Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Dee Does MS 9 By peregrinf

   On tiptoe, feeling delightfully wicked, Judy and I slipped out of the
still sleeping house.  The cool early morning fog embraced us.  Water
frosted Judy's pert black pony tail and beaded the fine hairs on my arms
and legs, my shaggy head mop, even my pubes.  There was a chill that raised
goose bumps all over me.

   I love early morning runs, breathing air seemingly untouched yet by man
or machine, but this was the first time I'd run with Judy, and this was a
new neighborhood for one of my nude jaunts.  Both things, especially the
"nude" part, gave me a thrill.

   I didn't even have shoes on.  The front walk was cold, damp and gritty
under my bare feet.  I'd have to be careful of pebbles or twigs, anything
sharp.  Fortunately, after a summer at the pool, striding along the
concrete deck, climbing pool ladders, taking off from abrasive diving
boards and platforms, my feet were pretty tough.

   After a few tentative paces in place, looking at each other a little
nervously and a lot excited, we set out, jogging away from the front porch,
turning on to the sidewalk, the morning air sweeping over me, insolently
reminding me of my total exposure, teasing my pussy, tweaking my tender
titties to stiffness.  We looked at each other, sharing a naughty giggle,
and I knew she was feeling everything I was.

   Thoughts and worries about Missy had mostly faded with sleep, the
morning air swept away any remaining shreds, and Judy was nice, quiet
running company, not a chatterbox, saving her breath for the run.  We
started out slowly, warming up sleepy muscles with an easy pace, our little
titties jiggling.  It was a quiet early Sunday morning, no traffic on the
streets.  A man walking his dog on the far side of the road gave us a long
lingering look as we passed.  Judy actually turned to wave, trotting
backwards for a few paces, and we laughed.

   I have an easy stride.  I like to think I kinda flow.  I was taking
maybe one step to every one-and-a-half of Judy's shorter legs.  Without
really thinking about it I stretched my legs, picked up the pace.  She
matched me, and pretty soon what had started as a jog turned into a trot,
then a canter.

   I was starting to breathe deeper, the warmth from exercising melting my
goose bumps away.  Judy was chugging along, a smile on her face, her legs
pistoning.  My feet were starting to burn, so I dodged onto the grass to
chill them, wishing I'd brought my running shoes at least.  The soles of
her shoes on the sidewalk made a chuffing sound, while my bare feet were
nearly silent.

   She pulled a pace ahead, forcing me to reach a little deeper.  The blood
was rushing through my body now, my heart pumping.  The fog on my skin had
burned off, replaced with a thin film of sweat.  I drew ahead of her, and
the rhythm of her footsteps picked up.

   I wasn't panting yet.

   As we rounded another corner my feet stung from the friction between
skin and concrete.  I hoped I wouldn't get a blister and dodged on to the
grass again.  Judy shot me a sideways look.  "You okay?"

   I nodded.  Of course I was okay, not that I'd ever admit I wasn't to
her. She's half my size, after all!  Well, no, that's an exaggeration, but
I'm a good head taller than the little squirt.

   I put a little extra push into my stride and gained the advantage again.
Was she starting to breathe hard?  The chuff - chuff - chuff of her running
shoes picked up and she pulled even, flashing me a grin as she did.  I
grinned back at her.

   The morning fog was evaporating, letting hazy golden sunlight slant
through between the houses, the trees and grass gaining an aura.  The
morning dew sparkled on the lawns and leaves, made shining haloes around
our shadows.  A spider web on a picket fence held a constellation of gems
on its fragile strands.

   I'd taken a lead of a pace or two on her.

   With a faster chuff-chuff-chuff Judy caught up, pulled ahead again.

   I put on a little bit of a kick and drew even.  A car swept past with a
soft whoosh, a quick toot of the horn acknowledging our exhibitionist
scamper.  A paperboy on his bicycle, his bag heavy with the Sunday edition,
almost crashed into the curb at the sight of us.  Then he turned to watch
us, totally lost control and wound up in a hedge.  We ran on, laughing, as
he untangled himself and admired our twitching asses.

   The run went on and on, Judy leading me on a route familiar to her,
through her neighborhood, jogging in place at street corners for only as
long as it took to check the traffic, the pace steadily picking up.  First
I'd pull ahead, then Judy.  We were both breathing harder now, and my legs
were starting to burn.  Mindful of my stinging feet I was quick to dodge on
to the cool, dew soaked grass whenever I could.

