Midge's Story Ch. 05

I.

I woke up for school about an hour early.

That was weird because I usually hit the snooze about a zillion times before dragging myself out of bed. Of course, at that point "weird" was becoming increasingly relative.

I had snuck back into my house around eleven. I wasn't tired, and I did, in fact have a calculus test in the morning. I broke out my textbook and started reviewing the first chapters. It seemed, I don't know, "easy". By three in the morning I'd reached the end of the textbook -- and I remembered it all. I understood everything in the text. All of it. I had learned all of AP Calculus -- from a book -- in four -- four mother-fucking -- hours.

Now I was awake. I'd slept -- maybe three hours -- and now I felt completely rested. It was like I'd slept a full night. I showered and got ready for school. I really thought I looked funny in my school uniform. It was pretty standard -- grey blazer, white oxford that I unbuttoned as far down as I thought I could get away with, maroon pleated skirt, grey socks, and giant size-13 black Mary Janes. The only probably "non-standard" part was the skirt was, technically, too short. I was just too tall and too long in the thighs. No skirt that fit met the length criteria. I was getting rung up on it since I was Millie's age in the lower school. I guess eventually the teachers just gave up. I thought I looked like a parody version of a giant schoolgirl. But, judging from the uncomfortable ogles I got from older guys, there was something to this look.

I met Millie downstairs. She was eating a bowl of cereal and had on the miniature version of my outfit except no blazer. While Dad read his morning paper. I mussed up her hair as I sat down and grabbed a banana, "Mornin', MilliBear -- did you sleep well?"

She looked at me without expression. "I went to bed my normal time," she started, "And work up after about three hours." She ate a spoonful of cereal and leaned into me so Dad wouldn't hear her. "I need to show you something right now," She whispered. She got up, grabbed a bottle of juice and pack of Pop Tarts, and gestured for me to follow her. She went out the back door and toward the treehouse. I followed and was seriously worried what I was going to find out there.

It was worse than I thought, but it this was going to have to be addressed at some point. On the couch in the treehouse, covered with a blanket and asleep was a bound and gagged Milton.

"He showed up here last night around ten," Mille explained, "He was yelling for you from the backyard. I ran down to tell him to shut up before he woke Dad." My father always went to bed early. Mille continued, "He was super-upset with you about something. I told him you weren't here, but he didn't believe me." Mille got very quiet suddenly, then went on, "He said you attacked him, but it seemed like you had lost your mind and were out of control."

He wasn't wrong about that assessment, I thought.

Mille went on, "I told him he had to leave, but he wouldn't listen. He was convinced you had some sort of psychotic break -- I had to look that up." She paused as though I wouldn't believe what she said next, I did, "Midge, I ended up reading one of Mom's old psychology textbooks -- all of it -- in about two hours. I can tell you everything in there, but that was after."

"After what, Mills?" I asked.

"Milton wouldn't leave. He was so worried about you. He insisted on coming in and talking to Dad and getting the police to go look for you. That didn't not sound like a good idea," She explained.

Oh no, I thought. "Millie, what did you do?" I asked.

"I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen," She explained, "So I grabbed him."

"You grabbed him?" Oh, God.

"I grabbed him," she said, "I dragged him out here. He wouldn't stop fighting me. When we got to the tree, I got irritated, and threw him into the trunk. Hard. I guess I knocked him out. I brought him up here. I tied him up and put him on the couch. I figured you'd know what to do in the morning."

"Jesus, Mills!" I was being hard on her.

"I thought about doing it with him while he was out." She added.

"Millicent!"

"I didn't. I almost did, but I stopped myself." She said defensively.

Ok, I was, in context being way too hard on her. "Go get ready for school, I'll deal with this." I ordered. Millie nodded, left the juice and Pop Tarts, and went to do as I said.

II.

After Millie left, I removed Milton's gag and untied him. I gave him a tap on the shoulder, "Milton, wake up," I said. I gave him a gentle shake and he came around with a start. "It's okay -- you're safe," Was he? It didn't seem that way, but it sounded good.

Milton rubbed his head. There was good knot on the back where Millie had thrown him into the tree. He looked around. He's been here a lot of times. He was the only boy who I'd ever brought up here and didn't kiss. I thought about kissing him then but didn't think it would send the best message. I looked at my watch. Not much time for this. I wasn't sure how to start. Fortunately, I didn't have to.

