Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee Does MS 2 By peregrinf

   I spent the weekend cleaning my prison cell, formerly the scene of the
crime.  All traces of the offenses committed had been erased, of course,
but not from my heart or my body.  Those few fleeting moments of carnal
ecstasy had exacted a heavy toll on my psyche, even as they satisfied my --
what's the word I want?  Starts with an "L" I think, longer than lust --
never mind, call it horniness.

   As I'd cleaned I'd tried being mad at Missy.  After all, if she hadn't
found me in the bathroom stall, none of this would have happened.  But I
still loved her, and couldn't blame her, no matter how hard I tried.  I
could have said "no," but I hadn't.

   Okay, time to be honest.  I was mad, and I was kinda banging stuff
around, and I broke a little figurine of a diver she'd given me one day,
just one of those silly little spur-of-the-moment gift-for-no-good-reason
things that we used to do for each other, and I sat down on the floor,
crying, through my tears trying to fit the pieces back together, knowing
I'd probably never get one of her sweet, impulsive gifts as long as Mike
was around, as if by doing so I could put us back together.

   I didn't know what was wrong with me.  I had never been much for crying,
but right now the littlest thing seemed to set me off.  So I just let the
tears flow until I ran dry, blew my nose and wiped my cheeks.  Then I got
up and gently put the pieces on the shelf to be glued back together.

   Then I tried to blame my troubles on The Stick for not speaking up, but
that didn't work either.  After all, I WAS The Stick, The Stick is me.  I
am Tall, I am Slender, I am Sexy, and I, not some fictitious "we," had been
an Idiot, with a capital "I."

   At least it rained all weekend, washing away any temptation to escape.
If I'd worded it right Mom might have let me go running, and I might have
just happened to run by Missy's house by accident, just in case she might
be out in the rain, going my way, or maybe looking out the window and she'd
see me and invite me in.  But I didn't try.  I had to pay my debt to
society.  So I dug under the bed, rounding up enough dust bunnies to stuff
both a quilt and my sinuses.

   Now I know why they call it a "dust ruffle."

   I found my old Heelies -- you know, those sneakers with wheels?  --
which had gotten me detention in 5th grade when I almost ran down the
principal speeding down the hall.  I mean I was speeding down the hall, he
stepped out of his office directly in front of me.  I performed a very
graceful split twist to miss him and proceeded to wrap myself around a
water fountain, triggering a brief geyser which, through some horrible
mischance, caught him in the face.  I mean, it was straight out of The
Three Stooges.

   He was not amused.

   I was, but only very briefly.  My Heelies were summarily confiscated, to
be returned at the end of the school year, by which time I had outgrown
them.  The incident also resulted in a school-wide ban on Heelies, of
course, for which I was blamed.

   My old hairbrush!  After carefully making sure my door was shut (why?  I
don't know, considering all that I'd already done in public), and wiping it
off with a hand sanitizer towelette, I pulled down my pants and panties and
gave the handle of it a good ride for old time's sake.  I managed a cumming
of sorts, but it kinda paled in comparison to what I'd had with Missy, and
Mike's living dick had been more exciting, too.

   For some reason I put the hairbrush on the same shelf as the little
figurine.  I guess that was going to be the museum for relics out of my
past.

   Under my bed there was also a pair of pre-growth spurt 3 inch stack
heels -- like I really need THEM now!  -- and if you're thinking my Mom
wasted family funds on frivolities for me, you're wrong.  Both Heelies and
heels were Salvation Army Thrift Store purchases, out of my own savings. 
Which, of course, I later deeply regretted when, for lack of funds, I had
to forgo an afternoon at the movies with Missy.

   Also under the bed, among piles of unmentionables and unidentifiable
debris, I found three mis-matched socks, a field hockey ball, two very
dusty, shriveled gum drops, four tissues (two used for blotting an early,
unsuccessful attempt with my Mom's lipstick, two unused), a tattered Hulk
comic book, an overdue library book, the fine on which would more than wipe
out the fifty three cents (one quarter, two dimes, a nickel and three
pennies) that emerged from the dust.  Oh, and something that looked like a
fossilized caterpillar, which careful dissection revealed to be an old,
well chewed wad of bubble gum.

   I couldn't help wondering what Missy was up to as I put things away --
Heelies and shoes destined for the Salvation Army clothes drop to be
recycled once again into the hands of a gullible pre-teen, socks, etc., to
laundry, and so forth.  Had she told her mother what had happened?  If so,
was her Mom going to blame me for her daughter's transgressions?

   I tried not to think of that.

   Or were she (Missy, I mean) and Mike doing It again, and again, making
use of the stash of condoms he'd "liberated" from Ms Andrews?

   I hoped not, and not because I was jealous -- well, maybe I was a little
-- but more because, well, it didn't feel right.  They were young, even if
they were already 13 to my 12 (almost 13).  Together as children, scant
months ago, Missy and I had giggled and gasped at the rumors about kids our
age doing It, wondering what It was like, trying to imagine someone like,
oh, say, Mickey Kelly doing It with some guy, naked and groping, maybe
behind the garage or in one of the secret nooks in the park, or under the
bleachers.

   We weren't totally naïve.  We'd seen some stuff on the Internet, after
all, and I'd seen my brother and Beth humping like bunnies.  But here we
were talking about kids our own age, kids that we knew.

   It just didn't seem right to us.  We weren't One Of Those Kids!

   Only now we were.

   Between dust triggered sneezing fits I'd done a lot of thinking.  What
Ms Andrews had told me about being a leader weighed heavily on me.  I
didn't want to be a leader.  I just wanted to be me, a carefree 12 (almost
13) year old.

   But I'd pretty much tried that out on Friday and I regretted the
results.

