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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "One Half of a Half-Baked Plan"  Second period. Interior Design. You've just settled into your desk when you turn around to give Kendra a meaningful look. "I'm going to the restroom," you say as you push yourself to your feet. She quickly follows you out the classroom door. The girls' restroom is mostly empty, but it's crowded enough that you don't talk but concentrate on touching up your makeup and moistening your lips to a luscious shine. Jesus, I'm sexy, you congratulate yourself as you tweak and settle some of your golden locks, and your nipples are rock hard as you watch yourself, in the mirror, putting your stuff away. Kendra, who has been equally silent and concentrated on her own reflection, also starts packing up. By this time the restroom is empty enough you feel you can talk. "Do you know some guy named Philip Fairfax?" you ask Kendra in a distracted tone, as though the name is a pesky mosquito that's been buzzing in your ear. Kendra thinks a moment, then allows that the name's familiar. "Should I know who he is?" you ask as you continue to study your face in the mirror for any remaining flaws in your makeup. "No. He's just an AV nerd." "AV?" you cry. "Oh my God!" "Why are you asking?" You roll your eyes and loose a theatrical sigh, then lean in to whisper the confidence. "Eva Garner is having orgasms over him." You arch your eyebrows. "Seriously." "Oh my God," Kendra murmurs. "I know, right? Tch!" You straighten out the seams in your top. "I think someone needs to have a talk with him, before Eva does. So he doesn't get any ideas about her." "I can handle it," Kendra assures you. A slight smirk pops onto her lips. I bet you'd love to, you think. Ritual humiliation of science geeks is the kind of thing that gives you orgasms! But, aloud, you sigh, "Well, maybe I should have a look at the guy first. I mean, who knows? Maybe they would make a cute couple." You and Kendra hold each other's gaze in the mirrors. One of her eyebrows goes up. Your own lips twitch, and the two of you fall against each other, sniggering. * * * * * So, yes, you'll meet with Philip Fairfax, but Kendra will be the one to find him and set it up —making appointments is totally beneath you—and she reports to you at lunch that he will be waiting for you in the parking lot tomorrow afternoon at 5:15, which is the time that you told her to give him. So that's one-half of the scheme set up. As for the other half ... * * * * * "You know I'd help you out with this stuff," you tell Caleb that afternoon, "except I got so many other things to do." "Mmph," he replies. "You don't know how busy I am these days. Besides this stuff, I'm practically having to plan Meghan Farris's party for her." "Mmph." "And do you know how much work that is?" Caleb lifts his face from between your thighs. His cheeks and forehead are cherry red with blushing lust. "Will you stop saying 'No', man? It's a boner killer." You're sitting back on one of the tables in the elementary school basement, totally naked, with your legs splayed so your best friend can "paint your front porch" with his tongue. It's the price you had to pay to get him to help out with a scheme he's still not sold on. It started shortly after you arrived at the basement after school. He was there, waiting and looking hot and angry, and he got hotter and angrier when you asked if he wouldn't mind making up two new masks and two new memory strips, to use on Steve and Philip. Sure, he snarled, if you show me your tits. You were so pleased to have so easily ensnared Fairfax that you found you didn't mind the gibe, so with a shrug you tore off your top and dropped your bra. Caleb dropped his jaw. He looked so funny that you couldn't help giggling, and you upped the stakes by shuffling up close to him, rosy breasts pointing like artillery shells, and inviting him to touch them. "Gordon liked to kiss and suck on the tips," you cooed. He turned a little green at that, and was very tentative about fingering them, and he trembled visibly as he bent to put his mouth to them. He slobbered, which wasn't nice, but you encouraged him by gently clasping the back of his head and tickling the back of his neck with your fingertips. But it was very nice—nicer than fondling them yourself—and you couldn't hold back the tiniest gasp when his teeth touched your nipple and gave it just the perfect little squeeze. When he mumbled a sloppy Sorry, you tittered and asked if he'd like to do "a little more." It should be gross, letting your dorky best friend go down on you, but the grossness is actually