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Comfort Guidance Care Assurance Passion Comfort Kristen.
She couldn't show it to Kristen, however much she wanted to express those thoughts to her. She couldn't show it to Kristen until it sang how she felt. She couldn't show it to Andre and ask for his help. Andre could write one that sang; but Andre would get all parental if he suspected that his daughter felt passion, let alone that she had shared passion with another girl.
Connie was a year younger than her classmates at St. Wigbert's, a year younger than the other girls in her dorm room. In addition, she was a 'late bloomer.' That she, who had always been so precocious, should be slow in something so important to her peers was embarrassing. The girls didn't tease her about it, though. They hardly noticed her.
Back in Hartford, the teachers -- at least -- noticed Connie, as the daughter of the-poet-Andre-Steffano -- said as if it were one word. The teachers at St. Wigbert's hardly read Frost, let alone Steffano. They were more impressed by Milton and Donne. Connie was half pleased that, at St. Wigbert's, she no longer lived in the reflection of her father's reputation. She was half dismayed that she had no reputation of her own.
On the other hand, she thought the girls in her room, who clearly regarded her as too young to matter, were acting awfully immature themselves. Often, risking demerits -- even expulsion -- girls would sneak into the beds of other girls and lie there together, apparently playing some game. Connie knew what she would say if anybody tried to sneak into her bed, but nobody did.
Andre told her that they needed to send her to Saint Wigbert's because she'd get a better education there. Helen told her that she needed to meet a better class of girls. These were transparent lies, but Connie didn't point that out. She no more wanted to be in the middle of her parents' quarrels than they wanted her to hear them. Probably she would actually get a better education, too.
She didn't even mind the excuses for leaving her there over Christmas vacation, when almost all of the other girls went home. The librarian gave her special permission to take out five books -- two was the usual limit, but the library was closed for the week. She felt a little queasy, but that just made the idea of taking the train back to Hartford that much less attractive.
The only other girl in her room staying over was Kristen. Her parents were Episcopalian missionaries in Latin America. (St. Wigbert's was an Episcopal boarding school.) She was no older than the other girls in Connie's room, but she looked more mature. She spent most of her time in the lounge watching the TV. That pleased Connie, who didn't want anything to do with her. Connie would gladly have had no contact with anybody -- until the night she woke up bloody and crying.
Fully awake, she realized what had happened. She was a modern girl; her mom was a modern woman. She was living in a dorm room with five girls who had periods. It had surprised her is all.
"What happened?" asked Kristen.
"Nothing," Connie said. Now how was she going to clean up these sheets? She had a package of Tampax Juniors in her cabinet in anticipation of this.
"Just my period. The sheets are all bloody." Actually, there wasn't all that much blood.
"I'll help. Poor dear, I had my mom around when my first period happened, and wanted her. Let's get these to the bathroom and run cold water on them."
Kristen, who had never taken the slightest notice of her up to then, organized the whole thing. She soaked the sheets and the nightgown, spread them over the backs of two chairs to dry, and told her about the Tampax again. She helped mop up the spot on the mattress with wet toilet paper. "You can't sleep on that," she said, "want to share my bed?"
There were four empty beds, although she'd hear about it if she used one. But somebody, somebody sympathetic, sharing a bed sounded attractive just then. "If I could." She climbed in.
Kristen held her. "Poor girl. It's nothing to feel bad about, but I cried my first time. And I had my mommy to cry to." Connie didn't cry, but Kristen's arms, Kristen's sympathy, Kristen's attention, felt very good right then. She didn't even comment on 'mommy.' The girls in the school had moms or mothers, not mommies. Connie called her own mom "Helen."
When the others came back, she and Kristen went their separate ways. Besides, Connie was turning into a freak. Her right breast grew, not much, but you could see the bulge. Where the left breast should be, it was still flat. Connie hid it as much as she could, showering at odd hours, facing the wall as she dressed. Connie didn't want anybody to see.
Kristen went home for two weeks in the middle of the school year, when her parents came 'home.' But she was in school again Easter break. So was Connie, wondering what their relationship was.
For three days, it was as much a nonrelationship as ever. Connie read, Kristen watched TV, neither spoke. Monday evening, Connie went for a long walk around the grounds. Kristen was in bed when she got back. "No TV?" asked Connie.
