Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee Does MS 11 By peregrinf

   I tried to stay awake, even though Mom had said not to.  I really tried,
and I think I might have made it, but it had been a busy day, so the next
thing I knew some idiot was trying to sell me a car.  The same idiot is
always selling the same car, every morning, over my clock radio.  I'm not
sure why I haven't tuned to a different station.  I guess I find his voice
comforting for some reason.

   I whacked him into silence, and rolled over, my face in my pillow,
trying to grab at my dream, my flying dream, one I have all the time.

   It's my favorite dream.  In it I am naked, always naked, and I'm on the
three meter board, with everyone watching me as I take my usual three
paces, raising my arms gracefully as I step up into the air, to come down
right on the end of the board, feeling it bend with my weight, my toes
right on the edge, the board gritty under my bare feet.

   It lifts me back up and I'm launched into the air, my body as light as a
cloud, the air touching me all over, tugging at my hair, stroking me as I
gracefully fold into a tight pike, legs straight, toes pointed, head
touching my knees for a leisurely front one-and-a-half flip, my favorite
dive.

   Only I look down and see there's no water in the pool!

   The first time I'd had that dream I'd snapped awake in a cold sweat. 
But I'd learned, somehow, or maybe it was my subconscious had, to control
the dream.  Now, instead of panicking I simply unfold from the pike, spread
my arms, and fly, soaring gracefully over the stands filled with people
gaping up at me in awe.

   But this time there'd been one big difference.  The people in the stands
had all had the same face, a freckled face with a shock of blond hair, blue
eyes, and a shy smile.

   It was Greg!  Only at first I didn't remember him ever smiling at me
like that.  Then I remembered his hand in mine as he'd helped me up after
our tie in the IM, and he had been smiling!  Not a big smile, just a little
sideways tilt to his lips.

   Having him invade my favorite dream really rattled me, so I tried to
think of something else, and I guess I dredged up something out of the
night.  Maybe I hadn't been as soundly asleep as I thought, because I had a
vague memory of light spilling into my room from the hallway, soft
footsteps, and a feather-light touch of lips to my cheek, a whispered "good
night," wine scented breath warm on my face.

   That was a nice, warm memory, even the scent of wine.  Mom drinks only
wine, and not a lot but I love the sweet, fruity smell on her breath.  But
I also vaguely remembered another scent from that moment, sort of perfume
but not really, vaguely familiar.  Mom never wears perfume!  She said some
clients don't like it, and besides it's expensive, forcing me to scratch
that idea off my list of possible Mother's Day gifts.

   It was definitely a feminine smell, but not my mom's.  She must have
picked it up from someone else!

   I was hugging that thought to me when there was a soft knock at my door,
Mom's voice reminding me it was time to get up.  I answered, my butt giving
a twinge as I swung my feet out of bed.  Well, at least I didn't need a
shower this morning, not after the one I'd taken with Carl and Beth the
night before.

   But I did need the bathroom, and not just to pee, so I made a dash and
that was when I discovered that pooping involved ridding my body of some
unfamiliar fluids along with the usual waste.  Ew!

   I wiped really, really carefully, 'cause my butt was tender.  That was a
feeling that triggered a memory that made me giggle as I scampered back to
my room for some clothes.

   I schemed as I dressed (underwear, loose tee, floppy shorts, reverential
[that's holy] sneakers, no socks).  Finished, my campaign carefully
planned, I put on my (imaginary) Sherlock Homes cap, picked up my
(imaginary) magnifying glass and snooped down the stairs, seeking clues,
preparing to carefully lay the traps with which I would discover The Truth.


   Good!  The chief suspect was present.

   Clue number one; Chief Suspect was at the stove, humming cheerfully,
abusing some eggs.

   Mom rarely hums.

   Carl was already at the table, reading the morning paper.  After
everyone else has read the paper and it's all sloppy and loosely folded I
read some of the funnies when I have a chance, and the advice to the
lovelorn so I know not to offend people by talking or texting on my
(nonexistent) cell phone at the dinner table.

   But this morning there was other game afoot.

   Sneaking -- well not really sneaking, not while she's working with hot
stuff on the stove -- moving up behind Mom I lightly gripped her waist from
behind.  I sort of went up on my tippy-toes, glad to be able to top her
shoulder.  She turned her head and I leaned and gave her peck on the cheek,
and a careful sniff, confirming my suspicion from my morning memories.

   She smelled just a little bit different!

   "Morning Mom," I greeted her cheerily.  "You sound happy this morning."

   "Do I?"

   "Uh huh.  Have a nice evening?"

   "Oh yes!"

   "That's nice."

   Carl was eyeing me over the top of the paper with that "I know what
you're up to" look he gets when he knows I'm scheming.

   "Do anything special?"

   Mom shot me a shy look.  "Oh, this and that."

   I fiddled with the toaster.  "And how was Elaine -- I mean, Dr. 
Smathers?"

   "Oh, she's ...," Mom stopped, gave me a sharp look, "That's Dr. 
Smathers to you, young lady.  She's got you on her schedule this afternoon.
I'm scheduled for an exam and she'll squeeze you in with me.  I'll pick you
up at school, but it'll be late.  I've got the last appointment of the day.
Think you can find something to do around there without getting in
trouble?"

   Mom suddenly had an exam scheduled?  I wondered if she made it last
night.

   My schemer kicked into high gear down another track.  "Can you pick me
up at the high school instead?  I've got something I want to do up there,
and Beth or Kathy will be around, too."

   "Okay, the high school it is," she agreed.  "But stay out of trouble! 
Want me to call Beth and tell her to expect you?"

   "Okay," I responded cheerily, bringing the toast to the table as she
finished up the eggs.  I'm sort of still on probation, but I didn't mind
her checking up on me.  I'd caused her enough worry lately.

   In terms of what happened with Mom last night I knew that was all I was
going to get from her, but it was enough.

   It was elementary, my dear Watson!  Her blurted "Oh, she's..." when I'd
deftly slipped in my " Elaine -- I mean, Dr.  Smathers" question was all
the evidence I needed.  While she'd avoided confirming who she was with
last night, it was obvious she had been with the good doctor, as I
suspected, and judging by her mood I was willing to bet that Stuff had
Happened!

   Good Stuff.

   Inside I was giving a fist-pumping "yessss!"

