Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. Dee STP 27 By Peregrinf I was dozing, lulled by the steady roar of the plane's engines, trying not to think of the next five hours in a coach class sea. Folded like a grasshopper in a too-small box I let my mind drift to a more comfortable time, at the mall, in the front window of Alphonse's Minute Spa, not all scrunched up but sprawling in a chair more appropriate for a gynecologist's examination room than a display window. It was the Saturday after graduation, variously known as "Primp Day" or "Makeover Day" or "Prep and Pray Day." It's the day when grads of both sexes ready themselves for the Spring mating ritual of our graduation dances. My special NiS award was with me, where I could keep an eye on it, on the window sill between my spread legs. For now, where I go it goes. I slept with it last night. Given the statue's pose, petite and shapely Beth Finch stretched up on her toes, her back arched, reaching upward with both arms, holding a globe overhead ... well I'm sure you get the picture. As you might guess, given my lusty appetites, before I went to sleep I sheathed that exquisite artwork just where you might expect and pumped it in and out and around until I drowned the figure with the full flush of a glorious orgasm. I assure you it was a gesture of ultimate respect, and I'm certain Beth, if I tell her, will appreciate the image of being stuffed head first and ankle deep in my cunt. I can tell her she beats the hell out of a hairbrush handle, she'll like that. Out of simple courtesy of course I'd taken her into the shower with me this morning, my soapy hands slipping all over her! I can also say with certainty, judging by the sounds I'd heard from Carl's room, that the real Beth had thoroughly enjoyed their reunion. Mom and Elaine? Do you have to ask? Now I was at the beautician's. Understand, over the years I've gained a real appreciation of pampering. My freshman year, in preparation for the Homecoming dance, Heather McKenzie introduced me to thrift-shop couture and the sybaritic pleasures of being coiffed and waxed, stroked and teased from top to toe and all the wonderful places in between. I learned to lay back and enjoy it. Besides, sybarite that she is, The Stick would give me no peace if I missed this opportunity. On a more athletic note, before the first swimming meet of my senior year I'd expanded my Brazilian wax to a full-body depilation. An element of my all-in push for state championships, it was in the noble and self-sacrificing interest of reducing drag. My suffering -- oooyeah! -- had yielded total success, you'll be glad to know. Of course it also meant I got a lot more time to revel in the talented touch of lovely Lalita with her meticulous and exquisitely excruciating ways of removing hair. She loves her work. I love her work! Now, with my graduation and with it the end of my scholastic swimming career, it was esthetics rather than athletics driving me to endure the regimen. Having taken care of my long appendages, arm pits and the like by ripping long strips of stubble off me, my lovely Hindi cosmetologist unleashed her full arsenal to make sure that my playground -- mons veneris, labia majora, perineum all the way back to the darkest recess in the valley of my glutes -- was satin smooth. Working with one of those head-mounted magnifiers, her nose practically in my crotch, she'd reached the stage of using tweezers to remove fugitive hairs lurking in my most sensitive recesses. Every stinging extraction sparked my libido. She then fanned the ember with a soft warm puff of air from her sensuously full lips before smothering the flames with a warm lick. She insists that her velvety tongue is more sensitive for detecting stubble than her fingertips and who am I to argue? You won't hear me complaining, no siree -- eee -- eeee! This mopping up of course released additional emissions from my eager tissues, which she was more than happy to lap up as they trickled all the way down to the sensitive pucker of my anal sphincter. The only problem with her oral modus operandi was that it of course stimulated more oozings, requiring yet more mopping up. It was a vicious circle which we both valiantly endured, my pelvis humping, my sprawled legs trembling, my abdominal muscles rippling in full view of the audience beyond the window while her tongue laved my gushing cunt. It is said there are hundreds of languages spoken in India. Judging by Lalita's labial dexterity she speaks many of them. But I digress. Alphonse has also assigned his most skilled staff to prepare the rest of me for my Graduation Balls. My arms spread wide, as if I were being crucified on the altar of beauty, two manicurists plied their trade on my fingers, while pedicurists played "this little piggy" with my toes. Henri, Alphonse's first-string hairdresser, was softly whistling La Marseillaise as he tended to my coiffeur, his phony French accent in full flower. "Ahh, mademoiselle, vous êtes tres chic! You will be la Belle de la Balle!" Well, they do say the joy is in the journey. It was late afternoon before I was released to pedal my way homeward, Bessie's saddle marinating in my juices, the air stroking my totally exposed flesh. A light supper, and later, prepping for Lance's arrival, I studied the results of all this cosseting in my mirror. The gawky freshman of four years ago had morphed into a woman of substance. I had filled out, my training adding muscle even as hormones shaped my femininity. My long legs were well-sculpted, my hips gently rounded. I didn't have much of a waist, my dolphin kick having built my abs and obliques, but my butterfly stroke added to my delts and lats and expanded the pecs that backed up my modest boobs. The stick is dead, long live The Stick! my alter ego exalted. You betcha! The ruby pendant glowed richly in the valley between my tits as I fastened my necklace. The matching earrings brought out the highlights of my blonde