"It was boring." Connie was tempted to ask what made that different from all the other shows Kristen watched, but didn't. She turned her back to change into her nightgown as always.
"You know," Kristen said, "I think you're developing more unbalanced than I did."
"Huh?" Connie had to keep herself from turning around.
"First six months, I had a boob on my left side and a boobie on my right. 'Acorn' would be a generous description."
"Do you mean...?" Connie did turn around. Kristen had larger breasts than anybody else living in the room, as large as those of some seniors. "It's not just me?"
"It's not just you. Don't you have anybody to talk to? I think my parents are depriving me, but when my mom's there, she's there. Come here."
Wearing only panties and carrying her nightgown, Connie went over to Kristen's bed. When Kristen pulled back the sheet, she slipped inside. Kristen took her in her arms, and Connie snuggled there. "Poor girl. Were you worried? Was that why you were hiding them? We thought you were just embarrassed, many girls are when they start to grow."
"I'm not a freak?"
"I wouldn't go that far." Kristen kissed her forehead "Your mind scares me. You're a year younger than the rest of us and get better grades than most, better than me, for sure. And then you act like you'll pull further ahead. Your boobs aren't freaks, though. They're perfectly normal. Let's see."
The moon made the room bright. When Kristen pushed back the sheet, Connie wanted to turn over, but she stayed on her back. Kristen said, "See, this one is starting to grow too." She kissed it.
That was embarrassing; it also gave rise to sensations, pleasant sensations, if embarrassing ones. And Kristen was the closest thing to a friend she had. She'd die rather than report any part of this to a teacher. So she closed her eyes and lay there. Kristen kissed the other breast -- the breast, her left one was still just a nipple whatever Kristen had said.
It certainly felt good. Connie relaxed. She was shocked somehow, when Kristen kissed her on the mouth. She felt Kristen's tongue on her lips for a moment, and then it was over. "Better get back to your own bed," Kristen whispered. "You have nothing to worry about. Everything will be all right."
And, picking up her nightgown, and scurrying over to her own bed, Connie believed her. She even removed her panties before putting on the nightgown, something that only a few of the girls ever did when undressing for bed. That was weird when you thought about it; everybody saw everybody else in the dorm and gym showers.
The school hadn't turned off the timer which broadcast the wake- up call at six just because the dorms were nearly empty. Connie woke with her usual start. She grabbed her underwear to take with her to the bathroom. In the stall, however, she remembered. She was normal, Kristen had accepted her. She deliberately carried them back and changed in front of Kristen.
That night, Kristen came back to the room about nine-thirty. Neither girl said anything. Lights out was at ten, and the current would be shut off to the rooms then. When Saint Wigbert's said "lights out," they meant lights out. Connie got to a good stopping point in her book a few minutes before. She put the book down and started to change her clothes, deliberately allowing Kristen to see if she wanted.
"Come over here," said Kristen when Connie was down to her skin. Connie grabbed her nightgown and went over to Kristen's bed. "You have hair," Kristen said, "not much now, but it's coming in. See, you're perfectly normal. Better get back though." The girls were each in their own beds at lights out. And they were lying flat with their eyes closed when the monitor stuck her head in.
A few minutes later, Connie was over by Kristen's bed. Kristen drew the corner of the sheet over, and Connie took that invitation to climb in. "You're all right," Kristen said. "You're normal. You're just like I was. You're becoming like we all are." She kissed her on the mouth. "Don't worry."
Connie wasn't going to worry. Kristen had given her all the comfort she could need. When Kristen pulled the hem of her nightgown up, Connie raised herself to make it easier. When Kristen stroked up Connie's thighs, Connie shivered but said absolutely nothing.
Kristen pushed the nightgown up higher. She kissed first one nipple and then the other -- back and forth, making no distinction between the growing one and the dwarf. When Connie felt Kristen's hand at her groin, she nearly panicked. Then she remembered that she wasn't going to worry.
After the initial tickles, it felt nice. Then it felt very nice. The kisses on her nipples made the strokes at her groin feel nicer, and the strokes made the kisses feel even better than they had. The spiraling climax took Connie utterly by surprise. She gasped out loud.
Kristen kissed her. "You shouldn't make a noise," she whispered. "What if a hall monitor had been going past?" The teachers treated hall monitoring duties very lightly during Easter break, but Kristen had a point. After a few minutes of lying in Kristen's arms, Connie got up and went to her own bed.