   And now she'd dropped another plum in my lap.  I wanted to do a little
bit of snooping around the high school pool office to find out more about
Greg, and maybe I could kick around a little with Beth and Kathy at the art
studio as a bonus.  Maybe I could even do some modeling for Kathy!

   "And how was your day yesterday?" Mom asked.  "Did you square things
with Carl?"

   By her tone that was not an innocent question.  That was a "getting
even" question.  Payback.

   Carl snorted softly from behind the newspaper.  I blushed.

   "I did.  With him, and with Beth," I confessed.

   "With both of us," Carl added, the paper rattling as he turned to the
next page.

   "With each of them," I countered wryly.

   Carl stifled another snort as we echoed his and Beth's comedy routine.

   "Let's just say all debts were settled to everyone's satisfaction," Carl
concluded.

   "Simultaneously," I couldn't resist adding.

   Mom brought a bowl of steaming scrambled eggs to the table.  "I don't
think I want to know the details!"

   "Uh huh," I agreed, spreading some jam on my toast, shifting my tender
bottom a little on my chair, thinking it was probably just as well, too,
that I didn't know what she'd done last night.  All this sharing is
wonderful, but at breakfast?  I reached for the spoon to dish me some eggs.


   Besides, my imagination was having such a good time with it!  She was
happy, and I was happy that she was happy, and she was happy that I was
happy and Carl was happy.  And Carl was happy that....  Well, you get the
idea.

   All that "happy" lasted until I'd just about gotten to school.

   Now, normally I tolerate school as one of those unfortunate interludes
that intrude on Important Stuff, like swimming and diving.  Oh sure, I have
my friends (whom I had been neglecting) and activities, but some of my
classes were less than stimulating.

   But my main problem this day was Missy.  She was carrying on again,
outside school.  It reminded me of one of those nature programs, where they
show the mating rituals of some sort of herd animal.  You know, the female
moose, or whatever it is, is in heat and looking coy, while a bunch of
males are competing for her favors, bumping heads, tangling antlers,
jostling, stamping and snorting.

   Only, in this case the female, Missy, was making more of a mating
display, though one less blatant than yesterday, while the males were
becoming more aggressive, poking and tickling our local moose in heat,
snatching away the baseball cap that was part of her attire, making her
leap and reach for it, which, thanks to her abbreviated shirt, exposed the
bottoms of her boobies and her ribs and flanks to their fingers.

   Meanwhile, her buttocks were making a bid for freedom from her
abbreviated shorts.

   I had the feeling it was about to get really ugly, but I saw Mr. 
McGreevy, the assistant principal, moving in and decided to let him handle
it.  Instead I opted for tunnel vision, putting on blinders, looking
straight ahead as I penetrated the cool corridors of scholarship.  Maybe it
was a mistake, but I was afraid if I tried to talk to Missy I'd say
something really hurtful, so I avoided any eye contact with her throughout
the morning, which wasn't easy, since we shared so many classes.

   I did notice that Mr.  McGreevy had invoked the Dress Code, which
resulted in Missy at least putting on the skirt she'd undoubtedly used to
smuggle her ass exposure past her mother.

   Lunch was another challenge, of course.  True to my vow of the day
before, I was seeking out my friends at our usual table, even though I was
afraid Missy would still be included in that group.  I was even more
worried that they'd reject me, since I'd been ignoring them.  I'd hardly
eaten with them since this whole sex ed thing came up, and I felt guilty.

   Mercifully, Missy wasn't a problem.  From my lofty perspective I was
able to scan over the heads of the lunch line and caught sight of her ahead
of me, still with Mike, at least.  Considering her flirtations I could only
attribute his enslavement to testosterone overload.

   Instead of heading for "our table" she and Mike headed out for a little
confidential tete-a-tete, or some other more intimate interaction.  I
spotted John and Alice, they were kanoodling off by themselves, so he was
well in hand.

   To my relief, when I arrived at the table for what had been my crowd,
until I'd gone stupidly ga-ga over Missy, and distracted by John, they
happily made room for me.  It was like being welcomed home.  Cindy was
there, with her blonde good cheer, and roly-poly Fran with her big laugh,
Peggy with her warm and generous heart, and Inez, endlessly curious.

   They didn't scold me, didn't ask me about John, though they did want to
know what had gone on at Judy Liu's party.  Apparently there had been some
pretty wild rumors flying around about that.  I pretty much soft-peddled
the activities, particularly my anal adventure with Judy, while pointing
out John's new relationship with Alice as a Good Development.

   Mercifully everyone seemed clueless as to John's new residence and the
fate of his mother.  The talk was all about his new girl friend, of whom
everyone approved.

   Once off that topic a lot of the chatter was about Missy and Mike, of
course.  While the others had no solid evidence, the general assumption was
that they had done It, and were doing It regularly.  Being I had been more
than just an eyewitness to their First Time, I kept my mouth shut.  Missy
was doing fine trashing her own reputation.  Everyone knew that Missy and I
were on the outs, and assumed it was 'cause Missy had stolen the boy I'd
never had -- little did they know.  They tried to get me to talk about it,
but I dodged the issue.  Instead we all mourned the loss of Missy to the
Dark Side.

   If nothing else, thanks to Carl and Beth's Sex Ed class and a lot of
gossip, Missy was being seen as a bad example.  At least in that way the
class had accomplished its main goal.  The whole student body was a lot
more knowledgeable with regard to the consequences of behavior like
Missy's, and was generally disapproving -- well, the female half was, at
least.  The male half was too busy drooling and rutting.

   I felt bad because she was making such a fool out of herself.  I was
still scared for her, too.

   Meanwhile, speaking of drooling and rutting, out of the corner of my eye
I was seeing Horace and his crew, thick as thieves, laughing crudely,
snorting milk out their noses.  Something about that made my bad feeling
feel worse.

   "How'd the time trials go?" someone asked.

   I was grateful for the change of subject, but my mouth was full, so I
sort of shrugged.  Anyway, that was better than sounding like I was
bragging.

   "I hear there's a neat new guy on the team from North Side," Cindy
announced.  "His name is Greg something."

   I managed to avoid choking and reached for my milk.

   "Did you meet him?" Inez asked as she toyed with a lock of her curling
black hair.