   Judy maintained her smile, but I saw the tension in her throat, cheeks
and jaw.  Then I remembered advice from my diving coach: "No matter what
happens when you leave the board, in the air, or when you hit the water,
always come up smiling.  The bruises only show the next day."

   I bet gymnasts had the same grin-and- bear-it attitude.  I was hurting,
a little, and I knew she was hurting, too.

   I grinned at her.  She grinned at me, and we both ran faster.

   Turning on to her street the run became a sprint, my legs stretching,
hers flashing, the sweat pouring off us, our hearts hammering, our chests
pumping.  We were dead even turning on to the walk to her front door.  My
bare foot skidded on the still wet lawn.  I tangled with her, and we both
went down in a whirl of arms and legs.

   Fortunately we both knew how to fall, rolling across the lawn to sprawl
on our backs, panting.

   "Beat-cha!" she exulted.

   "Didn't!" I puffed out.

   "Did!"

   "Didn't!"

   "Did too!"

   "Did not!"

   "I did!"

   "You...."

   She turned on me and pounced and it became a wrestling match, right
there on the front lawn, the two of us starkers.  We rolled and tumbled,
over and over, back and forth, getting covered with grass clippings.

   I was taller, but she was quicker.  She was surprisingly strong, but my
height and reach helped me.  First I was on top, and then she was, then I
was again.  I almost had her pinned but she did some incredible gymnastics
move or something and I found myself on my face with her on my back.  I
bucked her off and we grappled again.

   We both struggled for an advantage, and I was totally aware of our naked
bodies, sweaty skin against sweaty skin, pressing, slipping, our legs
tangling, our faces only inches apart, muscles straining, and I saw the
hunger in my eyes mirrored in hers.  It wasn't an angry fight.  It was a
battle for dominance, and, well, yeah, maybe sex, if it came to that.

   I was on top.  Cocking my head a little, I moved in, she came up to meet
me, our lips touched, and the wrestle became something else as we tasted
each other's sweat.  She was hot against me.  We devoured each other, hands
roaming, touching tits and butts, and flanks, and with a kick she rolled us
over, giving her the advantage.

   Damn those gymnasts!  The next thing I knew I was looking up at her
bare-naked pussy, her knees on either side of my head, and her head was
diving between my thighs.

   Oh jeeze, my legs happily parted for her, my hips rose, and she tucked
into my honey pot with gay abandon, her hot tongue probing my willing cunt.
It seemed only fair that I grab her tight ass and returned the favor, my
fingers prying into her crack in search of that inviting little puckered
crater while my tongue did a merry dance in the slippery folds of her quim,
probing the tunnel of her tight cunt before seeking the squirmy slick berry
of her clit.

   This was no slow, romantic love making.  This was raw, raunchy lesbian
sex.  I was doing my best to stuff my whole head in her crotch, and it felt
like she was doing the same to me, right there on the front lawn, with the
whole neighborhood watching.  I was so close to coming.  Sex on the
grass....

   Alas!

   We screamed, desperately untangling, scrambling up, trying to escape the
icy spray suddenly hosing us down.

   Beth flicked the freezing shower from me to Judy and back again as we
tried to escape, dashing around the lawn like demented squirrels.  She was
gleefully drenching us with the blast from the pistol grip nozzle, varying
it from wide spray to an occasional sharp jet that stung where it hit,
first one of us then the other.  Jeeze that water was cold!  She was an
equal opportunity sadist, I'll say that for her.

   And then, oh God, she nailed me right in the slit with that hard jet. 
It was like she hit my firing pin with a hammer.  I just sort of jammed my
fists into my crotch and hunched over while I went off like a rocket.  Holy
shit!  Suddenly I was coming, right there on the front lawn, my whole body
spasming.

   Beth looked alarmed, and apologetic, until she realized what was really
going on with me.  The she laughed, sprayed me down lightly once again in a
futile attempt to put out the fire, I guess, and then switched to Judy, who
at that moment was watching me, and presenting just as tempting target.

