Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee Does HS 1 By peregrinf

   The sun was shining low in the west, the late summer air was warm, the
pool a clear, cool blue.  The lane ropes were dancing on the waves from the
just finished race, and the air was ripe with the scent of chlorine.  The
temporary grandstands on one side of the pool were crowded with chattering
friends, parents, siblings, and fans from all over the county.

   On the other side of the pool was a patchwork of swim teams in their
skin tight racing suits, most wrapped in their towels, a few trying for a
tan.  The deck at the shallow end was the organized chaos of judges and
timers and other officials, the last swimmers from the 12-and-under boys'
medley relay wending their way back to their teams.

   Meanwhile, the four of us were huddled up in our own little corner of
the deck, heads together, arms around each other's shoulders.

   "What're we gonna do?" I asked softly, bending my knees, bouncing
gently, getting us all bouncing in sync.

   "Win!" Gail, Meredith, and Cynthia answered together.

   Bounce, bounce, bounce.

   "What're we gonna do?" I asked, louder.

   Bounce, Bounce, Bounce -- higher, stronger.

   "WIN!" they responded, louder, bouncing harder, faster.

   "What're we gonna do??" I asked, still louder, bouncing harder.

   Bounce!  Bounce!  Bounce!

   "WINN!!" the answered, louder yet!

   BOUNCE.  BOUNCE.  BOUNCE.  Rising on our toes now.

   "What're we gonna do???!!!" I yelled.

   "WIINNN!!!!!" they shouted.

   JUMPING!  JUMPING!  JUMPING!

   "CHUFA!  CHUFA!  CHUFA!  CHUFA!  CHUFA!  CHUFA!  CHUFA!  CHUFA!!" in
time with the jumping, finishing with "WOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOO!"

   We broke our huddle, reaching for our suits and caps on the ground in
front of us.

   Oh, did I forget to mention we were naked?

   Well, we were.

   We slipped back into our racing suits like snakes putting our skins back
on, tugged our white racing caps down on our heads like gladiators donning
our helmets, tucking stray locks out of sight, and turned to march to the
starting block at lane 3, our game faces on, the mantra bubbling through
our minds, "WIN!  WIN!  WIN!  WIN!"

   Okay, sounds corny, but had it worked for us all summer and we weren't
about to change it now.  We'd even beaten a couple of boys' teams in match
races.  Granted, maybe the distraction created by our bare-ass bump-ups had
something to do with that, but a win is a win.

   Anyway, the only time we'd lost was at the dual meet at the camp run by
the Restored Temple of the Holy Redeemer Reformed Evangelical One True
Church.  To avoid offence, Coach hadn't let us do our ritual naked there,
which we assumed offended OUR god.  That day it had felt like our feet were
nailed to the blocks.

   Other than that, it's been a good summer, a good year, in fact.  It's
hard to realize that in a three weeks I'll be starting high school, and
soon after that turning 14!  Where has the last year gone?  After all the
sex ed hoo-hah, and my birthday party, my last year in middle school went
pretty smoothly.

   The only bad thing about it was that I didn't get to spend much time
with Greg, since he was at Northside MS.  Until school ended for the summer
I saw him at swimming practice in the high school pool, a few times at the
library, but otherwise our schedules clashed, and over the summer the
opportunity just hadn't presented itself.

   Forced celibacy sucks, I tell you.  Plus I didn't see Drindy at all, and
she's such a cute little bug.

   But this fall Greg and I'd both be in the same high school together! 
Maybe even sharing some classes, and definitely sharing lunches, and
swimming practices, and walks home together -- well, maybe not that, since
he'll probably have to ride the bus because he lives on the wrong side of
town, or the right side if you put me on the wrong side.  You get what I
mean.

   But back to the matter at hand.  We reached the starting block just as
the starter called for swimmers in the water -- perfect timing.

   Gail, our backstroker, took her usual hop with a half twist to slip into
the water, feet first, barely a ripple.  The rest of us knelt down and
scooped water over ourselves to get used to the temperature.

   This was it, the big enchilada, the whole bag of marbles, the last race
(for us) of the last meet of the summer.  Not a dual meet this time, but
six teams competing for the county championships in individual and team
events.  It was all on the line.