   With Mom's permission I'd also done some research on the Internet,
exploring the web site for Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays, trying
to understand my sexuality.  It had helped to know that other people were
going through the same process, but I didn't really find an answer there.

   And now it was Monday, another day of reckoning.

   "Waiting for inspiration to strike?" Mom asked me as I stood staring at
the front door, dreading what awaited me at school.

   I'd thought of avoiding Missy this morning, but knew that was a chicken
way out.  Besides, she, and me, and Mike had to report to Ms Andrews before
opening bell to answer for our crimes.

   "See you Mom," I said as I opened the door, then I turned and gave her a
hug.  "I'm sorry," I whispered in to her warm, comforting softness.

   "I know.  I love you," she whispered back.  "But remember...."

   I nodded.  "Straight home after school." Would she check on me?  That
very thought gave me a pang.  I couldn't blame her if she did.  I'd broken
trust with her, after all.

   Stand Tall, I told myself as I headed out, feeling like I was forgetting
something, until I remembered my back pack, left in my locker at school. 
That was another transgression that would have to be dealt with.  I hadn't
done my homework, didn't even know what had been handed out at my afternoon
classes.  The shit just kept getting deeper.

   I was sure to catch extra assignments for cutting classes.  But at least
I'd have something to keep me busy during the long afternoons of my
confinement.

   But this morning the sun was out, the rain having washed the air clean,
and my heart gave a little leap at the sight of Missy waiting for me.

   "Grounded, huh?" she asked sympathetically, though she already knew.  My
Mom had intercepted her phone call and explained that even calls were off
limits.

   "Yeah, I broke the rules, big time!"

   And as for that little "heart leap?" Well, we were still together, but
no longer Together, if you get my drift.  Maybe "friends" works, but no
longer "friends with benefits." Or something.

   "You?" I asked.

   Missy's face puckered guiltily.  "I haven't told my Mom what happened,"
she admitted.  "I got home and erased the message on the answering machine
before she heard it, so she doesn't even know we skipped."

   I opened my mouth, and closed it again, knowing how her Mom would react
to the news that her daughter was no longer a virgin.  The poor woman would
have a stroke, and I would be banished forever from Missy's life.  I'd
already faced her Mom's wrath once, over a misunderstanding, and I knew
she'd blame me again, and this time she'd be justified.  If the town had
them she'd probably have me locked in the stocks on the village green to be
pelted with rotten fruits and vegetables before I was tarred, feathered,
and run out of town on a rail.

   It had been Missy's decision, but I'd be blamed.  After all, I thought
wryly, I'm a Leader!

   Meanwhile The Stick was telling me that what Missy was doing, not
telling, was as bad as lying to her Mom, and I didn't feel good about that
at all.  But what could I say?

   I tried a flanking maneuver.

   "My Mom's making me an appointment with a gynecologist, 'cause I'm now
'sexually active.'" I hooked my fingers in quotation marks around that
delightful term.  "Sorta like locking the barn door after the horse has
been stolen, but I guess it's a good idea.  You know, protection and all
that."

   I'd hoped Missy might pick up on the suggestion, but she didn't.  She'd
had her period since last year, but as far as I knew still hadn't yet had
her first exam.

   Instead she went, "Eeewwwww!"

   "Yeah," I agreed.  "Did you see Mike at all over the weekend?"

   "Nuh uh.  We -- felt kinda bad about -- well, you know.  We're gonna try
to cool it for a while."

   "They say, once you've done It...."

   "Yeah, I know."

   And then Mike came into view and I saw her face light up, and knew that
sooner or later, probably sooner, It was going to happen again, and again,
and again, and I felt maybe a little jealous, more than a little bit sorry,
a lot worried, and more than a lot left out.  Mike and Missy were so
wrapped up in each other, and wrapped around each other, engulfed in a
cloud of hormones, I was left alone with my thoughts as we approached
school and our appointment with Ms Andrews.

   "Please close the door," she directed with ominous courtesy as we
shuffled into her office.

   I'd never been in it before.  She was both health teacher and school
counselor, charged with guiding our more troubled souls through the shoals
of puberty.  The three of us, by unspoken agreement, sat nervously on the
edge of the worn couch across from her desk, Missy and Mike holding hands.
There was a big box of tissues on the end table beside the sofa, and an
empty wastebasket, woven of reeds or something, within reach, some diplomas
in frames on the wall behind her.

   There was an African motif to her décor, carved statues, colorful
tapestries, a small carved elephant on her desk, possibly ebony and ivory.
Something made me turn around briefly to see what hung on the wall behind
us, only to be riveted by the sight of a framed, aged and faded document
that clearly read "Bill-Of-Sale...$250 ...  for one Negro, a girl named
Patience, about 12 years old ...." I jerked my eyes away from it, feeling a
chill, but not before I read the last sentence ...  "to be a slave for
life."

   She pointed at me.  "You I gave permission to take the afternoon off. 
But you know that doesn't excuse you from failing to notify the office."

   She pointed at Mike and Missy, "But I don't remember you two being in
the room."

   They hung their heads.

   "And didn't you people learn anything from what I, and Carl, and Beth,
tried to teach you?" Ms Andrews asked.

   "We used a condom," Mike blurted out defensively.

   All I could do was hang my head.  That wasn't what she meant, and I knew
it.

   "What was one of the first things I said to you?  Read my lips!  You're
too young!"

   Mike flinched and dug into his pocket, pulling out the remaining
condoms, as if giving them back would make everything all right.

   Ms Andrews drew back.  "No!  You keep 'em!  It's too late!  The deed is
done!"

   Missy looked like she was about to burst into tears.  I tried to deflect
Ms Andrews.

   "How'd you know we'd cut out?" I asked.

   She quirked her lips.  "I get calls from teachers of three of my special
students, wondering why they weren't in afternoon classes, asking if I
still had 'em.  I covered for you, as best I could, Dee, but even so I had
to send out the calls.  I also sent your brother, but it was already too
late."

