Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Carl and Beth Do Sex Ed in Middle School

   by peregrinf

   Copyright(c) 2010 by peregrinf

   ------ Description: WARNING: CHAPTER 8 CONTAINS SOME MALE HOMOSEXUALITY.
Beth Naked in School was one of those occasions when everything fell into
place perfectly.  To maintain that quality has been slow going.  Good
writing is like that.  Sometimes it just takes time.  New readers, I
suggest you at least read Beth Naked in School.  Even better, read the
whole trilogy; in order, "Carl Naked in School", "Carl Naked in School -
Beth's Story", and "Beth Naked in School".
Codes: mf ff boy gi mm cons reluc gay les het fant bro sis safe oral
anal mastrb pett toys food exhib voy slow caution sch

   ------ Chapter 7

   I was wrestling with my trig homework.  It was a nice distraction, side
A and side B and side C dealing with sines, cosines, tangents, rather than
Missy and Mike and Me dealing with hormones, emotions, betrayal.

   I was trying not to think of all that for fear of losing my supper, not
that I'd eaten all that much.  I'd pushed the food around on my plate so it
looked like I was eating.  Mom knew, but said nothing, and as soon as I'd
finished the dishes, with Carl's help, I'd fled to my room.

   "Phone, Dee," Mom called from downstairs.

   I felt a chill.  I knew who it was.  We talked almost every night.  "Who
is it?"

   "I think it's Missy!"

   "I don't want to talk to her."

   There was a long silence, then, quietly, dangerously quietly, "I think
you'd better."

   "Why should I?"

   "She's crying."

   My instant reaction was; I cried in the shower, so now it's her turn and
she deserves it.

   But then for some reason I remembered a long bike ride, Missy gamely
puffing along with me.  I don't know how far we went that day, but I
remember pedaling along beside her, encouraging her, walking up a long hill
beside her instead of pedaling, just sharing the day, talking about
everything, and nothing, lying side by side on the grass to catch our
breath, naming clouds after people we knew.

   When we got home and she took off her shoes one foot was bloody. 
"Blister," she admitted, wincing as she peeled her gory sock off.

   "Why didn't you tell me?" I'd asked.

   "We were having such a good time, I didn't want to spoil it."

   It had to have really hurt but she had never complained, hadn't cried.
She didn't wanted to spoil our good time.  She wasn't a cry-baby.

   I'd tenderly washed her foot and bandaged it.  After all, that's what
friends are for.

   I picked up the phone, waited until I heard mom hang up.  "Hello," I
ventured cautiously.

   There was a long, long silence, then a soft, hesitant, choked sounding
"Dee?"

   "Speaking." I was trying to be warm and caring, but it was just too
hard.

   "SNUUFFFF -- could you come over?  Please?"

   She sounded so pitiful I could feel my heart melting.

   "Maybe spend the night?  Please?"

   I sighed.

   "I need you," she wailed softly.

   The Stick bent.  "Lemme check with my mom," I agreed reluctantly.

   "SNUFFFF.  I already asked her, and she said it was okay.  Please?  You
could bring your books and clothes and stuff, so we can walk to school
together?"

   "We could have walked home together today," I pointed out bitterly.

   A gasp, a whimper, a sob.  "I know," she moaned miserably.  "Please
come."

   My heart was breaking again, but in a different way now.  She was my
friend and she was in pain, and never mind what she had done to me.

   Am I a wimp, or an idiot?  I don't know.  All I knew was that my BFF was
hurting.

   "Okay," I agreed softly.  "I'll be over in a few minutes."

   "Thank you," she whispered softly.  "See you."

   "See you." I signed off, looked at my unfinished trig and shut the book,
stuffed it in my back pack, threw on some clothes I could wear to school
tomorrow, and headed down the stairs.

   Mom was at the bottom.  "Something's wrong."

   It wasn't a question.  She's not stupid.  I nodded.

   "Can I do anything?"

   I shook my head.  "I'll see you tomorrow," I said, then turned to her
and almost threw myself into her arms.

   She held me close, for a long, long time, and it felt so good, and I
know I left tears on her shoulder.  I was grateful she didn't press me for
more information.