   Darn it!  I was one up on Judy in the orgasm department, but Beth's aim
was flawless.  Judy went into her own crazy dancing come, until we were
both left just standing there, drained, humiliated, shivering under Beth's
icy shower.

   "I've heard it works on dogs," Beth commented cheerfully.  "I could only
hope it would work with you two bitches before you totally scandalized the
neighborhood.  Though I think, thanks to my help, you both got away with
public ones anyway.  Now turn around so I can get the grass off you."

   "Shit that's cold!" I complained as we dutifully turned under the
stinging, icy shower that washed away the last lovely traces of our
organisms along with the foliage we'd picked up.  My hair was plastered
down on my head, while Judy's ponytail looked like the south end of a half
drowned squirrel.  The other kids -- and Mrs.  Liu!  -- were thoroughly
enjoying our performance, waving through the window and laughing
hysterically.

   "We were just -- sputter -- discussing how much I beat her by," Judy
explained.

   "How much who beat who by?" I retorted, wiping my eyes, trying to get
water out of my ear at the same time, so I was jumping up and down, my head
tipped to one side while I squeegeed my eyes with both hands, and I almost
fell over.

   "Don't start again," Beth warned, turning off the hose, "and don't give
me that 'just discussing' twaddle.  You'd gone well beyond foreplay by the
time I showed up to put out the fires.  And then I just poured gasoline on
the blaze, and you're both welcome.  Call it a tie, you over-sexed
doofuses.

   "Now, just stand out here and drip while I get you some towels.  It's
breakfast time.  Some of us have Sunday school this morning."

   As we stood there the sun touched our bare skin and Judy and I turned
like it had been choreographed, blossoming like flowers, spreading
ourselves wide to its warming rays.  Beth threw us each a towel, and I was
struck again by the erotic thrill of doing something so normal as drying my
naked body in full view of any stray passers-by.  I almost hated to go
inside it felt so good.

   After a crazy melee of fruit and cereal the slumber party didn't so much
end as it evaporated, parents coming to pick up their daughters.  Everyone
thanked Mrs.  Liu and Judy, with lots of hugs.  Of Mr.  Liu there was no
sign.  He was probably hiding upstairs, not about to brave this tsunami of
hormone laden pre-pubescent girls, and one boy, some of us still naked.

   The only exciting thing that happened was when John, still naked,
tenderly dressed Alice, from the skin out, touching each of her developing
curves and crevices as he did -- first he knelt and she stepped into her
panties as he held them, and he drew them up, smoothed them over her softly
rounded ass.  Then he slipped on the training bra she really didn't need,
reaching around her to hook it, taking his time working wrinkles out of the
cups, bringing her delicate nipples to full attention.

   Then he picked up her demure, pale blue and white plaid church-going
dress, and held it as she slipped her arms in the short sleeves.  She let
him drape it over her head and draw it down her body.  After settling it on
her shoulders and hips she held her blond curls up out of the way while he
zipped it up in the back and, a little awkwardly, did the hook at the back
of her neck.

   Then he knelt down, holding her Mary Janes, of all things, while she
slipped her feet into them, before he stood up again.  He used the pale
blue plastic holder to sweep the hair back off her face as worshipfully as
if he were bestowing a crown on her.

   No, that wasn't the exciting part.  That was touching, yes, but not
exciting.  The exciting part was when, fully dressed, she went to her
knees, her skirt spreading prettily around her.  Lifting his half hard
pecker with her delicate fingers, she licked it, kissed it, brought it to
full extension, and proceeded to give him a blow job that had his toes
curling and his head flopping back on a suddenly boneless neck, his mouth
gaping upwards like he was trying to catch raindrops from the ceiling.

   It was a study in contrasts.  Alice was so pure and childlike, dressed
for church, with her blonde curls, her wide blue eyes, her baby face soft
and innocent, while her mouth was wrapped lewdly around his rudely erect
cock.

   I wished I could have taken a picture of it.

   His hands cupped her head, fingers curling into her golden locks, his
hips working as he stroked his rapidly swelling dick to the back of her
mouth, and beyond, judging by the choking and gagging sounds, her nose
brushing the sparse strands of his developing bush.

   She didn't seem to mind.  She welcomed it.  She didn't draw back, didn't
flinch, but took it, saliva drooling down her chin with every stroke, her
fingers toying with his balls, until his pecker pulsed, her throat working
as she swallowed his load.