"So I guess both the Ryan sisters have fallen off their rockers," he said, sitting up. He shook his head like sitting up made him dizzy. The he added, "Millie is getting her money's worth out of those Tae Kwon Do classes."

Millie had done two years of Tae Kwon Do from eight to ten -- she'd hadn't put on her gi since. But it was going to be a lot easier to let Milton think a twelve-year-old did some kid of Judo trick on him than it would be to explain that twelve-year-old could bench -- at least -- twice her body weight and could move like lightning strike. "Yeah, she's pretty intense when it comes to her Judo chops," I made a chopping motion in the air. "She was just trying to help," I added weakly.

I decided I had to put everything on the table; I owed the poor guy that much. I started, "Milton, I..."

"It's okay," Milton stopped me, "Are you getting help?" I gave him a puzzled look, and he went on, "Look, obviously you have some kind of mental health problem. You were having some kind of manic episode when you came over. It obviously got worse, and I was, well, 'in the way' of it. God, I knew you were a big, strong girl, but that was next level. I guess it's that "crazy strong" I think I nodded. He went on, "When I came here last night, Millie didn't want me to tell your dad, I guess she was worried you'd be in trouble." Yeah, there was a pretty good chance I'd be in trouble. "Look," Milton said, "It's just mental health -- it wouldn't be any different in my mind if you'd been driving me somewhere and had seizure and I got hurt in the crash. Just tell me you are getting the help you need."

I thought about this for what seemed like a very long time -- it probably was only a few seconds. It seemed wrong to let this lie stand, but I had to consider the big picture. There was no "un-raping" Milton. It seemed like it was better for him to think his oldest friend just had a "mental health problem" and he was, "in the way", than it would be for him to think that friend has become some kind of superhuman sex maniac without a conscience. I didn't have any kind of reasonable explanation for what had happen to me, so there was no way I could explain it to Milton. And I wouldn't just be outing myself. There was Millie to think about. If Milton went to my dad -- or worse, the cops -- there would be questions and investigations. For what I did to Milton, I probably deserved that, but Millie didn't.

There was only one thing to do.

I hugged him, "Thank you for understanding, Milton. I'm so sorry for what happened to you." That wasn't a lie. Though I shouldn't have referred to my raping him like it was just something that happened in which I had no involvement. "I will try to be more careful with my 'episodes'," also not a lie. I was too good at this.

"I just want you to be well, okay?" Milton stood up and stretched his back like it hurt. "Your little sister kicks ass with that judo stuff. I hardly saw her coming when she flipped me," he said. From what I'd seen the last day or so, I'm sure he didn't. He finished as we climbed down, "I feel sorry for the first guy who gets fresh with her."

You and me both, I thought, you and me both.

III.

The Blue Bitch screeched to a halt in front of Milton's house. Milton got out and ran inside to change. We'd be pushing it, but, if he hurried, we could still make school on time. I loved this car if, for no other reason, that it got me places on time when my own stupidity would have made us late. In this case, it wasn't so much my stupidity as whatever was going on with my body and mind.

While we were waiting for Milton, his parent's car pulled in the driveway. They'd spent an extra night at their lake cabin but must have left in the wee hours of the morning to get home for the work week. His dad got out of the passenger side of the car. He waved at me and limped into the house. He looked like he was in a lot of pain. Milton's mom hopped out of the driver's side. She saw me and Millie waiting in the car, and assumed we were waiting for Milton to come out. This was technically true. She waved and walked over. I rolled down the window.

"Hi, Dr. Sakowitz," I said greeting her.

"Waiting for my sleepy-headed son again, Midge?" She asked. She figured it was Milton that was going to make us late. I let that stand. It certainly wasn't the worst lie of omission I'd made so far that day.

"Well, you know how it is," I answered and moved off the subject, "Is the other Dr. Sakowitz okay?" Both of Milton's parents being physicians made referring to them politely but separately awkward in conversation. Mrs. Dr. Sakowitz seemed slightly embarrassed by my question about Mr. Dr. Sakowitz's wellbeing.

"Oh, he's not a young man anymore, Midge," she answered, "He, uh, pulled something up at the cabin. He'll be fine."