   "If you need me, call me," she whispered before she kissed my cheek.

   I nodded, wondering just what I might be letting myself in for as I
stepped out the door.

   Then I remembered.  I am The Stick.  I am Tall, I am Slender, I am Sexy,
I am Strong.  I am Kind.  The list gets longer, and harder.

   I straightened up and shouldered my back pack.  I didn't hurry, I didn't
dawdle, I tried to enjoy the soft, warm evening.

   At the foot of the walk up to Missy's house, I paused.  It was twilight
and the porch light was on.  Taking a deep breath, The Stick, standing
tall, headed up the walk.

   I was only half way to the door when it banged open and The Stick's
courage almost deserted me, freezing me in my tracks.

   "What have you done?"

   I knew Missy's mom as a reserved, proper lady, more formal than mine,
but always kind to me.  But I didn't recognize this woman.  She was
wild-eyed, hair like she'd touched a light socket, frantic.

   "Mrs.  Wilson, I don't know what you're talking about.  Missy called me.
May I come in, please?" She was in my face, but I held my ground.

   I felt our whole relationship shifting under my feet.  I was taller than
her!  It gave me an entirely new perspective, as if I was the grown up.

   "She called you?" Her usually calm, dignified voice was like fingernails
on a blackboard.

   "Yes'm.  What happened?"

   She stood in my way.  "I don't..."

   "Mrs.  Wilson, Missy called me.  She's crying."

   "I know she's crying!" Her voice echoed down the quiet street.

   I thought of all the windows in the houses around us, some of them open
to the evening breeze, lights coming on inside.  In my mind's eye I could
see neighbors, watching and listening.  What if they called the cops?

   I was shaking, my mind racing.  It was all I could do to hold my ground.
I remembered how my mom had dealt with an irate client once, tried to
deflect things.  "Are you sure you want to discuss this out here?"

   Word for word, mom's words from my mouth.

   Missy's mom looked around, suddenly aware of her surroundings.  She
whirled and headed back to the house, her footsteps quick and nervous,
angry.  On shaking legs I followed her as she pushed past her husband, who
was standing in the doorway, frowning.

   I looked at him, surprised to find I was looking him right in the eye.
Suddenly I was as tall as he was.  He looked -- worried, puzzled,
surprised, but not hostile.  My jaw clenched, I didn't back off.  "Please.
Missy needs me," I said very softly.

   Wordlessly he stepped aside and let me in, closed the door behind me,
cutting off my retreat.  Maybe getting in here hadn't been such a good
idea.

   "What happened?" I asked as calmly as I could manage.

   Mrs.  Wilson was pacing, wringing her hands.  "Missy came home -- she
was later than usual, and I'd been worried -- she got in the door, turned
around, then went white as a sheet.  Then she burst into tears and ran to
her room.  She's locked in there, won't let me in, doesn't want supper..."

   I told myself to stay calm, though inside I was shaking.  "She didn't
say anything?"

   Mrs.  Wilson shook her head.  "The only thing she said was 'Oh my God,
Dee!' Didn't you walk home with her?  You always walk home with her!"

   "Not this time," I admitted, my mind running in frantic little circles.
"I haven't seen her since lunch.  She called me a few minutes ago, and she
was crying, and she asked me to come over, asked me if I could spend the
night."

   I thought of bringing up the whole thing with Mike Collins, but bit it
back.

   "May I go to her?" I asked, waving vaguely at the stairs.

   "Of course you may," Mr.  Wilson answered quickly, before his wife could
respond.  "You know you're always welcome here."

   "But Frank..."

   "If Missy needs Dee -- we can't interfere, Ethel."

   "But what if..."

   I was getting a grip on things.  This was mama bear, protecting her cub.

   "Mrs.  Wilson, may I see Missy, please?" The thought of what was
happening behind Missy's door was enough to make my eyes tear up and I
didn't try to hide it.  Sometimes even The Stick begs.

   "Let's let them sort it out, dear," Mr.  Wilson suggested, putting his
arm around her, giving me a nod.  "How about a glass of wine."

   I moved toward the stairs.  I had the feeling he had just gotten home,
walking into a cyclone, and he was more confused than I was.