hair, accenting the smooth column of my neck and the muscular breadth of my shoulders. Turning and looking over my shoulder I checked the effect. From the back I looked like a goddess. Vanity thy name is woman The Stick scolded. If you got it, flaunt it, I retorted. Hearing the doorbell, then the sounds of my moms greeting my escort, my heartbeat quickened. Drawing a deep breath, I picked up my little clutch purse, teased a lock of hair back into place, checked my minimal makeup one last time, slipped my feet into my barely-there low-heeled strappy silvery sandals and was ready to venture forth. At the last minute, after a short dither, I snatched up my trophy and brought it with me, though I was torn. Showing it off felt like bragging, but I was so proud of it I couldn't leave it behind. Besides, Beth would be at Steph's post-dance party in the flesh. In the melee after graduation I wasn't sure she'd had a chance to really appreciate it. Then, too, I wanted to share the glory with my friends, who had so much to do with what we'd accomplished. Give me time and I can rationalize anything. As I left my room I felt the way I did on the starting blocks before a race. Although Lance and I had been dating since my junior year I couldn't help wondering what his reaction would be to my current appearance. The effect on him was everything I could have hoped for. His eyes flicked from the foot-high trophy in my hand -- no disapproval there -- to me, scanned me up and down. His eyes widened, his pupils dilated, his jaw dropped. "Holy shi..! Seriously, that's what you're wearing? My God you are beautiful!" "Thank you, sir. So are you," I assured him. In his tux he looked good enough to eat, which I fully intended to do before the night was out, after I'd peeled him like a banana, of course. He slipped a sweetly scented Baby's Breath corsage on my wrist before we met in a kiss and an embrace that hinted of pleasures to come. I could feel him straining against his reproductive instincts and knew we had to get out of there before he threw me over his shoulder and carried me off to have his way with me. "Pictures, pictures!" Elaine insisted, so Lance and I posed while flashes went off. As I blinked away the spots left behind I noticed both of my moms were wiping their cheeks, so I just had to go to them and hug them and kiss their tears away before fleeing into the night. "See you tomorrow," Mom choked out. "Have a wonderful time." I saw Elaine gather her in as we headed out to Lance's car, and not for the first time I gave thanks that they had found each other when they did. I'd seen the bottle of champagne chilling in the fridge. Since Lance and I weren't coming back here tonight I knew Elaine would be sipping the bubbly out of Mom's navel -- and other intimate recesses. Oh, the games that they play! The gym was already filled with beautiful people but our arrival at Central High's Graduation Ball did not go unnoticed. Tall and athletic, we're quite a couple. I momentarily flashed back to my first high-school dance, when I'd been the keystone in the Terrific Trio. With the statuesque Kathy Powers on one arm and Greg Anderson on the other we'd gotten a hell of a reception. That had been a lark, but this was different. Familiarity reduced the shock value, of course, and this was a bittersweet time of celebration and parting. I was so proud to be on Lance's arm! Unlike the guys wearing ruffled shirts and flashy dinner jackets with satin lapels, Lance was subdued and dignified, his marvelous physique filling his tuxedo's cream jacket to perfection, his shirt pleated rather than ruffled. His studs and cufflinks, in keeping with my jewelry, were rubies. The bow tie and matching cummerbund were a rich wine red, the crisply creased black trousers had a narrow black satin stripe down the seam, his shoes were polished to a mirror shine. His garishly striped and mismatched socks were the perfect frivolous touch to go with my multi-colored toenails. As I triumphantly held my trophy high the crowd formed a lane, applauding us, and I felt a pang, knowing that come fall our class would be scattered like dandelion seeds. The gym had been transformed into a wonderland of pastel and white crepe paper. The overhead lights dimmed and a cliché rotating mirrored globe indiscriminately sprayed colored dots on the walls, the floor, the attendees in their formal finery, while romantic candle-like lights glowed on the tables. All this was the work of Shelly Winthrop, Kathy Powers's successor as resident artist and decorator. Shelly had applied her own special romantic touch. The decor lacked the edgy creativity of Kathy's Halloween-themed Homecoming soiree but was more appropriate to this more formal occasion. Mrs. Devers looked so good in her little black dress I wanted to unwrap her like a candy bar. She looked me up and down, discretely but suggestively licked her lips and gave an approving nod and a knowing smile. My pussy puckered at the memory of that wonderful interlude we'd shared not so long ago. Naturally the gang gathered and Lance and I led them to an out-of-the-way corner rather than taking center stage. I'd had enough of being the focus of attention. All of my lunch bunch was there, with their dates. Dear Peggy was with a sweet boy, a junior named Ryan, shy and gentle, rumored to be gay. I wondered if she was following in Heather's footsteps, picking a nice safe escort. At the other extreme, the guy Fran was dating was a total extrovert and her physical opposite. He absolutely doted on her zaftig contours and when they slow danced she engulfed him. Inez, on her way to nursing school, was a Latina princess, her ebony hair swept up, pinned with jeweled combs, twisting strands framing her angelic features with her sparkling dark eyes and glittering white smile. Her skin glowed like copper against her snowy dress, the knee-length bouffant skirt showing her shapely calves and delicate feet in heels. Her date was another