   She drummed her fingers on her desk.  "What'm I going to do with you? 
Whose bright idea was this, anyway?"

   "Mine," I answered quickly, only to be echoed just as quickly by Missy
and Mike.  We looked at each other.

   "I might 'a known.  One for all and all for one, is it?  Somehow
detention doesn't seem appropriate."

   I hesitantly raised my hand.  "I've been grounded -- for a week."

   "Shoulda been a year or two." She snorted, then frowned, thinking.

   "Well, get outa here, you two," ordered at last indicating Missy and
Mike with a dismissive wave.  "Maybe I'll think of something.  In the
meanwhile, you keep this to yourselves, and try to teach your classmates to
do as you say, not as you do!  If they want to hanky panky, make sure they
know to do it without the guy sticking his hanky in her panky!  You stay,
please, Dee."

   Sick with fear, I closed the door behind my friends.  "I'm sorry I
screwed up."

   "Relax.  Somehow I know it wasn't your idea.  But you could have said
'no,' you know."

   I nodded.  "Why did you make me a leader?" I finally asked plaintively.

   She smiled, shaking her head sadly.  "Oh, honey, I didn't make you a
leader.  You just are one.  You see something needs doing, you'll step up
and get it done.  If you want to blame someone, blame God, or fate.  It's
just the way you are."

   I sank back down on the couch.  "Maybe so, but I sure screwed up this
time."

   "Everyone does, from time to time.  Tell me the truth.  Whose idea was
it to cut class?"

   I remained resolutely silent.  I didn't know if it was Missy's or
Mike's, but no matter what, I wasn't going to rat them out.  They're my
friends.  "When we did it we all knew what was going to happen," I
admitted.

   "But if you hadn't cut, it wouldn't have happened," she concluded.

   I nodded.

   "And, as a leader, whether you like it or not, what have you learned
from this?"

   I knew what she was driving at.  I stared at my hands as I twisted my
fingers together.  "I should have said 'no!'" I answered softly.

   She nodded.  "For a leader, saying 'stop' is as important as saying
'go.' Maybe even more important.  That's the most important lesson you need
to remember.  Whether you like it or not, people like you and respect you.
They admire you.  They'll listen to you.  They'll do what you ask them to
do, many of them without a second's thought."

   She sighed.

   "Trust me.  They'll follow you when you step out front and yell
'charge!,' even if it's in front of a bus!

   "And contrariwise, if you see 'em going in the wrong direction chances
are good they'll stop if you scream 'stop!' loud enough and long enough and
soon enough, at least if it's before they've really gotten rolling and
inertia has taken over.  Sometimes the most important thing a leader needs
to do is say, 'NO' in a very loud, firm voice.

   "It won't be easy.  It will make you unpopular, even hated by some
people.  As you get older you'll be questioning yourself about whether what
you're about to do is the right thing, 'cause you'll be worried you're
leading 'em off a cliff.  Then you'll wonder, after you do it, if it was
the right thing.  All you can do is trust your instincts.  You've got good
instincts."

   She sighed again.  "I didn't make you a leader.  I wouldn't even wish it
on you.  It is just what you are.  I didn't choose you for the class, but I
bet the people who did the choosing knew what you are, and that's why they
chose you.

   "It's a good thing, too.  If it weren't for you we'd probably all still
be sitting in that classroom.

   "I didn't want to tell you what you are.  Maybe I shouldn't have, 'cause
now you'll be running scared.  You'll get all self-conscious.  But I
decided it is better that you know, to give you a chance to learn how to
handle it.

   "I also know that you know right from wrong.  I'm willing to bet you
told your mom what happened before she found out, or you woulda been
grounded for a year.  And when your brain is working you make the right
decisions, and you'll take your medicine without complaining.  I'd trust
you with my life."

   "After what I just did?" I asked.

   She waved her hand dismissively.  "You weren't thinking, your glands
were.  After the week you'd been through I should have expected it.  If I'd
had my wits about me I would have planned a Friday afternoon pizza party
for the whole lot of you, instead of classes.  My bad.

   "You won't do it again.  Oh, you may make some other mistake -- everyone
does, from time to time.  Just be yourself and listen to that little voice
inside.  It will keep you straight."

   "Listen to The Stick," I mumbled.

   "What?"

   "Nothing.  How's John Patterson?"

   "He'll be okay, given time.  I can't say more than that.  He could use a
friend."

   "And I'm it."

   "That's up to you," she assured me.

   "I kinda like him," I admitted.  "He's not so bad, once you get to know
him."

   A bell rang.  "You better get going.  You got some teachers' feathers to
smooth down."

   "Yes'm," I agreed.  "Thanks."

   "Oh, and Dee?"

   I paused in the doorway.  "Yes?"

   "Patience was my Great Grandmother, and she outlived her slavery by
about fifty years.  A lifetime is a long time."

   I left, mulling it over.  When that "Negro girl" had been about my age
she had been taken from her mother and sold like a piece of furniture, to
be a slave for the rest of her life, as far as she knew.  It gave me cold
chills to think about it.  I was glad she'd outlived her slavery.  Then I
thought of her mom and how it must have felt when her little girl was sold
to another slave holder, possibly a total stranger, possibly an even
crueler master, and I got a sour knot in my throat.

   The reception I got in the halls and classrooms drove everything else
out of my mind, of course.  I should have known better than to expect
everything to return to normal, not after my performance at Friday's lunch.
I was mobbed like a rock star, and Super Snoop Marvin Brubaker, the school
paper's star reporter, photographer and general butt-inski buttonholed me
for an interview and some shots to go with his story of the Debut of the
Dirty Dozen.