   Why was I here?  So she could pull the knife out of my back and stick it
in again?

   But I knew that wasn't fair.  Missy wasn't like that.  She was my
friend, and she needed me.  What else could I do?

   As I headed up the stairs I heard Mrs.  Wilson say something about "that
class" in a way that scared me.  I felt I could cope with Missy -- I hoped
I could, at least.  But if this was about Sex Ed I knew I could be in way
over my head.  Did they know what was going on among the Dirty Dozen?

   Of course, even I wasn't sure.  Oh, I knew what was going on in the
class, but not the why.  Missy's parents, especially her mom, were pretty
conservative, and very protective.  I wasn't even sure they approved of
Joshua, Missy's brother, doing The Program.  I was surprised they'd let
Missy take part in the Sex Ed program at all.

   If they found out we were getting naked and masturbating in class all
hell could break loose.  I vowed they wouldn't find that out from me.

   I hoped.  This whole thing was threatening to grow into a huge, elephant
sized mess.

   "How do you eat an elephant?" I asked myself as I climbed the stairs. 
It was a silly riddle we'd giggled over for weeks last year.  Every time
one of us was dealing with some big problem, the other would ask, "How do
you eat an elephant."

   "One bite at a time!" we'd chorus, and break into giggles.

   Or sometimes it was "How do you carve an elephant?"

   And the answer was, "You get a big, big, big block of marble, and chip
away all the parts that don't look like an elephant."

   Yeah, well, we were just kids back then.  It was funny at the time.  It
also was our way of reminding ourselves that any big problem can be broken
down into a bunch of little bites to be taken one at a time.

   Then I was at Missy's door, and I knocked softly.

   "Dee?" It was a timid, frightened near whisper.

   "It's me." On an impulse, I asked her, "How do you eat and elephant?"

   "What?" I heard her fumbling with the door.

   "How do you eat an elephant?" I repeated patiently.

   "W--w--one bite at a time?" I heard her moving away.

   "Open the door, please, Missy."

   "H -- h-- how do you c--carve an elephant?" she asked from farther away.

   I smiled through my own tears.  "You get a big, big, big block of
marble, and chip away all the pieces that don't look like an elephant."

   "It's unlocked."

   One bite at a time, I thought as I opened the door slowly, worried about
handling my own feelings of betrayal.  The elephant was in the room, right
between us.  It WAS us, but I wasn't sure yet of its size or shape, or
mood.

   I was older now, too.  I knew some elephants could be intractable; nice
word, "intractable."

   Missy has a very girly room, compared to mine, all ruffles and frills, a
bookcase topped by Barbie Dolls and some crystal and ceramic figures of
ballerinas, all very neat and tidy.

   Mine is a tangle of hockey sticks (field and ice), lacrosse gear, soccer
cleats, softball stuff, gathering dust now.  Now swimming and diving are my
fave sports, though I still like the rough and tumble of soccer.  Where she
has Leonardo DeCaprio's picture and that guy from the Twilight movies, I
have Greg Lougainis and Michael Phelps.  And no, tall as I am, I don't come
close to his wingspan.

   I may yet.  Coach keeps measuring me.  I kinda hope not.  Phelps is
really tall.

   Missy was sitting on her bed, curled over like she had a stomach ache,
looking at her hands, her knees, the floor.  Anywhere but at me.

   "I'm sorry," she whimpered miserably.  "I'm so sorry!" Her hair was a
mess, her face was blotchy, her cheeks tear stained.

   Oh hell!  All the anger just drained out of me.  I was hurting, but she
was hurting worse.  I shrugged off my backpack, closed the door behind me,
and joined her on her soft quilted bedspread, white with pink flowers.  I
put my arm around her and drew her close.  She leaned against me and
sobbed.

   While she cried I looked around her room, marveling.  We were so
different.  She was into all the girlie things, while I was into sports. 
She was doing things like the school play, taking clarinet lessons, and
dance, while I was a total tomboy.

   I was a risk taker.  I loved to dive, hence the Lougainis picture,
though my growth spurt had totally messed up my coordination and balance
for now.

