Evil Woman

Another long one, very little sex. I have taken scientific and anthropological liberties. But it's fiction. If you read it I hope you like it.

EVIL WOMAN

The trail was fairly dry and the big puddle normally at the bottom of the hill was much less muddy than normal. Rays of sunlight pierced the forest canopy brightening spots along the trail. On another day I would've far greater appreciated the warm early Spring weather and the joy of running the trail in such nice conditions..

But today I had much more on my mind.

Foremost was my concern over the girls. Somewhere down the list of concerns was my wife. For the moment I set that subject aside. The business was something I had to be concerned about too. It wasn't just me but I had a small group of people that were dependent on Hardwood Products for their income.

I guess I had always thought that in life if you worked hard, thought deeply and strategically about important matters, and made the right decisions, things would work out. Perhaps I'd done the first two of these things correctly but made mistakes on the third.

That brought me back to Mel. That is Melinda, my wife. I had to really put some thought in on this subject. I considered all this as I ran. It was probably a half mile later and I came to the conclusion, maybe I just never knew her that well.

Or maybe I only saw the parts of her that she wanted me to see. My mind drifted to many years ago at Saint Thomas where I first became aware of her. Who could have possibly imagined the way things were to go..

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

I was small as a freshman when I entered high school. My mother was of average stature and I had no memory of my father who died of pancreatic cancer when I was three years old. In the few pictures we had of him he looked average in size also.

During gym class I was still small and lean. I had just the traces of pubic hair. My penis seemed small to me particularly compared to the mid pubescent classmates with traces of whiskers, muscle definition, and larger stature.

High School is a particularly volatile time socially. The rules changed. What was important in fourth or fifth grade no longer mattered. The things that mattered were popularity, athletic achievement, outward appearance, and the opposite sex.

I figured that all out fairly quickly the fall of my freshman year. I already mentioned my size. I just had not hit puberty as early as most of my classmates. I also did not dress like them either. I wore the economy clothes from the discount stores. I knew even these cheap pieces of clothing taxed our home budget. I couldn't even dream of complaining about this to my mom.

Saint Thomas was a private school and I had earned an academic scholarship that my mom applied for through our parish church. Many of the other kids at school weren't Catholic, their parents sent them there for the academics and the prestige of their child's attendance at a private school.

So at first I was a bit of a social outcast. I was small, socio-economically inferior, and I wore unstylish clothes. The only people that seemed to gravitate towards me were the small cadre of misfits found in most schools. I carefully separated myself from that group.

I did go out for sports, and in the Fall that meant football. I was ignored by the other kids and the coaching staff because of my size. But I worked hard. I was fairly fast, I was smart, and I never gave up. It took a while but the coaches started to notice my productivity. Freshman year I didn't start, but I ended up playing a fair amount and I did well.

Winter was basketball season. One of the assistant football coaches was also the wrestling coach. He wanted me to try out for the wrestling team. It would've been the right sport for me. I was small, strong, athletic, and he knew I never gave up.

Instead I went out for basketball. I loved basketball, but as short as I was my chances were not great. But like I said, I was smart, and I determined the only way I was going to make the basketball team was with defense. In basketball defense is all about effort. And that was my specialty.

During tryouts when the taller kids would try to bring the ball up I would harass them defensively often causing a bad pass, a steal, or other turnovers. I was relentless and there was even a time or two the coaches told me to back off. They thought I was too intense.

On the last day of tryouts one of the bigger kids posted me up on a pick and roll. With his superior bulk he tried to back me down. I wouldn't budge. He became frustrated and hammered an elbow into my face. I held my ground and with blood dripping down my chin from a split lip I stripped him of the ball and passed it ahead to a teammate.

A quick glance over at the sidelines I saw the head coach looking at me with a small smile on his face. We made brief eye contact and I saw him give me a slight head nod, as if he appreciated the way I played.

I made the team, once again not a starter, but whenever there was a particular defensive assignment that needed an injection of energy, they put me in.

Through my freshman year my social status changed. I still was on the far outer circle of the popular crowd, but also much further away from the misfits. My athletic ability helped raise my social impression but my lower socio-economic standing was like an anchor that held me down.