That was an oddly vague reply for her, I thought. When Milton broke his arm when he was nine, she told me that he had a "a hairline fracture of his distal ulna". That was how she usually talked about anything like this. Weird that she was being so -- weird. I looked at her, she had turned and was giving a little wave to Mr. Dr. Sakowitz as he, gingerly, pulled open the side screen door.

Oh. I got it then. I guess I wasn't the only girl who had gotten a little more, uh, "active". Milton emerged from the house, gave his mother a kiss on the cheek -- such a "sweet" boy, I thought -- and got in the car. "Bye, Dr. Sakowitz," I said, and we were off.

We made it to school in time. Milton went off to his first period. I grabbed Millie briefly on the way in. "MillieBear, are you all set for school?" I asked. She looked at me, then went to check her backpack. "Not your books, Mills," I explained, "Are you ready to be around them?" I gestured to a group of seventh grade boys who suddenly looked away. I knew they were checking me out. It was a regular thing every time I walked Millie over to the lower school. Any senior girl with big boobs who had a little sister in the lower school generally also had a fan club. One was still looking at me. I blew him a kiss, and the poor kid practically ran away. That always made me laugh.

"I thought about that," Millie said. "I've got to get used to it sometime. If it gets too bad, I have a backup plan."

"What's your plan?" This should be good.

"I'll ask to go to the bathroom and take my purse with me. I'll go during English, math, or science." She said. Good plan. Those were her male teachers. No male teacher is going to tell a pubescent girl she couldn't use the ladies' room when the girl was standing there clutching her purse. That didn't explain the plan to me though.

"I don't follow?" I said.

"I brought something to take care of it. Something you gave me," she said.

Okay, I was little embarrassed, but frankly, couldn't think of a better idea. I wished I had thought of it. Best I had was hoping I could get my foot up, uh, "under" me in a school desk if the urge hit too hard during class. After how quickly I lost control with Milton yesterday, I was a little nervous about sharing a classroom with boys. All I could say was, "Okay, MillieBear, just don't get caught," I said, giving her a kiss on the head and a push. It was the best advice I had left.

IV.

There were 21 students in my AP Calculus class. At least that was what it said on the rolls. Cindy Freeman was never in class. She got leukemia and has been gone from class since Christmas break. The remainder of the class was eleven boys and nine girls. One other girl was missing -- Cheryl Robinson. Of the twelve boys four were missing. Brad was supposed to be there. Of the three others, two had girlfriends in the class.

"Susan," I said getting the attention of Susan Price, class president, all-state field hockey player, straight-A student, first-chair violinist, regular volunteer at the local homeless shelter, and a really nice person -- I hated her. I didn't, but she had perfect strawberry-blonde hair, that was always perfectly done, bracketed her perfectly symmetrical face (including perfect blue eyes, perfect little nose, perfect lips, and perfectly clear skin). She was exactly 5'5". She had lovely, exactly even 34B breasts, a tiny waist, hips than mirrored her bust. A pert little ass, lovely legs atop perfect cute feet. She had cute feet -who has cute feet? Susan Price does, because Susan Price is perfect -- all day, every day.

I was gazing down despairingly my size-13 battleship-like Mary Janes when I snapped back to my question, "Where's Mike?" Mike Stewart was Susan's long-standing boyfriend -- since eighth grade. They broke up once for, like, a week in tenth grade. Mike was a talented writer and a reasonably good utility infielder on the varsity baseball team, but not the achiever Susan was. A nice guy and a good fit for Susan, but I always got the impression he was a "check-box" on her "How to Have the Perfect High School Experience" chart.

Things were clearly not perfect this morning. I had asked where her boyfriend was, not if she'd sold secrets to the Russians, but you wouldn't know that from her reaction. It was, like, "horror". It was also a little fear -- like she'd been caught in something. She started to tear up. I grabbed her and pulled her into the hallway. Mr. DeLaurentis, our Calculus teacher had a questioning look. "Girl problems -- we'll be right back," I said -- it stopped his protest dead.

Susan and I went up the hall and just around the corner. Classes were starting, so no one was around. She was crying now, it made me sad to see perfect Susan being not perfect. I asked bluntly, "What happened?"

She pulled herself together, and spoke, "I don't know how it happened." She paused and sobbed a couple of times, then recomposed herself, "We were studying together, like we do after church every Sunday." She must have realized how prim that sounded and added, "I'm not a prude. After studying we usually go make out in the TV room downstairs -- nothing more than that though. I told him we needed to wait until at least prom night."