   Missy was the cautious one, keeping me alive while I was always trying
to drag her off into some crazy adventure.  She once talked me out of
jumping off the garage roof trying to fly using a sheet.  Do all kids do
that?  And always off the garage roof?

   I broke down.  I loved her like a sister, and then some.  We'd laughed
together a lot, loved together one time, and now we cried together.

   When she'd settled down to little whimpers and shivers, and I was down
to snuffles, I dragged over the tissues box at the head of her bed -- long
arms, remember?  -- and blotted her tears, let her blow her nose, blew
mine.

   "What happened?" I asked gently.

   Just that was almost enough to set off another flood, but she managed to
control it.  "I don't know," she answered woefully.  "I was with Mike..."

   "It wasn't Mike was it?  If he did anything I'll kill him!" That would
solve the problem between us, at least.

   She shook her head.  "Nonono!  We were just talking."

   "Talking?" I'd been too timid to exchange more than a "pass the salt"
with him.  Not even that.  Some risk taker!

   "Well, I'd kinda gotten to know him in class..."

   I thought of them up there in the front row, naked, side by side, doing
who knows what with each other.

   "I guess so." I couldn't help it, I was a bit curt, even though that
wasn't her fault.

   She whimpered, and I thought the floodgates were about to open again,
but she sucked in a shaky breath.  "It wasn't like that.  We just -- each
-- did -- ourselves.  Honest.  I didn't touch him, though I did want to,"
she confessed guiltily.

   But they were side by side, naked, masturbating.  I had to ask.  "Did he
cum?"

   She nodded.

   I wished I'd seen it.  "Did you?"

   She nodded again.  I cringed, even as I remembered how I'd cum, and how
A.  J.  had cum right beside me, and I'd wanted to touch him, though his
eyes were more on Mickey's assets than my busy fingers.  Damn that girl was
built!  And on my other side Patterson was being an asshole.

   KLINK!  Another quarter drops into my mental jar.

   "But it wasn't nearly as good as when you did me last night," Missy
assured me sincerely.

   Was that only last night?  God, how much had happened since then!

   "So, I thought we were gonna sit together at lunch, the three of us,"
Missy went on.  "But you went off someplace talking about Patterson, so
Mike and I sat together, and talked."

   I suddenly realized what I'd done, what an idiot I had been.

   "And then we talked more," she continued.

   "You didn't meet me between classes!" I complained, trying to blame her
for my stupidity.

   She gulped, and nodded.  "But we -- Mike and me -- were talking between
classes, we have the same classes and walk together.  And then school was
over, and we were still talking, and I just -- kinda forgot -- and he's
sorta on the way home, so we walked together, and then we sat on his porch,
talking."

   Her voice rose to a wail, and it all came out in a rush.  "I'm sorry,
I'm so sorry!  I got home and turned to say something to you, and you
weren't there and I suddenly realized what I'd done, that I'd forgotten
you! How could I forget you?"

   How indeed?  I asked myself.

   Hormones!  I answered myself.

   "What about Mike?" I asked warily, not sure I wanted to know.

   "He's a really, really nice guy," she answered, plucking at something on
her skirt.  Yeah, she usually wore a skirt and blouse, while I was the
pants type, except lately.  "He's got a younger brother.  And his dad is a
plumbing contractor.  His mom's a stay-at-home mom, and she brought us
lemonade and cookies, and she's real nice.  And he reads a lot of science
fiction, and history, and he writes poetry..."

   "He writes poetry?" For a boy to admit to writing poetry ...  well, that
wasn't something to elevate his rank in the pack.

   "Uh huh.  And he plays the saxophone, but says he's not very good, and I
said I play clarinet, and that I'm not very good, and maybe we could play
together sometime, and..."

   I put my hand on hers, not wanting to hear any more, that sick feeling
swelling in my stomach.  I swallowed hard.  "Sounds like you really got to
know him." I blinked back tears of my own.

   She nodded.  "I'm sorry," she wailed softly.

   And I sat there, and saw what a fool I had been, afraid to talk to him,
going off on some stupid crusade to rescue Patterson when I could have been
sharing my time with Missy and Mike and getting to know him, even if it was
Missy he was more interested in, and I'd handed him to her on a silver
platter.