   I'm too modest to crow, but I did okay in my individual events.  Well,
maybe a little better than just "okay."

   Anyway, this race was the girls' 4x50 meter medley relay championship,
and the points for that would determine the overall county girls' team
champion.  It was that close.  We four girls were the last to swim for the
Town Turtles (our mascot), and it was up to us to bring home the medley
relay trophy and with it the points needed to take the team trophy away
from the perennial powerhouse, the Country Club Carps, which nickname we,
of course converted to something less fishy but just as fragrant, and they
may think theirs doesn't stink, but we've shared a locker room with them
and know better.

   Win the race we win the meet, the whole magilla, sweep the table.  It
was all in, go strong or go home -- empty handed.

   Not an option!

   The three of us clustered around the starting block, encouraging Gail,
while dealing with our nerves in our own way.  I was working the odds in my
mind as she slipped over in front of the starting block and curled her
fingers around the bar, taking a deep breath and puffing it out, taking
another deep breath.

   "On your mark!" the starter called.

   We fell back in line behind the starting block, Meredith, then me, then
Cynthia, while Gail braced her feet against the end of the pool.

   She wasn't the fastest backstroker in the race....

   "Set!"

   She coiled herself into a ball, arms drawing her up tight.

   ...but the team that had the fastest backstroker had the slowest
breaststroker and butterflyer ....

   "CRACK!"

   She exploded off the block, arching backward, arrowing into the water,
immediately starting her stroke and kick, her arms flipping glittering arcs
of spray in the air, feet churning as she pulled hard.

   ...it was the Carps we had to work hardest to beat.  They were the best
balanced team.  In the next leg Meredith could top anyone but the Carp
breaststroker, who was a phenom.  I could whip the 'flyer of any team.  I'd
already proved that.  Cynthia was a strong freestyler.  I'd beaten the
Carps' 'flyer in the 50 meter sprint by half a length, creamed her in the
200 meter IM, but they were strong in the other three strokes.

   We'd have to really rip to win, with perfect starts every time.  I'd
have to do just as well or better than I did in the individual 'fly for us
to pull this off.

   Oh, yeah.  I also set new 14 and under county records in both the 'fly
and IM, but I don't like to brag.  If you can do it it isn't bragging, is
it?  Besides, I only got silver in freestyle, bronze in back stroke and
finished off the podium in breast stroke and diving, darn it.

   The screaming was intense.  Meredith, our breaststroker, was up on the
block, trying to shake the nerves out of her arms and shoulders.  I was
swinging my arms back and forth like wings, then windmilling them,
stretching my pecs, traps, and delts (Beth had shown me what those were). I
could see Greg with the rest of the team, his face red as he cheered Gail
on.  He should be saving his energy.  His medley relay came next, last race
of the meet, and it would determine the boys' team champion.

   In the bleachers was my cheering section; Mom and Dr.  Smathers, Carl
and Beth and Beth's parents, my troubled buddy John with his steadying
squeeze Alice, of course, and Kathy and Stephanie, and the lunchroom gang,
and even Missy.  Gee I got a lot of friends!  Greg's parents and his sister
Drindy were there for him, along with a gang from his school.

   I felt a pang, knowing that Carl and Beth were headed off to college,
and Steph was headed for the Curtis Institute, all in just the next few
days.  I was gonna miss them SO much!

   I yanked my mind back to the matter at hand.  Gail was on her way back,
trailing the Carp backstroker by half a length, another girl by even more,
but gaining.  Both the other girl and the Carp girl had gone out too fast
and were tiring.  Our breaststroker, Meredith, had her toes over the edge
of the starting block, coiling herself for the start of the breaststroke
leg, and I prayed she wouldn't jump the start and get us disqualified.

   WHACK-SPLASH Gail hit the wall and Meredith hit the water a fraction of
a second later.  She took one strong underwater breast stroke and frog
kick, all she was allowed under the stupid rules, and popped up to begin
her bobbing plod, shoulders breaking the surface, arms below it for the
recovery, as the rules demanded, shoving a wave ahead, breathing with every
dorky stroke.