Of course. Perfect Susan had a perfect plan for when she would give it up and that plan did not include giving the valedictory speech knocked up. I was recovering my dislike for her. "Go on," I told her.

Susan continued, "We were studying - for this test. I couldn't keep focused on the work, but that didn't seem to matter. I must have had it down better than I thought, it was coming to me like times tables or adding two and two." I nodded but didn't want a long discussion of suddenly enhanced cognition. She went on. "I leaned past him to grab a pencil and bushed him with my arm as I did. Then, I don't know what happened. Next thing I know, I'm throwing him on the floor and ripping his pants off . I must have surprised him."

Yeah, no shit, Susan, I thought.

"He grabbed at me, but, somehow, I grabbed both his arms as he did. He kept trying to squirm away, and I needed one hand to get his pants off, so I punched him in the ribs," she was crying again, "I heard his ribs break. I hit him so hard I broke his ribs. I've never hit anyone in my life. I didn't know I could hit that hard, but I didn't care -- I needed him inside me so badly. He stopped struggling after that." I'm sure he did. She pulled it back together again, "He wasn't hard -- I guess he was so stunned. So I put it in my mouth -- I'd never done that, but I'd read about how in Cosmo. I must have absorbed that article pretty well because he was hard almost immediately." I guess there was more to whatever happened to our brains than calculus and figuring out how to do a sleeper hold.

"Once he was hard, I got on top and put him in," She closed her eyes like she was recalling the feeling, "They say your first time is supposed to hurt, but it didn't" Jesus Christ -- Susan must be the only virgin in the senior class -- or she was, I thought. She continued her story, "Well, it didn't hurt me. I guess I must be, like, really tight down there. Next thing I know, he's screaming that it's too tight, but I wasn't stopping. I think I had an orgasm. I mean, I had one, but I'd never had one before." It kind of broke my heart to think of Susan not having the perfect first time she'd probably been planning since she was ten.

"He started screaming as I orgasmed, Midge. Is that normal?" She asked. I disregarded the implication that I was sexually knowledgeable for what seemed, to her, to be obvious reasons.

"Well, sometimes," I didn't lie. I didn't really know how to answer that. Until yesterday, I'd never heard a guy do more than grunt when he came, but, since yesterday, I was two for two on screamers. I didn't want to discuss it. I asked, "Then what happened?"

Well, I was cumming like a crazy woman," Susan continued closing her eyes like remembering the feeling, "And I look down - I thought I'd killed him. He was just unconscious. I know that's not normal. When I finally made myself stop, I pulled up his shirt and there was this bad bruise where I'd hit him. I put my ear to his chest. His heart was beating, but his breathing was funny. I pulled his pants back up and called for help."

She looked scared, "Then I lied, Midge." She looked like she told me she'd kicked a puppy or something. She explained, "I knocked over a couple of chairs, and mussed my hair. When my older brother got there," miss perfect's older brother is a stoner who failed out of college and is basically home all the time, "I told him that Mike and I had been horsing around when he slipped, and hit is side on the chair. When the ambulance arrived, they said his lung was collapsed. They had to put a big needle in his chest to reinflate the lung." She paused, and summed up, "Mike isn't here because he's in the hospital." She broke down in tears.

I had to do something. I joked about not liking Susan. I actually did. She was a genuinely nice person. "Susan," I said, "Have you noticed anything else different about yourself?"

"Well, I always thought I'd feel different after I lost my virginity," she said.

This was frustrating. "No," I said, "Like, 'different' -- separate from the sex."

She looked at me with recognition.

"You too?" She looked partly desperate and partly relieved.

"I think it's all the girls," I told her. I didn't go into detail.

"I think it's a punishment from God," she said resolutely

She really thought that, I thought. I had been baptized and confirmed in the Catholic Church. My sister was baptized, but, after Mom died, Dad stopped taking us. My aunt Miriam told him, that Mom dying was all part of God's plan. He told her, and I quote, "That only means that God is either an asshole or a bad planner, and I'm not following either." He told me he'd still take me to church if I wanted to go, but, honestly, I didn't think Dad was wrong. I didn't know if I believed in an all-powerful god, but I certainly had no interest in dealing with one who thought giving women strength and intelligence was a punishment. Still, if it was comforting to Susan to think that, I wasn't going to take that from her.