   Finished, she carefully sucked his shrinking dick clean before she got
to her feet, licking her lips, and they kissed a deep, deep,
sharing-everything kiss.  After wiping off her chin with a delicate lace
hanky she was still dabbing at some spots on the bodice of her dress, right
next to the circle pin she wore, as she walked primly out the front door
and down to the car where her parents waited to take her to church, her
skirt swirling around her graceful calves.

   As they prepared to drive away, Alice in the back seat, I saw her mom
hand her a pair of white gloves.  Before she drew them on, with an impish
smile on her face she blew John a kiss.

   The few of us remaining broke out in applause, laughter, and waves. 
John was still a little wobbly.

   Beth and John and I were the last to leave, and I happily shared a hug
with Judy, knowing we'd always be friendly rivals.  I reminded her that I
still owed her one.  She giggled and fingered my naked pussy, the little
witch.

   Then we piled our stuff and ourselves in Beth's little red car, and John
climbed in my lap again for the drive back to Beth's house.  Sexed out, my
bottom still sore, I wasn't even toying with John's limp dick, not that he
had anything left.  Alice's blow job had been the last straw, I guess.

   "What happens now?" he asked.

   "Well," Beth answered, "I'm going to church.  I've got a Sunday school
class to teach.

   "Mom and Daddy want to talk with you two.  While you and Judy were
streaking around the neighborhood like mad exhibitionists...."

   "It wasn't streaking.  It was a training run," I protested.

   She snorted.  "Yeah, right."

   "It was.  Swimming starts.  I've got time trials this week."

   "You need to do time trials?  I thought you had a lock on the
butterfly."

   "You swim?" John asked.  "Oh yeah, that's right.  I think you told me."

   "Like a fish, a champ," Beth answered for me, embarrassing me.  "She's a
diver, too."

   "I'm moving up to the 14 and under age group this year.  Everyone has to
do time trials when they move up."

   Beth didn't seem to pick up on the hint that I had a birthday coming,
darn it.

   "Good luck!  Anyway, Mom called this morning...."

   "My Mom?" I felt a chill.  What if something had happened to them?

   "No, MY mom called me, at Judy's house this morning.  Your mom called my
mom last night."

   My heart sank.  "I'm in trouble again."

   "Why would you think that?" Beth asked.

   "I'm always getting in trouble," I confessed dolefully.  "I try to do
the right thing and mess it up, or I try something stupid and it ends up in
a trip to the emergency room."

   "Relax," Beth told me.  "They want to help."

   "Help how?  Help who?  Who help?"

   "How I'm not supposed to say, but I approve.  Help who?  John.  Who
help? Your mom and my parents," Beth answered, calmly untangling my
scrambled response as she pulled up in front of the house.  "Come on, out
you get.  I've got to scamper or I'll be late."

   "You're going like that?" John asked.

   She was still naked and I wondered where she kept her driver's license
and keys, until I remembered the purse in the back.

   "It won't be the first time," she answered.  "Grab the sleeping bags and
stuff, please, would you?"

   We dragged the sleeping bags and her little suitcase of sex toys out of
the back seat, trudging up the walk like naked refugees from some natural
disaster as she drove away with a merry wave, while I worried.

   I needn't have.  The Finches threw the door open to us, relieved us of
sleeping bags and other stuff, offered us breakfast, which we passed up,
and settled us around the kitchen table.

   "Your mom called, Dee," Mr.  Finch explained as he poured himself some
coffee.  "Everything is fine.  They'll be by to pick you up late this
afternoon.  If you feel like getting dressed we took the liberty of hauling
your clothes out of your back pack, and running them through the washer. 
They're in the drier now.  John's clothes got washed yesterday and are set
out upstairs in the spare bedroom if he wants them."

   "Thanks." Did I want to get dressed?  I'd done some mental counting and
realized I'd have to go until next Tuesday or Wednesday to beat Beth's
record, and I didn't think that would work.  "I can wait for now."

   "But the main reason she called, John, was about you." Mrs.  Finch
poured a cup of coffee, offered it to us, but we turned it down.

   It was John's turn to look scared, and he had a much better reason than
I did.  "What about me?"

   Mrs.  Finch joined us at the table.  "She knew you had a problem."