   "I hear she beat the pants off him in the time trials," Fran said in her
throaty voice.  "And she did it naked."

   Cue the tweens' chorus: OoooooOOOOOOooooo!

   "Greg who?" Inez asked.  "What's his last name?"

   I didn't want to admit I didn't even know, so I quick took another bite
of my lunch.

   "That must have pissed him off," Cindy chuckled, toying coyly with her
hair.

   I gulped my bite down.

   "I didn't even know who he was," I confessed.  "I just hate to lose to
anyone.  Anyway, in the IM Coach said we tied."

   "I bet that pissed him off even more," Cindy observed, laughing.

   I didn't mention that it kind of pissed me off, too.  Ties are so wimpy.


   "I guess you can kiss that romance good-bye," Fran pointed out with one
of her rich laughs.

   I just kept my mouth shut, and shrugged, remembering the feel of Greg's
hand in mine when he helped me up from the deck, and his shy smile.  He'd
smiled, so he couldn't have been that pissed off, could he?

   And anyway, what was with me?  Why was I feeling like this?  He's a boy,
and I'm a -- what?

   Then I remembered how I'd once felt about Mike, and it was pretty much
the same feeling, only this time at least I'd had the courage to introduce
myself and talk with Greg a little.  He had a nice voice, seemed pretty
cool, when I wasn't beating him.  He made my heart speed up, and my insides
squirm.

   "So, what's happening with your birthday?" Cindy asked, and all I could
do was shrug.

   "Mom hasn't said anything.  I usually leave all that stuff to her," I
admitted, a bit put off that there hadn't even been a hint.  "She's been
awful busy."

   I didn't add that I hadn't been making life easy for her.

   I was a little surprised Cindy asked me.  Usually Mom involves my
friends in her little plots, and somehow she's always managed to swear them
to secrecy.  She liked to surprise me, like the time she rented the roller
skating rink and invited the whole class, and no one spilled the beans, not
even Missy!  I was totally blown away.

   "You could do something," Fran pointed out.  "After all, you're going to
be an official teen-ager.  Take charge, for a change."

   "Time's short," Inez warned.

   "I bet Mom has something planned.  She always does." I tried to feel as
confident as I sounded.  She'd been awful busy lately, and I sure hadn't
helped at all.  But she'd remember.  She was my mom!

   I let the chatter swirl around me while I finished my lunch, then
excused myself to escape any more questions, not sure myself what was going
on inside me.

   The rest of the afternoon went pretty much as the morning had.  I heaved
a sigh of relief at the closing bell and headed for the high school, trying
to tell myself I wanted to talk to Coach about my diving, knowing I really
wanted to learn more about Greg, if I could pry it out of Coach without
being too obvious.

   First I tracked down Beth to tell her where I'd be.  As I expected, she
was in the art studio, only this time she was the artist, while Kathy
Powers was the model, dressed in nothing more than soft light and the rich
scent of oil paints and turpentine, reposing on what I suppose is called a
divan.  The sight of Kathy posing nude was enough to swing my pendulum back
to the gay side.  She's tall, trim, and fit and I just wanted to grab her
and start sucking on her firm boobs.

   I was always struck by how open and bright the studio is.  On the
curving outside wall, windows reach from the floor to the high ceiling,
with different curtains and even blinds that can be drawn for different
lighting effects.  I know when Beth posed during her week in The Program,
they'd all been wide open, so anyone walking by outside could see her. 
Today gauzy curtains were drawn, bathing Kathy's body in a light that
softened her curves and added a gently romantic atmosphere.

   She looked good enough to eat.

   Her bright smile when she saw me made my heart flutter just as hard as
Greg's shy smile had in my dream.

   "Hi, Dee!  Nice going yesterday!" Nothing shy about Kathy.

   "What'd I do?" I asked naively.

   "You beat the boys, of course.  Way to go!"

   Kathy reached to high-five me, which made Beth protest, frowning, her
tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she dabbed at her canvas.


   Oh great!  The whole world knew.

   "I just caught him by surprise.  And anyway, I think my being naked
kinda rattled him."

   "That's not the way I heard it," Beth muttered.  "Don't move, Kathy!  I
heard you spotted him a half a length lead at the start, and then blew the
doors off him in the last three yards."

   "Maybe you're right.  You being naked rattled his balls, most likely,"
Kathy teased.

   "Not likely," I snorted, flapping my arms and looking down at my
barely-there bust and hips.

   "Trust me," Kathy retorted.  "You're beautiful."

   This from an admittedly gay girl who was hooking up with the well
rounded Stephanie.  Who's she kidding?  Still, I was thrilled she thought
that of me, or maybe she was just being kind.  She made my heart go
pit-a-pat again.

   "Anyway, Beth, I'll be at the pool for a few minutes.  I wanna talk with
Coach, if he's there."

   "Okay, we'll be here for at least an hour more.  Kathy, you want to come
and look at this?  What am I doing wrong?" She sounded frustrated.

   I couldn't help wondering why Beth was learning how to paint, since she
was going to be a doctor, but that's the way she was.  She'd study anything
that caught her interest, and keep at it until she'd mastered it.  She'd
always been like that.  I'd heard it was her piano teacher that gave up on
her when she was eight, not the other way 'round.  She won't admit it, but
she still plinks out some simple tunes on her family's piano sometimes, and
she sings in the glee club.

   I knew where the pool was, of course, but if I hadn't my nose could have
led me there, that humid, chlorine scent was perfume to me.  I heard a
splash and coach's voice, so I toed off my sneakers outside the pool doors
before I went in.  Shoes were allowed, but I preferred the feel of the
damp, cool deck under my bare feet.

   Olivia, the lead high school girl diver was just sloshing up the ladder
when the pool door banged shut behind me, her short dark hair with its
bleached blond tips streaming back off her face.  She gave me a cheery wave
as she tugged the front of her snug diving suit up on her firm tits, the
bottom down on her muscular butt.  Then she was all business, totally
focused on Coach.

   "That's better, much better," he encouraged her.  "Remember, delay
starting your twist, and tuck your arm this way."

   He demonstrated, and I watched as carefully as Olivia did.  She's a
compact girl, probably six inches shorter than me even though she's a high
school senior this year.  She outweighs me, but it's all muscle.

