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All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
"I don't think so," I told him.
"Then dance with me and make me miserable. C'mon Sharl, Dave is dancing with Melissa. You dance with other boys."
"But you and I were an item once, Peter -- a long time ago."
"Before you were a cheerleader." Before I had boobs, he meant.
"If it was only a dance, I might. But you want the past back, and it's gone. I'm Dave's girl now. Find your own."
"C'mon Sharl. All I asked you for was a dance. Do I have to beg?"
"Please don't. You know I hate that." Peter's begging had always annoyed me, even when he was the only boy who looked at me. It was his worst characteristic. That and his persistence. It is hard to tell persistence from loyalty sometimes, but even so....
We stood there until the music stopped, not talking to each other but not quite ignoring each other. Sometimes I miss the friendship that Peter and I had. It had started out much less boy-girl than friend-friend. We had studied together, played together, and talked together. When I had first gone after Dave, Peter had even given me advice. He'd taken me to dances when Dave had ignored me. The year I went from a training bra to C cups, he was the only boy I would trust at all. That is when our friendship really turned into dating. Then I went up from C to D, my hips started to catch up with my bust, and Dave did notice me. Now we couldn't -- I couldn't -- go back.
"Get lost, dweeb," Dave said. I hadn't heard him come up either. Peter left. "If he bothers you, tell me and I'll punch him out."
"He wasn't bothering me." Not in that way. "Peter's an old friend; I wouldn't appreciate your beating him up. It's not your style, anyway. You pick on kids your own size."
"You're my fan club, Shar," Dave said with a smile. "I keep telling you. Backs don't pick on the defense. I only bump into a guard when I do something wrong."
"Modesty! I didn't know you had it in you. Even when you're carrying, not blocking, you go in the way of danger." Every word of that was true, except the modesty. Dave is good and knows it.
"Anyway, let's dance." That's another thing I like about Dave. He doesn't quite twist my arm, but he decides. A man tells you, he doesn't beg you.
We look good together on the dance floor. We're not one of the spectacular couples, but we do have some good moves. Anyway, the fanciest dancers are only known as dancers. Most of the school looks up to Dave-and-Charlene most of the time. I need that, I was miserable my freshman and sophomore years; I'm going to be a freshman again next year. I'll be damned if I'm going to spend my senior year as a Cinderella.
Then they changed to a slow tune. I came into Dave's arms and followed his lead. It's only a symbol, but it's an important one. Dave takes the lead all the time.
He decided when we would leave the dance, as well. I knew we were headed for our usual place, the shadow of a culvert over a dry wash. We park enough below road level to give us some privacy, but way above the floor of the ravine.
He had driven me there on our second date, going directly and not searching at all. I had known then that I wasn't the first girl he had taken there, but I hadn't cared. We had kissed then, kissed for the longest time. Dave is a gentleman by his own standards; we hadn't parked on our first date, he hadn't groped my breasts on the second. When he had removed my bra on our fourth date, though, I had been afraid that he would try to have me naked on the next one.
I needn't have worried. The breasts had been what he was after, on every date he has lavished them with kisses, stroked them, sucked on them, buried his face in the valley between them. I've snickered at girls who come to school with hickeys on their necks; since I have gym Thursdays this year, none of the girls have seen the hickeys that Dave sometimes leaves on my breasts.
This night, after we moved to the back seat, all of Dave's attention while he was kissing me was on unzipping my dress and unfastening my bra. Once that was done, however, he stopped rushing. The breasts got his undivided attention until long after I was ready for him to go on. My desire had peaked into an ache before he buried his head between them and kissed to each side. That was part of the ritual.
We kissed again while he made his preparations. He moved back and reached under my skirt. When my panties and pantyhose were on the back shelf, he kissed each nipple in turn before pulling my skirt up to my waist. I wanted him, if a little less than I had five minutes before. I wanted him to pleasure me, to fill me, but also to cover me and control me.
He opened the door on the left side, and I straightened out on the seat. The air was cool on my feet, but I wouldn't feel that for very long. His own feet stretched much further out while he fitted himself between my legs.
"Put me in," he said. I spread myself with my left hand while holding him with my right. The feel of the greasy rubber didn't excite me, but it did reassure. Still I waited, feeling his eagerness, his hardness, his desire -- thwarting him for one second.
"I love you, Shar," he said. Then, fitted into my entrance, he took back control. He pressed forward until I was full of him, then paused while we both made adjustments. I reached up with my right hand to feel his back and the hard muscles flowing beneath his skin. The back of my left hand felt the tension in his stomach. He held my shoulder with one hand and held himself up with the other.
Then he raised up a little further and began moving in and out. His driving thrusts filled me, pushed me forward as his hand pulled me back, spread and raised my thighs each time. His excitement pushed me towards the edge. When he sped up, I knew to stroke myself. Between the fullness, his friction within, and mine on my little nub, I spiraled higher and higher.
"Oh fuck!" he called as he lost all control, "Oh God!" The driving pressure took me over. I barely heard his grunts as he emptied himself into the rubber.
Then we were lying there. Dave was sprawled over me, weighing me down. I couldn't catch my breath and my feet were freezing. My shoulder was sore where he had been grasping it, my head was pressed against the door, and my neck was bent at an odd angle. Finally he stirred and raised himself. He passed me a pocket package of Kleenex. I cleaned myself up while he removed the rubber and wrapped it in a couple of tissues.
He kissed my breasts one last time before he let me put the bra on again. He dashed into the front seat with his clothes, slamming the back door behind him. I needed the space for struggling back into my dress. Still I wished he would talk to me then.
It hasn't always been like this.