   I wrapped my arms around Missy.  "It's not your fault," I assured her.
"It's not your fault."

   "But..."

   I let go of her and eased her back so I could look her in the eye.  When
she wouldn't meet my look, I took her face, her cheeks warm, and soft, and
wet on my palms, and I made her look at me, my thumbs wiping at her tears.

   "It -- is -- not -- your -- fault," I insisted.

   "But -- I -- and Mike -- and then -- I forgot.  And I guess I kinda
stole your boyfriend."

   "NO!" I answered, and she flinched.

   "No," I said more softly.  "He wasn't mine to lose.  He was my wet
dream, maybe, but not my boyfriend.  It's not your fault.  If anything,
it's mine," I admitted, my heart breaking inside at the admission.

   "You -- forgive me?"

   "Of course, though there's nothing to forgive."

   "Oh, Dee." And then she her arms around me, her face against my chest.
"I'm so sorry."

   "Nothing to be sorry about," I said, blaming myself.  I was sorry, more
sorry than she, and I could only blame myself.

   It was time to change the subject, before I fell apart.  I was such an
idiot!  "Have you had anything to eat?"

   "No."

   "I bet your mom has something downstairs.  She's worried, you know."

   Missy nodded.

   At that moment there was a soft knock at the door.  "There's soup
downstairs, girls, if you want it," Mrs.  Wilson announced softly, not
opening the door.

   Bless moms and their telepathy.  "I bet it's alphabet soup." I know
that's Missy's favorite.  I gave her a nudge.

   She looked up at me hopefully and I gave her an encouraging nod.

   "We'll be down in a minute mom, thanks."

   She and I shared a long hug, and I carefully, and very deliberately,
gave her a soft kiss, right on her lips.

   It was her tongue that made the first move this time, just a timid
little touch, the sweetest possible touch, cherry flavored.

   Then I was wiping tears off my own cheeks.  "I need to wash my face."

   "Me, too," Missy agreed.  "Are you -- gonna stay the night?" she asked
hopefully.

   "Of course I am," I assured her.  "But I need to call my mom, 'cause I
know she's worried."

   Then I looked worried.  "But I forgot pajamas."

   She dimpled shyly.  "So?  Who needs pajamas?"

   "Good point." The fact that she only had a single bed, not a queen size,
made me tingle all over.

   Our giggles were just a little bit wicked.

   After we'd washed away the evidence of our sob-fest and Missy had combed
her hair, and I tried to organize mine, we went downstairs hand in hand,
smiling.  I could see some of the tension go out of Missy's mom at the
sight, but there was still a residue left, the lines of her mouth, the
furrows between her eyebrows.

   "May I use your phone, please, Mrs.  Wilson?"

   Her worry changed to questioning as she nodded, and I dialed home.  "Hi,
mom ...  Yes, everything is okay."

   Mom heaved a sigh of relief.  "Thanks for calling.  Oh, while I've got
you, you got a strange phone call, someone called Patterson?"

   My heart stopped a moment.  "What did he want?"

   "Said he wants to talk with you.  He'll be at school fifteen minutes
early, or meet you between 1st and 2nd periods, and he said you'll know
where to find him."

   What was this?  Was I becoming the school counselor all of a sudden?  I
sighed.  "Thanks, mom.  Mrs.  Wilson has made some soup.  I gotta go.  I
love you."

   The dining room table was set, as always, nice china but not the finest
stuff.  I knew that was reserved for holiday meals, big occasions,
otherwise carefully displayed in a nice breakfront, the sterling below it
in specially lined drawers that smelled funny.  Everything was very neat
and tidy, and her mom always had dinner on the table.

   There are advantages to having a stay-at-home mom, though Mrs.  Wilson
is not, quite, but did have more time to keep house I guess, but I wouldn't
trade mine for anything.

   The table was set for five.  I guess none of them had eaten since Missy
got home.  That was fine with me, my stomach had settled and I was hungry.

   Mr.  Wilson was at the head of the table, of course, and Mrs.  Wilson at
the foot, nearest the kitchen.  She looked better, her hair brushed.  Missy
and I shared one side, Missy's brother was across from us.  Mrs.  Wilson
dished up soup from a tureen, and we passed the bowls around.

