcher in the middle of the table and re-filled my glass.

"Whew!" Thank God John hadn’t poured the drugs into the pitcher. I was going to need a lot of water to get this shit down.

 

  

"Good, yes?" Ingrid took a dainty bite and smiled.

I was struggling to appear gracious in the face of desperation. So I hope I can be forgiven for forgetting about the drugs in her water, at least for the moment.

Ingrid reached for her glass and guzzled half of it before I could say anything.

John grinned at his plate of slop.

Nothing I can do now, I thought. So I crossed my fingers and tried the salad.

Halfway through the meal, she started to sweat.

"Oh, my. " She dabbed at her forehead with her napkin. "It’s much too warm in here, isn’t it?

John looked up. Somehow he’d managed not to touch much of anything on his plate.

"It’s okay. You all right mom?"

She clutched the table and blinked at us.

"I.

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  . . I don’t feel. . . very. . . well. "

John pushed back his chair and stood up.

"Must be the dinner, mom. Spoiled soybean shit can fuck you up. "

She was out of it.

"I feel so. .

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  . odd. . . you shouldn’t talk like that. . . Johnny. . . "

John walked over to her as her head started to roll. He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. Her eyes fluttered, and a thin line of spit drooled out of the corner of her mouth.

"I gave her enough to fuck her up for the rest of the night. Watch.

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  "

John smacked her face with the back of his hand, and she groaned.

"Shit! John, knock it off. "

"She can’t even feel it. Here, let’s check her out. "

He grabbed the front of her dress and yanked it open. He pulled the ripped material down to her waist, pinning her flailing arms to her sides.

I have to admit, I must’ve been really stoned to even think about going through with this shit. But when I saw her rosy, pink nipples behind the black lace of her bra, my dick about burst out of my jeans.

"See?" He leaned over, grabbed her tits and gave ‘em each a good squeeze.

He was right. They weren’t all that big, but they were a nice, firm handful. And perky.

"Move the shit on the table. I wanna lay her down. "

I shoved plates and glasses out of the way, and John pulled his mom out of her chair and bent her face-first over her dining room table.

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His breath hissed between his teeth as he rucked her skirt up over her hips.

"Gimme that knife. "

"Wha. . . ?"

"The sharp one. I’m gonna cut through this shit. "

I handed him the knife and watched him slice a hole in his mom’s nylons, and then her panties. My chest hitched as he tossed the knife onto the floor and tore the hole wider, until her first her crotch was exposed, then her ass.

He leaned back and smacked it. I watched it jiggle as she moaned and clutched at her white linen tablecloth.

"Fuck. Look at that. "

John glanced up at me, and his eyes were dead cold. He wrapped one hand around his mom’s neck and pinned her to the table, and dropped his pants with the other.

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   His dick popped out of his boxer shorts, already red and swollen.

"Me first," he grinned, and then shoved his cock deep into his moms pussy.

Her eyes popped open, and she screamed silently, her fists knotting in the tablecloth. She kicked and squirmed; the toes of her shoes scraping on the wood floor, but John just grabbed her ass, pulled her closer, and closed his eyes.

"Awww, yeah. "

I watched him dork his mom for a minute, my dick throbbing. She was making little mewling sounds, and her ass rippled with each of his thrusts.

And I decided: what the fuck, I wanted some, too.

So I climbed up onto the table, and pulled down my pants and my underwear. My cock fell on top of her head, and I grabbed her by the ears and pulled her face up so it was level with my dick. John grinned and grabbed her boobs to help prop her up. She swallowed and sputtered as I rubbed my dick around on her face, and her hands grabbed and clenched at my pants.

I squeezed her cheeks until her lips opened, and pushed myself into her warm, wet mouth.

"Ahhh. .

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  . Damn, that feels good. "

She kicked harder, but didn’t bite down. John was fucking her hard now, grunting and pounding into her. I relaxed and let my hips do the walking, feeling the muscles in her throat constrict as I eased further in.

Ingrid looked up at me with pleading, glassy eyes while we nailed her from each end. My balls twitched and clenched, and just that fast, I came in her mouth, shooting off a huge load.

"Fuck. . . " I whispered to myself, pulling her face as close to me as I could.

I enjoyed my orgasm, feeling her throat constrict as she tried to swallow my cum. A little bit of spooge dribbled out of her mouth and down her neck. Her hands were wrapped around my ass and her whole body was stiff with either pain or the drugs, I couldn’t tell which. I popped out of her mouth as John started smacking her ass.