   Divers have to be strong.  If you're flabby, or even just relax too
soon, hitting the water can do real damage.  I once saw a simple back-flip
go wrong -- not big wrong, just a little wrong -- and end a career.  It was
practice, or the guy probably would have worked to pull it out.  As it was,
he gave up on it and relaxed.  When he hit the water he tore up his knee.
And that was off the low board.

   Olivia is awesome off both the three-meter board and the tower.  She'll
probably get a scholarship for her diving.  I wondered if maybe someday I
could do something snazzy with my hair, like her blond accents.  Maybe a
Mohawk, or purple or something, if Mom would let me.

   Coach dismissed her.  "That's enough for today, Olivia.  Come on, Dee,
I've got something for you."

   I followed him to his office off the pool deck and he flipped something
at me as he sat down at his desk.  As usual, it was busy, with careful
stacks of paper.  I snagged the suit out of the air.  For a second I
thought it was my old one from the lost-and-found, but checked and it was a
larger size.  I held it up to myself and decided it would work.

   They weren't one size fits all, but they were stretchy, so it wouldn't
droop because of my lack of boobs.  Since they fit like skin, some of the
girls hate them -- not me, of course.

   "It's used, but it's clean," he explained.  "I warned you you'd regret
not having one on, didn't I."

   I nodded.  "But I can't pay for this today," I apologized.

   Swimming wasn't one of those sports that brought in money, so even the
hand-me-downs cost a bit.

   "I'll wash the things I took from Lost and Found and return 'em," I
added.

   He waved a hand.  "You know I trust you.  Have a seat.  Nice job
yesterday.  You put Greg in his place."

   "I didn't mean to do that," I answered, feeling awkward about it, the
way everyone was talking.

   "It's a good thing.  He thinks he's a real hot-shot -- came here
thinking he'd immediately be a star.  It'll motivate him to work harder so
he can be.  He told me his time yesterday in the IM was a personal best,
thanks to you."

   "Oh." I didn't feel all that good about that, but that was Coach's way.
He'd create rivalries on the team to boost performance.  It was kind of
awkward sometimes, but it got results.  The fact that Coach saw me as a
rival to motivate a boy a year older than me gave me mixed feelings.

   I couldn't help wondering if that IM had really ended in a dead heat. 
Stop-watches don't lie but people have to click them, and Coach, on the
other hand, sometimes tailors the truth to suit his goals.

   He switched topics.  "I want to talk to you about diving."

   "So do I.  How soon can I start?  I can't do it today, but tomorrow?"
The thought of getting back on the board made everything brighter.

   "You've grown," he commented.

   "Well yeah." I thought that was pretty obvious.  Besides, he'd been
measuring me over the summer.

   "You're what, thirteen?" he asked.

   "This Saturday," I agreed.

   "And you're five-six, five-seven already?"

   "Yeah." I was kinda proud of that, though it was a pain when it came to
my wardrobe, and it bothered me a little that I towered over all the boys
in my class.

   "And still growing."

   "Yeah," I agreed, wondering where this was going.

   "Divers aren't tall," he stated bluntly.

   I felt a chill.  "Some of them are."

   He shook his head.  "You're already as tall as I am," he pointed out. 
He's a former Olympic diver, by the way.  "Olivia is seventeen, and she's
topped out at five-two.  Lougainis is only about two inches taller than you
already are.  You're probably headed for close to six feet.  "

   "But...." I was getting scared.

   "To put in the language of physics, you already have a high a polar
moment of inertia."

   "Say what?" I asked.

   "You're like a long stick, rather than a ball.  It makes it harder for
you to rotate.  And then you've got to control those long arms and legs. 
Remember the problems you were having over the summer?"

   "I can tuck tighter than anyone," I pointed out.  "You said I have the
tightest pike you've ever seen.  You said I just need to get used to the
changes."

   "And I could be wrong."

   "Or you could be wrong now." I was getting really scared.

   He was nibbling his bottom lip, just looking at me.  "I need you as a
swimmer.  You're the strongest butter-flyer I've ever seen, male or female.
You put a real licking on Greg Anderson yesterday in the 'fly."

   Thanks for reminding me again, I thought, secretly sort of proud of it,
but only sort of.

   "Pick up how he's so good at breast stroke and you'll be unbeatable at
IM.  "

   "I'll work harder than anyone you've ever seen!  I can swim and dive,
both.  Please!"

   God I hated to beg, but all I saw was a big, dark hole in my life if I
couldn't dive.  "Let me try."

   He sighed.  "Of course I'll let you try.  I'll work with you as long and
hard as you want."

   I felt a wave of relief.  "You'll see," I vowed.  "You'll see."

   He smiled wryly.  "I'm sure I will.  Now, what else can I do for you?"

   I wanted to ask him about Greg, but decided that was a silly thing to
take his time up with, thought about asking if the IM was really a tie, but
decided I didn't really want to know.  Anyway, at least I now knew Greg's
last name -- Anderson -- and I knew roughly where he lived, since he went
to North Side Middle School.  That was where the town library was, and I
was already up to stage two scheming on checking Greg out, maybe actually
seeing him in a more social setting.  If I had the nerve.

   Well, nerve had never been a problem with me.  Except, of course, when
it came to boys.  But I had a lot more experience with them now.

   All of two of them?  The Stick pointed out, and one of those is an
emotional cripple?

   That's not nice, I scolded silently, sorry I'd even thought that.

   Aloud I thanked Coach for the suit, promising to have the money at the
next practice, and headed back toward the art studio, trying to dispel that
black shadow he'd cast, clutching desperately to the suit he'd given me,
and the fact that he'd still work with me.  I'd show him!

   Beth was cleaning up and let me see what she'd done.  Kathy had been in
a classic pose, sort of like that girl in the movie Titanic, demure but not
trying to conceal any of her charms, with a little hint of a smile, just
enough to show her dimples.  Beth's painting wasn't bad, but didn't have
whatever it was about Kathy's that made them great.

   Kathy was standing there, casually nude, naturally graceful.  Gosh she's
pretty, but not in a silly blond, curvy way!  She's just yummy!

   "How'd you like to paint me?" I blurted out.

   Damn, my glands were in overdrive again.

   "I'd love to.  When would you like to pose?" she asked, obviously
interested, but probably not quite the way I'd meant.  I blushed, trying to
blame The Stick for my lack of tact, but it didn't work.