   I mean, it looks ridiculous!  Even frogs swim better, their webbed feet
are designed for pushing, and they stay submerged!  I'd heard that at one
time you could swim the whole race underwater, which is so cool, and a lot
faster, but The Powers That Be decided that was too dangerous and made a
rule we had to breathe with every stroke.  They said it was because if you
suppress the breathing reflex for too long you might black out and drown. I
think it was 'cause it made it hard for the judges to spot an illegal kick.


   You better frog kick!  One hint of a scissor or flutter kick and you
were disqualified.  Breast stroke had the most fussy little rules!

   The judge by our starting block stepped back, so it was a good start,
good stroke and kick.

   Mercifully, Meredith, who was barely 13, had less drag for the breast
stroke than I do -- smaller tits, believe it or not -- I'm up to an A cup
now!  -- but she was still falling back to the country club's
breaststroker. That girl was built like a torpedo, and had the strongest
frog kick I'd ever seen.  The first time she got her long legs around a
boyfriend she'd pinch him in two -- or crush his skull, depending.

   I got up on the starting blocks, fidgeting nervously, taking deep, deep
breaths, blowing them out, steadying myself and pumping up my body with
oxygen.  Adjusting my suit, tugging down on the butt, up on the straps.  It
was the second new suit in the past year and it's already too small -- I'm
still growing, up as well as out.  I glanced over at Greg, he was gathering
with his relay team, but spared me a moment to shoot me a thumbs-up.  No
way could I hear him above the crowd, but I read his lips -- "Go get 'em!"

   My toes gripped the block as I told myself to focus, focus, focus.  I
was going to have to make up a full length, and more.  I had to give
Cynthia as much of a lead as possible.  Meredith was chugging in on the
return leg, working her tight little ass off, but a length behind the Carp
girl and dropping back.  Shit this was going to be tight.

   The Carps' 'flyer took off as I was leaning, leaning, leaning -- if I
lost my balance it would be all over.  Meredith's arms came forward on her
last stroke and I started to uncoil and I could only pray I hadn't jumped
the start as I went in the water, my legs, my whole body whipping in a
series of three underwater dolphin kicks before I broke the surface for my
first butterfly stroke.

   My arms and shoulders broke the surface of course, every stroke, so
instead of fighting the water I flowed over it.  I didn't breathe that
whole first lap.  No rule said I had to.  Keeping my head down, I was
flying, flying, flying, my whole body one sleek swimming machine.  I was a
porpoise.  With every stroke a wave of power swept down the whole length of
my body to whip my legs, my feet thrusting.  God I loved it!  I was a
dolphin, the water was my world, my friend, my ally.

   I was gaining on the Carp 'flyer with every stroke!  I hit the turn only
a half a length behind and kicked off like a rocket.  Now it was breathe
every third stroke -- chuff-chuff-chuff -- breathe -- chuff-chuff-chuff --
breathe -- chuff, chuff, chuff -- breathe -- gaining, gaining, gaining.

   Half-way back I drew even, and she knew it, and I saw her try to hold me
off but she couldn't do it!  She couldn't 'fly the way I could 'fly.

   I knew what she was feeling.  She was tiring, her arms were like lead,
her shoulders burning.  She was breathing every stroke, heaving up, gasping
for air.  I remembered those desperate times when I dug down for more and
there wasn't anything there.  Not for the first time I thanked Coach for
the endless, exhausting wind sprints.  My muscles were burning, but when I
asked for more they gave it.  I dug deeper, pulled harder.  I was powerful,
unbeatable.  I was on a total high.

   I hit the wall like a runaway train.  Cynthia was off on the anchor leg,
her feet passing over my head as I popped up, sucking air, suddenly aware
of the screaming crowd.  The Carp freestyler in the next lane took off,
their 'flyer next to me, clutching at the backstroker's bar, coughing and
choking while I was already catching my breath, turning around to look down
the pool.

   I'd given Cynthia a good lead, her arms were like windmills, her feet
churning the water like a speedboat, the country club anchor struggling
behind.  The other teams, the also-rans, were sending off their freestylers
to pick up the scraps we left 'em.  I'd done all I could.

