Inside Information Pt. 02 (Original)

Author's Note: This is the original Part 2 version of my story. This version is slower to develop, and it's got more emotion and less gratuitous sex. I rewrote Part 2 because of the comments I received after submitting Part 1. But now I'm curious to know which version you prefer. Please let me know what you think. Thank you for taking the time to read my stories and send me all of your wonderful comments.

*

It's so easy to look back with perfect 20/20 hindsight and say, "If I would've done this; if I could've done that; if I had only known."

But life doesn't work that way, at least it didn't for me.

If I had only known back then that I possessed all of the information I needed to straighten out my life right away, everything might have turned out great. But I didn't realize it. Not right away. Not for a long time. Not until it was too late.

* * *

All through high school I'd been earning money by mowing lawns and raking leaves for the elderly people in my neighborhood. The day after Missy humiliated me I was on my way home from mowing Old Lady Wilkes' lawn. Believe me, the last thing I wanted to be doing was mowing that ungrateful old bag's lawn, but I knew she would hound me relentlessly until I did. All I wanted to do was stay home and hide from the world.

I had to cut across the neighborhood park to get from Old Lady Wilkes' house to mine. My mind was whirling a mile a minute, churning over the horribly embarrassing events of the previous day and wishing, for about the millionth time, that yesterday had only been a bad dream, that Missy didn't hate me, and that I'd kept my dick in my shorts. I didn't even know there was anybody in the picnic shelter I was walking past until I heard them shout at me.

"Hey look, it's pervert boy!"

It was Larry Watson, and Daryl and Daryl were with him too. Larry, the ringleader of our neighborhood troublemakers, was a tall, chunky, greasy haired, foul-mouthed jerk who lived to cause mayhem and destruction. Mike and Barry Foster (who we loathingly called Daryl and his other brother Daryl) were with him as usual. The idiot brothers were skinny, dull-witted carbon copies of Larry. Like two brain-dead monkeys, they copied everything Larry did. They even dropped out of school like Larry did.

I kept my head down and ignored them, but inside I was seething with anger. My worst fear was realized; Missy had told people about me already.

"Where you going, pervert boy? You gonna go beat off in front of little girls?" Larry scoffed.

Daryl and Daryl laughed obediently.

"Fuck off, you dumb shit!" I should've kept my mouth shut, but I was too furious with Missy and with myself to control my rage.

Larry was quick. I didn't hear him running at me until he was two steps behind me and literally breathing down my neck. My wrestling training kicked in instinctively. I turned sideways to avoid his punch aimed at my back. Then in one continuous motion, I flung my right arm around his shoulders, pulled him against my hip, and rotated my body. His momentum did the rest.

It was a classic Judo throw/takedown maneuver, and it worked like a charm. Larry landed hard, flat on his back, the air bursting from his lungs in a single, putrid breath that curdled my stomach. I followed him down, landing smoothly with my forearm across his throat to keep any oxygen from getting to his lungs until I was done threatening him.

"Leave me alone, you fat fuck! If you ever come near me again, I'll kill y—" That was all I got out before I was blindsided.

One of the Daryls (I never knew which one it was) used my head for a soccer ball with his steel-toed boot. He kicked me square in my left temple. White hot agony exploded in my brain. I flew off Larry and flopped over sideways like a sack of potatoes rolling off a produce truck.

The brothers continued their impromptu soccer practice on my body long enough for Larry to stumble to his feet. I got an up close view of Larry's sneaker when it crushed my nose and split my upper lip. Then they were all running away, hollering their final taunts and jeers over their shoulders as they fled. My face, my ribs, my arms and my legs were throbbing with the pain from their dozen or so brutal kicks. Blood flowed freely from my aching nose and lip. Fury made my head buzz and my hands shake.

I thought about chasing after them, but they were long gone. Besides, it was Missy I was mad at. She was the one who told Larry, Daryl and Daryl what I did. She was the one who set me up and tricked me. She was the one who hated me.

I made a beeline for her house. I didn't go through the garage door and into their house, because I sure as hell didn't feel like family any more. I pounded on their front door until someone opened it.

That someone was Missy. The second I saw her beautiful face, my shame and my outrage and my desire for her united, and I exploded. I started screaming at her, spraying blood and spittle everywhere.