   No surprise, it was her home made alphabet soup, rich and full of
vegetables.  Missy and I used to try to make words in our bowls.  This time
we just ate.

   There were hot rolls and butter, and honey, nothing fancy, but wholesome
and filling.  Joshua grabbed a roll with one hand, his spoon with the
other, and slurped, and earned a frown from his father.

   "So, what are the Dirty Dozen up to?" Josh asked.

   "The Dirty Dozen?" Mrs.  Wilson asked.

   Uh oh.

   "That's what they're calling that sex ed group they're in," Josh
explained, digging my hole deeper.

   "The Dirty Dozen?  The Dirty Dozen?" Missy's mom's voice was rising. 
"And who is 'they'?"

   "It's a joke," I injected quickly.  "It's what the kids who aren't in
the class are calling us, because there's twelve of us, four from each
grade, and the kids outside the class don't have any idea what's going on
inside the room.  We've been sworn to secrecy."

   "The Dirty Dozen?" Mr.  Wilson can cock an eyebrow, too.

   "I like it," I went on quickly.  "It's like, well, the first day one of
the guys in the class called me The Stick, because I'm so tall and skinny,
so now I think of myself as The Stick.  I'm proud of the name, because I am
tall, and I'm -- I'm slender.  I may not be built like Mickey Kelly, but I
can be sexy, too, and I don't have to jiggle and flounce the way she does.
I'm proud of what I am."

   "I didn't know that!" Missy was surprised.  "All of a sudden you looked
different, but I just thought you'd suddenly grown again."

   I winked at her, trying to let her know I'd talk about it later.  "I am
still growing, I think, but I stopped slumping.  So I think of us as The
Dirty Dozen, because we're special, chosen for the class."

   "I do, too," Missy admitted.  "And so do the other kids in the class. 
We like it."

   I hadn't realized it had caught on with the others, and I felt good.

   Mr.  Wilson cleared his throat as he buttered a roll.  "And just what
are you learning in sex ed?  I know Carl and Beth both did The Program, and
I saw her at the pep rally.  I was impressed by her -- ahem -- performance.
But teaching sex ed?  Aren't they kind of young for that?  Are they
certified?"

   "Ms Andrews is actually the teacher.  Carl and Beth are assistants or
mentors or something."

   I thought fast.  "Well, it is a sex education class, so of course
they're teaching us about safe sex, stuff like that.  But they made a point
of it that they are not encouraging us to have sex, because we're not ready
for it.

   "Not that some kids not even in the class aren't already into it," I
admitted wryly.

   I paused, not for dramatic effect, but because I was thinking furiously,
thinking of what we were learning.  "Carl and Beth are older than we are,
but not so old they've forgotten, so they've been through what we're going
through now, all the mood swings and stuff.

   "We're learning about our bodies, and how they're changing, growing in
different ways and different speeds, and how our hormones affect us.

   "It's about how our feelings are changing, too, how we feel about
ourselves, and about others, about how boys and girls react to each other.
How we're different, and changing, each of us in our own way."

   I was carefully keep my voice steady, not sputtering through this. 
"It's complicated."

   "It sounds like it," he agreed.

   "So you guys don't get naked and fool around?" Josh asked, and I
wondered if he was deliberately trying to put me on the spot.

   "Well, we learn about the physical differences between boys and girls,"
I countered delicately.

   Well, it wasn't a lie, exactly.  And anyway, I had my fingers crossed.

   "And we do learn about the -- oh -- the nuts and bolts of sex, if you'll
pardon the expression."

   "Oh my!" Mrs.  Wilson sighed.  "When Missy said you were taking the
class and that she'd been chosen, too, and she really wanted to take it
with you, well, I was a little concerned.  But she wanted so much to do it,
because you were..."

   "We trust you, Dee," Mr.  Wilson explained.  "Not that we don't trust
you, Missy," he added quickly.  "When Missy told us that you'd been
selected, and were going to do it, well, that decided it."

   Missy took it because I was taking it, and her parents went along for
the same reason?  That shook me up.

   "And then, when she came home late, and so upset, I just assumed it had
something to do with the class," Mrs.  Wilson admitted.