   "I mean -- paint ME," I confessed, waving my arms to indicate myself.  I
almost stripped off my clothes right then.

   "With those water based body paints," I added, just to make sure she
understood exactly what I meant.

   I managed not to add "delicious" to that description of her paints,
though it was what I was thinking.

   Kathy's dimples deepened, and she laughed, to my relief.  She wasn't
offended, at least.  "You offer a very tempting canvas.  Now, if Beth had
let me do her for the football game last year...."

   Beth was carefully cleaning her brush.  "I thought my makeup crew did a
great job!"

   Her crew had been her parents and brother and my brother, and Stephanie,
and she'd been a dramatic scarlet and gold from head to toe.

   "They did, indeed.  You were, to put it mildly, striking.  But I could
have added just that little je ne sais quois that would have made you a
masterpiece," Kathy pointed out.  She's no more modest about her talent
than she is of her body, or I am about my swimming, for that matter.  I
wanted to say that she could 'je ne sais quois' all over me any time she
wanted, but didn't.

   But even as she told Beth this, she was looking at me, a calculating
gleam in her dark eyes, and I felt a little shiver.  Damn, I was getting
even hornier!

   "Ah, there you are." Mom bopped into the studio, looking all
professional in her working clothes.  "Hi Beth, Hi, Kathy.  Kathy, have you
thought about what I suggested?" Kathy's nudity didn't faze Mom, of course,
though I noticed she did give the tall artist an appreciative look.

   "Hi, Mrs.  W.  I think we can work something out.  I just got a great
idea.  We'll talk.  Call my cell when you have a chance."

   Kathy did the phone thing with her hand.

   "Ready to go, Dee?" Mom asked, nodding.

   "What did you suggest?" I asked, hastily stuffing the suit into my
backpack, wondering what they were talking about.

   "Come on, Dee, we don't want to be late," Mom said, practically dragging
me away.

   "What thing?" I insisted.

   "Just some little art project," Mom answered vaguely.  "Nothing to
bother your head about."

   I grumbled, but subsided.  It wasn't like her to have secrets from me --
except around my birthday, of course.  Anyway, she seemed a bit hyper,
chattering about this and that.  I would have said she was excited -- but
excited about visiting her gynecologist?

   Or was it that the gynecologist she was going to see was Elaine -- I
mean Dr.  Smathers?  I felt a little twinge myself, remembering how my
first gyno exam with her had gone.  The good Doctor had certainly known how
to push all my buttons!

   But this appointment was just for Mom's exam, and my birth control
pills. Still, maybe....

   I threw my backpack in the back seat and took the passenger seat,
fastening my seat belt as she started the car.  The radio was on, and Mom
was singing along with some old love song.  I'd never heard her do that
before.  She has a nice voice.

   We took a different route than the first time, and suddenly I realized
that Mom's office practically backed up to Dr.  Smathers' office on the
next street over.

   Hmmmmm.  Maybe that explained how it had gone so quickly from "Dr. 
Smathers" to "Elaine" between them.  A few cozy lunches together, maybe? 
And then, last night -- what had gone on last night?  Was that why Mom was
so eager to have her exam?  And what were the rules about doctors treating
close friends?  What if they were already more than just close friends?

   I tried to figure out a deft way of prying, but before I came up with
anything we were pulling into a parking space.  Before she got out Mom
checked her reflection in the rear-view mirror, patting her hair into place
and -- and checking her teeth?!  I was beginning to get a real interesting
feeling about this whole thing, even though I fully expected to be
relegated to the waiting room while the exam took place.

   Maybe I could listen at the door.

   Oh, I know, I said my eavesdropping days were over, but in this case I
felt there were extenuating circumstances, especially if nobody could catch
me at it.

   My luck looked good.  We walked into a vacant waiting room, the
receptionist's space behind the tall counter was empty, tidy as only a
cleared desk can be at the end of the work day.  There was the usual smell
of disinfectant, the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, a couple of tacky
end tables and a coffee table covered with some dog-eared out-of-date
magazines, with racks of brochures about STDs and stuff on the wall and on
a corner table.

   The phone rang, four rings and cut off -- answering machine, I thought.
The place was deserted.

   "Hi, hello Dee," Dr.  Smathers greeted us, popping out from the hall
that led to her little office and the examining rooms and stuff.  She
brisked her way into the waiting room, gave Mom a light touch as she passed
her.  "Let me just lock this so we won't be disturbed.  Ethel had to leave
early." She flipped the sign over on the door and snapped the lock.

   "Come on back, I'm all ready for you." She whisked away again.

   She locked the door?  Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice said, after
falling down the rabbit hole.

   "Both of us?" I asked.

   Dr.  Smathers popped her head back out.  "Why not?  I often have
daughters in when their mother's being examined, so they'll know what to
expect when their time comes."

   "But...."

   That was Mom.

   "No secrets," Dr.  Smathers said cryptically.  "Remember?"

   Dr.  Smathers had already disappeared again, so I followed Mom, just in
time to see the good doctor disappear into the examining room with a flip
of her white lab coat.  Was she barefoot?  The coat came down to about her
knees -- nice calves, I noticed, bare -- but she was wearing little slipper
thingies on her feet.  There was no sign of a blouse or sweater in the vee
of the lapels, and when the coat parted around her legs there was no sign
of a skirt.

   No, she couldn't be naked under there, I thought.

   The room hadn't changed from when I'd had my exam, but it had only been
a week.  There were the usual medical things, a table with drawers,
cabinets, a full-length mirror on one wall with a poster of a naked woman,
full frontal, right beside it.

   "Why don't you start undressing, darling -- not you, Dee, that's not
necessary, unless you want to.  You can just sit here on the examining
table and we'll take care of you first.  That way we won't have to rush
your mom's exam."

   She was very brisk and professional, except that "darling," I thought.

   Never one to miss a chance to get comfortable, I was out of my stuff in
a moment.  Mom glared at me, semaphored with her eyes, and I dutifully hung
my clothes on a hook on the wall.  Surely she didn't think I was trying to
move in on Dr.  Smathers.  Then I boosted my bare little tushy up on the
foot of the table, its endless roll of crinkly paper cool under my butt.