Firmly in the midst of the highest social echelon was Melinda Manning. To me she had a high school glamorous look almost like a celebrity. Different from all the other girls. She wore stylish and expensive clothes. Her parents shuttled her back and forth from school in a newer European car. She had an inner clique of attractive girls that seemed to be constantly near her as she traveled the campus of Saint Thomas. And there was no doubt, Melinda was the queen.

The Freshman boys had a parallel group that were roughly equivalent to Melinda and her crowd but the boys were not quite to her level socially. She dated juniors and seniors.

As I said I was on the outer fringe of that group, but for me, I was just happy to be close to the in-crowd at Saint Thomas.

I had to maintain a minimum 3.25 grade point for my scholarship to be renewed. I knew this meant a lot to my mom so academically I put a lot of effort in. All through high school I was close if not at a 4.0. I learned early that intelligence and effort can go a long way to success.

By my senior year I had finally hit my growth spurt and I was now six foot and one quarter inches tall, and a solid one hundred and sixty-eight pounds. I played safety on the football team and started. I still wasn't starting in basketball but I was one of the first few players off the bench.

Our football team was decent, but our basketball team wasn't. Some of the other private schools 'recruited' often taking inner city kids in on scholarship for athletic purposes. Saint Thomas didn't do that. Fortunately for me they gave academic and hardship scholarships instead.

With my status firmly in the middle of the most popular group I often had opportunities to be near Melinda. I found myself staring at her and even embarrassingly was caught by her with my stares a time or two. But she was worthy of the stares. By the time she was a senior she had femininely filled out.

Every Fall at Saint Thomas there was a 'Sadie Hawkins' dance. This was a girl ask boy affair. In todays feminist and equality seeking political climate this seemed slightly old fashioned. But the dance was fun and I had been asked, and went last year and had a good time.

As the date of the dance approached, through internal gossip, we learned that Melinda had asked a kid from Morningside. Morningside was a public school on the north side of town and was a high school sports powerhouse.

I had heard of the kid that Melanie had asked and knew he was supposed to be a pretty good athlete. His name was Jon Pierre Terry. Terry hadn't played on the Morningside football team when we played them, but I had heard he was a good basketball player. Even without him Morningside crushed us in football.

As the date of the dance approached, so far, I was not going. The Thursday before the dance out of the blue I was asked to go by Taylor Pilkington. I immediately accepted. Taylor was good looking and part of Melanie's inner circle and I was happy to be her date, even though it was a bit last minute.

I found myself drifting into romantic fantasies about a relationship with Taylor. I imagined us staying together through senior year and maybe even going to the same college together. I conjured more permanent and long term scenarios for Taylor and I. My imagination was churning up different romantic bubbles about the two of us.

By Friday I learned the circumstances behind my date with Taylor and quite quickly all the bubbles were popped.

Taylor originally had asked some guy named Erik something from Morningside, who was a buddy of Jon Pierre, Melanie's new boyfriend. Less than a week before the dance he backed out with some excuse that he was going to be out of town. Without many options, Taylor asked me.

As all the imaginary romance scenes receded. I was left silently disappointed. Maybe I could charm her at the dance I thought and my spirits were slightly buoyed.

The dance was fun, but it was clear early on that there would be no burgeoning romance between Taylor and I.

Taylor turned to me as we arrived at the dance.

"Thanks Kevin for bringing me," she said as we entered, "you're a good friend." And then she gave me the briefest of hugs and left me to go find her friends.

If there was any doubt as to her feelings, it was now perfectly clear. I was the stand in date. Just a buddy.

Later I wandered over to where Taylor was sitting with a group of people. To her credit she did scoot over and pull an empty chair to the table so I had a place to sit. Taylor was a nice person; she was just making it abundantly clear that we were just friends.

Among the people sitting at the table were Melanie and her date, Jon Pierre. Melanie looked amazing. Her dark blond hair was perfect framing her beautiful face. She had on a satin black top that plunged a bit displaying the tops of her full breasts. She had near green eyes that seemed to be mostly aimed at Jon Pierre.