   "You can't go home," Mr.  Finch said bluntly, sipping from his own cup.

   John hunched his shoulders defensively, shrinking into himself.  "I
don't want to go home.  Not while he's there.  I'd like to see my mom get
straight, but...."

   Beth's parents shared a look.  I wondered if they knew what I now knew
about John's home life.  I wasn't about to say anything to anyone about
that, except maybe Ms.  Andrews.

   Mrs.  Finch sighed, stirring sugar into her coffee.  "I suppose it's
reasonable to say that at this point you don't even have a home."

   That brought his head up.

   "Your mother," Mr.  Finch began uncomfortably, "and her -- uh --
boyfriend -- are in jail."

   I managed to restrain myself, but I wanted to let out a whoop and do a
war dance around the table.

   "It couldn't have been much of a home anyway," Mrs.  Finch said softly,
taking John's hand.

   John just sat there, tears slowly filling his eyes until they spilled
over, trickling down his face.

   Mrs.  Finch gathered him in to her warm embrace, settling him on her
lap, and just held him for the longest time, stroking his head while he
cried.  Not big sobs, almost silently, the tears streaming down his face,
staining her blouse.  Mr.  Finch and I just sat there, except I had to dab
at my own eyes.

   You could see all the tension just draining out of John.  That defensive
shell melted away with every tear, exposing the scared little boy inside.
Mrs.  Finch held him and rocked him and patted him until the tears stopped.
Then she tenderly wiped his face with a paper napkin.

   Finally he extracted himself from her lap and settled himself in his own
chair again, looking mortified, so I gently patted his hand reassuringly.

   "Coffee?" Mr.  Finch offered, getting up to refresh his own cup.

   John nodded, I did, too, then we bowed over the steaming cups, warming
ourselves with the hot brew.  It smelled good.

   "What happens now?" John asked.  "To me, I mean."

   "That's what we need to talk about," Mr.  Finch explained.

   "I...."

   Mr.  Finch cut me off with a gentle wave of his hand.  "To a certain
extent that depends on what you want, John."

   With The Stick goading me, not one to be shut up easily, I spoke up
anyway, having rehearsed this speech a million times since Friday.  "I was
going to say, John, that, well, while I'd really like to have you stay with
me, I'd have to ask my mom."

   Both of Beth's parents were shaking their heads.

   "But I don't think it would work anyway," I went on unhappily.  "We --
well, we just don't have the space."

   John was nodding, looking unhappy.

   "So, it looks like you have to make a choice," Mr.  Finch went on. 
"There's Child Protective Services.  They can settle you in a group home --
sort of like a small orphanage with other kids -- until they can find a
foster home for you."

   My heart sank at that thought.  I'd seen the stories in the news about
foster homes that were no better than what John had just escaped.  I'd
heard of kids being bounced from one such "home" to another every few
months, even changing schools every time, until they were eighteen and just
got shoved out on the street with their clothes and maybe a few dollars,
and no place to go.

   "Some choice!" I blurted out angrily.

   It was Mr.  Finch's turn to put his hand on mine.  This time I did shut
up.

   "Or you can stay here with us," Mrs.  Finch announced.

   My neck popped, and I was afraid John got whiplash.

   "We talked with Ms.  Andrews," Mr.  Finch explained.  "She's pulled
strings with the authorities, and we're cleared to work in loco parentis,
temporarily, while we're screened to become foster parents.  I'm assured
that will pretty much be just a formality.

   "I'm afraid your mom and her -- whatever he is -- are going to be in
jail for quite some time.  There were drugs.  They were dealing."

   Serves 'em right, I thought to myself.  They should rot there.

   "With our boy away at college we have a spare room," Mrs.  Finch
explained.

   I thought I was going to burst into tears this time.

   "You mean, really?" John stammered.  "I mean, I don't want to....  I
don't know what to say.  I don't want to trouble you."

   "It's no trouble," Mrs.  Finch assured him.

   I nudged him and leaned close.  "You could say 'yes,'" I suggested.

   "Okay -- uh -- yeah!" John erupted.

   I whispered in his ear.

   "Thank you!" he added.

   We sipped our coffee, and I made a face.  How could something that
smelled so good taste so awful?  So Mr.  Finch shoved cream and sugar in my
direction.  I guess John was used to black coffee, but this was the first
time I'd ever tasted the stuff at all.  By the time I was done I had turned
mine into something resembling warm, melted coffee ice cream.