"Look what they did to me! Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted? Why don't you just cut out my heart yourself and get it over with!!!"

Missy's face went instantly white when she saw me. I don't know if it was seeing the blood all over my face or hearing my furious words that did it.

"Kevin? What happened to you?" she asked with genuine alarm.

"Like you don't know. Thanks for telling Larry and the idiot Foster brothers about me! Thanks for ruining my life!" I yelled heatedly.

"I didn't tell anybody anything," Missy said firmly. She set her jaw and glared stonily at me. I'd seen that stubborn look a thousand times before. She wore it every time anyone doubted her sincerity. "If you think I would do something that deceitful just to hurt you, than you don't know me very well, Kevin."

"Then what about yesterday?" I said flatly.

"Look," she said sternly, her eyes swiftly flashing green. She leveled a finger at me and spoke through clenched teeth. "I'm sorry about yesterday. But that doesn't give you the right to come pounding on my door shouting wild accusations at me."

"Wild accusations? After the way you embarrassed me like that, I have every right."

"It was supposed to be a joke, but things got way out of control," she replied, though not as harshly as before.

"Oh, that was a very clever joke," I sneered. "I suppose our kiss was just a joke as well, huh?"

Missy's nostrils flared briefly, and her voice positively dripped with malice. "You call that a kiss?" she retorted scathingly. "David Williamson kisses better than that."

I fought to keep my eyes from tearing up, but I couldn't help it. Her harsh words were like a slap in the face, like a dagger straight to my heart, and I staggered backward under their fury. David Williamson was on the varsity football team. He's as dumb as a stick, but he's as good-looking as Brad Pitt. All the girls at school wanted him.

I didn't know what to say to that. My gut twisted with jealous rage, but all I could do was stare impotently at her while she lashed out at me so maliciously.

"Bob Farley and Jim Dolan are better than you, too. Hell, even Chris Haskell kisses better than you, and he's only a freshman." Missy was glaring defiantly at me, with her jaw set even more stubbornly than before, as if she were daring me to defy her.

I swiped at my leaking eyes. My hand came away wet and bloody. My heart felt cold and dead in my chest. I had no idea if she was telling the truth or not, but that didn't matter. Her wanting to hurt me so badly was insult enough. I could feel the distance between us growing wider every second. This was my last chance to let her know how much I loved her. But what could I tell her that would make her see how much I needed her? What could I do to show her that she was everything to me? I wracked my brain, scrounging for that one bit of powerful wisdom, that one bit of inside information that would win her heart over. But I came up empty.

Really, there was only one thing left to say, and that was the truth. I stood up straight and squared my shoulders. I spoke plainly, honestly. "That kiss meant the world to me, Missy. It was the perfect kiss. I'll never kiss another girl with as much passion or as much love."

"Was that your pathetic attempt to show me how much you care?" Missy laughed meanly. "What am I supposed to do now? Swoon from the fervor of your lips? Should I tell you that no other kiss has made me feel as deeply loved as yours? Should I tell you that your love for me makes me ashamed of the way I've treated you? Should I tell you that I've never been more turned on in my life than when you kissed me? Should I grovel at your feet and beg you to kiss me like that again? Ha! Don't make me puke!" she spat out venomously.

She'd never been that cruel to me before. Her voice was trembling with rage, and there was a harshness to her eyes that tore me apart. Her spiteful words made me shake with sorrowful fury, and I had to bite the inside of my lip to keep from crying. I was not going to give her the satisfaction of seeing me break down, not again, not like yesterday. Without saying another word, I turned to leave.

"Oh, Kevin, wait," Missy called suddenly.

I pivoted expectantly, hopefully.

"I have to tell you something," she paused, and I saw her throat muscles constrict, but it was just a vicious act. "I have to tell you that I'm moving to Los Angeles next week." She then laughed harshly again before slamming the door in my face.

With my heart so completely tattered and crushed, I stumbled numbly down their driveway. I didn't hearing anything and I didn't seeing anything. I certainly didn't hear or see Mrs. O's car turning into the driveway just as I was crossing it.

Her brakes squealed and then her front bumper thumped my right hip. She wasn't going very fast, and she didn't hit me very hard, but it was enough, especially in my already dazed condition, to knock me over.

I was sitting on the cement before I realized what happened. Mrs. O jumped out of her car and was yelling my name. When she saw the blood all over my face, I thought she was going to become hysterical.

