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"What I need, hmm? I need YOU to know that high school cop-a-feel bullshit won't work on me. Now, my guess is that you have about ten seconds to apologize, before you pass out...nine -- eight -- seven..." Watching his eyes bulge, I perceived a voluntary nod, and let go.
"G-good GOD WOMAN, you could have k-KILLED me!" He shook his head and caught his breath, as I reattached my brassiere and tucked in my blouse.
"That was an option," I smiled and slapped him more than lightly on the cheek.
"What the hell is your problem anyway? I just thought we'd have a little fun; like the old days, ya know!"
Calmly checking for any damages in the foggy dresser mirror, I felt compelled to share my personal assessment of poor Tommy. "Tommy, have you ever heard the old phrase, 'Past experience should be a guide post not a hitching post'?"
'"No... and just what the hell does THAT mean? You think I'm living in the past?" Either my comment was sinking in, or he heard similar expressions from other sources. "Well, maybe that's my fucking choice, ya know. For me, high school really WAS the good old days, and mostly because of all my wonderful memories of you." He was at least cognizant of what he was doing; that's a start. His belligerent, yet befuddled expression spoke volumes.
"Okay, well maybe I over-reacted a bit. I'm sorry. But maybe now you'll at least think about enjoying life in the here and now? My God Tommy, we're only in our forties. I don't know about you, but, (to quote Bye, Bye Birdie), I've got such a LOT of living yet to do."
I smiled and kissed his cheek. When he slowly returned a reluctant smile and reticent nod, I reminded him of my appointment. We were soon back onboard Uncle Paul's sin wagon and headed to Sherri's Salon. Back on friendly [but not too friendly] terms, he dropped me off at the small shop, but not before bargaining to pick me up later for the dance. Upon his agreeing to my ground rules, I relented.
It was fun seeing Sherri again. Watching her expert hands do their magic on my hair after so many years was amazing. And, I must admit, it was equally fun to catch up on the latest Richfield gossip. Woody stopped by to pick me up just in time for the unveiling.
"Now Honey, whenever you want to cut back on some of those gray hairs, you just come right on back, ya hear?" Sherri was still trying to up-sell me. [How friggin' cute is SHE!] Wood gave her blessing to my stacked coif and we made it back to the Inn with an hour to spare.
Trade Secrets +++++
Viewing myself in my favorite gold satin dress, I began to second-guess whether this was proper attire for a formal dance in dinky Richfield. "Truth, Woody; I look like an over-stuffed sack of potatoes in this thing, don't I?
"Well, bye, bye Bodecker, hello Miss ROGERS!" She exclaimed at seeing me for the first time in my golden splendor. "Or should I say Backseat Betty? You DO realize this IS the nineties-- not the 1890's! Put it this way, all of your succulent spuds are ripe as hell and in the right place; definitely ready for a hot shower of sour cream, I'd say," Woody answered, adjusting the way-too-long slit on her short, braless little red dress. "At least you don't look like a red magic marker with a pointed nose and an extra pair of eyes," she shrugged and cupped her twin softballs before our shared floor-length mirror.
"What are you talking about, Wood? Guys will be on you like Post-It notes. Funny thing about guys and boobs, real or fake, they will sell their souls for even half a chance to see or touch them." I said.
"Kinda the same way we feel about hard cocks?" Natalie suggested and twirled around to make sure her silicon globes stayed covered and on their axis.
"Pretty much," I agreed and stood in front of the only bright lamp in the room. Spreading my legs to let plenty of light through, I prodded her. "I know I look like a total whore in this thing, but would you check the backlighting. I don't need to come off like a cheap one -- HA!"
Woody went as far as dropping to her knees to check for any possible VPL (visible panty line) or camel toe. "This dress IS a-MAY-zing! The fabric is so satin-like and sheer, you'd think something would show," she queried and ran her hands up and down my hips. "Nothing! Hell I can't even feel your panties, are you..."
"Of course I am--here, see," I lifted the hem of my mid-thigh length dress to validate the proof.
She took hold of the hem to hike it up even further. Sliding her fingers inside the rim if my French-cut, ultra thin transparent golden panties, she marveled, "Where on God's earth did you ever find these? I've never touched material that I couldn't feel!" she asked. I didn't answer. Sliding the fingers of her right hand further inside my scanty panties, she stood up to confront me eye to eye. "You're not gonna tell me, are ya?" I remained stoic and stared straight ahead, avoiding her imploring eyes and frisky fingers.