Last spring, he had driven me out away from everything on a Saturday. After we'd had the simple picnic I'd made for us, he'd shaken out the blanket that we'd eaten on. Then he'd folded it over and put it on a level piece of ground in the shade of his car. While we'd lain on this, he'd given real attention to kissing my mouth and face and ears and neck. It hadn't been his usual -- something to do while he unbuttoned the top. He had unbuttoned the top, though, and had continued down to the breasts he loves so much.
When we were both topless in the full daylight he'd turned to these, lipping, licking, sucking, teasing -- holding, stroking, patting, even squeezing. I had been more turned on than I had ever been before his hands had gone to my waist. I hadn't been planning on that, but neither had it been a total surprise.
Ridiculously, my greatest worry just then had been his response to the old, faded panties under my jeans. So I'd accepted their removal without even token complaint.
He'd kissed my mouth again. They were full kisses, hungry kisses, wet kisses. But they hadn't kept his full attention. When his clothes were off, he'd continued those kisses while stroking between my legs. With his hand there and his mouth on my breasts, I felt myself spiraling upward; but I was still worried.
"I'm not sure," I had told him. "I'm scared...." Scared of what might happen, scared that it might hurt, scared that my parents would be able to tell, scared that he'd tell his friends. I was scared of crossing a line I couldn't cross back.
"Don't be," he'd said, "I have something." He'd climbed between my legs. "Here feel." I had felt, felt the slippery rubber, felt the size of what he wanted to put in me.
"I don't," I'd started.
"Yes you do. I love you Shar, I want us to be one. Now put it in." I still hesitated as he pushed forward. "Put it in, Shar!" I guided it to my opening. He pushed forward until the tip was lodged within me. "Oh Shar. Oh, I do love you."
He'd pushed a little further; I'd felt stretched, not quite stretched enough to hurt. "Oh, Shar. You are so tight."
Then he'd shoved himself half way in. It had hurt. What I had minded most was that he hadn't cared whether it would hurt. Then all that resentment had changed. "Are you okay?" he'd asked.
"Could you stop there?"
"As long as you want. Well, if you want me to stop too long, I'll come out instead. May I move enough to kiss you?"
I'd looked up at him. He doesn't ask permission to kiss, had not done so even the first time. He had taken my look for permission, kissing gently all over my face -- mostly the top part, he'd been a little too high on me to reach my mouth. He had begun to slip deeper in me.
"Oh Sharl," he said. "Did that hurt?"
"No. I'm fine."
"I didn't mean to go further. Here." He'd moved his body back a little. From there he'd been able to bend enough to reach my mouth. He'd pecked at my lips and licked them before searching for my tongue. "Can I come in now?" he'd asked when that kiss was over. At my nod, he had eased forward very slowly. Finally, our groins had been pressed together.
"Does it still hurt?"
Truth to tell, it barely had. "Just move slowly." I hadn't wanted that pain again.
"I'll move in a minute. Now I want you to get used to me. And I want to get used to you, too. You're a lovely girl, with lovely face and breasts and body. But your pussy is lovely around me too, the tightest hug that you could imagine. Oh, Shar, I love you. I love your face and body and breasts and pussy. I love all of you, dear Charlene. As slow as I can bear."
Then he had pulled back very slowly until he was almost out and had pushed in more slowly yet, if anything. I'd lost most of my excitement when the pain had hit, but the idea had still been exciting. We had been doing it at last; I had been doing it and had crossed the line into being a woman. The motion had become exciting as well, especially after he had sped up. I had started to anticipate more excitement from his motion when it stopped. He'd shoved deep into me and grunted a few times. Then he had sprawled on top.
He had moved off in response to my shove -- off and a foot or so away. I'd lain there with my eyes running. To this day I don't know whether it was because of what I had done, or because he was lying so far away while I was naked and alone under the sky, or because of the barely-remembered pain. I had known that I wasn't what I had been, and I was alone.
He'd returned to me, however, kissing the tears away, holding me tight, whispering. Slowly, he'd petted me back to desire. He'd talked all the time that he wasn't kissing me. I'd been afraid when his hand had returned to my sore valley, but needlessly. He'd sucked my breasts and stroked my nub until I finally came. Then he'd kissed and hugged me.
"Now we are one," he'd said. "Dave and Charlene. together forever."
He'd kept talking as we got dressed and drove back. He'd told me that he loved me, that I was beautiful, that the afternoon had been the crowning point of his life.
It really must have been an effort on his part. I don't remember his ever talking about anything for so long, even himself. At my house, he had suddenly changed the subject. But he had parked the car in the driveway and walked me to the door. His kiss had been short and gentle, maybe to fool my parents and the neighbors, maybe because he had hurt me.
He certainly wasn't talking in the car this night. He slowed on another culvert to throw away the Kleenex, and the rubber. When he let me off, I rolled my hips a little more than I needed to as I walked up to my door. He smiled from behind the wheel. The boys envy him as much as the girls envy me.
I'll be going to Tempe. He'll be going to Texas A&M. We haven't talked much about the future since he announced that. That's okay; in the fall, we'll both be freshmen. Nobody in college cares what you were in high school. Nobody but you.
I'll at least have the memory of this year. I'm a cheerleader, one of the best known girls in the school; my looks and my bust raise envy in the girls and something else in the boys. He's a running back, good enough to get a sports scholarship, good enough to disappoint the school when he didn't make all-state. We might not always talk when we're together, but we look good together.
I deserve the recognition that I get this year; we both do. We deserve each other.
The End Desert Uther Pendragon firstname.lastname@example.org 1999/10/09 2001/08/24 2002/02/08 2003/04/07 2004/03/25 For another story involving a high-school romance see: "April's First." This story is indexed in the subdirectory: Young Love The directory to all my stories can be found at: Index to Uther Pendragon's Website