She quickly knelt beside me. "Oh my God all that blood I didn't see you until it was too late are you hurt I'm so sorry." Mrs. O was talking a mile a minute and her hands were anxiously touching my face, probing at my cut lip.

"I'm all right," I assured her. Pointing to my face, I told her, "You didn't do this. This was courtesy of Larry, Daryl and Daryl."

"What happened? Did you get in a fight?"

"Ask Missy," I answered tiredly.

"Let's get you inside and cleaned up," Mrs. O insisted.

She tried to help me up, but I gripped her hand hard and pulled her down next to me. Then I was hugging her and crying. "Why are you moving away?"

"Oh, Kevin," Mrs. O said.

"Are you leaving because of what I did?" I blurted out. All of a sudden I couldn't breathe, my brow was bathed in sweat and my heart was hammering so frantically that I thought it would burst out of my chest. I started blathering desperately. "Please, don't leave. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I won't ever do that again. Please don't leave me." I was crying harder now; great painful sobs that wracked my body.

Mrs. O hugged me tightly, and that made me cry all the harder. "No, it's not because of you, dear. I wanted to tell you yesterday. We're moving because Mr. O'Bannon is being transferred to Los Angeles. That's all."

"I don't want you to go," I wailed pitifully. Los Angeles was across the country, across the world, across the universe. I would never see Missy again.

"I don't want to go either. We just found out about it a couple days ago. It was very sudden," she said. "But, it's a big promotion."

"Wh-when are you leaving?"

"We leave Saturday morning," Mrs. O said. She caressed my back as she continued to hold me. "I'm sorry about what happened yesterday. I know it wasn't your fault. Missy told me what happened. I don't know why she would do that to you."

"Because she hates me," I mumbled in to Mrs. O's shoulder.

Mrs. O held me at arm's length and looked my in the eyes. "Missy does not hate you. Don't you ever think that. She cares a lot about you, Kevin."

"No she doesn't," I retorted woefully. "She just told me so, in no uncertain terms. Why does she hate me? Why?"

Mrs. O was crying too. "She doesn't hate you."

"Yes she does. You have to tell me how to make her love me, please," I begged her.

"I can't help you, Kevin. It's Missy's decision." Though Mrs. O said the words gently, lovingly, they still tore me apart.

"Why can't you help me? You were always like a mother to me. Doesn't that matter?" I asked pitifully.

"It matters a lot to me, but, but she's my daughter—"

I didn't let her finish. I knew what she was going to say. "She's your daughter and I'm nobody. I'm just some motherless kid you felt sorry for."

"That's not what I was going to say, and you know it," she objected hotly.

"It doesn't matter anyway. You're leaving. I'll never see Missy again. I'll never see you again." I pulled free of her grasp and stood up. I'll never forget the look of sadness on Mrs. O'Bannon's face.

"I'm so sorry, Kevin."

"Me, too." I walked away. She didn't try to stop me; what was the use?

When I got to the sidewalk, I glanced back at Missy's bedroom window. She was there. Her eyes, wide and solemn, watched me walk away. That was the last time I saw Missy O'Bannon.

* * *

"Don't waste your life wishing for what you can't have; instead, make the most out of life with what you've got." That's another gem from my Granny. For days after Missy moved away that thought ricocheted around inside my head like a stray bullet made out of Flubber.

I never got over Missy, because I didn't want to get over her. I loved her with all my heart, and I wanted her to love me back. I relived that last scene with Missy over and over, kicking myself for not trying harder, for not being smarter, for not succeeding.

I remembered watching Mr. O'Bannon blow in Mrs. O's ear and turn her on as easy as flipping a switch. Mrs. O' reaction was instantaneous; she groaned like a bitch in heat and rubbed her ass lustfully against his crotch, even when she didn't really want to be turned on. That was the kind of inside information I wanted to learn about Missy. I needed to know how to make her want to kiss me. I knew if I could just kiss her, then I would have a chance to turn her on, to make her want me. But the problem was, I didn't know how to make Missy want to kiss me.

My mind was a riot of conflicting thoughts and contradictory emotions: All I could think about were Missy's venomous last words, and how badly they had stung me. Then I would remember that kiss. I could still taste Missy's sweet lips. I could still feel her hunger washing over me, filling me with her lustful desire. I wasn't imagining those things. They were as real as the memory of her rigid nipples grazing my chest, and the way her thighs convulsed when I came on her.