Jon Pierre was a bigger guy, probably 6'4 or 6'5. I could imagine him being as good as I had heard at basketball. He was lean, small waisted, broad shoulders. An athletic build. He had slightly long black hair and a smiling carefree demeanor. I had to admit it, he was a good looking guy. They looked like the perfect couple.

The evening progressed and I danced with Taylor a few times. I danced with a couple of other girls too. I was taking a break when out of the blue there was a commotion on the dance floor. I glanced over at the activity and I saw Taylor agitated about something.

I walked over and there was a guy, bigger than me, a bit disheveled, talking loudly and grabbing Taylor's arm. The guy Taylor had originally been dancing with was backing up, extricating himself from the situation. The big guy was talking loudly to a visibly unhappy Taylor.

"Erik," Taylor cried, "let go of me, I'm not dancing with you."

"C'mon babe," he said, slightly slurring, "I'm supposed to be your date."

I looked closely at the guy. Not as tall as Jon Pierre, but bigger, whether muscle or fat I couldn't quite tell, but certainly over 200 pounds. He had a sloppy arrogant grin on his face. This, I quickly concluded, was Taylor's original date. I also concluded she now wanted nothing to do with him.

"Easy pal," I said as I stepped forward into the midst of the confrontation.

The big guy, Erik, ignored me and continued to plead with Taylor, with his grip still latched onto her arm.

"Hey!" I said, louder now, "Let her go."

I then grabbed his hand and pulled it off her.

Erik, as if noticing me for the first time, turned toward me. A sloppy, angry look on his face now focused on me.

"Who the fuck are you?" He said as he turned toward me.

He raised his arms up to shove me away. I saw it coming and I was planted firmly and ready for him. As he began his shove at the last moment I turned my torso to the side twisting my chest perpendicularly.

Erik's momentum had no resistance and he clumsily fell forward on to one knee in the middle of the dance floor. A few people began to laugh at his clownish attempt. This made him mad and the combination of exertion, humility, and his inebriation, caused his face to flush.

He was working up to another angry attempt at confrontation when Jon Pierre arrived. From behind Jon Pierre wrapped his arms around Erik, pinning his arms, and spoke softly into his ear.

"Easy man, take it easy. It's all okay. We're all good here." And he steered the belligerent Erik off the dance floor and through the exit.

And as fast as the minor commotion started, it was over.

Taylor thanked me and seemed to pay extra attention to me after I stood up for her. She even gave me a sisterly kiss on the cheek at one point. I was hoping this may translate into some kind of more physical reward, but through numerous obvious signs she made it quite clear our relationship was to be firmly as friends.

Much later I would find out how good a friend Taylor would be.

The next time I saw Jon Pierre was during basketball season. The Saint Thomas basketball team was fair. Our best player was a kid named Aaron Blankenship. He played forward. In basketball you need some height to be competitive. We didn't have much.

Aaron was 6'3 and was fairly athletic. Our center, the same kid who split my lip during tryouts, was probably 6'5. Big but slow and not much athletically. After that it was me and a couple of other kids around 6'. And that was it for size.

Morningside came to Saint Thomas leading the league with six wins and one loss. We were three and three. Jon Pierre Terry, Melanie's boyfriend, was the leading scorer in the league and was being scouted by colleges.

Late in the first quarter we were already down. Aaron, our best player, was guarding Jon Pierre and picked up two quick fouls in the first quarter. By halftime we were down twelve, Aaron now had three fouls, and Jon Pierre already had sixteen points.

Shortly after halftime Aaron picked up his fourth foul. I saw the coach look worriedly down the bench, trying to figure out who to put in. All of a sudden I saw his eyes land on me and stay on me. He nodded in my direction. I sat for a moment not quite sure I was being sent in.

"Gerard," he yelled at me, "report to the scorer's table."

'Kevin Gerard now in for Aaron Blankenship' I heard the announcer say. I was excited to get in this important game. My assignment, guard Jon Pierre.

I rushed out on the court moving closely to Jon Pierre.

"Hey, I think I know you," Jon Pierre casually acknowledged me.

He was relaxed, not a care in the world chatting away with me. I was so wound up at this opportunity I didn't say a word.