   As we sat there, discussing this, all the tension just slowly drained
out of all of us.  Then it was up to check out John's room, however
temporary it might be, and he got dressed, so I decided I would, too.  My
things were still warm from the dryer, and it did feel good to be covered
for a change.  I guess too much of anything can get boring after a while.

   Beth came back from church, and after lunch the three of us young 'uns
settled down in her room to tackle our homework.  It was hard to
concentrate on it.  After all, John was still dealing with all the changes
in his life.  Beth was dealing with him moving into her house and her
boyfriend coming home and everything, and I was listening for the doorbell
for when Mom and Carl got here, 'cause I really, really, really missed my
mom -- and Carl, too, of course.

   On the other hand, in another way, I felt light as a feather.  I'd been
holding John's hand since his Friday melt-down, and now someone else would
take over.  I was so grateful to the Finches I didn't know what to say.

   I'd still be there for John if he needed me, especially at school, but
Beth's Mom and Daddy would be here for him, in his new home.  And, too,
Beth, could handle it better than I could.  She was older, more mature than
me.  She didn't treat me like a little kid, but beside her I felt like one,
even if I was almost 13.

   I hesitate to mention that, because, even though it is less than a week
until my birthday, I don't want to seem to be asking people to make a big
to-do about it.  But I was going to be a real teenager, after all.  That's
some kind of a milestone.

   Anyway, we were doing homework.  Let me set the scene for you.

   Stage right, seated at her computer desk, is Beth, a young lady, perhaps
17 years old, petite, modest figure, light brown hair in a simple
pony-tail, she's clothed in a trim white sleeveless blouse, modest brown
shorts, bare legged, bare footed, her attention focused on the flat screen
monitor of her computer, brow furrowed as she stares intently at the
screen.

   Stage left, leaning back against the headboard of a femininely draped
bed, John, a young man of about 13.  He is thin, angular, his face
pleasant, though his brown eyes are shrouded, lines of strain bracketing
his mouth.  He's wearing a tee shirt and jeans, his shaggy brown hair needs
a barber's skills.  His knees are up, a spiral bound notebook braced on
this thighs, he is chewing on a pencil, pauses, makes an entry in the
notebook, resumes chewing on the pencil.

   Stage center, lying on her stomach across on the bed, is Dee, a tall,
slender young lady of almost 13 years.  Her tee shirt shows evidence of her
blossoming femininity, her short-shorts hug her trim buttocks, reveal her
long, slender legs.  Her tousled blondish hair is short, undisciplined,
needs the attention of a comb.  Her knees are bent, her feet raised, ankles
cross, uncross, re-cross, the toes of her bare feet wriggling.

   Her head and shoulders are off the edge of the bed.  Arms dangling, she
stares intently down at a workbook on the floor.  She deftly wields a
pencil, her long, slender, graceful arms moving decisively as she scribbles
arcane mathematical symbols and equations, swiftly and confidently decoding
the intricate relationships of sines, cosines and tangents, secants and
cosecants and cotangents.

   The silence is -- well, I hesitate to even utter the term -- pregnant.
Offstage: Bing!  The first musical chime of a doorbell.
The young ladies, simultaneously chorus melodically "They're here!" as
they react, the older girl's chair hurling backwards as she leaps up, the
younger girl's pencil flipping upwards into the air, spinning, spinning,

spinning, end over end, as she flies off the bed.
Offstage: Bong!  The responsive, lower, second chime of the doorbell.

   The boy, looking up from his work: "Who's here?"

   But he's talking to an empty room.  The pencil clatters to the floor,
the desk chair thumps back against the foot of the bed.  There's already a
cascade of eager footsteps down the stairs.  From downstairs the sound of a
door being yanked open, an explosion of chatter, "Hi's" and "how are you's"
and "how was your trip's" and "come in, come in's" and "it's so good to see
you's."

   Not me.  I'm speechless -- for a change, wrapped around my mom's
comforting warmth, my head snuggled against her, her arms embracing me. 
She smells good, sweet, reassuring, comforting.

   It's the grownups that are chattering.  Beth and Carl's mouths are
engaged in what Beth once described as "a mutual, lingual tonsillectomy."

