Don't Fucking Touch Me Ch. 01

Author's note: All characters are 18+ years old.

***

The circle of kids around us were chanting, "Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!", enjoying the spectacle of a new arrival on base establishing where he fit in the pecking order. Fresh meat for the Coliseum.

I dropped an arm to block the huge bully's right hand punch to my gut, but that left my face partially uncovered by my remaining forearm. His left fist jabbed at the opening, punching me in the eye. Hard.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. That was a bad one, I thought.

I raised both arms up and hid behind them, waiting for the adults to show up. They were taking their fucking time, as usual. A school on a military base in a godforsaken swath of Southern Californian desert usually has a laissez-faire attitude toward interpersonal conflicts. The ethos? Learning to brawl is good training for future soldiers.

First day at yet another new high school. Good times.

Gonna be a long senior year. Assuming I was at this particular base for the remaining eight months of the school year. A shaky assumption, considering this was my sixth high school. Military brats move a lot.

I saw my next door neighbor watching me from the circle of jeering kids, a bemused expression on her face, like she was silently pondering my complete inability to mount an offensive in the fight. Like, was I just bad at fighting, or a coward, or that rarity on a military base, a philosophical pacifist?

My momentary lack of attention to the matter at hand earned me another punch, this time slipping past my guard with a roundhouse to the side of my head.

Fuuuuuck. I felt dizzy and dazed, but fought to stay upright. Nothing good came from falling down and losing both mobility and the high ground. One time literally getting my ass kicked, plus various other important parts of my body, had taught me to avoid that at all costs.

A whistle blew. Finally. A teacher was coming. The circle of kids scattered, and the bully took a step back and dropped his hands. Being observed by an adult landing a punch undercut one's future protestations of innocence, or at least of mitigating circumstances.

To my surprise, my neighbor hadn't fled. She coolly waited until the oncoming teacher had seen that she was nowhere near the fray, at best a witness, then she stepped forward toward me. She was fucking gorgeous. I'd say she was out of my league, but when you're as aspie and socially awkward as I was, pretty much no girl wants that kind of hot mess for a boyfriend.

"You look dizzy," she said. "Put your hand on my shoulder so you don't fall down."

I gratefully accepted.

She grimaced, like it physically hurt to be touched.

"You OK?" I asked.

"I... don't like being touched."

I took my hand off her like I'd burnt myself on a hot stove. "Then... why..."

She grabbed my hand and put it back on her shoulder. "Don't fucking fall. Failure is not an option."

I backed off, barely touching her shoulder, just enough to steady myself. "Uh... wow. I really appreciate this, considering..."

She looked at me with her beautiful green eyes, in vivid contrast to her dark chocolate skin. "Get a move on, soldier. Let's get this over with."

"Where we going?"

"Principal's office."

"Why?"

"Pre-emptive strike. Go there before they send for you, Throws those bastards off their game."

I nodded appreciatively at this innovative new tactic.

***

There were six white plastic chairs outside the principal's office. Apparently they had a large number of miscreants likely to be involved in any given incident disturbing the peace. I glanced at her, then took the chair closest to the door, giving her the opportunity to decide how much personal space she needed. She eyed the chair next to me, like she really wished she could manage to sit there, but reluctantly sat in the third chair from the door, leaving a space between us.

"Thanks, uh..."

"Kneely."

I raised my eyebrows. "Did your parents WANT you to be sexually harassed constantly?"

"N-E-A-L-E-Y. Nealey. My dad wanted a boy, apparently thought he could cause that through sheer force of will. Even though military kids are statistically much more likely to be girls compared to civilians. So he picked the name Neal. No plan B. Surprise!"

A long pause. She crinkled her forehead. "You're not very socially adept, are you?"

"Hunh?"

"What's. Your. Name." She said it in a slow, patient voice, like she was explaining entropy and the heat death of the universe to a Corgi. Or social niceties to an idiot savant.

"Joe."

Right about then someone with the brisk demeanor of an assistant principal showed up, the bully in tow. "There you are. Been looking all over for you two. Do this much?"

"Get an unprovoked beating first day at a new school? Unfortunately, yes."

"I see you've got your story all lined up." He narrowed his eyes at the bully. "Sit. Don't even think of running. Again. DON'T make me call the MPs." He left.

The bully examined the six chairs, then grinned and made as if to sit between us, claiming the hot chick as his prize while cutting out the loser.

Nealey gave him a Death Stare.

He froze.

Reevaluating. Slooowly. Not the sharpest sword in the armory.

Sat at the chair farthest from us, sprawling out, arm resting on the chair next to him. Claiming massive amounts of personal space, like this had been his first choice all along.

The office door opened. A woman, with the weary, Thousand Yard Stare of a principal perpetually bombarded with the transgressions of hyperaggressive military brats, looked us over. Nodded at the guy strategically placed to get their story in first. Aka me.