"A girl has a right to some trade secrets," I nodded and then gulped as her fingers found their way to my pussy. Up until that point, the confrontation was not unlike the teasing games we played in college. I even smirked when her fingers spread my labia.
"Oooh, and what's this, a shaved pussy? I suspect that's another trade secret," she whispered in my ear before tongue-flicking my earlobe. Now I wasn't absolutely sure my old school chum was just teasing.
"I-I have to... with this dress. Besides, like you say, it IS the '90's." I answered robotically, while her third finger probed inside my lips to lightly tease my clit. My mascara-laden eye lashes flashed. Licking my painted lips, I cleared my throat and braced myself.
"What do you think old man Gottlieb would do if he caught us like this?" Natalie asked rhetorically, this time following up with a full wet tongue deep in my ear. My knees betrayed me and instantly went limp. She had targeted one of my sweet spots and, like the kid with the apple on his head, I trembled in anticipation of her next arrow. Just how good is her William Tell accuracy? Her exacting fingers answered that question.
Trick and Treat Flashback +++++
My thoughts flashed back to the two of us in college. It was Halloween during our junior year. We decided it would be a hoot to dress like a pair of naughty nuns and crash a few senior parties. Any passerby would be easily convinced we were two sisters in our matching black and white habits. Unbeknownst to them, underneath our thick black robes, we wore matching black sheer thigh-high hose, garter belts and fancy French panties.
We were surprisingly successful as Sister Mary Catherine and Sister Catherine Marie, visiting nuns from out-of-town. The charade had hysterical results until we came to the last fraternity house. Two of our fellow classmen recognized us from class and ratted us out. Making a mad dash for the door in 3-inch patent leather pumps proved pointless. We were soon tackled for a loss--the loss of our panties. Thank God we got away without losing more!
Several over ambitious under grads continued to stalk us as we made our way from frat row into the business district. With most of the storefronts closed at that late hour, and being virtually out-of-breath, Woody and I opted to make a dash for the next place with lights. In this case it happened to be a movie house. Huffing and puffing, she checked the billboards. "Shit Wood, it's an adult theatre!" I exclaimed.
"Good! Perfect! No one will EVER expect to find a pair of nuns in HERE! Get us some tickets." Her twisted logic somehow made absolute sense back in those days.
"ME?!" I cringed.
"Yes you, or should I remind you about the 'Man from Nantucket'? You've got plenty of first-hand experience with skin flicks, don't you, Betty?" she taunted.
Damn her memory. Note to self: never confide with Woody about anything sex-related.
Stumbling down the dark theater aisle, absorbing the stench and cheesy soundtrack, we finally settled into two comparatively dry seats toward the front of the theatre. Adjusting to the darkness I surreptitiously scanned our immediate area for creeps, while Sister Catherine Marie was intent on actually watching the movie. Turns out, this was Woody's first trip to a porn palace. Not so in my case--been there, done that (but that and the Man from Nantucket is another story). I continued to fine focus on the seedy audience when she nudged me.
"Would you be a sweetheart, Sister Mary and get us some popcorn. This is kinda fun!"
"Geeze Wood, you won't even believe who is like two rows behind us!"
"Huh?"
"It's old man Gottlieb! Can you believe it?"
"You're crazy or seeing shit," Woody claimed, but turned to check out the pervert sitting two rows back. "Holy SHIT, it IS him!" She grinned from ear to ear; never a good sign. That meant her twisted wheels were churning.
"We've got to get out of before he..." I started and gathered my robe to make a quick exit.
"No, NO WAIT!"
Uh-oh, here it comes. My eyes rolled up.
Fact was: Woody and I were barely surviving in Professor Gottlieb's biology class. We'd just about given up trying to flirt and cajole the old fart for better grades. He was seemingly impenetrable.
"Actually, we WANT him to recognize us, Barb! Don't you get it? Now we've finally got something on him. He's a peep show perv!" Natalie determined.
"Well, I for one, have no plans of touching the S.O.B." I stated.
"Oh don't be so high and mighty. I think if we did some girl-on-girl stuff that might do the trick. Just keep thinking A's and B's instead of a D or F. We can get through this."