   Mom sort of peels me off so she can respond to the Finch's warm welcome,
but I maintain my hold on her, not about to let her escape again.

   "Oh, John, come on down!" Beth invites him as he hesitates at the top of
the stairs.

   "We need to talk," she adds to Carl, dragging him up past the descending
John.

   "Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?" I teased.  The Stick
sometimes makes me feel like a very rude ventriloquist dummy.

   "Dee!" Mom scolds gently to general laughter.

   "I'll be home...," Carl begins as he's half-way up the stairs.

   "Later," Beth interrupts, hauling him away, her door swinging closed
behind them.

   The rest of us are ushered into the living room, and snacks and drinks
are offered all around by the Finches.  I have my bat-sense at work,
listening for the sound of bed-springs from upstairs, but instead hear only
an occasional muffled protest from Carl.

   Curioser and curioser, mused The Stick.

   John is introduced to my mom -- I couldn't remember whether they'd met
before or not, but it didn't matter.  Mom seems a bit confused by my
clinging, but doesn't reject me as I remain pasted to her as we sit on the
couch.

   I just have so much to talk with her about, questions and worries.

   A few minutes later Beth's door opens and I hear Carl's heavier tread on
the stairs and he sulks into the living room, Beth trailing in his wake,
looking unhappy.

   Oh oh, trouble in paradise!

   Sensing discord, Mom gracefully extracts us, pleading exhaustion,
sending me upstairs for my things, with John following so I can bid him a
fond farewell.  I do, with tender hugs and soft words of reassurance.

   "You know Beth," I reminded him, "and her mom and daddy are the
greatest."

   "I know," he agrees reluctantly, "but you're my best friend.  My only
friend."

   I hold him close.  "I'm still your friend, and I always will be.  I'll
see you tomorrow at school."

   "But what if I have another nightmare?"

   I eased myself away from him.

   "Beth will be there for you," I assured him, "and so will her parents.
Okay?"

   He nodded dubiously, and let me go so I could re-pack my backpack.  I
made my way downstairs and we Walkers proceeded to extract ourselves from a
dinner offer with mutual promises of getting together again, soon.  Carl
seemed anxious to escape, leaving Beth standing at the foot of the stairs,
looking doleful, without even a kiss of consolation between them.

   Oh dear.  Were we witnessing their first fight?

   The drive home was short.  Behind the wheel, Carl was morosely silent,
while Mom and I did some inconsequential catching up.  Once home Carl
disappeared into his room, the door firmly shut behind him, while Mom was
busy with unpacking and getting laundry started, so I finished up my
homework.  Supper was a makeshift affair of sandwiches, and bedtime came
early, but only after Mom had a very short consultation with Carl, behind
closed doors, darn it.

   Have I mentioned that my days of listening at keyholes are over?

   There were death threats.

   All I know is, Mom came out muttering something about "men!" in that
tone one gets when dealing with males on a testosterone rampage.  With
elephants I believe it is called "musth," and you don't want to encounter a
bull pachyderm when he is, so to speak, PMS-ing.

   So later I was in bed, alone, in the dark, and feeling lonely, tossing
and turning, worrying about all this stuff which I could do nothing about
-- John, Missy, swimming trials, trig, Mom, global warming, pregnancy.

   Well, that was something I could do something about, The Stick reminded
me.

   Mom.  I needed my mom.  When I was little she'd said I could always come
into her bed if I had a nightmare, but I hadn't taken advantage of that
offer in years.

   Well, The Stick pointed out, wasn't the thought of pregnancy a
nightmare?

   I was still telling myself not to worry, I hadn't yet had my first
period.

   But what if?

   I padded nervously down the hall to her door and tapped softly.  She
answered quickly, so maybe she hadn't been to sleep.  Maybe she was
worrying, too.  We could worry together, at least.

   Setting the book she'd been reading aside, she opened the covers for me,
which is how I found myself snuggling against her comforting warmth, her
arm around me.

   I was nude.  She was nude.  Mmmmmm.  She was soft, and warm, and
comforting, murmuring reassurances.

   I finally broached The Subject.  "I need another appointment with Dr. 
Smathers."