First rule of getting your ass kicked: Get your verbal retaliation in first. Drive the narrative.

I followed her inside.

"Close the door. Take a seat."

I sat.

"New here?"

"First day."

"I see the usual welcoming committee was on hand to greet you."

It wasn't a question, so I just nodded, a tiny dip of the head. Don't volunteer. First rule of soldiering.

"So. Who threw the first punch?"

"I didn't throw any punches. I'm a pacifist."

She gave me a hard stare, sizing me up. "Really."

Still not a question, so I just stared back. Waiting.

"Got any corroborating witnesses? You know, someone --"

"I know what 'corroborating' means. I'm comfortable with multisyllabic words."

"Sooo... Who saw --"

"Dozens of witnesses." Anticipate questions, cut them off mid-sentence. Throw them off balance. Not my first rodeo.

"Names?"

"New kid. First day. How would I know?"

"Can you describe what they loo --"

"I was a little busy getting beat up. And I suspect there will be a distinct lack of upstanding citizens stepping forward to do the right thing, and then getting ambushed and thrashed for being a snitch."

"How about the girl outside who wasn't hitting you? What's she gonna say?"

"Not a mind reader. Ask her. I'm guessing you'll get some variant of Fifth Amendment rights against self-incrimination being invoked."

"Y'all are school kids. On a military base. Don't have any rights."

"Are we done? You ready to get lied to by the perpetrator?"

She narrowed her eyes. Sighed. "Send the alleged perp in, on your way to the nurse's room. Get that eye looked at. That's an order, not a suggestion. Then get back to class."

***

Nealey joined me on the walk home thru the scruffy desert plants - creosote bushes, and the ghosts of Joshua Trees mown down to make room for the base straddling the edge of the gigantic dry salt lake bed that was a de facto landing strip miles in radius. If the plane you were testing got squirrelly, least you didn't have to worry about hitting shite when you landed. So long as you didn't crater it, you'd skid and survive. The definition of a great landing - any one you walk away from.

"Thanks for having my six," I said.

"Mm-hmm. Hey, you like role playing games?"

"Like, video games?"

"No, like real life stuff."

"You cut right to the fucking chase, ma'am," I said.

"What would you do to make the beatings stop?"

"Anything."

"ANY thing?" She raised a dark eyebrow, her sly green eyes beautiful against her dark skin and curly jet black hair, cut short for a girl. Like she was a tomboy.

"Yup."

"Ready to start?"

"Uhh... yes?"

"That's 'sir, yes sir.' "

I shouted, ironically deadpan, "SIR, YES SIR!"

My life has been one reeeeally long stand up set, years long, never breaking character.

People think I'm weird.

If by weird, they mean aspie as fuck and smart, sure.

She looked at me impatiently, like she was waiting for me to drop the interior monologue and pay attention. "You done thinking?"

"SIR YES SIR!" Still deadpan.

"You'll be my first lieutenant. I'm your captain. You do literally anything I ask you to do, without hesitation, without questioning it. I say 'jump', you say 'how high sir?' "

"How high, sir?"

"What?"

"You said 'jump.' "

We'd arrived at the cinder block back yard fence you had to climb over, if you didn't want to walk an extra ten minutes around the block on the paved path.

"Let's go in my house," she ordered.

"Sir yes sir!"

"Let's stipulate you just completed basic training. You now know how to obey commands. Stop with the 'sirring'."

I nodded as we easily hurdled the five foot high fence, probably built with at least an eye toward training potential soldiers to vault past hurdles. No pausing. Seize the initiative. Maximum aggression.

We went thru the sliding glass back door, same as on our house, same as on every officer's house everywhere on base. Everybody gets a door that ensures they get used to sonic booms from planes ripping by overhead.

The house was quiet.

"The house is quiet."

"Yeah. My dad works super long hours, my mom does her side gig. I've got the house to myself next two hours."

I followed Nealey into her bedroom. It was sparsely furnished and incredibly clean. Like she was super disciplined, always ready for a surprise inspection.

"On your knees, soldier." Her tone said it was an order, not a suggestion.

I stared at her.

The fuck?

"Now," she said, her voice scarily quiet.

I scrambled to obey.

I looked up at her. She held the high ground, her face several feet higher than mine now, even though I was about a foot taller than her.

"You ready to accept your commission?"

"Yes. Sir."

"I nominate you as my first lieutenant, subject to Congressional approval."

I looked up at her.

"Undo my belt."

The fuck?

Follow orders, or get beat up every day. And... a beautiful girl is asking me to maybe undress her.

I undid the belt.

"Pull my shorts down."

I complied. She was going commando, no panties. We were in the fucking desert, in the summer, routinely 100, 110 for highs. Hot enough for blacktop to slowly start melting synthetic sneaker soles if you stood in one place too long. Hot enough to ditch underwear.