   He'd been caught without his camera in the lunch room, I guess.  I
hadn't paid attention, but I bet a lot of cell phone cameras had been busy,
and we were all over the internet.  Well, our town was used to The Program,
so it wouldn't rock things too much, I hoped.

   He wanted pictures of me naked, of course.  I put him off, knowing I
needed to clear this with the paper's advisor, and deal with my own mixed
feelings.  The last thing in the world I wanted was to be the poster child
for the new sex ed, but it looked like I'd elected myself, whether I liked
it or not.

   Then, between first and second period, Judy Liu dragged me off in a
corner for a quiet conference.

   "Would you come to a sleep-over at my place?"

   A 6th grader inviting me to a sleep-over?

   "Some of the girls in my class don't believe me and Maria when we talk
about what we learned," she elaborated, vibrating nervously, a typical 6th
grader, all nerve-ends and adrenalin.  "We thought maybe if they heard it
from you they'd believe it."

   "When?"

   "Uhm -- Saturday night?  I know it's short notice, but we talked it
over...."

   I thought fast.  I had to, since the next class was about to start. 
"I'll have to check with my mom.  I'll let you know tomorrow." Maybe my
being grounded would excuse me, I thought -- hoped.

   "Thanks!" Judy surprised me by rising on her tip toes, dragging my head
down and giving me a quick, mint flavored kiss -- on the lips!  -- before
she darted away, her delicious little bottom twitching in her tight jeans.

   I had to admit, the idea of consorting with a flock of naked, curious
6th grade girls certainly had its attractions.  Oh what fun we could have!

   I told my glands to shut up.  The Stick, darn her, liked the idea.

   By lunch I was more than a little weary of the whole thing.  Excusing
myself from Mike and Missy, I fled outside, sandwich and milk in hand, to
my private nook, only to find John Patterson already occupying it, his own
lunch beside him.  He didn't say a word, just scooched over to make room
for me.

   For a while we just ate, while we each wrestled with our own demons, I
guess.

   "Thanks for setting me up with Ms Andrews," he said eventually.

   "You're welcome.  I hope it helps."

   He shrugged.  "It's hard.  I don't wanna talk about it, but she says I
gotta.  She's nice.  I think stuff's gonna happen, too."

   I wanted to ask him what, but thought better of it.  I looked at him,
caught his eye.  "Two things about us, John."

   He looked worried.  "What?"

   "First, you don't have to tell me anything.  I like you, and I want to
be your friend, but you don't need to tell me anything.  I'll still like
you no matter what you do or don't tell me, and I'll always be your friend,
if you'll let me."

   I could see him relax.  "And second, anything you do tell me will remain
our secret.  Unless it's something dangerous, like you're thinking of
suicide or something."

   "I won't do that," he assured me.  "I've already been there." He
fingered his wrist, and I noticed some scars.

   Now I realized why he always wore long sleeved shirts, instead of the
usual Tees.

   I risked touching his hand, scared by his admission.  "But just so you
know, if you do need to talk, your secrets are safe with me.  Though I'd
prefer you to share them with Ms Andrews, rather than me.  She's the
professional.  I'm just a kid like you, after all."

   He shook his head.  "Not like me.  You're special." He managed a
lopsided grin.  "You don't want to try this at home, huh?"

   "She's a trained professional, on a closed course," I answered.  We
shared a laugh, and that was that.  After finishing our lunch we headed
back in companionable silence, until I saw the clutch of 8th grade boys
outside the door.  There were a half a dozen of 'em, some supposedly John's
"friends," and they'd probably been smoking who knows what.  Now they had
ganged up on Bill Harris, surrounding him, pushing him, teasing him nastily
about his stutter.

   Without even thinking about it I waded into the fray.  "Stop it!"

   "St-st-st-stop what, skinny?" one of them mocked viciously, taking a
poke at me.

   "Stop THAT!" I snapped, knocking his hand aside.  "You're disgusting,
making fun of something he can't help.  And what about you, Horace?  Read
any good books lately?"

   Shit!  That was a cheap shot.  I knew he had trouble reading.  I turned
to Bill.  "Do that Rap again!" I didn't ask, I ordered.

   Bill looked startled, but I stared him in the eye, daring him to take it
to them.

   Thank God he caught the idea, gathered himself for a second, and went
into his shtick, snapping his fingers, clapping his hands, spitting out the
Rap, ad libbing to rag on his tormentors, even working in the word
"dyslexic" about Horace, giving as good as he'd gotten.

   He left them gaping.  Flanking Bill, John and I pushed through them and
headed inside.

   "Th-th-th-thanks," Bill stammered.

   "They try that stuff again, just rap it at 'em," I suggested grimly,
shaking, now that it was over.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ms
Andrews, a secret little smile lurking at the corners of her mouth.  Why
hadn't she done something?  Maybe she'd come in late?  Or had she just been
waiting for me to show off like her trained seal.

   I knew that wasn't fair, but I was pissed, and frightened by what I'd
just done.  Even with John at my side, the three of us had been outnumbered
two to one.

   Shit!  If they caught me alone I might be nothing more than a smear on
the grass.

   The rest of the school day was more of the same as before lunch -- pats
on the back, questions, a few snubs from the snots, with frustrated sighs
from the teachers whose classes I'd cut, and I was loaded with homework, of
course.  I emerged, standing tall in spite of the weight of my backpack,
actually looking forward to my lonely walk home, only to find Mom waiting
for me in her car.

   My first reaction was a flash of anger, and fear.  Did she suddenly
mistrust me that much, that she take time off from work?

   "Hop in," she invited, happy to see me, no sign of anger or suspicion.
"You've got an appointment with Dr.  Smathers in fifteen minutes.  She had
an opening."

   I was relieved that was the reason she was there, but unsettled by the
news.  After giving her a dutiful kiss, I settled back and fastened my
safety belt, staring out the window.  Horace and his buddies were staring
at me ominously.