   "Now," Dr.  Smathers went on, fussing with some things on a stainless
steel tray on a little stand, "I discussed it with your mom, and we suggest
going with an implant.  What do you think?"

   "What's an 'implant?'" I asked dubiously, as I watched Mom fumbling as
she undressed, carefully hanging up her conservative jacket, fussing with
the buttons on her blouse.  She was making quite a production of getting
out of her clothes.

   "This is an implant," Dr.  Smathers explained, holding up a little
plastic packet with what looked like a match stick in it.  "It goes in
under the skin of your arm, above the elbow, and gradually releases birth
control hormones into your bloodstream.  There's no pills to take, nothing
to worry about.  You're not bothered by needles, are you?"

   "No." How could I be, after the various stitches and stuff I'd gotten
myself into?  I didn't really like them, but needles only stung a little
bit, and only for a little while, not like a broken leg.

   I took the excuse of looking at what Dr.  Smathers was holding to lean
closer to her, and breathed deeply.  I was sure hers was the smell I'd
scented on Mom.  I felt very smug that my detective work was being
confirmed.  The something that had happened last night had been with this
woman!

   "I'll spray on a little local anesthetic anyway.  The implant releases
hormones that suppress ovulation and change the chemistry and viscosity of
the mucus in your womb and cervix to block sperm.  Even if an egg should be
released and be fertilized it is unlikely to implant in your uterus.  The
implant is safe, very effective, and you don't have to remember to take a
pill.  It's good for three years, when it can be replaced, and it can
easily be removed at any time."

   Mom was down to her bra and panties -- a very sexy, lacy bra and panties
set, pink, not one I'd ever seen before.  Her nipples were dark shadows
through the lace.  She was rubbing her arms nervously, though the room was
certainly warm enough.  Her mouth was open, lips slightly parted, looking
plumper than usual, and her thighs were squirming restlessly.

   Mom was horny!

   "Okay," I agreed, more than a little distracted, and also relieved I
wasn't going to have to remember to take some stupid pill every day.

   While Dr.  Smathers scrubbed my arm with something cold that smelled,
and fussed with things, I sneaked peaks at Mom.  She was fidgeting, still
in her bra and panties.  Then I felt a sting, and watched as Dr.  Smathers
slid the little stick thingy under my skin and out of sight, using a sort
of hypodermic sort of a thing.  After a quick swipe over the puncture with
moist cotton and then with what looked like a nail-polish brush that left a
shiny spot she slapped a little bandage on me.

   "Now, there may be a little inflammation at first, a little swelling,
and it might hurt or itch a bit.  Try not to scratch.  If the inflammation
gets worse, or there's any discharge, call me immediately.  Okay?"

   I nodded, flexing my arm, feeling only a little ache.  Now what?  I
wondered.  No worries.  Would I go as crazy as Missy?  I didn't even know
if I was straight or gay, and I didn't want to do it with just anyone,
though sometimes it seemed like I did.

   "Okay.  Can I swim?" Today was Tuesday.  I had swimming practice
Thursday, and Greg would be there.

   "Just give it a day or two to heal up," she answered, sweeping things
away and turning her attention to Mom in her sexy underwear.  "Very pretty,
darling, but why are you still wearing it?  Did you want let me help you?"

   Mom nodded shyly, twisting her hands nervously in front of her crotch,
and if I'd still had any doubts about their relationship they would have
evaporated at that moment.  My mom was smitten!

   She blushed as Dr.  Smathers went up to her and released the hook
between the bra cups.  I'd never noticed how dainty the doctor was,
especially her hands, until she pushed Mom's bra aside, her fingers
casually brushing over Mom's lovely round breasts, making them jiggle.  Mom
shivered, her knees trembling as her nipples stiffened from the delicate
touch.

   Dr.  Smathers drew the bra down off Mom's arms, almost embracing her as
she did, and flipped it over a hook on the wall.  Her hands were trembling
as started to kneel to deal with Mom's panties, but the white coat
interfered.

   She was as hot for Mom as Mom was for her!

   "Oh, this is silly," Mom protested, unbuttoning Dr.  Smathers' coat and
tossing it over another hook, as eager to get down to it as the doctor was.


   Dr.  Smathers was naked under the lab coat!  A lovely, lovely naked,
lightly tanned except for brief bikini marks.  She was smaller than Mom,
with a petite frame, but surprisingly full breasts, breasts whose pink
areolas were puffed up, the rosy nipples stiff like pencil erasers.  Her
neatly shaped bush was reddish, so her ash blond hair was probably natural,
or close to it.

   She was yummy, and as smitten with Mom as Mom was with her, judging by
the way she lightly touched Mom's nipples.  Going down on one knee, she
drew Mom's panties down even as Mom stood there sort of trying to cover her
breasts with her forearm, her hand going to her crotch as she blushed.  Dr.
Smathers brushed that hand aside and leaned forward, drawing a deep breath,
obviously savoring Mom's scent, sliding her hands with the panties down the
outsides of Mom's thighs, the panties clinging for just a moment to Mom's
pussy before they pulled away, the crotch visibly damp.

   Mom had shaved -- or maybe been shaved, maybe last night!  Her pussy
lips were full and rounded, with a teasing hint of pink ruffles lurking
shyly between them.

   Dr.  Smathers rose to her feet and took Mom's hand, and I quickly hopped
off the examining table.

   But Dr.  Smathers didn't lead her to the table.  Instead she guided Mom
to the full-length mirror.  Mom was like a blushing bride.  She looked
better than the woman in the poster.  Mom's breasts were fuller, her hips
more rounded, her bare pussy more delectable, her legs more graceful.

   "Your mother has beautiful breasts," Dr.  Smathers pointed out softly,
standing behind Mom, her fingers lifting and playing with the fleshy
mounds. "Come, I'll show you how to examine your own breasts."

   When I get them, I thought wryly.

   You're getting them, The Stick assured me.

   I could feel my little titties stiffening as I moved over to stand next
to Mom.  Comparing my reflection to hers was like comparing a stick figure
to the Venus de Milo, except Mom had arms, of course.  Even the poster
woman looked sexier than I did, with my skinny arms, skinny legs.

   Well, no, it wasn't quite that bad.  Swimming builds muscles, on my arms
and shoulders, my back, my pecs, my thighs, all over.  But still I didn't
have my mom's mature curves, and Mom's pussy was softer, more rounded, and
more inviting than my kinda skinny lips.