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"Goddamn fucking bitch!" He was screaming as he hit her, her ass quickly turning a bright pink. "Screw with me? You fucking bitch! Turn me in to the goddamn cops! Fuck you! Ghuhrrrhhhahh!!"

John grabbed her ass like he was trying to peel an orange, sinking his fingers deep into her soft flesh. I saw blood seep around his fingernails as her skin tore, and he jerked a few times, groaning like an animal. Then he shoved her body back onto the table and laughed.

"Oh, fuck! That felt so fucking awesome!"

His mom slipped off the table, smacking her chin on the edge as she fell. I heard her teeth clack together, and she fell in a heap on the dining room floor.

John laughed harder and stroked his dick. Ingrid absent-mindedly wiped the spooge and blood off her chin, and started crawling blindly towards the living room.

The sight of her hips up in the air sent my dick raging again, and I rolled off the table, right on top of her, shoving her into the floor. Because of her stockings, Ingrid’s feet couldn’t get any purchase on the smooth wood floor, and she scrambled, kicking and clawing, making her ass rub against my cock. I stretched out on her back, spit on my hand, then reached down and lubed up my dick. I pinned her down and let my penis slide around until I found her butthole.

She let out a hoarse scream as I wedged myself into her ass. A few good, hard pushes, and I was in, nice and snug.

John stepped around in front of her and sat on his butt, locking her arms under his knees and cradling her head in his lap.

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   I wrapped my arms around her waist and started fucking her ass, slowly grinding my hips into her, taking my time. I let my hand drift down until I was cupping her pussy. Her pubic hair was soft and curly, and was so thick it felt like she never trimmed it. I toyed with her pussy until her clit poked against my probing fingers.

Ingrid stopped fighting, and I was surprised to hear her moan around John’s dick as it slid into her mouth.

The rest of the night, we took our time. Just two stoned, horny teenage boys, alone with a woman who we could do whatever we wanted to with. We fucked her for hours, finally calling it a night around two in the morning. Somehow the three of us ended up in the living room. John and I were completely naked. He was sprawled out on the couch, half asleep, and I sat on the floor with my head resting against the side of a chair. My dick was lying flopped over my thigh, scraped raw and stinging. Ingrid had passed out next to me with her head in my lap, her old dress and her underwear torn to shreds.

John was staring at her.

"You should probably head home," he said.

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   "I’m gonna have to figure out a way to explain this shit to her when she sobers up. "

He was right. How the fuck were we gonna explain all the bruises and cuts on her body? Or her clothes?

"How the hell are we going to do that?"

He shrugged.

"I dunno. But I’ll think of something. It’d probably be a good idea for you to leave though. "

"But. . . I could. . . "

"What? Get arrested for raping my mom with me? No fucking way. "

"John look. .

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  . "

He tossed my shirt at me.

"Dev, really. Get dressed and go home. "

I stood up and Ingrid’s head bonked on the floor. She just moaned in her sleep.

"And don’t forget the box. " I shook my head, but he waved his hand at me. "I’m serious. If you get horny, use that shit. We always keep the basement windows unlocked. Just sneak in some night when she’s at work, drop some in her water or tea or whatever, and hang out for a while. If you wait long enough she’ll never know what happened, and you can get your rocks off whenever you want to. " He yawned and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. "Hey.

 

   Promise me something?"

"Sure. What?" I pulled on my underwear and went looking for my pants.

"Be sure to tell me if you do it again. Cool?"

I nodded.

"Cool. "

 

I didn’t see John again before he left. Or his mom. Somehow a rumor started making the rounds through the neighborhood that John had gotten stoned out of his mind and then beaten Ingrid up badly enough that she had to go to the hospital. I started feeling guilty as soon as I heard it from my mom.

To this day, I still don’t know how John feels about what we did.

And then Monday rolled around, and back to school I went.

My next week was pretty uneventful. I spent my lunch periods hanging out with my friends and avoiding Cara and Keith, who suddenly seemed attached at the hip. By Friday, I’d heard through the grapevine that Keith had already cheated on Cara with a couple of cheerleaders, and he was going to drop out of school and try to get a job as a bouncer at one of the underage strip clubs downtown.

Go Keith.

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On friday afternoon, Ms. Bell corralled me after class and asked me to help her again.

I said sure. Why not?

Today she was wearing a dark blue blouse with shoulder pads and a tight, light grey skirt over the kind of black stockings with the little line running down the back of her legs. A fragile gold chain hung from her neck, dangling in her cleavage, and thin gold hoop earrings flashed when she turned her head.