   "Are you all right, Honey?"

   I shrugged.  What I really wanted was to have her hold me and tell me
everything was going to be alright.  "It's been a rough day."

   "I can imagine," she acknowledged, then thought a minute.  "No, that's
not true.  Carl told me what you did, getting the kids to the lunch room
for your show and tell Friday.  That was braver than anything I could ever
have done when I was your age.  I don't think I could do it even now."

   "Ms Andrews says I'm a natural born leader." I couldn't help sounding
sulky.

   "I'd say that's quite a compliment."

   "I don't want to be a leader.  I just want to be me."

   She shot me a quick look of sympathy as she steered the car.  "Which, I
believe, is what's meant by a natural born leader," she pointed out.  "If
it is what you are, you don't have much choice."

   She thought for a minute, frowning.  "Do you know how proud I am of
you?"

   It was my turn to shoot her a look.

   "You are so bold, so brave.  You're smart, and kind.  You welcome
challenges.  I don't think there's anything you can't do if you put your
mind to it.

   "Oh, you worry me sometimes, scare me, actually, you're so headstrong
and daring, and impulsive.  Some day you'll defy me...."

   "No I won't!" I argued.

   "Oh, yes you will," she said, smiling tenderly.  "But I wouldn't change
a hair on your head."

   I realized I just had argued with her, and ducked my head.  "I'm still
grounded, huh?"

   She chuckled, and smiled ruefully.  "Right."

   I almost teared up.  That's one of the reasons I love her so much.  When
she punishes me, the love for me, and the smile, was always right there to
make me feel safe and loved.

   I thought of Judy's party.  "Did that grounding for a week start last
Friday?  So it ends this Friday evening?"

   "Why do you ask?" She was turning into a parking lot by a building with
a sign out front for Dr.  Smathers.

   "Judy Liu, one of the 6th graders, wants me to come to a slumber party
at her place Saturday night.  Some of her friends don't believe her and she
thinks they'll listen to me." Somehow next Saturday didn't seem so far off
now.

   Mom parked the car.  "We'll have to talk about it when we get home. 
Carl has a college visit next weekend, remember."

   Oh shoot!  I'd forgotten that.  "Okay."

   I tried not to sound disappointed, but a sleepover instead of hours in a
car, and then watching some poor dork walk backwards pointing out the
chapel and the library?  No contest.

   "I didn't say 'no.' Maybe we can work something out.  Now come on, Dr.
Smathers will be waiting."

   Inside we filled out a bunch of forms -- any allergies?  High blood
pressure?  (I assumed that meant "have" rather than "give to others.") --
ever kissed a guinea pig?  Well, no, not that, but since you asked, the
answer is "yes" but it was years ago, and we were just good friends, until
he bit me, that is.  And I admitted to the broken arm I'd gotten falling
out of a tree.

   Doesn't everyone do that?  And the sprained ankle, and -- well, never
mind.

   And I got weighed and measured.  Turned out I'd grown almost another
inch in the last two months.  It was probably time for another trip to
Salvation Army for some new pants.

   Then I found myself sitting on an examining table, wearing nothing but a
stupid, scratchy, too short gown that tied in the back, staring at my
knees, remembering which scar I got when.

   Oh, and I'd peed in a cup for them, too.  My temperature, pulse, and
blood pressure had been taken by a bustling nurse before she left us alone
in the examining room.  Mom asked if I wanted her with me, and after a
moment of thought I decided I did.  Having her there would be comforting,
and I didn't want any secrets between us, not even here.  But I made her
promise not to say anything unless I asked.

   "May I call you Dee, or would you prefer Diane, or Miss Walker?" Dr. 
Smathers asked after greeting Mom as she breezed into the room.

   I was startled she asked.  "Uh -- Dee is fine, doctor."

   "Good.  Now, Dee, why are you here?"

   I shot Mom a look.  Hadn't she told Dr.  Smathers when she'd set up the
appointment?  But Mom was completely poker faced, and since I'd told her
not to say anything I was on my own.

   "Any aches or pains?  Any unusual discharge?" Dr.  Smathers prompted
gently as she flipped through the papers on her clipboard.  "I see this is
your first visit to a gynecologist."

   "Uh, yeah.  No, no pain, nothing like that," I answered.  "But -- uh --
I've -- uh -- been -- sexually active," I blurted out.  Out of the corner
of my eye I saw Mom smile encouragingly.

   "Have you now?" Dr.  Smathers commented, making a note on the papers. 
She let that hang there, and I knew she wanted to know more.

   "I -- uh -- did it last Friday -- with a boy that is.  I did it before
that with a girl, with my -- uh -- fingers, mouth, and with a dildo, but
Friday was the first time with a boy.  We fucked.  Is that what you wanted
to know?" Why I was upset I didn't know.  Maybe because I was forced to
admit how stupid I'd been.

   "Did you use protection?" she asked calmly.

   "A condom," I admitted.

   "Good.  Was there any pain?"

   "No." At least she didn't ask if I enjoyed it, if I orgasmed, whatever.

   "Not even with the dildo?"

   I shook my head.  "No.  I've always been real active and athletic.  I
guess I probably tore my hymen at some point."

   "Not unusual.  Now, you haven't started menstruating yet, have you?"

   "No.  I'm a little worried about that."

   "You needn't be.  You're not yet thirteen.  Active young ladies often
menstruate later, especially ones as slender and athletic as you.  You know
from your class with Carl and Beth everyone is different." She smiled.  "Oh
yes, I recognized you the moment I saw you.  You stand out in a crowd."

   " 'cause I'm so tall," I observed wryly.

   "Well, there is that," she admitted, as if that weren't the only thing,
but didn't elaborate.