Latino, a soccer player as lithe and graceful as he was macho. Before the night was out they would dance a tango that steamed up windows and eyeglasses. Cindy's blonde curls were lightly dusted with sparkles, as was the tantalizing valley of her décolletage, the blue of her gown matching the color of her eyes. Her date, a junior, a trim and handsome tennis player, sneaked peeks at her buxom display. The Spirit of Central High trophy became the centerpiece at our table, someone always there to keep an eye on it as people wandered by to admire it. When people thanked me or congratulated me I tried my best to explain that it belonged to everyone who'd helped defend The Program. Mercifully I was left pretty much alone when I was with Lance on the dance floor. During an early slow dance I felt Lance's endowment bloom against my tummy. Unable to resist I pasted myself against him like a fly on flypaper. Straddling one of his thighs, riding it like a barrel racer on her gelding -- which he was NOT -- I wriggled and squirmed until I felt the hot pulsing of his release on my hip, my own happy orgasmic sighs mingling with his soft grunts. His recuperative powers being what they were I knew this would only take the edge off so our later amorous adventures would be more extended and satisfying. Of course he wasn't the only boy to come off the floor with a wet spot at his crotch. Some of the ladies' outfits were almost as revealing as mine. Their dates were as quick to take advantage of the exposure as the girls were to enjoy it. Oh! And in case you haven't already guessed from Mrs. Devers's subtle greeting, all I had on was my ruby necklace and earrings and my strappy silvery sandals. Alphonse's detailing of my flesh was on full display. I would have liked to dance the night away right there on my home court but unfortunately, like the President making the rounds of Inaugural Balls, we had to put in an appearance at Lance's Graduation Dance. After all, he deserved the company and attention of his friends at least as much as I did mine. The dance at South High all but half over, our arrival created a different stir than we'd produced at Central. I also tend to attract more attention on foreign turf. The dancers on the floor parted and eyes and whispers and murmurs followed us as we headed for the table occupied by Lance's party. Of course the trophy traveled with us, Lance making me blush as he showed it off and explained its significance. Central's efforts on behalf of The Program having benefited the other district schools NiS programs, it met with approval. The overall reactions of Lance's classmates varied. Even though we had been an acknowledged couple at both schools for over a year there were still a few chauvinists who objected to our consorting with the enemy. Some of the ladies' glances were sharp and envious. I'd had those at my school as well, along with a few prudes who took exception to my display, their lips pursed disapprovingly. At South I was the only one NiS, so I felt incredibly sexy in just my skin. I guess none of the girls at South had wanted to pass up the opportunity to get all gussied up in their finest finery. Then there were those who, while enjoying the scenery, avoided contact with me as if I were radioactive. My glands were in full mating mode by now. Given the dancing we'd already enjoyed my pussy was licking its chops. As Lance and I tripped the light fantastic there was a tendency for us to pinball from one encounter to another too frequently for it to be entirely accidental. When I was tight with Lance there were exploratory touches to my butt. When we were swinging apart hands brushed my tits, even my pussy. More than once I had to extract an excessively adventuresome digit from my recesses. Then there were those boys who were more than eager to make my acquaintance by cutting in on us -- much to their dates' objections, I might add. At some point I felt that Lance was actually being a little too accommodating and refused to accept any more invitations, preferring to have his hard-on poking me rather than some drooling stranger's. In the end it was a relief to escape to what I expected would be the more relaxed environs of Stephanie's backyard. I should have known there'd be no chance of making a discreet entrance. They must have had sentries out, because the moment Lance and I appeared in the door opening on the pool deck we were greeted by a brass band -- well, my brother Carl's trombone, anyway, backed up with Terrell Ford's keyboard in full orchestral mode, with Steph on table-top percussion and Kathy Powers on tambourine trying not very successfully to imitate the tympani. Naturally, I was greeted by what had become my leitmotif (thank you Music Appreciation), the opening bars of Also Sprach Zarathustra. Holy shit! Ain't THAT glorious! The Stick exulted as it blared on. Oh shut up! I'm trying not to cry I protested. And do ya think they would cut it short? Oh no! While I stood there blushing and shuffling my feet they ran the full hoo-raw, all two minutes and seven seconds of it, Judy Liu capping off the final smashing chord with a syncopated thump-a-thump-a- launch off the diving board into a fantastic full-twisting one-and-a-half summy, which the little scamp gleefully if inartistically finished off with a cymbal-clap of an entry that threw water far and wide. Lance had his arm around me and for a moment all I could do was lean against him while everyone cheered and I gathered my wits. God! With the exception of my moms everyone who meant anything to me was there. The school festivities being limited to graduating seniors and their dates meant Carl and Beth, Steph and Kathy and a host of others had presumably been partying for some time. Our crew from the dance had obviously cut out a bit early to beat Lance and me here. For alums this blast was an informal homecoming, while certain familiar underclassmen -- like The Dirty Dozen -- had been invited to share in