Wednesday, the girls followed their established patterns. They hardly spoke to each other during the day. After the hall monitor had checked, though, Connie was in Kristen's bed. This time, she left her nightgown behind. Kristen hiked her own nightgown up so that her breasts pressed against Connie's chest. Kristen lavished Connie with care, kissing her nipples, stroking her groin. She kissed Connie on the mouth all through her climax. She hugged her while she relaxed.
When Connie started to get up, Kristen held her. "Do you want to help me, now?" Kristen whispered. Connie couldn't figure out what help Kristen wanted, but the answer was going to be 'yes.' On Connie's nod, Kristen took her hand. She pulled it to her groin.
"What should I do?" Connie whispered.
"Just what you'd do to yourself. Only kiss my boobs, too."
The second direction, Connie could figure out. She kissed kristen's breasts and ended up sucking her nipples the way Kristen had sucked Connie's. She wasn't surprised that Kristen felt pleasure at that, she had. She was surprised at how much pleasure she herself got from kissing Kristen.
"Now what?" she asked. They ended up with Kristen taking Connie's index finger and using it to rub herself. She moved the finger all over her labia minora with excursions to her clitoris. When Connie figured out what was needed, she took over the action. She kissed Kristen's breasts and sucked her nipples while she was rubbing.
Kristen finally stiffened and pushed the hand away. She had been absolutely silent, but Connie could feel her chest heave with her breathing.
"I'm sorry," Connie whispered. She'd tried to do what Kristen wanted.
"No reason," Kristen whispered back. "You are already better than I would have been. You'll get better with practice. But I think you should be in your own bed in case the monitor comes by."
Connie returned to her bed. She had a lot to think about. "What you'd do to yourself," Kristen had said. And "better than I would have been." You could do this for yourself, give yourself the pleasure that Kristen had given her. She touched herself down there, but she was a little tender and her touch was a little tentative. It was pleasant, but she decided she didn't want to renew the intense pleasure that Kristen had brought her.
"Do you want to walk together to services tonight?" Kristen asked the next day at lunch. It was Maundy Thursday. Connie hadn't been planning to attend services, but walking with Kristen would be a privilege. They sat together until Kristen went down for communion. "You didn't go down," Kristen commented as they walked back.
"I haven't been confirmed."
"You really shine in religion class, though."
"I know the answers, I just don't...." She had been about to say 'believe,' but she wasn't sure that this was correct. Andre and Jane were atheists, one of the few things they agreed on. They hadn't made a point of it with her, though. And the religion teacher, Miss Camden, made more sense than Mrs. Oliver, who taught them American History. Anyway, she didn't have real opinions on the subject. "I just don't participate," she finished.
"It wouldn't be hard for you to be confirmed," Kristen said. "Religion class goes into much more detail than confirmation classes usually do, even in this country, I think. I got confirmed easy enough, and I'm not the star in class you are."
"I'll think about it." And she would. She didn't want to stand out.
"Stay in your bed tonight," Kristen said as they were changing into their nightgowns that night. Connie wondered what she had done wrong. But, once the hall monitor had stuck her head in the door, Kristen came to her bed.
This time, they spent much longer just kissing. Kristen tickled her nipples through the nightie, and Connie reciprocated. When Kristen sat up to remove her nightie, Connie did the same. Kristen lay down flat on her back. Connie suddenly realized that it was her turn to take the action, and she really had only one night's experience.
She must have done something right, though. As she was stroking Kristen's clitoris and sucking on her nipples, Kristen stiffened. When she pushed Connie's hand away, Connie knew that this meant her part had been done, not that Kristen was rejecting her. She lay down beside Kristen just touching side to side.
The next motion beside her woke her from a doze. Kristen kissed her again, her mouth and then down to her breasts. Kristen's mouth brought her comfort; then her hand brought her excitement. As soon as that excitement peaked, Kristen kissed her one more time, a peck on the mouth like Helen gave her sometimes. Then she got back into her nightie and left Connie's bed in absolute silence. Connie never did put on her own nightie; when the wake-up call came over the loudspeaker, she woke naked.
As usual, they each went their own way until evening. Again, she accompanied Kristen to services. This was Good Friday, and there was no communion. After waiting for Kristen to come to her bed, Connie crept over to Kristen's. "We can't," Kristen whispered, "It's Good Friday."