   Instead she talked about the exam, how she was going to poke and prod
me, what she was looking for, how she'd examine my breasts (what breasts?)
and my vagina, if I didn't object -- I didn't -- and what have you.

   "Can I take off this stupid gown?  It's itchy."

   "If you'd like," she agreed.  "I guess you're comfortable with nudity,
what with the class, your brother having gone through the program, and
watching Beth's exam you know what's involved."

   I managed to untie the tie at the back of my neck, but turned so she
could get the lower one for me, the one Mom had tied.  Dr.  Smathers'
fingers brushed my back and gave me goose bumps, but I heaved a sigh of
relief at being naked.  I was a bit surprised to realize it was the first
time I'd been naked in front of anyone since Friday.

   She snapped on a pair of thin rubber gloves and while I was sitting
there she started at my head, flashing a light in my eyes, checking my
ears, feeling my neck and jaw, under my arms, before feeling my chest.  To
my embarrassment, my nipples responded eagerly to her touch.  Then she
unlimbered her stethoscope and listened.

   "Are they...?"

   She smiled.  "They're fine.  They're even growing, though not so much
you might notice.  Your body's been busy building bone and muscle, but the
good stuff is coming." She tweaked my nipples again.  "Sensitive?" she
asked.

   "Very!" I admitted, a little embarrassed by my reaction.  "How tall do
you think I'll be?"

   She finished listening to my heart.  "Mmmm, that's hard to guess.  I
wouldn't be surprised at five ten, maybe a few inches more.  Now, why don't
you lie back and get comfortable," she suggested.

   I lay back on the examining table, my legs dangling over the end.  "Six
feet?!" I wasn't sure how to take that.  Then I remembered Kathy Powers,
and how well she handled it, and actually felt kinda happy at the thought.

   "Maybe, if you don't slump.  You stand nice and straight and tall now.
That's good."

   "Thanks."

   After running her fingers down my ribs she was poking my abdomen, my
belly button (kind of an outie), pushing real deep, taking inventory, I
guess.  "Let's see -- liver -- spleen -- kidneys, two of them.  Everything
seems fine here," she decided.  "No scars.  One standard issue appendix
still in place, I assume."

   I nodded.  I was getting a little nervous, and a little aroused as she
worked lower, close to the arch of bone above my still hairless slit.  Then
I felt her tug at something, and realized she'd found a hair down there!

   "A natural blond, I see," she commented.  "Wish I had hair like yours."

   I lifted my head to look down.  "Is there much?"

   She laughed.  "A few strands.  Don't you worry.  You probably won't have
a big bush, blondes often don't, but you'll have it.  You're going to be
changing fast in the next few months."

   I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that.  "Like how?"

   She was adjusting some things on the table.  "Well, you know, your
breasts are developing, and pubic hair.  Your hips will round out, and your
legs will gain some flesh.  You've already got great legs, but they'll be
real eye catchers, believe me.  You'll probably get your first period, too,
so you'll want to be prepared for that."

   "Ick!"

   She chuckled.  "Get used to it, unless you want to stay pregnant for the
next thirty years or so.  Now, lift your feet into the stirrups, and then
I'll help you slide your butt down close to the end of the table."

   And there I was, feet up, spread wide.  I'd done a bit of horseback
riding, and decided the term "stirrups" was appropriate.  You could fit a
horse between my legs -- which was a rather discomforting thought.  I felt
incredibly exposed.  I tried to deny it, but I kinda liked the idea of her
looking at me.

   Damn!  Was I an exhibitionist?  I had to admit I did get a thrill out of
showing myself off.  When I asked Beth she had admitted she did.

   Yeah, I'm not known for being shy with my questions.  Sometimes they
just sorta fall out of my mouth.  I'm trying to work on that.

   I shot a look at Mom, but her expression was hard to read.  Then I saw
her uncross and re-cross her legs and suspected maybe she was feeling
something, too.

   Dr.  Smathers drew a stool up between my legs and settled down on it.  I
dropped my head back as her fingers began exploring my vulva.  I knew that
she knew I was getting turned on by her closeness, and her touch.  How
could she not?  Her face was inches from my arousal.  She could smell it! I
bit my lip and tried to stay cool, but I could feel my pussy reacting.

   Her touch was firm but gentle, if that makes sense.  There was no
hesitation as she explored me, gently opening my lips, I could feel her
tracing the folds of my inner labia.  In my mind I was visualizing Beth's
examination -- now my urethra was being touched, now my -- WOW!  --
clitoris!

   A finger gently penetrated my vagina, and my hips rose as my body
welcomed the invasion.

   Then, using two hands, a second finger, and, she was using them to pry
my vagina open, side to side, then up and down, and all around.

   Oh my!

   She pressed down with both fingers and I felt the pressure in my bottom!
What an interesting sensation!

   "Excellent muscle tone, as I'd expect," she observed, her fingers
palpating me floor of my cunt.

   Oooooh!  Did she know what she was doing to me?

   Then Dr.  Smathers stopped and I was disappointed.  I looked over at
Mom, and she was leaning forward.  When she saw me looking she smiled
nervously and leaned back as if everything was just as normal as pie, but
her fingers were in her lap.

   "Now we're going to look a little deeper," Dr.  Smathers explained,
holding up the speculum.  "I believe you know the drill?  Oh, pardon the
pun!"

   I nodded nervously.

   "You'll feel some pressure.  Don't worry, I've warmed it.  First I use
my finger to locate your cervix."

   She did, probing deeply.  Very deeply.  She had long fingers!  Mmmmm.  I
liked that.

   "Now the speculum."

   I felt it slip in, and flinched a little.  It wasn't like Mike's cock,
and it wasn't like the dildo, or fingers.  It was hard metal, but it was
warm.  Oh, it did feel good.  My little cunt was so hungry.

   Then I heard some clicks, and felt it spreading me open, and groaned in
spite of myself.