   Once the last of the other teams were off on their anchor leg I joined
the parade of 'flyers ducking under lane ropes, slogging through the water
to the ladder at the side of the pool.  I dragged myself up it, muscles
suddenly like rubber.  This was my fifth race of the afternoon, my hardest,
and it all added up.  I wobbled over for my towel, stripping off my cap,
before tottering back to cheer Cynthia in to the finish.  She was holding
on to the lead I'd given her, and came steaming down to the finish, her
head whipping as she breathed, first to the left, then to the right so she
could track the opposition, only it was all behind her.

   The Carp girl was gamely trying to catch up, but it was too little and
too late.  Cynthia came charging in and touched the wall a quarter length
ahead and the three of us on the deck went crazy, screaming and bouncing
and hugging and kissing, warm, slick, wet girl flesh and skimpy racing suit
against warm, slick, wet girl flesh and skimpy suit, then reaching down to
slap hands with Cynthia, who was still in the water, trying to catch her
breath.  I felt my pussy melting.  God I loved these girls in ways they'd
never understand!

   The last racers came floundering in, and Gail and I reached down and
lifted Cynthia out of the pool and we went into high fiving and group
hugging.

   Then I got an idea.  "Come on, guys!"

   "What's up?" Meredith asked as I led the way toward Greg and his
teammates.

   "We're gonna bring the boys some of our mojo," I answered.  The boys'
medley relay team had had a rough season.  All together they were a good
team, but they'd either been late off the blocks on the exchanges or, worst
of all, early and disqualified.  All they needed to do was get it together.


   "Suits off," I reminded the girls.  I saw Coach heading over to give his
usual pep-talk, but when he saw where we were headed, stripping off our
suits, he pulled up.

   "Come on, guys, ditch the suits, jock straps, too.  We're gonna give you
our mojo," I told the boys.

   For some reason they listened to me, and in moments all eight of us were
naked, forming a circle, boy-girl-boy-girl, all the way around, arms around
shoulders, Greg on my right.  It was like I choreographed it.

   "What're we gonna do?" I asked softly, getting it started, bending my
knees, bouncing gently, getting us all bouncing.

   "Win!" Gail, Meredith, and Cynthia answered, followed by a ragged chorus
from the boys.

   Bounce, bounce, bounce.  The boys' dicks were bouncing, too.  They'd
seen us do this all summer.  I don't know why they hadn't picked up on it.

   "I can't hear you!  What're we gonna do?" I asked, louder.

   Bounce, Bounce, Bounce -- higher, stronger, dicks beginning to flip a
bit.

   "WIN!" they all responded, catching on, together this time, louder,
bouncing harder, their dicks flopping.  None of them was hard.

   "What're we gonna do??" I asked, still louder, bouncing harder.

   Bounce!  Bounce!  Bounce!

   "WINN!!" they answered, louder yet!

   BOUNCE.  BOUNCE.  BOUNCE.  If they didn't already know I bet they were
learning the reason for jock straps.

   "WHAT'RE WE GONNA DO???!!!" I yelled.

   "WIINNN!!!!!" they shouted.

   JUMP!  JUMP!  JUMP!

   "CHUFA!  CHUFA!  CHUFA!  CHUFA!  CHUFA!  CHUFA!  CHUFA!  CHUFA!  WOOOOOO
HOOOOOOOOO!" we all bellowed, breaking our huddle.

   "Swimmers to your places," the starter called, and the boys scrambled
back into their jocks and suits.

   I slapped Greg on the butt, harder than I meant to, and sent him on his
way just before the starter called for swimmers in the water.  "Go get
'em!" I ordered.

   It was their last race of the summer, the last chance to redeem their
season.

   We girls didn't even bother to recover our suits, lining the edge of the
deck, totally starkers, to cheer them on.  Once again it was the Carps
versus the Turtles, only this time I was betting the Turtles had some snap
in them.

   "On your mark!"

   The crowd went silent.

   "Set!"

   The only sound was the slap and gurgle of water in the pool gutters.

   CRACK!

   There was a roar from the crowd that drowned out the splashing of the
backstrokers.  The pool was churned to whitecaps, spray flying.  They were
off even, but almost immediately the Carps and the Turtles pulled ahead of
the rest of the pack.  Those two backstrokers were almost dead even at the
turn, dead even coming back to set off the breaststrokers.