the festivities. Terrell Ford had assembled a makeshift band -- Carl with his trombone, while Steph contributed not just flute but also clarinet, sax, oboe, with an occasional turn on the guitar and even fiddle as the night went on, but not all at once -- she's talented, but not that talented! -- with her lover Kathy Powers, on leave from her artistic studies, handling percussion, sort of. Gretchen Gardner (she whose Dad had been ticketed for passing the school buses at middle school) and former Dirty Dozen stutterer Bill Harris provided vocals. His forte was something called "scat," though in the school choir he could do equal justice to Mozart. He and Gretchen seemed to have become an Item. At the very least they enjoy harmonizing musically. The returning alums of that inaugural SACNISP year were in attendance. That meant Heather and Matt, Samantha and Max Wang, Walter Miflin. Mike Collins had just graduated with me. Retta Jones was in the pool, letting the water buoy up her double Ds. It's worth noting that, through her efforts as chair of SACNISP following me, girls of her endowments were permitted to wear lacey, open tipped bras while in The Program. Bustiers were also acceptable as long as the nips were exposed for exploration. But getting back to my present embarrassment, all the partiers had interrupted their activities, coital and otherwise, to celebrate Lance's and my arrival, and now stood there, waiting expectantly. Shit! Now what should I do? "Show us the trophy!" the always helpful Beth Finch yelled. "The Trophy! The Trophy! The Trophy!" the crowd began to chant. Oh fuck. So I showed 'em the trophy, raising it high. Finally, by waving both arms I managed to shut them all up so I could make my little speech -- again! I tried to somehow get them to understand that this was for all of them, that none of it would have happened without their help, but I don't know that they bought it. In the end I put it on the buffet table for them to admire. As the evening went on I noticed the guys -- and Kathy and Steph, too -- had a tendency to run their hands over Beth's image. If that little statue had had voodoo powers she would have been in a constant orgasmic state. Not that she needed it with Carl there. After making the rounds greeting people and slaking our initial appetites for food, drink, and sex -- not necessarily in that order -- followed by a refreshing and cleansing dip in the pool, I cuddled and relaxed in Lance's arms, enjoying him, the night, the music and the chatter, only to have all that fade into the background at the unexpected sight of Greg Anderson emerging from the house In Program uniform, of course. Greg?! Here??!! My heart stopped. It was one of those cinematic moments, my vision zooming in on him even as everything else faded into a blur, the ringing in my ears drowning out the music. I hadn't seen him in over a year and he looked better than ever! Greg, my first real lover. He and I had done the deed together for the first time right here, out at the end of the diving board next to us, the board that was still quivering from Judy's latest gainer. Oh how we'd made that board bounce! What a birthday present that had been, given and received in full view of everyone at my party, including my mom and sundry other parents, no less. Kathy Powers had captured the high point of that memorable moment, me atop Greg, his cock in my pussy as I sang my joy to the night sky. She'd done it first as a sketch that today hung on my wall, later as an etching that sold for a pretty penny in a local gallery, the same gallery that displayed the originals of Kathy's series of sculptures of Greg and me demonstrating all the stages and positions of sexual intercourse. The etchings plus bronze reproductions of those statuettes provided Kathy with a respectable income, allowing her to continue her studies wherever she chose, which was usually where Steph was. Greg here? Now? Suddenly I was torn. No, I was shredded! Oh God, oh God, oh God! No way had I expected this. He was supposed to be off in Michigan or someplace, licking his wounds after missing out on the Olympic team. I'd thought I was over Greg and he over me. Obviously I wasn't, and his presence here.... I clutched at Lance to steady myself as my pulse resumed in a rush. "What's he doing here?" was Lance's reaction, his tone more hostile than curious. "I don't know! Oh God." "I didn't think you kept up with him." I was reduced to stammers. "Well, I don't, didn't, exactly. I don't. I guess I sorta did, when he got in the sports pages, but neither of us wrote, and oh God!" No way could Lance not notice how this was affecting me. No way! "What're you gonna do?" Even as I answered that I didn't know I slid into the pool. It was like there was an incredibly powerful force sucking me in Greg's direction. At the same time Greg was wading down the steps of the shallow end, heading in my direction. Oh God he looked good. He'd obviously trained hard and his physique was absolutely awesome, and just as devoid of hair as mine. I struck out in a slow breast-stroke and we met in the middle of the pool, where the bottom dropped off to the deep end. Even with my feet planted firmly on the bottom, I felt like I was in over my head, as stupid and slow and clumsy and awkward as I had felt the first time I'd sat down next to him at the time trials so long ago. We didn't touch. He looked as uncertain as I felt. We'd never really actually broken up, just sort of fallen apart, two loose ends left dangling with half a continent between us. I still wanted to jump his bones, and by the looks of his boner he wouldn't have minded at all. But a lot of water had gone through the pool filters since we'd parted, and there were issues to be resolved, a snarl of feelings to be untangled. My accident had left me feeling that I'd totally screwed up all our plans for the future. As a pair the media had talked like we had a lock on Olympic golds. The Golden Couple they'd