What that had to do with it, Connie couldn't figure. But it wasn't something you could argue about, and she didn't want an argument with Kristen. As she was composing herself for sleep. she felt her hand cup her mound. "Just what you'd do to yourself," Kristen had said once. She trailed her finger between her labia. It felt good. Too bad Kristen wasn't there to kiss her nipples. She turned on her back so both hands were free. Her left just brushed her nipples through the nightie; the middle finger of her right stroked industriously between her labia.
The excitement came faster than Kristen had brought it. Somehow, though, the peak was less satisfying. She turned over and went to sleep.
Saturday night, she waited in her bed for Kristen to fall asleep. She had some plans for the night to come. Instead, Kristen came over to her bed as soon as the hall monitor was safely away. Kristen pulled aside the sheet and light blanket, then sat on the edge of the bed near the head. After she had swung her feet under the sheet and blanket, she slid down in the bed. This left her nightie all up around her shoulders. Connie knew what was expected of her. She kissed Kristen's breasts under the sheet while stroking her labia and clitoris.
When Kristen had stiffened and lain there for a minute or two, she reciprocated. This took Connie to an unexpected height.
Sunday was Easter. Connie would probably have gone to services on Easter, anyway. Going with Kristen was a special treat. Again, they sat together until Kristen went down for communion. Again, they walked home together. "Some of the girls will get back tonight," Kristen said. Connie knew that. "Whatever happens, stay in your own bed. I know the risks; I know the best ways to avoid them."
Connie would do what she was told. Kristen had been such a great help anyway. "Do you think I should talk to Father Alfred about being confirmed?" she asked.
"Oh, yes! Give him a week. Easter is always such a busy time."
Connie stayed in her own bed Sunday night. Her sleep was a little disturbed by the entry of some latecomers with the hall monitor and her flashlight.
She stayed in her own bed Monday night, as well. Several of the girls didn't exercise the same caution. The hall monitor came back a second time and looked in much more thoroughly than usual. She discovered Julie in Cherie's bed. There was an uproar. Names were taken; threats were made. As soon as she was out the door with her two captives, there was a scurry. Denise ran from Karen's bed to her own. A few minutes later, the hall monitor was back for a third time. Connie lay silent until the flashlight shone on her bed and the monitor grabbed her shoulder.
What had she done? What had Julie and Cherie said she'd done? What had they known? Why would they make something up? The hall monitor didn't give her a clue. "Connie Steffano?"
"Report to Miss Perkins's office your first free period tomorrow."
Third period was study time. When she told Mrs. Oliver that she had to see the headmistress, she let her go. Connie knocked on Miss Perkins's door minutes later. "Come in Connie, and leave the door open." Why should she leave the door open? Was all the school going to hear of her transgressions? "You know, Connie, that your father asked us about your chance of advancing another grade? Well, I thought it unlikely, we pride ourselves on the entire school's learning more than is usual in public schools.
"Looking at your grades, however, and talking with your teachers, I think it's possible. What it would take, however, is your applying yourself over the summer. The rest of this year, of course; but you'd have to learn special things over the summer. Is it worth it to you?"
Connie's first thought was that nothing had been found out. Now, did she want to get through school faster? College! College before she aged. College where she could talk to others about what was important, rather than listening politely while her classmates complained of how much they were forced to learn in classes which, in truth, dragged boringly. Not that the classmates seemed to learn anything anyway.
But a higher class meant a different dorm room. It meant leaving Kristen. "Well, Miss Perkins, when do I have to decide?"
"Not before summer, clearly. Oh, you have to keep up the sort of progress you've made so far. But you wouldn't have to do anything new before summer."
"Thank you for this opportunity. I'll think about it." She'd learned that already in her school career. Don't say no, say maybe until the deadline passes. "It wasn't about us," she said to Kristen when they could talk.
"Yeah. I figured out later that she was coming in with the message for you when she caught Julie. Let's not say so, though. Julie and Cherie couldn't help blaming you for that."
"Are they going to stay?"
"Cherie for sure. It's her first time, and she was in her own bed. Julie is going to be put through the wringer. Let's cool it for a few days."
"Let's." She hadn't any expectations, after all. She didn't expect to spend the summer holiday in school, and Kristen probably wouldn't, anyway.