   "No, it wasn't like that.  And the class is good for us," Missy quickly
put in.  She looked at her soup.  "What happened today had nothing to do
with the class.  It was..."

   "It was a silly misunderstanding," I broke in, "and it was all my fault,
and I am so sorry it happened.  I know it must have been really upsetting,
and I am truly sorry."

   "We're okay now," Missy said with her sweet smile, and she took my hand.

   I gave it a squeeze.  "Yeah, we're okay now."

   "See Ethel?  A tempest in a teen-age teapot, like I told you," Mr. 
Wilson said.  "Remember when you were their age?"

   "I'd rather not," Mrs.  Wilson admitted.  She sighed.  "It sounds to me
like this is a class we could have used when we were their age."

   "Amen!" Missy's dad agreed.

   Joshua was eyeing me, thoughtfully nodding.  He might have been agreeing
with his parents.

   Or he might have been thinking about my answers.  Approving?  At least
he didn't push any further.

   I'd like to say I heaved a silent sigh of relief, followed by a mental
fist-pump and an equally silent but dramatic "Yessss!" like I'd just nailed
a double twisting front two and a half off the three meter board -- one of
my dreams -- but the truth is, I concentrated totally on keeping my spoon
steady so I didn't dribble soup down my chin and my chest.  I was jelly
inside.

   Then I felt Missy's hand on my knee, and I felt all warm and safe.  She
stroked my thigh, and I shot her a sly look, and let my legs ease open.

   Her eyes twinkled, and I was having trouble steadying my spoon again as
her fingers slipped up higher, and higher, and higher.  So I shot her a
warming look, but she just nibbled her bottom lip impishly, and her hand
made a quick dash up to my panties, touched my suddenly moist crotch, and
then vanished.

   Fortunately, my spoon was still over my bowl or I would have wound up
with soup coming out of my nose.  We both giggled, getting curious looks
from the rest of her family.

   "Girls!" Joshua said with a snort.

   Later, upstairs in Missy's room, behind the closed door we slid between
the sheets, and we just had to hold on to each other or one of us would
have fallen out of bed.

   Not that we minded.  We were skin to skin again, safe and warm in each
other's arms, in the dark, under the covers, our legs interlaced thigh to
crotch, just the two of us.

   And Patterson.  Oh, not in bed with us, except in my mind.  How was I
going to arrange to get to school early?  I'd thought of telling Missy
about Patterson's call, but kicked that idea out immediately.  That would
rake up the whole thing between me and Missy again.

   We were doing kissy face, and I sighed.

   "Something wrong?" Missy asked.

   "How'm I going to get to taste your good parts in this tiny bed?" I
asked, shoving Patterson out of my mind and Missy's bedroom.

   "Oh, I wanted to taste your good parts, too," Missy complained.  "Wait a
minute!"

   "Where are you going?" She'd pulled away, even gotten out of bed.

   There was a flurry of covers being shoved out of the way.  "Slide down
in bed."

   "But my feet," I complained.

   "Oh, hush up and do as I say!" She was tugging at my ankles.  My sweet,
shy Missy was pulling me down so my calves were off the foot of her bed.

   "What are you doing?!"

   "Getting to the sweet parts," she answered, rejoining me in bed, only I
was looking at her knees.

   "This isn't going to work!"

   "Will, too!" she insisted, giggling.

   "You little vixen, stop tickling me!"

   "Roll over on your back!"

   "But Missy!  Ow!  That was my nose your knee just broke!"

   "Spread your legs!"

   There was a lot of giggling and poking and twisting and tickling.

   "What?  Oooohhhhhh!" Suddenly she was licking the inside of my right
thigh, her legs were straddling my head and I found myself looking up at
her slit with its delicate swirl of hair right in front of my face.

   "We don't need as much space this way," she pointed out, talking to my
crotch.  "Are you okay on the bottom?"

   "Bend your knees," I answered softly and eagerly.  I cupped her soft,
soft ass in my hands and drew her closer, smelling her sweet musk, burying
my face in her pussy.

   Then she was fingering my twat, spreading my labia, her breath hot on my
suddenly very ready flesh.