   My heart stopped when our breaststroker got off first, but the judge
signaled a fair start and I started breathing and yelling again, and it was
the plod, plod, plod of the breastroke, heads popping up with every stroke,
like turtles who'd lost their way looking for landmarks.  We had a small
lead at the turn, but it evaporated on the way back.

   Greg was up on the blocks for the butterfly leg.  He shot me a look and
I gave him a sharp nod and a thumbs up.  He coiled himself like a spring.
God he has a great body!  I saw him rock back a fraction, lean forward, and
he was already pushing off when the breaststroker hit the wall -- but his
feet were still on the block!  It was a great start, the best he'd had all
summer!

   I felt like I was with him every stroke.  Like me he didn't bother to
breathe the entire first lap.  He was like a shark through the water.... 
No, that's not right.  Shark's tails move side to side, not up and down. 
He was like a killer whale on the hunt.  He'd started a little behind --
the Carp breaststroker had beaten ours -- but Greg was closing the gap with
every stroke.  Shit he was fast!  I couldn't believe that I could keep up
with him, but in training we'd been dead even almost every time.  Sometimes
I'd beat him by a touch, sometimes he'd beat me.

   He hit the wall and our freestyler had a perfect start, a fraction of a
second ahead of the Carp's anchor man.  Everyone was screaming themselves
hoarse as they splashed the length of the pool, turned almost dead even and
headed back.

   But once again, our conditioning made the difference.  Sam Herring --
how's that name for a swimmer?  -- our top freestyler was eking out a lead.
The Carp anchorman was struggling, his stroke getting choppy as his arms
got heavy.  Sam steamed in and touched the wall a full stroke ahead of his
opponent and we all went crazy.

   But no one did anything stupid!  All it would have taken was for one of
our guys to jump in the pool to celebrate before the last team finished to
throw it all away.  All it would have needed was for someone from our team
to dash out on the pool deck before the judges cleared out, but discipline
held, until the last man touched, the judges left, and then I broke ranks
along with all the other girls, still naked, and all I could see was Greg,
his chest still heaving as he hugged his panting teammates.

   Good thing he saw me coming so he could brace himself.  I slammed into
him and wrapped him up like a rug, and his arms went around me, cupping my
naked butt as I wound my legs around him, and the only thing between me and
carnal ecstasy was his racing suit and jock strap.  Our lips met and it was
suck-face time.  Oh, he felt so good against me, and I was so happy for him
and proud of him I was crying.  They'd done it!  They were champs!

   Then, with the meet over, our cheering sections engulfed us.

   "Get a room!" Carl whispered in my ear, handing me my suit as I
untangled myself from Greg.

   I blushed, and slipped into it while my guy was accepting the
congratulations from the throng.

   "I hope you don't do that naked thing at every meet!" Dr.  Smathers
commented.

   I grinned at her.  "Every meet!" I assured her.

   "I can see I'll have to help you with your sunscreen," she warned with a
wicked smile.

   Oh, she'd like that, I knew.  And so would I.  She'd become a constant
fixture around our house, and Mom was happier than ever.

   The awards ceremony finished with me and Greg up on the top step,
receiving the team trophies, and it felt super-good to wave it high while
wearing our individual medals, and Greg and I shared a kiss and everything.


   Eventually the celebration damped down, with handshakes and
congratulations for the winners, consoling words for the losers, and
everyone with that endorphin loaded feeling of exhausted accomplishment at
the end of another season.

   From the locker rooms we Turtles adjourned to the park pavilion, where
fathers tended charcoal fires, sending appetizing gusts of flame and smoke
up and moms set out food which we descended on like a flock of locusts. 
The two team trophies were sparkling centerpieces to be passed around from
table to table.  It was open seating, but we sorted ourselves the way you'd
expect, by age groups and specialties, the championship clinching medley
relay teams sharing a table.

   "Where'd you get that crazy idea?" Greg asked me, his breath warm
against my ear as he talked over the din.

   Having devoured two hamburgers, I was stuffing chips into my face.

   "What crazy idea?" I mumbled.

