Leah Pricewater

In hindsight, I had it made as a teenager. I think I knew it at the time, too, actually. I was a popular kid, captain of the swim team, and at 6'2", I cut an imposing figure that caught the eye of just about every girl in school (and some of the guys). I had a girlfriend at the time, a sexy little cheerleader named Amy who fawned over me and wanted nothing more in life than to marry me and bear my children. My parents were well off, and I wanted for almost nothing.

Almost nothing.

The truth is, there was something I wanted desperately—someone I wanted desperately—and I had convinced myself that she was out of my reach.

Her name was Leah Pricewater, and to me, she was the most beautiful girl at Chapel High School. She had deep, bright hazel eyes that took in everything around her and a pale complexion dotted with freckles that she wore without reservation. She had long, flowing dark hair that draped over her generous, generous breasts. In fact, her whole body was generous. Everyone called her fat—among other things. I guess she was. I only ever saw beauty, and it never crossed my mind that the two concepts should be mutually exclusive. Curves, curves everywhere—rounded chest to lightly cinched waist to rounded tummy to flared, voluminous hips. She tried to minimize her body with dark, unobtrusive clothing, but I couldn't help but notice her wherever she went. For one thing, she was quite tall; she stood head and shoulders above most of the girls in our class. I imagined that if I held her, her head would tuck right under my chin.

For another thing, as much as she tried to minimize her body, Leah never tried to minimize her personality. She was a dangerous combination of extremely well-read, extremely well-informed, and extremely opinionated. She readily spoke up in classes when no one else would, and she handily shut down the more sophomoric members of our class with her quick wit. I guess that's another reason that people received Leah less than warmly in high school: she didn't go with the flow. She had her own mind, and she followed her intuition. She was going places in life, I could tell, and I admired the hell out of her.

So why did I never make a move? Simple. I'm a fucking coward. As beautiful as I found her, inside and out, I knew the rest of the school didn't see her that way. I could only imagine what my friends would say if they found out I was interested in the Pricewater Piglet (one of the least creative but still cruelest names bestowed upon her by members of our class). It was easier to date Amy, let her give herself to me repeatedly while I pretended that she was less angular and more well-spoken. Shallow? Yes. Deceptive? Probably. I was a stupid kid, and I didn't see another option. At least until senior year, the year we turned eighteen. I got mind-bendingly close to having Leah in those last few months of school, and I still managed to fuck it up.

The problem was that I had no arts credits. I had put off taking any music or art classes, preferring, again, to go with the flow and pretend that those things were lame. I made fun of the band, theater, and orchestra kids with my swimming buddies, all the while being jealous of the former's artistic talent. It's not an exaggeration to say that I was a real weasel in high school.

Anyway, in the last semester of my high school career, I found myself lacking any of the arts credits that were necessary for my graduation. With an already-full schedule, I was starting to panic when my guidance counselor offered me a lifeline: participate in the spring musical and gain enough arts credits to graduate. I could do anything—paint scenery, sing in the chorus, assist the house manager. As long as I participated, I would get the credits. I figured I'd go to the director and be assigned a nice, menial job that I could do in my spare time.

I was wrong.

I knocked on the door of the director's office after swim practice later that week, my hair still damp.

"Come in!" ordered a voice from the other side. I walked in, shutting the door behind me.

"Mr. Breck? I'm Charlie Ford. I'm—"

"Ah, yes! Ah, yes!" interrupted the director, a man in his mid-forties who was wearing a pinstripe suit and polka dot tie, each an eye-popping shade of blue. "The young man joining our production in his most desperate hour! Welcome, welcome!"

I'll say this for the guy: he was certainly dramatic.

"Uh, yeah," I replied. "I was thinking I could—"

"Can you sing?" he interrupted again.

"I—what?"

"Can. You. Sing?" He was looking at me with an owlish smile on his face, as though expecting me to burst into song on the spot. Was he always like this?

"I—I don't know," I said honestly. "I've never really tried. I was hoping I could just—sir?" He had turned away from me and was rifling through a filing cabinet under his desk. I was beginning to seriously regret this decision. Finally, he turned back to me, sheet music in hand.

"Do you know this song?" he asked. I looked down at the papers in his hand. It was music to "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." I looked at him like he was crazy.