   "Beautiful," she murmured.  "You have a lovely cunt."

   I felt a little tingle of excitement.  After all, how many cunts had she
seen?  And she thought mine was beautiful!

   Mom laughed nervously, forgetting our agreement, but I didn't mind. 
"Cunt.  That's -- hardly a medical term," she pointed out.

   Dr.  Smathers chuckled.  "There's only us girls here," she pointed out.
"How do you feel, Dee?"

   I swallowed.  How did I feel?  I felt horny!  "Fine," I managed.  I
almost asked her how she felt as she explored my pussy.

   "That's good." Dr.  Smathers brushed my clit again -- accidentally?

   "Wow!"

   "Ooops!  You're very responsive!"

   By her tone I knew it hadn't been accidental.

   "Uh, yeah!" I agreed, trying to sound as if I didn't want her to do it
again, though I really, really did.

   "Ooooops!"

   "Oh JEEZ!"

   "Sorreeee," she apologized insincerely.  "Now I'm going to take some
smears.  While STDs are pretty much under control these days, it doesn't
pay to get careless.  I'm also going to recommend you get inoculated
against HPV, of course.  Wouldn't want anything to happen to this beautiful
cervix now, would we?  This shouldn't hurt."

   I felt her sort of ruminating around in there.

   "There!  Now we can get this thing out of the way."

   There was clicking, and the speculum went away.  Darn!

   "We're not done in there yet," she assured me.

   Goodie!  Though I didn't actually say that.  I was about half-way to a
really good orgasm.

   "Two fingers," she announced.

   Oh boy!  And she went DEEP with them!

   "There's your cervix," she announced, prodding deep inside me.

   Whoopeee!

   "Now we check what's where between there and here!" She put her palm low
on my tummy, and then it felt like she was playing the piano in my room --
uh -- womb!  I fought the urge to giggle.

   "You're strong!  Try to relax your tummy muscles, Dee.  Just relax, and
go with the flow."

   Flowing was what I was doing!  I've heard older girls complain about
pelvic exams, but I was having a ball!

   "The cervix feels good.  There's the uterus."

   She was kinda pushing things around, which only turned me on more, of
course.

   "Over here is an ovary."

   Uh huh!

   "And there's the other one."

   Oh yeah!  Don't stop now.  See if there's third one!

   But, darn it, she started to withdraw her fingers, and I thought it was
all over.

   "And right about here...."

   She stroked me, the top of my vagina, and Holy SHIT!  WOW!  I was
suddenly totally over the top!  I was cumming like a banshee!

   "...is the G Spot!" Dr.  Smathers announced, happily rubbing inside me
as she simultaneously diddled my clit.  My vagina milked her fingers for
all it was worth, while my pelvis went into hyper-drive.  There I was, on
the gyno table, surfing an absolutely awesome orgasm ...  with my mother
watching!

   "MooooOOMMMM!"

   Mom leaped into action, sort of, sounding less than stable herself as
she grabbed my hand.  "I see, darling, I see.  Oh, darling, are you okay?"

   "M-m-more than okay!  Oh WOW!" Then I trailed off into mindless grunts
before Dr.  Smathers slowly withdrew.

   "Well, yes.  You are, indeed, very responsive, Dee." Dr.  Smathers sat
back on her stool and, as I watched, she sucked my juices off her fingers!
Maybe she was a perv, but she was sure my kind of perv.

   "Thanks!" I panted.  "I mean, Thank YOU!" I could see why Beth liked
her.

   "You're welcome." She peeled off her gloves and dropped them in the
trash, letting the lid drop with a clang.  "Now, there is one more thing,
if you're willing."

   "What's that?" Mom sounded more than a little shaken and concerned.

   "I think maybe a rectal exam, as long as we have you here, Dee.  What do
you think?"

   My butt?  I immediately remembered Steve and Tony during their
demonstration, remembered Missy exploring that route with her finger.  Oh
wow.  What did I think?  Silly question!

   "Is that really necessary?" Mom asked dubiously.

   "It only takes a few minutes.  No extra charge," Dr.  Smathers
responded.

   But what kind of a charge might I get out of it?  "That's okay, mom.  I
don't mind."

   I hadn't told her of course, that I'd had Missy's finger up my rear.  I
do have some secrets from her!  I couldn't help wondering what Dr. 
Smathers' talented fingers might coax out of me.

   "Why don't we get these out of the way," Dr.  Smathers suggested, moving
my feet and folding the stirrups out of the way.  "And you can just roll
over on your tummy."

   Okay with me.  By now she could have done almost anything to me and I
wouldn't have complained.  I was even wondering how often I could have one
of her exams.  But I guess Mom couldn't afford that, darn it.

   So I rolled over on my stomach, my still aroused nipples feeling bruised
as I pressed them into the thin cushion on the table.  I rested my cheek on
it, and let my eyes close as I saw Mom watching me.  What was that look she
was giving me?  What must I look like, my skinny butt protruding past the
end of the table, my feet spread.  Oh jeez, what was this going to be like?
I couldn't remember the last time Mom had taken my temp rectally.

   I heard a fresh pair of gloves snapping into place, and then the good
doctor was back on her stool, at my butt.  She gave my butt a slap and I
jerked in surprise at how good that stinging slap felt.

   Then I felt her spreading my cheeks, and something cool drizzled down my
crack, my asshole puckering defensively.

   "A little lubricant," Dr.  Smathers explained, "to make it more
comfortable.  Sorry if it is a little chilly."

   "S'okay," I assured her, wishing she'd hurry up.

   "You have a very pretty little rosebud," she assured me, tickling my
back door.  "Now, try to relax.  Make like you're taking a poop."