turning out to be a turn-on. Chelsea is a huge snob, and though she is able to appreciate lots of Westside athletes from a distance, Gordon was the only one she'd ever consider letting touch her. So you got a transgressive thrill after wriggling out of your shorts and panties, and laying back with your legs splayed, to invite Caleb in to taste the fruits that only one other guy has ever nibbled at. Chelsea would never go for this, you gloated as little gasps of pleasure bobbed and gurgled in the back of your throat. She would hate this. You giggled. But I'm Chelsea now and she has to put up with it. And you know what? This is good. I like this! You arch your back as Caleb's tongue worms deeper into you. Because I'm not just fucking over that cunt, I'm fucking over her ex-boyfriend! Still, Caleb isn't good enough to get you to a climax, and even as his muffled gurgles and groans grow louder, you settle back to amuse yourself by prattling at him, and digging at his tight, curly hair with your fingernails. "You like this, man?" you murmur. "Ten minutes of this for every hour you work on a mask. Deal?" "Mmph," he says, having pushed his face back into you again. "And if you get it all done by tomorrow afternoon, I'll give you a thirty minute bonus." He lifts his face. "You let me do anything else with you?" "I'm not touching your cock." He grunts, and dips back in again. You ask, "So will you have the stuff ready by tomorrow?" He nods. You sigh and settle back and even get a little drowsy. It's so great, you muse, having a body I can use to get anything I want. * * * * * Friday brings clouds, light rain, and cooler temperatures, but you dress out in tight shorts and a midriff-baring top. You feel ripe, fresh, and juicy, and the sidelong looks you get in all your classes—some of them pretty blatant—tell you that the boys would agree. Are you getting ogled longer and harder than usual, or are you just more conscious of it, now that you're broken up with Gordon? Even Christian Padilla, who's gay, gives you a long, thoughtful look up and down during second period. I wonder who will be the first guy with balls enough to ask me out? you wonder. It being Friday, someone is bound to ask. You will be seriously insulted if no one does. It's sixth period, though—an AP English class—before you are finally propositioned, and it surprises you who it turns out to be. "Hey Chelsea!" You turn at the call, to find Anthony Kirk giving you a very direct look. "You got plans this weekend?" You give him a thoughtful stare. Anthony is one of the AP assholes who hangs around Kelsey Blankenship and Geoff Mansfield—Geoff, in fact, is sitting in the desk right behind him—and he's a snot like the rest of them. You're not actually decided whether he's worse or better than the rest of that gang, because even though he's never actually sneered at you that you can recall, that's only because he seems never even to have looked at you. So it seems characteristically arrogant of him to think he can proposition Chelsea right after a break up. After a long moment you realize you're still wearing the sunglasses you donned while taking a brisk walk outside after lunch, and pull them down to the tip of your nose. "Do you?" you ask, giving the question just enough contempt to be noticeable without it being rude. "Just gonna play some golf at the country club tomorrow or Sunday," he says, and glances sidelong at Mansfield. "We're looking for a fourth." Does he really think you play golf? Probably not. Almost certainly he thinks you'll be impressed by "country club", and the implication that he can just casually get you into it as a guest. You don't want to totally shoot him down, even though a game of golf is just about the last thing you'd be up for. So— "Let me know if you can't find anyone else," you sniff. "In case by some miracle I'm still free," you add as you turn around. It was just a little thing, Kirk's trying a come on, but you find it gnawing at you the rest of the day. You haven't been able to come up with a plausible jockstrap to replace Gordon as a boyfriend—no one else can measure up to him—but now it occurs to you that maybe you should go to the other extreme. Maybe instead of big, strong and stupid, you should be dating rich, snobbish, and Princeton-bound? Not Anthony Kirk, though. Just by asking about this weekend, he's pushed you too hard. But what if, instead, you dated someone who had replaced him—and so was easy to manage? Like Caleb. Anthony might be a snob, but he wouldn't fuck up Caleb's life like Caleb is worried about. Next: "The Jock and the Nerd" |
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