Kristen did speak with her publicly, though. Nobody in the school would have taken them for good friends, but they had things to talk about. Kristen's favor was clear enough that the other girls in the room were polite to Connie.
They went together to services the next Sunday. More of the girls were there, and many fewer of the people from the town. Afterwards, she stopped on the way out. "What would it mean," she asked Father Alfred, "for me to join the church?"
"Do you want to?"
"Yes I do." She wanted to be with Kristen, at any rate.
"Make an appointment to see me. I come on campus on Wednesdays. You can make the appointment with the school office."
So, on Monday, she did. Father Alfred didn't show up for his appointment, however. "I'm Father Gregory," the man who was there said. "Father Alfred has some medical problems, and they've asked me to take on some of his duties in the interim. Won't you come in? Now, if this is something you have to talk to Father Alfred about, we can schedule an appointment with him, but not this week."
"Why would I need to see him?" For that matter, Father Gregory was the man many of the girls would rather see, an older man -- of course -- but trim and distinguished, where Father Alfred looked fat and old.
"I don't know. I just don't want to presume I can fill all your needs."
"I was just asking about joining the church."
"Do you believe in God and Christ?"
Did she? Maybe. Anyway, she knew the right answer. "Yes."
"Have you been baptized?"
"I'm surprised. Are you sure?"
"I suppose I'm not sure. I think I would know."
"Well," Father Gregory said, "I don't remember being baptized myself. Most baptisms are of infants, who aren't going to remember. What is your name again?"
"Your family name?"
"I should have remembered that, this is St. Stephen's church. Well, many Italian families have grandparents who care more about the faith than the actual parents do, and might care more about the forms than about the faith. So, it's quite likely that you were baptized when you were too young to notice. Anyway, is there a way you could check? There is no Anglican baptism, or Catholic baptism. If you were baptized once you were baptized. You weren't confirmed?"
"Again, I don't remember it." she said.
"Well, you should remember that. If you didn't know whether you were baptized, I would think you weren't confirmed. Anyway, confirmation is the province of the bishop. This will take place on the Sunday after Christmas, all confirmations at St. Stephen's will. I don't want to baptize you if you have been baptized. Another thing is we need to know your full name."
"Well, 'Steffano' isn't your name for baptismal purposes. Last names aren't. Your baptismal name is your full first and middle name. It doesn't really matter. For the purposes of the church, the name isn't yours until it is given in baptism. Still, I'd guess 'Constance' or something like."
"I've never been anything but 'Connie.'"
"Look," Father Gregory said in what was clearly the end of the appointment, "we need some more appointments to deal with this whole thing. Could you check with your parents about this? Were you baptized? What is your full, legal, name?"
"I'll do that."
She discovered that many of the other girls, girls who had barely acknowledged that she was alive, envied her appointment with Father Gregory. He was married as well as ordained. That didn't make any difference to them; he was a man. And, Connie had to admit, a good looking one.
She did call home. "Andre, I have some questions."
"Shoot, Princess." She'd been dubbed 'The princess of wails' by one of Andre and Helen's friends when she was much too young to defend herself. Back then, they'd had many friends in common. She'd shaken off almost all of the nickname, but not quite all.
"First, I'm thinking of joining the church."
"What church, one in the town?"
"The Episcopal church."
That much she knew from her religion class. "There is only one Episcopal church. You join the denomination. The congregation is only the local branch."
"Well, that's your decision. You aren't going to join a nunnery or anything like that?"
"Nothing like that. Thing is, they want to know if I've been baptized."
"Nope. Not by me, not by Helen. Unless you went and did it without telling us."
"Second thing. They want to know my formal name."
"Connie Andrea Steffano."
"Third thing, and entirely different. I tried to write a poem, came out stinking. Can you teach me how?"
"How to come out stinking? I've done it, but I don't think it takes lessons."
"How to come out good."
"No way," Andre said. "There are people who teach poetry, people up there, likely as not. First, I don't; second, I'm the worst person in the world to teach you. Want to read it to me?"
"No. I tore it up."
"Did it rhyme?"