   All under the guise of showing me how to do a breast self-exam, as she
called it, Dr.  Smathers demonstrated on Mom, how to raise her one arm, to
palpate that breast, then the other.  That's what she called it --
palpating.  I'd call it fondling, myself, as I sort of imitated on my silly
little swellings.  But I couldn't help notice that Mom seemed to be
enjoying the process a great deal, letting her head tilt lazily, her lips
parting, her eyes glazing.  I watched the breasts I'd suckled from as an
infant, that I'd nursed from just the other day, being lifted and
manipulated.

   Dr.  Smathers was closer than close to Mom, snuggled against her tush.
She was whispering to my Mom from time to time, and Mom would squirm,
giggle even.  Mom's hand reached back to stroke Dr.  Smathers' naked thigh.


   This wasn't an exam, it was a seduction.

   When she was done fondling Mom's breasts, including tweaking the nipples
to even fuller stiffness, if that was possible, she slid her hands down
Mom's sides to her hips, and planted a kiss on Mom's back that made Mom
shiver.

   Mom let herself be steered to the table, Dr.  Smathers' hands guiding
her, an arm around her waist, the other hand on Mom's shoulder, their hips
bumping.  Guided by the gynecologist, Mom sat on the edge of the table, and
when Dr.  Smathers lifted her face for a kiss, they kissed, not a silly
"air kiss" or a peck on the cheek, but a full, lip-to-lip kiss, though I
didn't see any tongue action at first, hands on each other's cheeks, but
that slowly changed, Mom sliding her hand around to cup the doctor's --
Elaine's -- head with her hand, the doctor embracing her nude patient, soft
breasts to soft breasts.

   "No secrets," I heard Dr.  Smathers whisper again as she helped my
mother turn to lie down on the table, just before she dipped to taste my
mom's lips again.

   "No secrets," Mom agreed, looking at me as I stood nearby.  She held out
her hand to me, and I took it, gave it a loving squeeze.

   It was such a joy to see Mom so happy, tears stung my eyes.  I tried to
look all mature and reassuring, while my insides were doing handsprings. 
Yeah, I'd made love to my mom two days ago, a gentle, discreet, snuggling
love, but this, I knew, was going to be a whole 'nother thing!  This was
two lusty, mature, loving women, one of them more than knowledgeable, a
trained professional, the other a willing student.

   No secrets.

   Dr.  Smathers made tender love to my mom as she worked her way down,
from lips to neck to breasts, sucking, nibbling, licking, pausing only to
adjust the examining table, the noise of the metal stirrups swinging up to
latch, sounding rude.  After the stirrups were adjusted, Mom let Dr. 
Smathers guide her feet to them.  Mom was so exposed, so vulnerable, so
willing, her chest rising with every breath, her breasts full and firm,
flattening a little, sagging out to the sides slightly, her nipples stiff
and eager.

   Mom looked into my eyes as the doctor took me by the hand, guided my
touch over the breasts that had fed me.  I loved feeling the warmth of
them, the texture of her skin, the resiliency of the fleshy mound, the
raisin hardness of the nipples.  Dr.  Smathers was talking more about how a
woman should examine her own breasts regularly, the procedure, but to tell
you the truth I wasn't really listening.  I was marveling at the soft, warm
mass of Mom's lush breasts, the stiffness of her nipples, so different from
my immature little peaks.

   Would my tits someday know the suckling of an infant?  What a wonderful
thing that must be, to give life.

   Mom was panting softly, her pelvis was squirming a little, and I could
see the muscles in her thighs flexing as Dr.  Smathers moved away so she
could work -- if you wanted to call it that.

   I was remembering my own exam, how Dr.  Smathers had manipulated my
body, the feel of her touch, my fingers retracing on my own skin the route
she was taking on Mom's body.  My pussy was hot and leaking.  From where I
was I couldn't see Mom's bare cunt, but I could smell her arousal easily
enough.

   I was as much admiring Dr.  Smathers' body as I was watching my mother.
Smathers was small, but shapely, her butt smooth and round, and my fingers
itched to explore it, but of course I didn't.  Her breasts jiggled as she
massaged Mom's abdomen, probing and stroking.  Mom's leg flexed and she
groaned softly as Dr.  Smathers' fingers probed below Mom's navel, over
toward one thigh, then the other.

   "Stroke her body," the doctor invited.  "Feel how soft her skin is, the
muscle tone.  Don't be shy."

   Mom put a hand on my arm as I did as I was told, like the good, obedient
child I was, feeling her satin skin.

   Hah!  I was a lust-ridden, horny pre-teen (barely), and more than
willing, sliding my hand down, stroking the warm swelling of Mom's belly,
teasing her navel.  While I played, Dr.  Smathers washed her hands yet
again before she drew her stool up between Mom's spread legs.  Teasingly,
she licked the sole of Mom's foot, even nibbled at her toes, extracting a
soft cry from Mom.

   Unbidden, I moved down behind the good doctor so I could watch.  I
expected her to pull on tight latex gloves, but she didn't, her naked
fingers gently spreading Mom's lips to expose the glistening pink flower of
her pussy.

   By now all subterfuge of the "examination" was gone, of course, so when
Dr.  Smathers leaned forward to kiss Mom's twat I wasn't surprised.  Mom's
hips reacted and she reached for Dr.  Smathers' head, her eyes closing as
she rolled her head on the table and moaned.

   Dr.  Smathers drew back, toying with Mom's pussy as she called me
closer. "Let me see your hands," she whispered to me.

   Puzzled, I held them out, embarrassed a little that my nails were so
short and plain, until I noticed that hers were just as closely trimmed as
mine.  There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she told me to go over
and wash my hands really, really well, all the way up to my elbows.

   I didn't know for sure what she had in mind, but I wasn't about to miss
out on whatever it was.  The water was hot, the soap had a medicinal smell
to it.  I even scrubbed my nails with a brush the way I'd seen her do it.

   As I was washing up the exam resumed, so to speak.  I heard the click of
the speculum, a whimper from Mom.  By the time I was done Smathers had
taken her swabs and they were safely stored in their little tubes and set
aside, the speculum was out of the way, and her mouth was back at Mom's
crotch, her tongue and lips working the gooey valley.  Mom was moaning and
moaning, tossing her head, her pelvis working like a belly dancer's, her
fingers in Dr.  Smathers' hair, guiding her mouth to her clit.