called us, and with one careless dive I'd thrown all that away. The media had even blamed me -- I still blamed myself -- for him missing his chance at the Olympics. And, as if that wasn't enough, now there was Lance, watching from the deep end. What was he thinking? He certainly was not a disinterested spectator. Oh sure he and Greg had gotten along well enough during that strange transition when my neck was healing and Greg was picking among his Olympic training offers. Could Lance be civil now? Even though he and I were resigned to being ripped apart by differing college plans our relationship had solidified, taken root I guess you could say. And what about Greg? Had he found someone else, and what were his plans? Also bearing down on me was the memory of how Greg had put up with me during my hellish freshman year, enduring my endless venting over SACNISP and the Fanny Pinchers, the bureaucratic bumbling of The Powers That Be, the shit of the Worm, Pastor Paul and the pedophiles. Greg didn't know half of what I'd gone through, and never would. There had been so much I didn't dare share with anyone, even him, and still didn't. But he'd never probed, just held me while I'd cried for seemingly no reason at all. Then he'd silence my demons by making long, slow, sweet, tender love to me. I never knew how much he'd figured out -- whether he'd known I was the six-foot ninja, the target of the assassin's arrows. How could he not have? But I'd never shared, even as we shared our bodies, even after it was all over. With it all behind us, in our sophomore year we drove each other during training, capping almost every brutal workout off with a ravenous fuck on the hard tile floor while hot spray from the showers swept away the sweat and semen. That year we'd brought home Central's first county swimming team championships -- both boys' and girls' -- while dreaming of a glorious future together as Olympians. And then I broke my damn neck doing a damn dive that Coach had told me not to do, shattering the Olympic dream. Greg had gone off on that quest alone, without me to support him when he needed me the most. I'd felt like an idiot. I'd felt like a traitor. Now, shoulder deep in the pool, battling all those emotional rip tides, I greeted him awkwardly. "Hi." Oh I so much wanted to wrap myself around him, but didn't dare. His beautiful blue eyes measured me warily, his hands waving restlessly in the water, as if he wanted to reach for me as much as I wanted to reach for him. "Hi." It felt like everyone around the pool was watching us, wondering what would happen next. "I'm...," "I'm...," We both spoke at once. "You first," I said, happy to put off what I would say until I figured out what it would be, but he didn't let me off the hook. "No, you first." Shit! "I'm -- sorry," I began awkwardly. "For what?" He seemed genuinely puzzled. "I let you down. I screwed up, and ruined everything. I...." "I'm the one who's sorry," Greg tried to interrupt. But I was in full flow. "Coach kept telling me I'd grown too much, told me I should give up diving," I plodded on. "I went off and left you while you were hurting." "But I didn't...." It was like we were on two different frequencies. "Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?" That was a false-start rope dropping across the lanes of our disjointed dialogue. Guess Who had joined us, interrupting our already fractured confessions like a bucket of cold water. Talk about awkward. But instead of responding to Lance, even acknowledging him, Greg and I finally embraced, and oh it felt so good to have him in my arms, to be in his arms, our naked bodies pressed together for the first time in so long, tears leaking down my face, his rigid cock trapped between us seeping hot juices. But we didn't kiss. With Lance right there Greg and I didn't kiss, just held on to each other. Finally, without letting go of me Greg acknowledged Lance, speaking over my shoulder. "Have you been taking good care of my girl?" "Your girl?" Lance asked pointedly, an opening shot if ever I'd heard one. Obviously the amicable truce that had reigned between them a year ago was over. Even over the pool chlorine I could smell the testosterone. If it got physical it would get very ugly very quickly. I had to do something before these two rutting males ruined everything. It was all very flattering, in a way, to have them competing for me, but at the same time I refused to be some damn token for them to squabble over, the victor taking the spoils. Grateful for my long arms and strong swimming muscles I gathered them both into headlocks, tight enough to for them to let them know that I meant business and that I wasn't a shrinking violet. Dragging them both in front of me, jamming them cheek-to-cheek, I softly made it clear to them that if they didn't calm down they'd be sent to the farthest corners of the backyard for timeouts that would last the night. "This doesn't have to be the last time we're together over the summer, but if you two don't behave yourselves -- both of you! -- it will be." "I won't be here over the summer," Greg managed to choke out, trying to pry my arm from around his neck. "All the more reason to behave yourself," I retorted, giving him a bit of a jerk. "We play nice while we have the chance or I won't play at all." They tried to struggle but we'd slipped into deeper water and they couldn't get traction. I was real close to dunking them both. Having vanquished four armed kidnappers I was not about to be intimidated by these guys. "She's got a point," Lance bubbled, the water almost up to his nose. I felt Greg try to nod, not very successfully. "And might I remind you that there is enough of me to go around?" I added. To emphasize the point I arched my back to bring my tits to the surface, using my headlocks to guide their mouths to them. Taking the hint they both suckled on my nips -- which really liked the attention -- before I let them go and reached for their jutting