The Morning After Ch. 2

Heather woke before the sun rose. Her sleep had been shallow and troubled, images of the video returning repeatedly as dreams. She lay awake, thoughts churning, alternatively terrified and angry. What if the tape got out? It wouldn’t get out. But what if it did? Well – was it that bad really? She had been drunk, and behaved like an exhibitionist slut for younger boys! But it could be said that she had been too drunk to know what she was doing. Oh please - her genitalia had been painted with lipstick! What could be sluttier?

Her mind wandered. She imagined the tape in the possession of her parents, or circulating through the college. She would have to leave the college if that happened. Not just her: her father’s career would be over. She curled into the foetal position, wondering how a nineteen year old could get into this position. She would never drink again. Never.

She dozed again, however, because her father had to rouse her from a deep sleep after the alarm had gone off. She climbed out of bed with the sense of doom more evident than ever. It seemed she had been tired for days now, in a nightmare that was out of her control. She left half her breakfast untouched, and barely talked in the car. Her father seemed concerned, but she brushed his question away, and muttered something about girl troubles. He seemed satisfied for the moment.

She knew, now, that someone had been close enough to her to put the videotape into her bag. Her tormentor could be anyone, leering at her across a corridor, walking behind her to class, sitting on the grass as she walked by. And if he made himself known, what could she do? Demand the tape back? Plead with him? Threaten him with suspension? He seemed to have all the cards in this situation. Her fear was that he would choose to use this force her into even worse situations (could there be worse situations?) and she would be incapable of stopping him. Worse – the next time she would be sober, and would have to experience the humiliation first hand.

The morning passed, with more than one lecturer commenting on her lack of focus. At lunchtime her food went untouched, just some Coke finding it’s way past her parched lips. When her friends rose to return to class she didn’t have the strength left to follow. Telling them she’d be right along, she sat alone at the outside lunch table, turning over her position, overcome with helpless frustration. She wanted to weep.

Instead, she looked up and watched a boy detach himself from a group and wander confidently over to her table. As he approached, she knew he was involved: his swagger and stare gave it away. She guessed his age as 17, 18 at most. He had the indolent slouch so often found in arrogant teenager boys, his shoulders swaying, turning as he walked, a slight smile threatening to turn into a sneer. He wasn’t unattractive – for a boy both her junior, and a world apart in social standing. To Heather he may as well have been a child.

He sat next to her. Her skin crawled, and she looked down at her Coke, ignoring him completely, tears threatening to slip down her cheeks, lips trembling too slightly for him to see. She could feel his eyes upon her, watching her, taking in the line of her cheeks, her hair blowing in the gentlest of breezes, the line of her neck, her breasts rising and falling with her breath. The other students were heading off to class now – it seemed as if the food court was emptying aside from them. Neither spoke, until the last witnesses drifted away and they were alone.

His voice was still that of a boy, but his contempt was evident: “I see you’re wearing no lipstick today, Heather. Any particular reason?”

She remained silent for a while, but he waited patiently for a response. Finally, she snapped out, still staring ahead of her, still not looking at him: “Fuck you.”

“Hmm”, he said. “That would be nice.”

“Do you know how much trouble you are in? If that tape gets out you’re going to jail.”

He laughed. “For what? You agreed to everything we did. In fact you fingered yourself while we watched, knowing there was a camera there. That undermines your case a bit, doesn’t it?”

“You took advantage of me when I was drunk. That’s despicable. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“You went to a bedroom at a party with three boys younger than you. What were we to think? What would anyone think? To lead on three teenagers, who were almost still boys. That’s actually quite shameful when you think of it. I know that’s what the College Board will say. You know how they are.”

The implicit threat hung in the air between them. Finally she turned to look at him for the first time. He had brown eyes, watching her closely, no hint of fear. His hair was slightly longer than it should have been; it curled untidily about his ears, and hung down around the side of his neck. She spoke with bravado: “Give me the fucking tapes and I promise you won’t get into trouble. OK?”