I followed her back to the storeroom, the clicking of her high heels on the tile floor reminding me of Ingrid walking around in her kitchen. By the time she unlocked the door, I had a boner stretching out my pants.

My dick was so hard it hurt.

She brought out the ladder and started up again, but this time I stopped her with one of my hands on her arm, and my other around her waist.

"I don’t think so, Ms. Be. . . uh. .

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  . Linda. Not like last week. Okay?"

She smiled.

"All right. "

I filled up the hand-truck and hauled another batch of the heavy boxes to her room. We spent the next hour or two unpacking, and she told me stories about living in Europe while she was in college. Finally, I stood up and stretched, popping my back.

"Look," she said. "It’s dark again. Would you like another ride?"

The clock said six-thirty. There wouldn’t be another bus for at least half an hour.

"Sure. That’d be great. "

"I have to run by my house first, if that’s okay.

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  "

I think I blushed. I know I smiled.

"Sure. No problem. "

Linda lived a few miles from school in the opposite direction from my house, in a small apartment complex that had converted to condominiums. We pulled into the parking lot and she led me to a tidy, two floor condo. She unlocked the door and I followed her inside.

As soon as she opened the door, I heard the squawks. When she flicked on the lights, I found myself in a tiny living room, full of comfortable, feminine furniture. In a cage hanging from a metal post was a brilliant red parrot, who took one look at me and squawked again.

"Cutie-pie! Cutie-pie!" It climbed the bars of its gage and recited that phrase over and over, staring me up and down.

"He likes you," said Linda. "He doesn’t usually like men. "

"Oh?"

"Mm-hmm. " She held out a bag of sunflower seeds.

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   "Here. Why don’t you feed him? He’ll love you forever. "

I grinned and took a small handful of kernels from the bag. Then I thought of every parrot I’ve ever seen at pet stores. They always have some freaky sign taped to their cages, warning people to stay away or they’ll bite. I paused.

"How should I do this?

"Just move slowly, so you don’t scare him, and rest your hand next to his cage. "

"Okay. "

I pressed the side of my hand on the bars of his cage, with the seeds resting on my open palm.

"What’s his name?"

"Bert. "

I laughed.

"Like. . . " I started.

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"Ernie and. "

She grinned back at me as Bert sidled closer to my hand. He looked at me sideways, ruffling his feathers.

"Cutie-pie!" He croaked, and gently nibbled at a sunflower seed, poking his sharp beak through the cage bars.

"Ernie lives with my sister in France. " Linda watched Bert crack open the seed and discard the shell. "Sometimes Bert gets lonely here all by himself. Don’t you Sweetie-pie?"

She cooed at her bird, and he pressed the top of his head against the cage. She kissed him, and he bounced around, squawking happily.

"He likes to dance. See?"

"Cookie! Cookie for Bert!" He repeated, doing a little sidestep.

"Cute," I said.

Linda smiled at me.

"How would you like a quick tour?"

The place looked about as big as a shoe box. But why not?

"Uh, sure?"

She showed me her tiny kitchen and her dining room.

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   Other than the living room, that was pretty much it for downstairs. Then she took me upstairs and showed me her office, which consisted of a nice old roll top desk with a comfy chair, a small home theater system and a couch that were tucked into the spare bedroom. There was a tiny bathroom by the stairs, and she almost - almost - let me peek in her bedroom.

"Oh, shit. " She shut the door in a hurry. I barely saw a pink comforter draped over a large, neatly made bed. "Sorry. Too messy. "

We stood in the hallway, inches apart, and a sudden, uncomfortable silence fell between us.

"Umm. So. . . so you live here all alone?" I asked.

"Yes.

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   Well, usually. Except for Bert, I. . . "

A telephone rang in her study.

"Excuse me," she said, and left me alone to study pictures of her and another, younger woman, both bundled up for cold weather, smiling happily at the camera. I recognized the Eiffel tower in the background of a couple photos. The woman looked a little bit like Linda, but nowhere near as severe. I assumed it was her sister.

In the other room, I could hear Linda trying to pacify whoever had called.

"I’ll be right there, Mrs. Kline. In just a minute. I have a guest. .

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  . No. It’s no trouble. Of course. I will. Bye-bye. "

Linda hung up, and when she stepped out of the room she smiled like she was afraid I’d left while she was talking.

"I think I interrupted something important. " I said.

"Oh no. That was Mrs. Kline. She lives next door. We usually have dinner together on Friday nights, because her kids can’t get here on the weekends. I told her I might be late tonight, but she was getting worried.