cocks. With my grip on those leashes I moved us over to the steps where I sat down between them, squeezing their handles so horniness overcame jealousy. With the tension broken the party resumed as we cuddled and talked. It turned out Greg had driven all the way from Michigan to be here with me! Drindy had wanted to come with him, but didn't want to miss the opening days of her summer soccer program. He apologized for missing my graduation, explaining he'd been delayed by car trouble. That only made me feel more guilty. "Don't feel bad, I missed yours, and I don't even have an excuse." "You didn't miss a thing." "What?" "I didn't have one. I missed too much school because of training." "Bummer!" Lance contributed. "That's why I can't stay," Greg went on. "I've got to make up some courses before Michigan opens in the fall. Not only did I miss the Olympic team, I won't ever have a real high school graduation. They'll mail me my diploma." "That totally sucks!" Lance and I sympathized. Greg shrugged philosophically. "It's the price I paid for buying into the hype, reading my own notices, most of it churned out by the USOC in their fucking fund raising appeals." "Don't feel bad. I bought in, too," I reminded him, thinking of those heady days. "Yeah, but you got lucky." "If you call breaking my neck lucky," I countered defensively. Then I tried to reassure him. "Michigan's got a good swimming program. Maybe next time." "I can hope," he admitted. "What about you?" I didn't say anything, though I knew Greg was asking me about college. I'd moved on, had other plans. I always had trouble handling that question. I instead nudged Lance, who looked surprised. "Me? Cal State, Santa Barbara. I like their oceanography. It's a less competitive way to use my swimming. I'll still race, of course, but I was never at your level." "Sounds good." But Greg was looking at me. Just saying the name sounded like bragging to me, so I mumbled. "What?" Lance laughed, not in an unkind way, giving me a reassuring squeeze. "Didn't you know? She's headed for Princeton." "Princeton? Really?! You're kidding." I shook my head. "Congratulations!" "You didn't notice that our girl is smarter than the two of us combined?" Lance observed. I felt myself blushing. "I am not!" "Who else do you know our age that speaks four languages?" Lance asked Greg. I squirmed. "I just ... like languages, and anyway, one of 'em's English. And Princeton likes my swimming, too." "They recruited you?" Greg sounded surprised. "Ivy League schools don't recruit athletes," I argued primly. "Yeah, right," Lance snorted. "But you know the swimming coach and the AD both made sure the admissions office and student aid offices knew there was a slot waiting for you on the squad -- the varsity squad." "I'm going there for the education," I argued defensively, and that was really the truth. The only thing stronger than my love of swimming was my hunger for education. And it wasn't a matter of planning on being able to walk out of college and into a good job. It was a desire to learn as much as I could about as much as I could. I still didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up. "I didn't even know they had a team," Greg mused. "Best in the Ivy League," I responded defensively, irritated he already bought into the Big Ten mind set to that extent. Not wanting to rub salt in his wounds I didn't tell him Princeton had sent swimmers not only to the NCAA's but to the last two Olympics. There was another awkward silence, which Lance again broke, and I wished he'd kept his mouth shut. "Have you seen Dee's award?" "What award?" I shrugged. "Just something I got at graduation. It's over there, on the table." When I didn't move to get it Lance got up and brought it back for Greg to admire, while I squirmed. Greg's finger stroked the sculpture of Beth and he read the inscription on the base. "Proudly Naked in School? What's that mean?" I shrugged again. "They keep saying I saved The Program, like I did it single-handed. But I didn't. A lot of people helped. I wish I could cut it up to share, but it's too pretty. A big piece of that belongs to you." "What'd I do?" Greg asked, returning the trophy to Lance to take back to the table even as my palms itched to handle it again. "You held me together through some real shit times," I reminded him, leaning against him. "Through all that crap that happened our freshman year. I wouldn't have survived without you." "Yes you would have. You're that strong." He sighed. "But I have to admit I was mad at you when you broke your neck. Even though I knew you needed me even more. Even though I knew how much you were hurting I ran away. The Olympics were as much an excuse as a goal, and look what I got as a result." He sighed. "I should have said 'fuck 'em,' but I didn't." I responded with a squeeze. "You know it wasn't like that! You had every right. You know you're that good. I messed up our plans. You needed to go for the chance while you had it. Even now I can't help thinking that maybe the two of us together might have made the difference. We did our best training by competing. You pushed me and I pushed you and I screwed that up." "I should have stayed. If I'd known then what I know now I would have. That whole Olympic scene is so unreal, so competitive, I don't know how anyone survives it. I know it may not seem like it, but you were lucky. I should have grabbed some of your luck. Instead I came up empty." "A broken neck? Some luck!" I snorted wryly. "But if I'd stayed we might still be together," he pointed out unhappily. Uncomfortable with that turn in the conversation, Lance rolled forward and pushed off the steps, gliding away, and I didn't want that. Much as I'd loved Greg -- and still did -- Lance was the "now" of my life, at least until we split to go to college. So I pushed off after him, only to have Greg follow me to the middle of the pool, where we wound up in a group hug instead of headlocks, hot bare bodies