She had a black bush, trimmed short like the hair on her head. The skin under her shorts was a dark olive color, considerably lighter than the deeply tanned skin on her

arms and legs exposed to the relentless desert sun.

"Run your fingertips over my pussy fur. Softly."

My heart was pounding. I'd never touched a girl like that.

Her pussy hair was even more tightly curled than the hair on her head. It felt amazing. As did the look in her eyes as she watched me do anything she said.

"Kiss my pussy lips."

I did. Hesitantly.

"Like you mean it."

I pressed my lips against the black flaps of her sex. Inhaled her strong musky aroma.

OMG, she smells so good.

She groaned, and lightly touched the back of my head. "Lick it and kiss it." Gently urging me forward, until I was almost smothering, my nose flattened against the feminine softness of her belly.

I ignored the minor asphyxia and concentrated on pleasing my commanding officer. My lips and tongue explored her sex, sucking and licking. I tried to grasp her large sexy buns, but she slapped my hands away.

"You know I don't like touching. Even this minimal contact is... hard."

I was getting pretty hard myself.

I cautiously slid my tongue inside her, exploring her weird boundaries about touch. Inside, her pussy was pink, in vivid contrast to the blackness of her exterior genitalia.

She gently slapped my cheek. "Uh... yeah. Don't stop. That's an order."

Like I had any desire to stop.

"Lick my clit."

Her black clitoris was hard, and larger than usual, based on the porn videos I'd watched. She probably had higher testosterone levels than usual for a girl, based on what I'd read about clitoris size. And by her aggressive sexual demands. I took it in my mouth, like a tiny little penis, and licked and sucked and tried to make her cum.

She was moaning and her hips were thrusting into me. "Oh, god. Almost there."

Her public hair was abrading my lips and scratching the tip of my nose. Gloriously. It felt surreal, losing my oral virginity. Finally.

"Yes. Yes. Don't fucking stop. Make me cum."

Her eyes rolled up, and she grasped my head tight, her strong inhibitions about touch overridden by the pleasure I was giving her. She bucked against my face, smearing her sexy tasting pussy juices over my face, my tongue sliding over and over her clit, being face ridden, trying to not get bucked off.

She screamed and started cumming, oblivious in the moment to how that might come across with the neighbors. Assuming any were home. "Fuuuuuck. Sooo good."

I felt and heard her orgasm pulse through her, then subside, but I kept licking, since she hadn't countermanded her earlier order.

She came again.

And again.

And again, wave after wave of orgasms.

Finally she pushed me away, panting. "No mas." She sat on the edge of her bed, her eyes closed, with what I assumed was the post orgasmic sleepiness that I knew so well from jacking off. Frequently.

I raised my eyebrows, wet and smeared from her passion. Awaiting orders.

A flash of green as her eyes opened a slit, her beautiful heavy eyelids looking tired and sleepy from cumming so hard. "Swallow."

I nodded submissively, my mouth still full of saliva mixed with her wetness. I swallowed it all. Took her into my body.

Her eyes slowly slid open.

"Well done, soldier. Stand up."

I did. "Thank you, sir."

"Walk with me to class tomorrow morning. We'll go over tactics for the next bully who's gonna try whooping on you."

"Sir."

"Dismissed."

I looked at her, a bit hurt. So much for afterplay. Or foreplay.

She raised her eyebrows, giving me a Do You Know How Orders Work look.

I nodded. Started to leave, but turned at the doorway. She had this soft sad look on her face, like she wanted to me stay, but was overwhelmed by all the physical contact.

Or perhaps she expected me to stay, read her mind a bit like a normie.

I just couldn't tell. Fucking Asperger's.

I returned the longing look. "Tomorrow?"

She smiled, though her eyes were still a bit sad. Maybe I had read it right after all.

"Tomorrow." She kissed her fingertips, then flicked the kiss at me.

I gave her an air kiss in return.

Then left.

I climbed over the cinder block fence separating our houses. Went inside to my own empty house. I was still a bit hard, and completely turned on, from having my mouth virginity so roughly taken.

Went straight into my room. Undressed.

Laid on my bed.

Jacked off, remembering. Shot cum so hard it splashed on my face with the first spurt, then progressively lower with each subsequent spurt.

I scooped off the cum from my face. Paused, remembering how good it tasted when I obeyed her order and swallowed my saliva and the residues of her orgasms.

Thought about what she might order me to do if she was in the room, watching.

I could almost hear her order. She had to know I'd cum home and immediately jack off like this.

I swallowed the cum, guessing that was the perverted detail she would want to hear tomorrow. When she almost certainly would ask intrusive questions about the predictable aftermath of our weird, lovely Almost No Touch coupling. I couldn't imagine her being shy about it. Not after our unexpected intimacy, and her assertion of dominance.

Like belated pillow talk.

"Tomorrow," I whispered.