"I mean, yeah, of course I know that song, but I was really hoping to—sir?" He had pushed past me and was sitting down at a piano in the corner of the room.

"I play, you sing," he said. "You sing with as much feeling as you can!"

I looked around myself quickly. I wasn't likely to run into anyone I knew in this dingy little office at the back of the auditorium, but I still didn't relish the thought of singing in front of this stranger. Too late. He had already started playing. "What the hell?" I mumbled to myself, and with one last glance at the door, I threw myself into my Uncle Stu's favorite song to sing when he's drunk.

Two minutes later it was over, and Mr. Breck was wringing my hand and thanking me for auditioning.

"We've had so few of the boys audition for the show, so few!" I grimaced. Was this over yet? "You have a marvelous voice, and you'll make a wonderful Captain von Trapp! Here! Here!" He shoved a binder into my hands. Looking down, I saw that it was the script and music to The Sound of Music, a show I had actually heard of though never seen. I knew enough, however, to know that the captain was a major role. This was too much for me. I needed to back out. I was about to raise an objection when there was a knock on the door.

"Ah!" said Mr. Breck. "And here's your leading lady now!" He opened the door, and I froze. There she stood, Leah Pricewater, a binder identical to mine pressed against her soft, full breasts.

"Mr. Breck?" she asked tentatively. "We're ready to start rehearsal whenever you are. Hi, Charlie." She gave me a small smile. I waved but said nothing. Was this seriously happening?

"Excellent! Excellent!" trilled Mr. Breck. "I have good news. I have found you your captain!" He motioned to me as though he were presenting the grand prize at a raffle.

"Oh!" said Leah, clearly surprised. "Charlie, I didn't know you were interested in theater at all." She looked at me expectantly, and I, jerk that I am, still said nothing. She was wearing a turtleneck and cigarette pants, both of which hugged her curves enticingly, and all my energy was focused on keeping my gaze north of her neck.

The next few hours were kind of a blur. Mr. Breck ushered us out of his office and onto the stage, where he introduced me to the rest of the cast. I was surprised by how well I was received—I had made fun of a lot of these people behind their backs. But whether they didn't know it or didn't care, they accepted me into the fold as one of their own without question. I suppose it helped that the cast was mostly girls, and I caught more than a few giving me the eye.

We ran through the show, and I made an ass of myself. That's all I really remember about the actual rehearsal. The kids from the middle and elementary school that they'd brought in to play the younger von Trapp children were laughing at me shamelessly. I stumbled over my lines, didn't understand any of the stage directions, and tripped over my own feet when Leah and I tried to dance the laendler (not that I minded—being that close to her was a treat in itself).

Things got better from there, and I found myself looking forward to rehearsal each day. My friends didn't rib me too hard about it—they knew I had to do it to graduate—but I didn't feel the need to tell them how much I was enjoying it. Leah and I grew closer every day. I learned that we were both going to Vanderbilt in the fall, she for theater and I for business. I learned that she loved popcorn; she popped a bowl of it every morning and brought it to rehearsal for a snack. More than once she shared with me backstage while others were rehearsing their scenes. I also learned that Leah was fun and easy to talk to. She could be a bit intimidating because of her intelligence and her sharp tongue, but she also knew how to put people at ease and bring out the best in everyone around her. I realized that I was opening up to her more than I had with my own buddies, and certainly more than I ever had with Amy. Before long, she knew about my dream of opening my own restaurant, my somewhat strained relationship with my dad, and how much I loved reading American Girl books to my little sister. She knew enough to destroy me if she wanted to; it was the first time I had let myself be vulnerable around someone, but I knew I could trust her. There was only one problem.

A few weeks into rehearsals, Mr. Breck admonished us for having bad chemistry on stage. We were both in costume, rehearsing "Something Good," our romantic song, when Mr. Breck threw his hands up in the air and began shouting.