rubbing together in the cool pool water. Wanting to close the gap that had opened between us -- among the three of us -- I kissed Lance, a nice, sloppy, open-mouthed, tongue-filled kiss, then did the same with Greg, then Lance again, until it became a crazy sort of three-way lip-wrestle. At one point Greg and Lance went for me at the same time and got tongue tangled with each other but nobody minded, especially since my hands had found their cocks and stroked them gently. They both responded and it became a race to hardness. God, they are SO competitive! But for me it was the best of all worlds, having two lusty males ready to mate with me. Getting more and more turned on by the closeness, the warmth of their bodies against mine in the cool of the pool, I squirmed as I squeezed and fondled their burgeoning pricks. Oh God, were both of these for me? It was so good being with my favorite men, feeling them both responding, feeling me responding to them. The building lust swept away all the bad memories, all the regrets and petty jealousies. Everything was forgotten in a wash of hormones. In spite of what I'd said about sharing I wasn't really trying to figure out ways this might be resolved. I was just riding the tides they raised within me. Without a word being exchanged they swept me off my feet, their strong arms linking under my legs and behind my back. They carried me up out of the pool as if I was Cleopatra and they were my slaves. I was borne away to a blanket on the grass. Easing me down they joined me, with me between them, rolling the blanket around us against the chill of the water evaporating from our heated bodies. Then they proceeded to prove that I really was their girl. Fortunately there is a lot of me to share, which they took full advantage of. Also fortunately I have two of some things, like ears and boobs and legs and arms. Even the insides of my elbows and my armpits are erogenous zones, and they both knew it. I did my best to give equally to both of them, my hands busy appreciating their swimmer-muscled physiques, their ever-so eager warm and heavy dicks and balls. We rolled together sensuously. Their hands explored my torso, my skin reacting ecstatically to their touch. Together they went for my boobs, their lips closing around my swollen tits. They suckled. They nibbled. They nipped, sending little flares rippling through me, making my legs jump like a frog's hooked up to a battery. Their fingers slipped down and down and down my abdomen, lower and lower, reminding me -- as if I needed it -- how gloriously naked and totally exposed and vulnerable I was. I happily spread myself wider in welcome as they fingered that sensitive transition from thigh to twat. Tangling their legs with mine they stretched me even wider, the blanket sliding off us, the night air touching my steaming folds even as their flesh burned like fire against my flanks and their mouths still tormented my nipples. They toyed with my depilated outer labia. Ah God it was so good! My inner lips, already engorged, swelled even more, inviting their explorations. I wrapped my arms around their necks to encourage their oral appreciation of my tits while their fingers jointly invaded my hot, slick vagina. My head rolling from side to side with lust I finally noticed that the jam session had broken up. I guess we were better entertainment and stimulation, because an orgy was gathering around us on the lawn, more blankets being spread, the rest of the party joining in the festivities, with us in the center. It only added to my enjoyment to know others were sharing my pleasure. My brother was there, his hands and mouth worshiping the real, live, lovely body that had been the model for my trophy. Petite Judy Liu was on top of big Terrel Ford -- now there was an interesting couple -- his strong musician's hands clutching Judy's tight little athletic butt, his dark skin a wonderful contrast to her oriental tan. He dwarfed her. She rode him like a mahout, but it wasn't exactly a trunk that interested her, and she wasn't aiming that appendage at her cunt! Apparently she still had a fondness for putting asses -- even her own -- to the test, and what a test this would be! God he was big, in every way. Could he possibly fit there? Oh yeah! She squirmed and writhed and wriggled to get his great black cock into her tight oriental anus, her tits swollen and hard. She was enjoying taking him in the rear as much as I had enjoyed the butt plug she'd reamed me with at that now legendary sleep-over. She squirmed herself down on his pole with a series of short, twisting motions only a former gymnast could manage, her muscular legs flexing, relaxing, flexing, relaxing until he was fully buried up her rear, his big black thumb working its way into her pussy. Then she proceeded to rise and fall, slowly at first, then faster and harder, his big black prick dragging at her bung, in and out, in and out, while his fingers toyed with her twat. Everyone was doing something resembling sex, one way or another. Even Matt and Heather were affectionately if chastely entwined, their hands roaming with love if not lust, while it seemed that Ryan was at least as much hetero as he might be homo and Peggy was timidly responding to his tender penile exploration of her crease. Missy, wonderfully sweet Missy, was with her long-time squeeze Bud Lacy -- known as Tweedle Dumber until the Jr. Nurse's club had taught him the benefits of good hygiene. She was on her knees as he made his delivery into the more traditional orifice, one of his hands reaching around, playing with her breasts, the other toying with her twat. Her eyes met mine, and we shared our joy and love without even touching. John Finch, Beth's adopted brother, was with sweet, demure Alice. Alice, with her Wonderland ways, her pinafores and mary janes abandoned at the door. Alice who, when things got hot, had been known to suck his cock like a champ while he dined on her virginal crotch. But this