   "That cheer thing of yours?  And why'd you bring it to us?"

   I shrugged.  "Seemed like a good idea."

   But Greg wouldn't let it lie.  "No, really, where'd you get that idea?"

   "You'll think I'm crazy," I muttered to Greg.  I'd never told anyone
about The Stick.  I know some little kids have imaginary playmates, but I'd
always had my brother and Missy and hadn't needed one.  But somehow, when I
was at my most awkward, The Stick had appeared.

   ""No I won't!" he argued.

   I dithered.  I don't like keeping secrets.

   "Come on," he urged, as if he sensed something.  "Let's take a walk."

   So we slipped away and strolled through the park, and I held his hand,
and felt nothing like I'd ever felt before.  Oh sure, we'd fucked our
brains out at my birthday party, and I'll always count that as the night I
lost my virginity, even though it wasn't the first time I'd had sex.  But
with Greg it was different, and this time was different in another way,
like we were closer than even when he'd been in me and filling me and
flooding me with his hot come.

   I was walking on air to be with him here, in the dusk, the crickets
chirping, the breeze stirring the leaves.  It was like we were in tune with
each other, sharing our victories.  We'd won, and I had my guy right with
me.

   "So?" he asked, and it was like a pebble in my shoe.

   The Stick is that little corner of my mind that jogs me into action, the
one that had led me through the first dark days of Sex Ed.  It was the same
one that had sent me charging into the gang that was about to rape Missy,
that made me help John escape his abuse, that made me stand up and lead The
Dirty Dozen out of the Sex Ed room to bring enlightenment to the masses.  I
blame The Stick for all my crazy ideas.

   So, I told him how skinny I'd felt when someone called me "Stick" that
the first day in sex ed.  I told him how I'd turned that upside-down,
creating that little voice to remind me that I wasn't skinny, I was tall
and slender, I was graceful, and strong, and I was sexy.  And ever after
that, whenever I needed a boost, how that little voice would chime in and
give me the courage to do what needed to be done.

   Yeah, The Stick was still with me, whispering in my ear when I needed
advice, whether I wanted it or not.  That's what it had done before our
first dual meet of the summer, when we were all suffering from the jitters,
afraid of letting our team down.  The Stick had told me to pull it
together, to pull us together, and somehow it just seemed right that we get
naked so we'd be more in touch with each other, and I came up with that
crazy routine.

   And it had worked!  It had worked for us, and now it had worked for Greg
and his team.

   We sat together on a bench under one of the lights, and he put his arm
around my shoulders and held me close, warm and caring beside me, and he
didn't think I was crazy even after all that.  It was cooling off and I
appreciated his warmth, his strength.  He still smelled faintly of pool
water.  My tousled hair was all over the place, as usual, tickling his
cheek so he brushed it away before snuggling me again.

   I rested my hand on his thigh, inches from his dick, and I knew it was
hard, and I knew he wanted me, and I wanted him, but somehow this warm
togetherness was almost better than sex.  Almost.  We hadn't hooked up
since that amazing birthday party, where I'd taken his virginity, out there
on the end of the diving board at Stephanie's pool, under the stars, with
everyone looking on from the far end.  Somehow we'd just never found a
chance since, and we knew tonight wasn't the time, either.

   "So, that's how you do all those amazing things," he mused.

   I cringed.  "They're not all that amazing.  It's just, well, I see
something needs to be done, and The Stick makes me do it.  It was that way
with our relay warm-ups."

   "Naked?" he asked, and I could hear the chuckle in his voice.

   I shrugged under his arm.  "Seemed like a good idea at the time.  That's
the way we started doing it, and you know me and clothes.  You coulda said
'no' ya know."

   "When we reached the jumping stage I kinda wished I had," he admitted.

   We laughed together.

   "Something in the way you told us to ditch our suits and jock straps,
well, somehow 'no' was not an acceptable answer.  That was the biggest
crowd I'd ever been naked in front of."

   I giggled.  "Wait 'til school starts, and you get stuck in The Program,"
I reminded him.

   "I'm not exactly looking forward to it," he admitted.

   "Oh, but think of all those girls who'll be panting to give you relief!"


   "Ya think?"