Whether she drew her inspiration from the professional carpet munchers up on the screen, or based her theory on some of my rather vivid recollections, she felt confident enough to exploit both of us for the professor's benefit. Starting things off by trading seductive looks and light kisses, we proceeded to heavy necking and raising each others' robes. Judging from his prominent throat clearing and heavy nose breathing, the old shit was definitely watching us. The "Trick" was accomplished. The "Treat" now was how to let him know it wasn't two nuns getting it on, but his (soon to be prized) pupils.
When Woody slithered down her folded chair and came up between my legs the exercise got much more interesting. Once she slowly hiked up my robe I heard the professor's shoes shuffling. Apparently he moved down a few rows to sit directly behind us and closer to the action. Sister Catherine made a good show of it, loudly smacking and licking my upper thigh. Looking up from her vantage point, she smiled and nodded. Her smiles didn't quite register until I felt something poke me in the cheek. Turning my head slightly, I was greeted with Gottlieb's semi-rigid hardon. I backed away immediately. The next thing I heard was his lewd voice mumbling in my ear. After a minute or so of weighing the options I turned to take his cock head in my mouth. Woody really went to town on my pussy (it appeared), until I was on the verge of coming (it appeared). That's when I was blinded by a cursed flashlight.
"You "ladies" should be ashamed of yourselves! Sir, you and the Sisters will HAVE to leave," the voice demanded--so much for Trick and Treat.
From that night forward, whenever we were within eyeshot of the perverted professor, we pulled all sorts of indiscreet shenanigans to convince the poor educator that we were devout lesbians. It must have worked. Woody got a "B+" for the course. I ended up with an "A," for extra class participation I'm sure.
Outer Limits: Flash Forward +++++
Teasing and fooling around have their limitations. The slick finger now deeply probing my wet snatch had gone beyond those limits. By now, under similar circumstances with other female lovers, I would know where things were headed. This was new territory for Woody and me. This was beyond playing games for Gottlieb.
Catching my breath, I turned my eyes slightly to hers. That must have been the punch line. She had really played me this time. I winked and smiled at her gotcha moment. When she failed to reciprocate and admit the joke, I quickly returned a deadpan expression. This wasn't the first (or even 75th) time I've unsuccessfully second-guessed one of Woody's punch lines. Over the years she has taken malicious delight in delaying the inevitable longer and longer for just the right effect. This ever-extended time span would assuredly drain the patience of any normal acquaintance; hardly acceptable behavior for a forty-three year old woman. However, in our case, good friends are forever. As she is committed to me and my frequently questionable lifestyle choices, I am equally faithful to her quirky affectations.
In this particular set-up she teased and taunted me until I was ready to gush. With two fingers rubbing my clit in double time, she abruptly stopped and pulled out of my sodden snatch. "Why Betty, you'll ruin those pretty party panties if ya don't watch yourself," she broke into my trance like a cat with a mouthful of canary.
"Me...ME? You're the one!" I blustered and scampered into the bathroom for a tissue.
"Oh SURE; blame it on your best friend. See how you are," she mocked me.
Simmering down from a near climax, I cleaned up, fixed my makeup, added earrings, a gold choker and shoved my size sevens into a pair of strappy white/gold heeled sandals. Taking a series of deep breaths to clear my head, I joined her back in the main room. "And who has the honor of escorting my best friend this evening?" I asked, white-washing the past several minutes from my short-term memory.
"That would be the never-amounted-to-much Willis of the way-too-rich-Willises of Crawford County." Nat was just as quick to change subjects as she finished dressing. "I probably should have just stayed put here in scary old Richfield and married boring Reggie Willis III -- oh well," she thought out loud, adding, "...might not have been any happier, but there's plenty to be said for inherited fortunes."
"I suppose," I submitted.
"And I'm guessing Tommy Lee Loser will be calling for you? She followed up, applying a rich coat of deep red lipstick.
Can You Really Rent An Armani? +++++
A knock on the door broke our repartee. "That must be for you. Willis is never on time. Bet ya a buck he's got a corsage," she added, as I answered the door.
"Hello Tommy; don't you look [surprisingly] handsome!" I commented more at seeing his black Armani suit. [hmm, wonder what it costs to rent an Armani?]
Tommy quickly scanned me and fixed a wide-eyed expression on the dress. Red faced and speechless, he adjusted a tight collar. "You...you look..."
"It's okay Dweeb, you can breathe now," Woody interjected to get him back on track. "That's a good boy. Now, give her the corsage." [She must have seen it behind his back.]