   I felt her stiffen, her stroking stopped, so I explained about John's
nightmare, and reluctantly, and delicately, sort of indicated, without
really saying it, what had happened, that I needed protection.  Being
almost as smart as me and Carl, she figured it out, of course

   "Oh, Dee."

   How could two words encompass such a depth of feeling?  Or is a name a
word?

   "I'm sorry," I whispered, my head nestled on the curve of her clavicle,
my arm around her, just below the soft, warm mounds of her breasts.

   "Don't be," she reassured me.  "You did what you felt was right."

   Well, it was nice of her to say it, but I had to admit to myself that my
own horniness had overridden my good sense.

   "I'll call Elaine tomorrow for an appointment.  It shouldn't involve a
full exam, so I imagine she'll be able to fit you in."

   Elaine?  I thought.  Since when were they on a first name basis?

   I didn't say anything at first, just snuggled against her, reassured.

   "Thanks, Mom."

   She kissed my head.

   "How come you don't date?" I finally asked.  Somehow I knew she was
still awake.  Well, God knows, I gave her enough worries to keep anyone
awake.

   "Well, I guess it's just that I've been pretty busy, raising you two and
putting food on the table," she answered after a while.  "And, maybe I just
hadn't met the right person."

   Did she say "hadn't?" Did that mean she recently had??

   "How do you know when you've met the right person?"

   She sort of shrugged.  "It's just a feeling, I guess."

   My hand sort of slid upward to the underside of her breast.  I was
remembering having my tit sucked, the twinges it gave my pussy.  "What was
it like to nurse me?"

   "Like when you were sick?"

   "No.  I mean breast feed me.  You did, didn't you?"

   "Oh yes, I most certainly did," she assured me, her tone warm.  "It was
wonderful."

   I cupped her breast.  I wasn't really sure where I was going with this.
Well, yes I was, but I was afraid of what her reaction might be.  I
snuggled my head down toward her other breast, until I felt her nipple on
my cheek.  She smelled good, warm and sweet.  Was this how it was when I
was a newborn?

   My thumb stroked her nipple, which reacted predictably, coming to
attention.

   "What are you doing?" she asked.

   "I was just wondering, what it was like when I nursed on you," I
whispered softly, just before my lips found her nipple.

   "Dee!"

   It wasn't sharp, or angry, or fearful, that "Dee" she came out with, and
her hand came up to -- maybe push me away -- but she didn't.  Instead she
stroked my head.

   "Oh, Dee."

   With as much a moan as a sigh, I sucked on her tit, some memory from
very deep inside me stirring.  There was no milk to be had, of course, but
there were good feelings of safety, and comfort, and love.  Her nipple
expanded as I suckled, and I squirmed more tightly against her, bare skin
to bare skin.

   She wrapped her arms around me, drawing me even closer, showering little
kisses on my head, and I purred, squirming just to feel her texture against
me, my thighs embracing hers.  She shifted me, us, so I was more on top of
her, my thigh between hers, hers between mine.

   I sucked harder, hugging her close, my fingers toying with her other
tit, pinching and tugging at it, my hand cupping the warm mass of her
breast.  She had wonderful breasts, firm and full, capped with dark
areolas, mature nipples, nipples that had suckled me and Carl as infants,
so they were experienced, strong, reassuring and generous.

   We snuggled closer, her hips shifting, her damp crotch pressing against
my thigh, while I nursed on her sweet tit, safe in the circle of her arms,
her soothing hands stroking my back, down to my ass.

   Without really thinking about it I humped my crotch against her thigh,
even as I pressed my leg against her pussy, against her wiry bush.  Her
hips moved, too, rubbing her crotch against me.

   I squirmed closer, still sucking, sucking, sucking at her tit.  If my
teeth bothered her she gave no sign of it, unless that was why she was
moaning softly, sighing, squirming.

   I was feeling it, too, my body warming, warming, melting.  Our mutual
rhythm speeding up, gaining strength, hips humping, humping, humping
against each other as the very primitive hungers of a mature woman and a
maturing girl steadily built.

   Satisfaction crested, our release washed over us, a soft wave that
rocked us warmly and gently and we held on to each other, unashamedly
sharing the unconditional love and pleasure of mother and daughter.

   At some point I was vaguely aware of my mouth relaxing, releasing her
swollen breast, and I slept in my mother's comforting embrace.