"Cut the music!" he yelled at the band. Then, returning his attention to us, he let loose: "You are supposed to be in love, children! I don't believe it! Charlie, you act like you're afraid to touch her, and Leah, dear Leah, you act like you've never kissed a boy before!" Leah and I both reddened, though truth be told I agreed with Mr. Breck. We were both adults, but we were acting like freshmen. I was indeed afraid to get close to Leah. More specifically, I was afraid of what my cock would do if I got too close to her. Leah, for her part, seemed overly skittish at the idea of being intimate with me, despite our growing friendship. This, in turn, kept me from wanting to push her, resulting in what I could only guess, based on Mr. Breck's tirade, was lousy chemistry during our intimate scenes. We had avoided kissing so far, but it looked like our timidity had pushed Mr. Breck to the breaking point.

"I don't care how you figure it out, just figure it out!" Mr. Breck shouted. "There's a couch in the men's dressing room. I want you two to sit on it together until you figure out how to develop some kind of chemistry! I don't want to see you again until you do!" Then he stormed back to his office.

I looked at Leah. No matter how weird or awkward this situation was, it was still resulting in me being locked in a darkened room on a soft couch with the object of my affections. I was not about to let this opportunity go to waste. I smiled nervously at her.

"After you," I said, gesturing toward the backstage area. Chewing on her lower lip, she turned and walked away, treating me to a view of her ass swaying enticingly as it retreated to the dressing room. A few seconds later I followed her, and soon I found myself next to her on a dilapidated floral sofa with the lights dimmed.

So we sat. And we sat. We sat in silence for what felt like an eternity before Leah buried her head in her hands and let out a cry of frustration.

"I'm so sorry, Charlie. This is all my fault!" I was surprised by her outburst. If anyone was going to claim the blame here, it was going to be me, the kid who had never acted before.

"Why do you say that?" I asked. "I'm the rookie here. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine."

"No," she moaned, "you don't understand." She was biting her lip again, and I felt the need to readjust myself. She looked up at me, her eyes welling with tears, and said, "Charlie, I know I'm not attractive and that you're not into me and I—I—I've never...I'veneverkissedanyonebefore!" she spit out in a rush.

I suddenly felt very warm. Leah, my Leah, had never been kissed before. I didn't know what to do or say. On the one hand, this was a mess. She thought I didn't find her attractive. While that was no doubt good for my reputation, it couldn't be good for her self-esteem. It also wasn't true. No wonder she was so awkward during our intimate scenes. On the other hand, I was going to be her first kiss. Me. No one else had touched her. Something primal was awakened in me, and I scooched closer to her.

"Leah, it's okay," I said, trying to make my voice as soothing as possible. "There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"That's easy for you to say," she replied softly, avoiding my gaze. I didn't know how to respond to that. She was right, after all. I had been kissed. I had had sex. I had a girlfriend. It was all well and good for me to tell her she needn't be embarrassed. I chose my next words carefully.

"If it helps," I said slowly, "I would really, really like to kiss you." She laughed humorlessly at that.

"Yeah, right," she spat at me. "No one wants to lock lips with the Pricewater Piglet." I winced at her use of the epithet, but I didn't let it deter me. I scooched even closer. Our thighs were now touching.

"Please don't call yourself that," I implored. I reached a hand out and placed it on her knee. "That's now how I see you." She looked up at me, her expression indecipherable.

"How do you see me, Charlie?" she asked quietly, her eyes searching mine. I could feel heat spreading through my chest, and there was a slight tremor in my hand. I brought it up to her face and gently stroked her cheek.

"I see you..." I began softly, and then I stopped. How did I see her? As a goddess? That answer would probably freak her out. "I see you..." I repeated, inching my face closer to hers. I could hear my own heartbeat now, and I could smell her perfume, sweet and flowery. "I just..." I moved closer still. We were breathing the same air now, our noses almost touching. "I just...I just see you, Leah. I see you."

And then my lips were on hers, and I thought my chest would explode. She let out a small squeak as our mouths met, and I let out a low groan. Her lips were like velvet, soft and warm, wet and sexy. And sweet. My god, she was sweet.