   I couldn't admit I'd done this before, of course, with Missy, so I just
purred softly as her finger slowly invaded my asshole.  Oh that did feel
good!  She stroked her finger in and out a couple of times, then I felt her
lean over so she could whisper to me.

   "Think you could handle two fingers?"

   I nodded.  Inside I was boiling again.  Oh yes!  Go for two, I silently
urged, and she did, prying my winky open a little more, stretching me,
scratching an itch I'd only recently discovered I had.

   And oh, it felt SO good!  It stretched me, of course, and I felt her
wiggling her fingers inside me.  She played around back there some more,
sliding her fingers in and out, twisting them around, and I wondered if she
was going to try for three fingers, but she didn't, darn it.  I wasn't
really cumming.  I was just enjoying myself immensely, and then -- she
added a couple of fingers into my cunt, where Mom couldn't see, so she was
pinching the thin wall between my vagina and my rectum, and then she
somehow got her thumb, I guess it was, on my clit, and I was suddenly just
babbling nonsense as I came and came and came again.

   She played me like a Stradivarius.  She'd curl her fingers, her nails
stimulating my G spot, then straighten them again, pressing upwards toward
my rectum, which was stuffed with her fingers.  My anus and my cunt both
were spasming madly, and I was on fire inside, and I didn't think I was
ever going to come down, and I didn't really want to, until finally I just
couldn't take any more and went bonelessly limp, my cunt barely able to
twitch.

   The snap of the gloves coming off, clang of the trash can lid, and then
she said "Come to my office after you're dressed," and bustled out.

   I felt like I'd been totally wrung out by the time she was done with me.
Mom helped me get dressed, and then steadied me as we went into Dr. 
Smathers' office.

   "So, do you have any questions?" she asked quite calmly, as if she
hadn't just had both hands up inside me, more or less, and she expected me
to be rational.

   "Uh -- how am I?"

   She smiled.  "You are fine.  I won't say you're an average 12 year old,
you're a little tall for that, but physically you are in excellent shape."

   She thought for a moment.  "You say you've had relations with both a boy
and a girl."

   "Uh huh," I answered warily.

   "So you know them well?"

   "Uh huh.  Well, I know M ...  the girl really well.  She and I have been
friends forever.  I don't know the guy as well," I admitted.  "He's 13, and
so's she."

   "How do you feel about them?"

   I blushed.  "I love her.  I kinda like him, but they're a couple
now...."

   "And you're feeling left out."

   I nodded.

   "And you're wondering if maybe you're gay," she went on.

   I shot Mom a sharp look, but she shook her head, so I knew she hadn't
said anything.

   "Yeah," I admitted unhappily.

   She smiled gently.  "Well, I can't tell you.  I can tell you that you
are very responsive, sexually, and, as you already know, your hormones are
in high gear.  But only you can figure out your orientation.

   "Have you ever heard of a man named Kinsey?"

   I shook my head.

   "Dr.  Kinsey was an early sexologist, one of the first to do an academic
study of sexuality.  At the time his work was quite controversial.  He
asked the questions everyone else was afraid to ask.  In those days
homosexuality was ignored, denied, never acknowledged, and certainly not
something to be studied, discussed and analyzed, even in academic circles.
He changed all that.

   "Based on his studies and interviews, he developed a sexuality scale,
ranking sexual orientation from purely heterosexual to purely homosexual,
running from zero to six.  Most people, being heterosexual, tend to fall
into the low numbers, zero being strictly straight, while others may be
around, say, about three.  That means they're bisexual -- they can be
physically attracted to persons of either sex.  A small percentage of the
population, maybe about ten or fifteen percent, are exclusively homosexual.

   "Also, sexuality is not necessarily fixed in stone.  You're young yet.
It may change over time.  Based on your limited experience I'd say it's
really too soon to tell.  I assume you found pleasure with the boy, and
with your girlfriend.  I'd say you're probably a one or a two, but a lot of
youngsters your age experiment.

   "And I'm sure you love your girlfriend.  There's nothing wrong with
that. Love is a beautiful thing.  And, as you're discovering, you are going
to grieve for the loss of that closeness as she grows closer to her
boyfriend.  It hurts.  It is a real loss.  You'll cry.  Don't be ashamed of
that.

   "As for your sexual orientation, as I said, you're maybe about a two on
the Kinsey scale.  While I'm certainly not one to encourage promiscuity,
some would say you have the best of both worlds available.  I'd suggest you
discreetly enjoy your ...  flexibility ...  as the opportunities arise."

   Mom looked worried.

   "However, my advice is, get to know your potential partners before you
become intimate," Dr.  Smathers went on.  "Take the time to establish an
emotional relationship.  Oh, you'll play around.  I did when I was your
age, but that was just physical sex, relieving the itch.  If you know your
partner well, you'll find the experience much more rewarding, especially
since giving pleasure is as much a joy, if not more, than receiving it. 
Loving means sharing."

   "What about birth control?" Mom asked bluntly.  "Would you prescribe the
pill?"

   "There's no firm rule.  She could start on the pill now, though I prefer
to wait until she's had her first period."

   I flushed and shook my head.

   "There are other options.  Condoms, for example."

   I shook my head again, wishing we weren't even having this discussion. I
was still dealing with the realization that I was sexually active, that I
could become pregnant!

   "I'll take a gross," Mom said, to my shock.  "No, just joking, but a
good supply.  Just put them on my bill," Mom responded.  "Never know when I
might need them, after all."

   I gaped at her.  Mom?

   I was still digesting that when we left the office.  I sort of wobbled
out to the car.  After the show I'd put on I knew I was going to have a
hard time discussing this with Mom on the ride home.  But as we pulled out
of the parking lot, all she said was, "That looked like fun!  I wonder if I
can get an appointment with her sometime soon."

   "Mom!!"

   I might have laughed right along with her, but I was too tired, and I
still had a pile of homework to deal with.