   "I know," I assured him.  "I'll be first in line, but there'll be times
I'm not there.  What will you do then?"

   "Wait?"

   I drew back just a little bit, so I could look at him, and shook my head
"No," I told him.  "Don't do that."

   "But...."

   I put a finger to his lips.  "I love you," I assured him, "but it's not
in the spirit of the program.  And anyway, I love you enough to not try to
tie you down.  I've been talking with my brother.  You know he and Beth
have been a pair since they did the program."

   "Uh huh."

   "Well," I went on, "they were each their first, remember?"

   "So?"

   "So, but they weren't exclusives, either, exactly, after that.  Both of
'em got experience with other people, and Carl says they were the better
for it, 'cause they appreciated each other all the more."

   "But...."

   "But nothing.  Don't forget, you weren't my first, remember?"

   He nodded reluctantly.

   I snuggled back under his arm.  "And for me, you're the best, but you
have the right to get some experience, too.  And, well, I have to admit
that -- well -- uh -- I'm not exactly thinking I'll be able to be -- uh --
monogamous, I guess you could say."

   I was still wrestling with my sexuality, and knew I was hoping Kathy
Powers would ask me to "model" for her during the school year.  With
Stephanie going off to Philadelphia at the Curtis, well, maybe I'd have a
chance with Kathy.

   "Oh."

   I could hear the worry in his voice.

   "Carl made it a point to remind me of just how young I am -- how young
we are.  We got started a lot younger than he and Beth did, and he says
we've got a lot of growing and changing to do, that he and Beth haven't
been a hundred percent faithful, and we shouldn't be either, 'cause, well,
'cause there are a whole lotta different kinds of people out there."

   So many guys, and girls, I thought, and so little time!

   "And now, he's going to Stanford, and Beth's off to Harvard, and they've
agreed it just wouldn't be fair for either of them.  They'll be meeting a
whole lot more new people, and won't see each other for months.

   "We both need room to grow," I concluded.  "I'll always be here for you,
I promise, if you need me, which I hope you will, and I hope you'll be here
for me when I need you, which I know I will, and want you, which I do, but
high school's gonna be a whole 'nother thing for us.  Oh, I'm not
explaining this very well, but as much as I love you, I love you enough to
trust you and let you go."

   "Oh."

   "And I hope you'll trust me, too," I finished lamely.

   "I will," he answered huskily, touching my chin, turning my head so we
could kiss, deep and long and sharing.  It was all we could do to keep from
charging off into the bushes for a quick fuck.  We discussed it.  The only
thing that stopped us was that wasn't the way we wanted it, furtively in
the bushes, with pebbles and twigs and bugs, and in a hurry.  We wanted to
savor the experience, take our time, share our joy.

   Maybe I was influenced by thoughts of Missy and her shameful times with
Mike on a seedy mattress in some old garage or someplace.  She and Mike had
broken up, maybe because Mike wasn't getting any from her, or maybe that
was "had been broken up" when her parents dragged her off to Europe for the
summer, and Mike had found someone else.

   Anyway, that relationship was history.

   "We'd better get back.  Mom and Dad will worry," Greg suggested
reluctantly.

   "Yeah, my mom, too," I agreed.

   "So, what're you doing tomorrow?" I asked as we walked back.

   "Oh, we leave tomorrow to go visit my grandma.  We'll be gone until just
before school opens.  You?"

   I felt a pang.  "Stephanie is having me, and Carl, and Beth and a few
others over to her house.  Sort of a going away party, since they're all
scattering next week.  I was hoping you could come."

   "Sorry."

   "Don't be.  I wish I had a granny to visit."

   "I'll loan you mine," he answered.  "She's pretty cool, in a granny-ish
way.  Mom says granny and I are natural allies."

   "Why?"

   "Because we have a common enemy," he laughed.  "Meaning her, of course."


   I slapped his arm.  "Your mom is nice!"

   "She is," he agreed.  "Only she insists on being a mom all the time."

   "Be grateful," I ordered him, thinking of John's worthless mother.

   "I am."

   "Give Drindy a hug for me, will you?  See you at high school?"

   "Bright and early," he agreed as we rejoined the barbecue for ice cream
and cake.