Gently, reluctantly, I pulled away from her to look in her eyes, but they were still closed, her lips still slightly puckered. Jesus Christ, she was hot. Just as her eyes began to flutter open, I leaned back in and claimed her mouth again. This time she let out a soft, genuine moan, and by god I thought my cock would cut through my costume. Amy never moaned like that. In that moment I suddenly realized how very manufactured Amy's sex noises came out. The contrast with Leah was head-spinningly hot, and I needed more. I moved my hand from her knee to her waist, and cautiously, delicately, I reached my tongue out to poke at her closed lips. To my surprise, her lips opened immediately, and she softly, almost instinctively, sucked my tongue into her mouth. Fuck. Gently, slowly, she suckled my tongue, and it was my turn to moan into her mouth. That was it for me. Amy had never kissed me like this, no matter how down and dirty we got. This was something new, and again, I needed more.

Giving up any pretense that we were rehearsing, I leaned back and tenderly pressed her into the sofa, hesitantly resting my weight upon her. She gently disengaged her mouth from mine with a breathy moan and tightened her fingers around my waist.

"Charlie," she gasped softly. "What—"

"Please," I gasped back. I was out of control. The thought that we were supposed to be working on the play and not just making out returned to the back of my mind, and I quickly pushed it away. I had to keep kissing her—needed to keep kissing her. The idea that she might want to stop was enough to make me break down. "Please, Leah."

"Charlie," she moaned again, but she made no move to push me away or get out from under me. Taking that as a good sign, I leaned down to once more press my lips to hers. Her mouth moved against mine instantly, and just like that I was right back in heaven. I moved my hand down to her hip and gently squeezed the soft, rounded flesh there. I growled into her mouth as I continued to stroke her through her dress, longing to reach my hand down and run it up under her skirt so I could feel her warm skin against mine. As I kneaded her hip, she once again removed her mouth from mine with a soft, sexy sucking sound and looked up at me.

Not wanting to give her a chance to change her mind again, I swooped my head down and buried it in her neck, tenderly sucking on the warm, sweet-smelling flesh there. She sighed happily until I moved back further back. I was nuzzling the side of her neck, and I pressed a kiss back as far around as I could. Her fingers suddenly dug into me, and she let out a long, breathy, high-pitched groan.

"Ohhhh, Charlie, yes," she whispered, and I felt my cock, impossibly, get even harder. Inspired, I kissed the same spot again and nipped gently at the skin there. She arched her back, pressing her breasts into my chest, and began panting. "More," she moaned desperately. I was happy to oblige. I buried my face in her neck and gleefully began making out with her velvety skin. Amy never let me kiss her like this, and she certainly never reacted so vocally, so genuinely. Sex with Amy was like sex in porn: I'm sure it looked hot, but in real life it was more mechanical than passionate. But this? This was nothing but passion. It was like an invisible door had opened, and I suddenly saw things the way they were meant to be. Making out with Leah was simply the hottest thing I had ever done, and it was even hotter than I had ever imagined it.

As I lost myself in Leah's neck, my hands were slowly creeping up to the soft, pillowy mounds of her chest. Gently, I cupped her breasts through her costume as I continued to kiss and tongue her neck. Her panting grew more ragged, and she rewarded me with another feminine, mewling moan. She sounded as out of control as I felt. I was about to pull away from her neck, needing to feed from her lips again, when her hips began bucking against me, seemingly of their own accord.

That's an interesting discovery, I thought to myself. I decided to see how far I could push this. I returned to her neck more insistently.

"Ch-Charlie!" she moaned. "Charlie, I...I...ohh, god!" She was writhing under me, her mound rubbing against my erection with every roll of her hips.

Baseball, I thought. Think about baseball. Think about the guys having a hot-dog-eating contest. Think about killer apes. Think about algebra. I was struggling so hard to keep my orgasm at bay that it took me a moment to take heed of what was happening to Leah. Too late, I realized she had been gasping my name and gently pushing on my shoulders. In one breath, she went from panting and moaning and rolling her hips against mine to softly screaming and clutching my ass as she ground herself against me. It occurred to me that she was coming, and I was more than delighted to let her do what she needed to do as I continued to tongue her neck.

How I managed to survive her orgasm without having one of my own I'm sure I'll never know, but I did. Slowly, I disengaged from her neck to find her burying her face in her hands once more.

"Oh, god," she whispered. "Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god!"

"Baby, what is it?" I asked as I tried to pry her fingers from her forehead, choosing to ignore both the fact that I had called her "baby" (where had that come from?) and the fact that she had tensed when I did.