"I'll tell you this. I started out rhyming. At first they didn't rhyme very well. Then they didn't have much rhythm. Rhythm is harder. Then they had okay rhyme and rhythm. They were doggerel. When I could write actual poetry in rhyme and rhythm, when I could express myself in rhyme and rhythm, I did so. I wrote two books. After that, I tried expressing myself without the rhyme. I wrote an awful lot of shit like that before I got the hang of it.
"Now," he continued, "Young people keep thinking that they don't have to go through those stages. They can just express their emotions helter-skelter, and it will turn into poetry on the page. I don't say it can't happen; I do say I've never seen it happen."
"You think I should work on the other."
"I think you're drawing to an inside straight otherwise. Maybe drawing three cards hoping for a straight flush. Say, didn't you ask Helen for a diary last Christmas? Filling it out?"
She would skip the first question. She'd written that all the girls in her room were keeping diaries. She'd done it to show how utterly silly and immature they were. Her mother's response was to give her a diary for Christmas, a diary with a lock and a picture of sickeningly-sweet kittens on the front. "I haven't written in it much." Which was perfectly true. Totally blank was not much.
"Y'know. I said I wouldn't do this, and I'm not going to go any further. I'm not going to critique them. I'll introduce you to somebody this summer if you want, but I'm not your mentor on verse. But you might try for a rhyme a day describing your day. I say a rhyme, not a poem. A quatrain or something. It's okay if it's doggerel. When you've written a year's worth of doggerel, you'll know how to write. Have any trouble walking now?"
That was an incredible leap. But if he was determined to end the discussion of poetry, she'd let him. "I walk fine. Always have."
"Not always, Princess. When you took your first steps -- I still have the video, but I don't think you want to watch it -- you would stagger along holding on to both my hands."
She got the connection now. "But your hands are no longer available." Actually, she didn't want his hands on the poem about Kristen.
"You needed them then. You need to do without them now. Goodnight, Princess."
"Goodnight, Andre." On conversations like this, she was tempted to end with "Goodnight, Daddy."
Still, no matter how inadequate he was as a parental unit, Andre could write. And she did have that totally unused book of blank paper intended for a diary. She could do worse than follow his advice. And the diary did have a lock; nobody would see what she'd written unless she decided to show them. The girls would respond more viciously to somebody peeking into a diary than to somebody stealing money. She started writing a quatrain about each day. Lull rhymed with dull; nothing useful rhymed with algebra.
After a shocked pause of about a week while they awaited the announcement of the fate of Julie and Cherie, some girls took to visiting from one bed to another again. They moved more quietly, and always wore their nighties. Kristen didn't come to Connie's bed, and she'd been emphatic that Connie shouldn't make the trip. It was strange how she missed Kristen's touch; she'd gotten along just fine without it for years. Experimenting with touching herself, she got better but not as good as Kristen had been. She learned to extend the excitement rather than rush to the culmination.
Cherie returned to classes and the room; Julie didn't.
Her appointments with Father Gregory became a weekly regularity. He was very thorough in describing the fundamentals of the faith to her. She asked Kristen to be her godmother.
"I don't think adults have them?" Kristen had experience in all this stuff. Her father was a priest.
"I'll check. If they let me, do you want to?"
"That would be fine. But don't worry. I'll be there for you and watching."
"Weekly confession," Denise commented once. "Father Gregory is a dish, all right. But don't you think that's going a little far?" Denise was one of the minority of the girls in the school who regularly attended the early service, the only girl from their room.
"Don't you go to confession every week?"
"No. I'm going for instruction. I'm going to join the church."
"Not discussing all the juicy details of your fantasies with Father Gregory? You have something to look forward to."
She didn't particularly want to discuss her fantasies with Father Gregory. She definitely didn't want to discuss what she'd actually done. She brought confession up with him.
"Do you want to confess?" he asked.
"I have a choice?"
"Everybody has a choice. The church teaches 'All may; some should; none must.' Anyway, you can decide. Pentecost is approaching." Her baptism, and that of several infants, was scheduled for Pentecost. "We'll have another adult at the early service. I don't think you know Dick Randolph. He's from town."
"I've never met him."