On Morningside's first possession their point guard whipped a pass to Jon Pierre. My heart rate cranked up. Jon Pierre crossed over as if he was to drive, I backed away. Jon Pierre then casually pulled up fifteen feet away and swished a jump shot.

As we were back to our end of the court he continued talking.

"You should really try to guard me closer or I'll do that all night," he taunted me. He was calm and composed, good natured, with a half smile on his face.

On the next play I guarded him closer. He faked a pull up and drove by me. I was whistled for a foul. As Jon Pierre strolled up to the free throw line he patted the top of my head and laughed. As if I was a child.

At that moment I glanced up and noticed Melanie, Taylor, and that whole group. They were all sitting on the visitors' side of the stands. Supporting Jon Pierre, not Saint Thomas. I also heard Melanie's high-pitched laughter as she saw Jon Pierre pat my head. Suddenly any nervousness evaporated.

Now I was angry.

I began to play defense instinctively, the way I was taught. Play defense with your feet, not your hands I recalled. And I did. I remembered something from my early coaching at basketball. Focus on their belt buckle. Now, with today's uniform, there is no belt buckle, but the message was clear. Don't fall for head and shoulder fakes.

And I didn't.

The next time down I played tight defense on Jon Pierre. I stayed close to him even when he didn't have the ball. His team looked to pass to him but I gave them few openings. At one point with his superior size he tried to post me up. I may have been smaller but I was strong. I would not let Jon Pierre get the post position he wanted. Another Morningside player took the shot. He missed and we rebounded.

As the game went on the casual condescending attitude Jon Pierre had assumed was changing. No more casual comments and relaxed smiles. Slowly the game got a little closer. We were within ten points of Morningside.

On the next play down Jon Pierre finally got the ball. As he turned to face me, with the referee near I stripped him of the ball.

Angry now, Jon Pierre yelled "foul!".

I heard the ref call back to him, "all ball."

By the beginning of the fourth quarter the game was closer, Saint Thomas was down eight, but more surprisingly Jon Pierre hadn't scored since those free throws early in the third quarter. My tight, high effort defense was working.

By the middle of the fourth quarter Jon Pierre's frustration over his ineffectiveness boiled over. I tried to irritate him whenever possible. A shoulder bump, a slight shove, or an errant elbow. Little gestures of aggression designed to bother him.

On one trip down he got the ball and raised up for a long jump shot. I jumped with him hands straight up, but with just the slightest, indistinguishable touch on the inside elbow of his shooting hand. He missed badly.

He cursed and screamed for a foul as we ran up court. I looked up to the stands briefly seeing Melanie and her group now watching the game without the happy smiles they once had..

I couldn't help it. The combination of my earlier humiliation, my natural competitiveness, and this guy's arrogance became too much.

As we ran up the court side by side, I talked a little trash.

"Thanks for the pointers on defense Jon," I said to him, not using his full name.

"Fuck off midget," he growled back to me.

"No I mean it Jon, it really has been helpful," I continued.

This time he didn't say anything but I did get an elbow.

I now maneuvered him over near the baseline referee.

"I mean that last shot of yours was WAY off," I said with a fake chuckle.

This time making sure the referee couldn't see I repaid him with my own elbow and a big taunting smile.

This was too much for the egotistical Jon Pierre. Right in front of the baseline ref he shoved me. I went flying. Did I exaggerate the degree of force?

Of course.

Jon Pierre was given a technical foul and was thrown out of the game for fighting. I was laying on the court from the force of his shove, embellishing the extent of my injury. My act would've made a European soccer player proud.

As Jon Pierre was escorted to the locker room he glanced back and our eyes locked. Through false grimaces of pain from my injury, I made sure he saw the slight smile on my face during our eye contact.

Shortly after Jon Pierre was kicked out I glanced up into the visiting fans section of the stands. The spot where Melinda, Taylor and their gang had been sitting was now empty.

Saint Thomas still lost the game but it was a lot closer than it was supposed to be. We celebrated in our locker room as if we had won. I later heard that there had been college scouts at our game looking at Jon Pierre. With sadistic pleasure I wondered if somehow I had affected his college opportunities.