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   I just need to run over there for a minute, and then we can go. Do. . . would you like to meet her? She’s really a sweet lady. . . "

"Actually," I hooked my thumb at the bathroom. "Would you mind if I use your restroom instead? I had a huge soda at lunch, and. . . "

She grinned.

"Go right ahead. I’m going to run over and take her some dinner, though. You don’t mind waiting for me?"

I shook my head.

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"Not a bit. "

She rustled around downstairs while I stood over the toilet. There was a fluffy pink seat-cover on the lid that kept knocking it closed, so I had to piss bent over, holding the stupid lid up.

I was shaking the last drops out when I heard the front door open, and Linda shouted up the stairs. "I’ll be back in a few minutes!"

"Okay!" I yelled back, then I buttoned my jeans and flushed the toilet. The house was quiet, and I started downstairs to hang out with Bert, but something stopped me after the first step.

There’s no way I can explain the urge that made me turn around and open her bedroom door.

But that’s exactly what I did.

I turned on the light and looked around.

Linda’s bedroom, like the rest of her house, was immaculate and girly; from the ruffled pink fringe on her bedspread to her choice of pictures to her antique furniture. But it was the roomiest room in the house, and it had its own bathroom that was decked out in more frilly pink.

"Looks okay to me," I said to myself. "I don’t see what the. . .

 

  problem. . . was. . . "

In the other corner of the room was a heavy wood contraption, pushed up against the wall.

"What the fuck. . . ?"

I stepped over to it and ran my hand along the gleaming wood of the top bar.

"Holy shit. "

Linda had a rack. A real life, straight out of the middle-ages, lock you up to punish you rack. Or a stockade, I guess.

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Whatever.

The thing that you lock some poor idiots head and arms into, bending them over into a. . . uncomfortably compromising position.

You know what I mean.

"What the hell do you use this for, Linda?"

Backing away from her. . . torture device, I bumped into the corner of her dresser, knocking over some small framed photos.

"Shit!"

I straightened up, trying to put everything back in the same spots, and the urge hit me again.

"Let’s see what we’ve got in here. "

I opened a drawer. Inside were carefully folded blouses, and a box of knickknacks.

Downstairs, Bert let out a squawk, and I almost jumped out of my skin.

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   I shut the drawer and listened, my heart racing, but Bert quieted down.

"Shit," I said, sweating a little. I swallowed around a hitch in my throat, and tried another, smaller drawer. "Oh, yeah. "

I found a drawer full of lacy underwear. I ran my hands over Linda’s panties, and I got an instant boner. I was having trouble breathing, and my hands started to shake.

"Oh, God. "

Suddenly, all I wanted to do was jack off, right then and there. Taking a deep breath, I managed to pull myself back together.

First, I thought, ‘I gotta tell the guys about this’, but then I realized nobody’d believe me.

I needed a trophy, for proof. I almost just grabbed the first thing I saw, but some barely functioning part of my brain made me pull back my hand before I took anything.

"No. Not the stuff she wears.

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  "

Flipping through the stacks of bra’s and panties, I found a lacy black g-string crumpled into a ball way at the back of the drawer, and a matching, see-through, push up bra. I pulled them both out of the drawer, and shook them out.

I smelled them, inhaling deeply, then held them up to the light, letting them dangle in my hands.

They were so enticing; I almost forgot where I was.

Bert squawked again downstairs, and I jumped and shoved the undies into my pockets. I walked as quickly as I could to the door, but the house was still quiet.

"Fuck," I said, wiping my forehead. "Damn bird. "

I knew I was pushing my luck and I was going to turn off the light and leave, but her closet caught my eye. I glanced over the railing at the front door, and decided to gamble.

"Let’s see what we’ve got in here. . . "

Linda had a typical walk-in closet, with sliding doors that pulled open. Dresses and a few tailored suits with matching skirts hung from a pole on one side, with her high heel shoes and a pair of running shoes lined up on the floor.

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But the other side. . .

I whistled.

"Holy shit. "

Hanging on the other side of the closet were uniforms: leather bondage gear, a French maid outfit, and a nurses uniform. Hung from a rack on the wall was a ton of S&M gear: leather masks, ball gags, whips and riding crops, handcuffs and padded leather shackles, dildoes of all sizes and shapes. Bottles of lubricant and a fishbowl full of condoms sat on a small dresser.

I blinked, and my mouth fell open. I picked up a pair of the heavy leather shackles. The long, thin chains tinkled. One of the dildoes had fallen off the tabletop, and I picked it up. It flo.

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