That night, Kristen crept to her bed. Connie had missed her so much. When Kristen kissed her, she returned the kiss enthusiastically. Kristen held an admonitory finger to her lips, and she kissed that, too. Soon, Kristen lay back to receive her love. She kissed all over her face before easing up the nightie. Kristen's luscious breasts! She sprinkled these with kisses, fervent if silent. When she got to a nipple, she reached between Kristen's thighs at the same time. She rubbed her inner labia together, something she'd found excited herself. She waited until Kristen stiffened beside her. Then she crossed to the other breast. She sucked that nipple at the same time she stroked directly across Kristen's clitoris. She felt Kristen go absolutely rigid beside her. She sucked and stroked again. Kristen was gripping the bottom sheet in each hand. She pressed down with hands and feet so hard that her mound rose under Connie's hand.
When she relaxed, you could hear the springs. She lay there breathing through her mouth. Connie could tell she was trying to keep silent, but she wasn't quite succeeding. Later, her breathing became regular; later yet, Kristen kissed Connie and began to pleasure her with her hand and lips. Connie, already overjoyed that she had Kristen back, was wet with anticipation. She spiraled upward in absolute silence. Then Kristen kissed her on the mouth and scurried back to her own bed.
Everybody in the room must have known what had happened, but nobody said a word.
Kristen visited her again a few days later. Sunday, they sat together in the service. Afterwards, Kristen said, "Next Sunday is Pentecost. After that, we can go down for communion together."
"Yes." But Connie wanted to say so much more. She wanted to go everywhere with Kristen. For the first time since third grade, she had a special friend.
She was walking on air, and remained happy. Even an Algebra test on Tuesday didn't dampen her joy.
She had become acutely aware of the near-silent journeys from one bed to another, and the sound of Kristen leaving her bed excited her. But the sounds went in the wrong direction. They stopped by Debra's bed. Kristen was getting into Debra's bed! She heard enough to tell her that Kristen was enjoying another girl. She didn't need to check, but she did. She grabbed her robe and went by Kristen's bed -- Kristen's empty bed -- on the way to the toilet.
Once in the stall, she cried her heart out. Kristen didn't love her. Kristen didn't even care enough for her to hide what she was doing. When she was done, she used more of the toilet paper to wipe her face than to wipe her derriere. She went straight back to the room and back to bed.
All that day, she schemed. She went to see Father Gregory. "I thought we had everything decided," he said.
"Father, you're going to baptize another adult in the first service, aren't you?"
"Father Alfred is. He'll conduct both baptisms."
"Could I be baptized at the first service? You said that we had everything decided."
"Why, certainly. You're joining the Christian Church, not the Episcopal Church or St. Stephen's Church. You're certainly not joining any particular service. Now, mind you, we generally get different people at the two services. But that's a matter of convenience, anyone can come to either."
"Well, I'm planning on coming to the first service. Would you tell Father Alfred?"
"I'd be glad to."
And, on Pentecost Sunday, Father Alfred baptized her at the early service. She avoided Kristen until lunch that day. "Where were you?" Kristen asked. "You were supposed to have been baptized today."
"I was baptized today. I was baptized at the early service."
"Didn't you want me to be baptized? You talked as if you did. Anyway, it was my decision." And with that, she took her tray to a table which had only one empty place. Kristen went to sit with other freshmen, while the sophomore girls at her table nearly stared at her. But she didn't care. The lunch tasted much better with the accompanying spice of planning the rest of her revenge.
Monday, she knocked at Miss Perkins's door. "Yes Connie?" she said.
"Miss Perkins, you said something about getting into the next grade. Something about extra work."
"Yes, I did. But I didn't think you were interested."
"I said I would think it over. I have done so." Somehow Miss Perkins brought out the most formal language in her. "I think I would like to do it. What would you require?"
"Well, Connie, it would require extra studying over the summer. I'll have the teachers figure out just what it would take. We'll give you a syllabus. Are you sure you want to take on the extra work?"
"I won't know until I try, will I? Anyway, learning things seems to be my talent. I can't sing."
"It's a talent that the world rewards richly. Very well, Connie, we'll set you up with a syllabus."
"Thank you, Miss Perkins." And she walked demurely back to study hall. Inside, however, she was skipping. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and she need only study hard over the summer to return a junior to the school where Kristen would be a sophomore.
The End None Must Uther Pendragon firstname.lastname@example.org 2003/07/15 Thanks to Denny for editing this. Another story about a girl's coming of age is: "He Doesn't Love Her Like I Do" The next stage in the adventures of Connie: "Solitary Summer" The index to almost all my stories is: Index to Uther Pendragon's website