Underlying my muddled thoughts was a constant chorus of "I jerked off in front of Missy!" That reproachful phrase blared through my head like a foghorn. I simply couldn't believe I had disgraced myself so readily. Did it matter that she asked me to? Commanded me too? That didn't ease my total and absolute shame. It was that over-riding humiliation and the way I screamed at Missy after my fight with Larry that kept me from contacting Missy before she moved.

Speaking of Larry; who else knew? I talked, discretely, with my two best friends to see if they'd heard any rumors about me; they hadn't heard anything. But if Larry, Daryl and Daryl knew a secret, you could bet your last dollar that they wouldn't keep it a secret for long. Would I ever be able to hold my head up again? Being on summer break helped. The school's information grapevine didn't function well during the summer. That made me feel a little better.

A week and a half after Missy moved across the country, I was still hiding away in my house, wallowing in misery and self pity. I didn't feel like talking to anybody. I didn't feel like seeing anybody. I didn't feel like doing anything. I just wanted to be left alone. I even stopped going to the school weight room to work out. I didn't answer my phone, I didn't read any emails, and I didn't answer the door.

Halfway through that week, my father had left for a week-long seminar in Boston, so I was literally all by myself. My Granny, who was close to eighty then, had moved out of town to live with her daughter. My aunt was a stay at home mom who had plenty of time to look after my ailing grandmother.

I was also missing Mrs. O. She had been my closest friend and confidant for so many years, and I really wanted to talk with her in the worst way. What must she think of me? Disapproval? Shame? Scorn? Outrage? Fury? Hell, for all I knew, Mrs. O had even watched the video. Now there was the ultimate in degrading thoughts.

Imagine for a minute how you'd feel if the mother of your eighteen year old girlfriend saw a video of you jerking off all over her daughter's bare tits. You'd be lucky if she didn't take out a butcher's knife and try to shorten your excited disposition, if you know what I mean.

All these contradictory and confusing thoughts kept tearing me apart, until Claire set me straight. With Claire's help, her dogged persistence, her saintly patience, her pillow-soft breasts and her talented lips, Claire made missing Missy somewhat easier to bear. As if losing the love of your life can ever be easy to accept.

Claire and her amazing lips really helped me get a-head in life. Yeah, I know, that was a horrible pun. But when you're forced to walk away from the only thing you ever wanted in life the way I did, you have to have a sense of humor to keep from going totally insane. Well, having a loving, willing woman helps a lot, too.

I had both, only I didn't know it; not right away; not until Claire bushwhacked me that morning.

It was 10:33 on a Thursday morning (nine days, twenty-three hours, fifty-six minutes and seventeen seconds, give or take, after Missy moved away). I remember the time exactly because I looked at the clock above the TV when I heard the first explosion.

The blast sounded like it came from my front yard. I thought it was a gun shot at first. It could've been a car back-firing, but I doubted it because it sounded too close. I sat perfectly still for several tense seconds, listening intently but only hearing the thud of my own heartbeat. Then I heard it again; BANG!

I leapt off the couch and raced to the small window beside the front door. There was a blur of white motion at the curb. Bright, hot sunlight reflected off a plastic grocery bag dangling from my mailbox, and it was swinging back and forth swiftly, as if someone had only just hung it there the second before I peeked outside.

Without stopping to put on shoes, I sprinted outside. The blistering sidewalk seared my bare feet, but I didn't care. I was pissed. I figured it was someone from school pulling some kind of prank on me. I hated to be made a fool of, especially since I did it so well on my own.

When I reached my mailbox, I tore off the plastic bag while scanning the immediate area for the prankster. But there was no one in sight. The street was empty, the sidewalk was clear, and there weren't any parked cars nearby for anyone to have enough time to hide behind after hanging the bag.

Speaking of the bag . . . I pulled apart the torn plastic handles and looked in the bag. "What the hell?"

At the bottom were a handful of pebbles, which were an exact match to the gravel in my front yard. I scanned the street again; still no one in sight.

"This is fucked up," I muttered angrily as I stomped back to my house. I slammed the door behind me and looked outside one more time through the peephole. "What's the point of hanging a bag of gravel on my mailbox?"