He smiled. “I don’t think so. Those tapes are valuable and rare.”

“Oh I see. Well tell me the price and let’s get it done with.”

He seemed surprised for a moment. “You don’t understand. I could copy those tapes and sell one to every student on campus. The profit would be enormous. You couldn’t afford to pay me enough. And I will never give you the tapes. Never. At most, I might be tempted not to sell them for profit.”

The truth was out. She stared at him venomously.

“This is how I see it”, he continued. “I’m eighteen. I can have sex, but you know, I don’t have that many offers. Either me or my friends. We get so horny that all we can think about is what hides under all these skirts that pass us every day. And then you come along.”

“I don’t know what you think I am. I’m still a virgin. I might be older than you but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m not about to have sex with anybody.”

“We’ll all be virgins together then. Won’t we?”

“What the fuck do you want? Group sex? Me with all your friends? Like that’s ever going to happen!”

“We’ll see. You don’t want me to start selling those tapes around. And I will if you don’t make it worth my while not to.”

She suddenly stood up. “I have to get to class.”

“Sit down. Now.” She didn’t move. This was it. They both knew that this was the point at which she called his bluff or resigned herself. He raised his hand – maddeningly confident – and cupped her ass in his palm through her skirt. “You sit down now or your pretty little pussy is going to be paraded on every screen in town.” His fingers trailed down her skirt, slipping under the hem. She stood motionless, paralysed. His fingers slipped up the back of her legs now, inch by slow inch, as he spoke. “Everyone watching you with your legs open”. His fingers slipped in between her legs, still rising until they found the material of her panties. “And your panties off”. He straightened his index finger, stroked her through the material, finding lips, pressing the fabric between them. “Everyone seeing you with your own finger slipping in between your legs”. He pulled aside the leg of her panties and was suddenly touching her, his index finger sliding, driving between her pussy lips. Her legs were shaking, and she finally sat down as he pulled his hand away.

“Good”, he said. “I’m glad you saw sense.”

Her lip was trembling, her breathing heavy, breasts rising and falling. He watched her for a moment before saying: “You were wet. You know? You liked having me touch you there didn’t you?”

She shook her head.

He laughed. “Don’t lie to me. You behave so innocent, but you were enjoying having me finger you in the open here. Weren’t you?”

She shook her head again. “No!”

He leaned close, his face inches from hers. “You’re only lying to yourself, Heather. Not to me. I’m going to finger you every day while everyone sits around eating lunch, until you admit that you enjoy it.”

She looked away from him, her head hanging down so that her hair hid her face. “Now”, he continued, “give me your panties.”

She looked up, startled. “What?”

“Take you panties off and give them to me now.”

“Here?”

He nodded.

“I can’t! It’s out in the open.”

“Nobody can see”, he snapped. “Don’t fuck with me – just give me your panties now!”

Glancing around to make sure nobody could see, she reached under her skirt, shifting her hips from side to side as she slid them off and finally pressed them quickly into his hands. He stroked the softness, examining them.

“Good. Now lift your skirt a bit, so I can see your pussy.”

“Noooo”, she shook her head, looking at the table again.

“Now.”

The single word was enough. In absolute obedience she lifted the hem, head down.

“Come on. Open those legs. Don’t hide away.”

She held her skirt up, legs open, waiting for him to satisfy his curiosity. He looked closely, then reached out and ran the back of one finger across her lips. He looked up at her and laughed briefly. “You’re still wet, Heather. Don’t tell me this isn’t turning you on.”

She remained silent.

He suddenly leaned back. “No panties for you tomorrow. I want to be able to touch when I feel like it. You understand?”

She looked imploringly into his eyes, but found no mercy.

“You understand?”

She nodded once.

“Put your skirt down”, he said. “I have to go to class.” He stood up.

“What’s your name?”, she asked.

He looked at her.

“Michael”, he said. “Like the angel.”