   "Oh, Missy," I purred into the warm, soft flesh engulfing my face. 
"What a good idea!  Yum!"

   She didn't answer me, probably because her mouth was full.  Her tongue
was exploring my pussy from clit to cunt, my crotch flooding her face.

   So I just had to return the favor.  Everything was upside-down from what
I was used to, so I took my time exploring her juicy folds, working from
the clit down -- or was it up?  Whatever, I licked further than I meant to
and ran off the end of her pussy and found an interesting sort of wrinkled
dimple.

   Missy broke off her own licking.  "Dee!" she whispered.

   "What?"

   "That was my -- my --..."

   "Your what?" I did it again, deliberately, knowing perfectly well what I
was licking this time.  I felt a delicious wickedness at the thought.

   "MY ASSHOLE!"

   "SHSHSHSHSHSH," I shushed her.  I deliberately worked my hand around and
teased it with my fingertip, then licked it again.

   "DEEEEEEEE!"

   "Don't you like it?" I asked.

   "I love it!  But..."

   "Then shut up!" I told her, licking it again.

   "Ooooooo!"

   Then something warm and wet touched my asshole and it was my turn to
"OooooooooowoW!" I could only hope the rest of the house was enough used to
our usual pillow fights and tickle contests to ignore the noises we were
making.

   Then I just didn't give a shit.  Missy was back to eating my twat, while
her fingers toyed with my butt, and I did the same for her.

   I realized my chin was giving her clit a working over, while my tongue
was probing her vagina as deep as I could reach, and that was good, but my
nose was sort of in the way of my finger as I toyed with her asshole, and
the smell was earthy, kinda raunchy and exciting.

   I dug my finger into her tight little pucker, and her body flexed in a
way that seemed to invite more of it as her lips locked on to my clit, her
nose snuffling into my twat.

   So, I wriggled my finger deeper, prying her butt open, worming my way
into her pooper, the rubbery muscular ring hugging my finger.  I gave up
trying to fuck her with my tongue and went back to work her clit into a
frenzy with my lips and tongue, and I realized that that freed up her cunt,
so I slipped my thumb into her hot, slick vagina even as I worked my finger
deeper into her butt-hole.

   I giggled.  It was like holding a hot, wet, fleshy two-hole bowling
ball! I could feel myself through the thin wall of flesh separating one of
her sewers from her playground, as Beth might put it.  It was so exciting I
wriggled both my thumb and finger inside her and felt as much as heard her
wail into my pussy.

   Monkey see -- or, in this case, feel -- monkey do.  She was twisting her
finger up my rear as she stuffed her thumb into my cunt, and she sucked and
tongued on my clit and wiggled her finger and thumb and I swear I thought I
was going to die from the pleasure.

   We were sucking and slurping and humping and juicing and fingering like
maniacs as we did each other, and I couldn't tell if I was having a whole
series of orgasms or if it was just one long, incredible cumming until I
couldn't cum any more and I was suffocating in her flesh, so I pushed to
roll us over, forgetting how narrow the bed was,

   and

   we

   tumbled

   off

   the

   bed

   CRASH!

   The impact made the ballerinas dance on the book shelves and we were
giggling and laughing so much we almost didn't hear her mom knocking on the
door.

   "We're okay," Missy called out through her laughter.  "We just fell out
of bed is all."

   "We're fine," I added as we tried to get untangled and scramble back up.
We barely made it back up on the bed and under the covers before her mom
came in.

   "Get some sleep, girls!" she ordered.  "Tomorrow is a school day,
remember."

   "Yes, mom," Missy answered demurely, just peeking over me with her head.

   "Yes, Mrs.  Wilson," I added, biting my lip to stifle my giggles.

   She sighed.  "I'm glad you two have kissed and made up, but at least let
the rest of us get some sleep!"

   "Yes'm," we chorused dutifully.  "G'night."

   With a sigh she closed the door on our giggles, probably thinking we
were just tickling each other.

   "I got some antiseptic hand wipes here," Missy whispered, and we
carefully wiped our hands, mindful of Beth's warning about infections.

   Then we were tickling each other again, in our special places, and our
giggles changed to moans and kisses until we fell asleep in each other's
arms.