   Smathers didn't mind concentrating on Mom's clit, because her fingers
were at work in Mom's vagina, at least two of them stirring around the
opening.  Her whole hand was glistening now, and there was a tube of
lubricant on the table by Mom's butt.

   Oh my!

   Fascinated, I watched as Dr.  Smathers worked a third finger into mom's
cunt, and I was remembering how she'd probed and played in my cunt with
just two fingers.  It was all I could do to keep from mushing my clean
hands in my own twat.  As it was I let one finger tease my little clit
berry.

   I gulped as the doctor worked a fourth finger into Mom' hole, sort of
curling her hand, her fingers together, twisting her hand this way and
that, while Mom's soft moans grew louder.

   "Oh, please," Mom groaned.  "Please!"

   "More?" Dr.  Smathers asked teasingly, wiggling her fingers.

   "Please," Mom whimpered.  "You know what I want.  Do it!  Do it!  Do
it!"

   "More?"

   "Yes, more!"

   "And Dee?"

   "What about me?" I asked.

   Mom gulped.  "Her, too, if she wants.  Yes, her, too."

   "You'll see," Dr.  Smathers answered me, licking her lips, her own
breathing quickening.

   Dr.  Smathers fitted her thumb inside her fingers, and kept working her
hand around, like you would work a screwdriver, maybe, and pushing, and as
I watched her hand slowly, slowly, slowly stretched Mom's cunt farther
open, and her hand began to work farther and farther in, more and more of
her fingers disappearing inside Mom.

   Holy Shit!  It was good her hands were small.  Her whole hand was
working its way into my mom's vagina!  And Mom was loving it!

   I was hovering right behind Dr.  Smathers by now, practically breathing
down the back of her neck.  Reaching back blindly, she handed me the tube
of lubricant.  I looked at it stupidly for a moment, my brain trying to fit
itself around the idea that was forming in my head.  Surely she didn't need
it anymore.

   She looked back at me, semaphored with her eyes, nodded toward my right
hand, the tube of lube.

   Did I want to do what she was obviously suggesting I do?

   Oh yeah!  My guts clenched at the very thought of it.

   Should I?  Oh wow.  Mom was obviously really, really into it!  She'd
said "yes" when Dr.  Smathers had asked.

   And why should they have all the fun?

   By now, Dr.  Smathers' left hand was wrist-deep in my Mom's cunt, the
cunt that had given birth to me!

   Mom was gargling, her hips humping, her fingers tugging at her nipples,
her head rolling from side to side, belly muscles convulsing.

   I drizzled lube all over my right hand, inside and out, until it was
running down my arm.  I held my hand where Dr.  Smathers could find it, and
she drew it forward as she slowly eased her hand out of Mom.  Remembering
how she'd done it, I folded my hand together to form sort of a spear point,
my thumb snuggled in amongst my fingers.

   "Now Dee," Dr.  Smathers told my mom.

   Mom was already open after being plundered by Dr.  Smathers, so my
fingers slid into her hot tunnel easily at first.  At Dr.  Smathers urging,
I rotated my wrist, working my hand around and in and out of that hot
mitten of Mom-meat, pushing a little further in each time.  I was up to my
second knuckles already, and Mom was grunting, her hips actually trying to
push down on my hand, trying to get more of me in.

   My hand was more slender, my fingers longer than Dr.  Smathers.  It went
in easily.

   She knew it was me, Mom did.  She wanted it.  I obliged her, working my
fingers in, up to the widest part of my hand.  Somehow Dr.  Smathers ducked
out from in front of me and I found myself alone at the foot of the table,
plunking my naked ass down on the stool still warm from the doctor's naked
ass, my face inches from my mom's dilated pussy, her distended clitty just
begging for attention.  But, just as my hand vanished inside the same hole
I'd once come out of, Dr.  Smathers was up on the table, swinging her leg
over, straddling Mom's face.  I backed my head out of the way so Dr. 
Smathers' mouth could go to work on Mom's clit again, leaving room for my
hand still in her cunt.

   I was feeling my mom's insides!  I had my hand in her hot, slick vagina!
My whole hand was buried in her twat, her live, slippery flesh embracing it
right up to my wrist.  I pushed a teeny bit more, felt a sort of rubbery
bump at the end of her vagina with my fingertips and realized it was her
cervix.  And beyond that gate was the uterus that had given birth to me.  I
tickled it with a finger and she whined.  I poked at the dimple in its
center and she flinched.  I wiggled my fingers, played with her and she
reacted, a living, breathing sock puppet.

   Without really thinking about it, I closed my fingers, making a fist
that stretched her even more and I realized from her reaction that my
knuckles were putting pressure on her G spot, so I gently pumped my hand in
and out of her, fist-fucking her, sometimes spreading my fingers to stretch
her more.

   Mom went wild, her hips rising and falling, and I could see her pulling
Dr.  Smathers' butt, dragging her crotch down on her own face so she could
give as good as she was getting, at least in terms of clit sucking.  Dr. 
Smathers rode Mom's bucking pelvis like a cowgirl, her mouth locked to
Mom's clitty, and I was fingering my own pussy with my free hand, while I
pumped the other in Mom's cunt like a piston.

   The whole scene was so wild my own orgasm burst over me before I
realized and I almost fell off the stool.  Bracing myself, I let it storm
over me, wave after wave, vaguely aware of my mom's cunt clenching at my
pistoning hand.

   I was still coming down, aftershocks rattling me as I felt her relax,
and knew she'd had enough, so I relaxed and slowly drew my hand out,
opening my fist so my finger slid easily out of her stretched opening,
watching her cunt slowly contract, juices pouring down over the pucker of
her asshole.  Dr.  Smathers settled her whole face in Mom's crotch, and I
heard her sucking up Mom's juices as Mom did the same in Elaine's pussy,
the two of them relaxing in their carnal afterglow.

   Together they lay there, head to crotch, catching their breath and
snuggling.

   Looking at the hand that had been buried between Mom's legs, I licked
some of her juices off it, and compared their taste with my own juices from
my other hand.

   There were, indeed, no secrets.