time, instead of being in a 69, they lay on their sides, face to face, lips to lips and tongue to tongue, her leg thrown over his hip, opening herself to him, and his hips were moving, thrusting. Tonight, having done everything but since their first encounter at Judy's sleepover, they were at last doing the deed. It was about time. Lushly built Mickey Kelly was straddling A. J. Mansfield's bony, geeky knees, sucking his anything but geeky cock, her lush breasts molded to his thighs. As I watched she spat his cock out, crawled forward to spear herself on it. Rising up, her ample boobs jiggled and bounced before he captured them with his hands and twisted her nipples like the knobs on one of his electronics projects. Beyond them Bill Harris was applying his stuttering tongue to Gretchen Gardner's twat, much to her enjoyment, her fingers locked in his hair. Yep, they harmonized in ways other than vocally. Holy shit, it seemed like half the school was here copulating in some way, shape or form. Made sense, I suppose. How many of them had been here for my first time with Greg, the guy whose cock was right now making my right hand all slippery and sticky with his pre-come? The fingers of my other hand were milking similar waves of goo from Lance's dick. My two ardent swains were obviously eager to couple with me, but how were we going to resolve this? No problem! With Lance's encouragement I rolled over on top of Greg, straddling him, his cock nudging at my throbbing cunt. Lifting up to give him the angle we needed I wriggled, working his shaft into my pussy. Moving up behind me, his knees on either side of Greg's thighs, Lance gently pushed me to lay forward on Greg. Lay forward on Greg? With Lance behind me? Oh my, oh my, oh my. Opportunity, in the form of Lance's cock, was at my back door. Never being one to ignore opportunity when it knocks I happily assented to the proposed double-docking, Greg taking the highway while Lance found my by-way, so to speak. It's not like I'd never done it before. I just didn't often have two such virile lovers available to take advantage of me. They loved me and I loved them and the three of us were not about to miss this opportunity. Lance was thoughtfully gentle as tested my back gate, a finger probing, finding more than enough juice from my pussy to lubricate the way. He added a second finger, stretching me, only to withdraw them both. Finally Lance lodged his lance at my pucker and proceeded to dig in, prying open my rectum. It was a tight fit, given that it was pinched by Greg's cock already working its way into my cunt. I groaned and moaned between them as they jointly penetrated me. I felt so full I guess I kinda gaped and found myself looking cross-eyed at the cyclopean head of yet another very hard dick dangling at the end of my nose. I tilted my head enough to look up to find Mike Collins looking hopeful as he presented his pecker to the north end of my alimentary canal even as the south end was being invaded by Lance's driving dick. Mike Collins, Missy's first lover. Mike Collins, faithful SACNISP Secretary. Mike Collins, taker of my cherry only moments after taking Missy's, at her invitation and with my complicity, of course. Here he was, presenting me with a tasty meaty lollipop to fill my mouth. Oh well, why the fuck not. Apparently he was here stag, so it seemed the least I could do. Hadn't we both shared the trials of SACNIP, sympathized with each other during Missy's wild phase? Once more, for old time's sake, I thought! Besides, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The more the merrier. Wrapping my lips around Mike's sweet prick I happily received his semen spouter right along with Greg's and Lance's. Maybe Mike's and Lance's sperm might meet somewhere in the middle and who knows what might result? Though I knew it was a biological impossibility, of course. I fingered Mike's balls to encourage him, not that he needed it. He proceeded to paint my tongue with the savory paste of his pre-come, all the way to the back of my throat before he started pumping. So I hummed a merry tune as the guys worked me like a three cylinder engine, pistoning in and out of me, setting off orgasms that jumped from one flash point to another, first my cunt then my ass then my throat and back again until my whole body was pulsating, ablaze, cocks erupting, pumping hot come into all three openings until I floated away on a sea of come, serenaded by the moans and groans and the soft, slurping sounds of carnal love as all the people I cherished celebrated graduation around me in the best possible way. We'd rocked, and rolled that night, and maybe it was turbulence rattling the plane that shook me out of those wonderful memories. I stirred and shifted trying to find space to stretch my legs, then settled again, my mind drifting even further back, to a sunny day in first grade. "You need a bigger sandbox," someone said. I was playing somewhat over-enthusiastically and I looked up to see who'd said it, squinting against the sun, her hair like a halo around her angelic face. "My mom won't let me play in the sand." She didn't sound angry, or even envious, just resigned. That was the moment I fell in love with Missy, so I held out my hand, and she took it and stepped daintily in to join me. We had a wonderful time, until her mom came and dragged her home, leaving me bereft. Which brought me back full circle to just the other night, when Missy was warm and soft and sweet in my arms. Long ago her mom had given up trying to protect her daughter from my corrupting influence. It was possibly our last sleepover, even though we told each other it wouldn't be. And even though we were both naked we only cuddled, just cuddled, and while I got all maudlin that I was going away from her, putting a whole continent between us, and how much I'd miss her. Holding me close, all she lovingly told me was, "You need a bigger sandbox." Somehow that made everything okay, and I slept.