"My, my, what a surprise! You didn't need to do that. Thanks Tommy," I smiled and unboxed a grouping of mostly white roses and baby's breath. Rolling the supplied strap up my wrist, I thanked him again.
"It's k-kind of a peace offering... ya know... for this afternoon." The words eventually tumbled out, while his eyes remained transfixed on the golden goddess before him. "God DAMN Barb, you really DO look incredible in that dress!"
"Hell, you should see her OUT of it," Woody winked.
"Huh?" A partial reaction from Mr. Phillips proved the stunned effect was slowly wearing off. He was still numb between the ears.
"Okay, that's enough out of you. Have a great time with Willis. I'll catch up with ya later," I leaned in to Woody for a pretend smooch. "I owe you a dollar, Smartass," I whispered in her ear.
She grabbed my long lightweight coat and tossed it to Tommy to do the honors. Turning my exposed back to him he helped me on with the coat. Before turning for the door Nat grabbed my shoulders and leaned in for a return whisper, "Forget the dollar. I'd much rather have a prepared Girl Scout show me her cookies."
We were halfway out the door, before her comment resonated. She was no doubt referring to my earlier revelation about 'being prepared.' I turned abruptly, "Yes Ma'am, a good scout must be properly prepared... for anything," I winked. She smiled.
Our trip to the dance was very different from the last car ride. After opening the rider's side of the Impala for me he was obviously on his best behavior. "Can I be honest, Barb?" He started as we slowly pulled away from the curb.
"I don't know, Tommy. Let's give it a shot and see what happens," I laughed and punched his upper arm. He didn't flinch but returned a furrowed brow. "I'm sorry. I was just being a smartass," I followed up and inched closer to him on the fabled rolled and pleated bench seat. [God damn, I came SO close to losing my cherry on this seat all those years ago] "Go ahead Tommy. I'm sorry I punched you too," I added and lightly petted his arm.
"Are you quite finished?" He asked with a remarkable degree of sincerity. I nodded.
"You see, I know what we agreed upon... about tonight. With you being married and how we are too old and respectable for one-night-stands. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I agree with you. It's about time I grow up and face some issues; take some responsibility; get on with my life like you said." He stated firmly gripping the steering wheel.
"Tommy, that's maybe the greatest news I've heard all day! I'm so happy you shared that with me. There's hope for you yet. Being young is definitely fun, but maturity does have its rewards. You'll see," I wrapped my arms around his right arm as a show of confidence.
"I only have one problem," he admitted.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Well, with you looking the way you do, ya know. When you touch me I get an instant hardon. That's not being very mature is it?" He wondered if there were any caveats.
I was quick to release my grip on his arm before scooting a bit closer to my door. "Hmm, under most circumstances I would consider that a complement," I said, in a quandary of just how to react.
"Sorry, I didn't mean for you to move away."
"Hey, no problem. Is this better? Is it going away?" I asked from a still-safe distance.
"No, not really...still hard as a rock," he said readjusting himself. "Any other ideas? I'm up for anything, as you can plainly see -- HA!" He smirked and unzipped to show his predicament.
We had just pulled into the school parking lot. I had to think fast. There was certainly no way I would have my so-called escort sporting a full-fledged boner. I could only imagine the barrage of sordid comments. On the other hand, there was no way I could envision 'taking care' of his problem the way I would assist my husband on similar situations [or Tommy in a previous lifetime].
"Okay, okay, cool your jets over there behind the dumpsters," I pointed to a dark and secluded area at the far side of the lot. Jerking my head from side to side, I peered around for any sign of onlookers. There were none. "Yeah, this will do. Go ahead and take care of it," I instructed.
"Are you serious, Barb? You want me to just jack myself, right here?"
"Unless you have a better idea--go ahead. I mean, it's not like you haven't done it before. Nobody's watching. Do it!" I insisted.
Tommy scowled then started to slowly stroke his rod. "God Barbie, you could give me a little to work with here," he pleaded.
"Oh God, you guys. Okay, here," I said impatiently before undoing my coat and pulling it over my shoulders.
"Well that's a START, I guess," Tommy wagged his head as he continued a self-induced hand job.
Scoping out the dimly lit lot, I sat up straight and slid both spaghetti straps down. The magical elasticity of my super dress allowed for only minimal amount of boob sag and lengthened my cleavage slightly. Batting my long lashes at Tommy, I shot him one of those 'is that quite enough' looks.
