Sandra and Michael Dorne

Prom over, we headed for Helen's first. There we drank a little sangria and danced a few dances before making the change to Demetrius' place. It was at Demetrius place that a slight problem came to be in evidence. Sandra disappeared for about half an hour before returning to me all apologetic for abandoning me to my fate for the time period: a dress malfunction as she said. I looked her askance, but let the matter drop; this was my night of nights. She did look a little bit guilty.

Sandra said we had to cut country around 3:00AM. We still had the limo and Herman. We made out like gangbusters in the car on the return home. We dropped her off first and then Herman took me home. It was 3:40AM; mom was still up waiting for me.

"Have a good time, honey?" she said, from the dimly lit front room.

I yawned an affirmative, and we spent the next twenty minutes with me giving her a post mortem on the night's events. She looked suspicious when I mentioned the missing half hour per Sandra, but, water under the bridge, we let the issue drop.

******

Graduation was a nice event for me. I was valie and I did a good job and my mom was proud and great-grandma Stella was proud, and no Sandra did not attend. I guess she figured that our prom date was payment in full for how much I'd helped her. And, I suppose she was right; it had been wonderful. And, after all I had agreed to do it for her for absolutely nothing. She'd simply allowed me the cherry on top of our agreement, and she hadn't shorted me. I suppose, when one gets right down to it, she did it to make herself feel a bit better about things. Fair enough, I guessed.

At any rate, stage one of the life and times of Michael Dorne was in the books. Time for stage two: A mixed bag for sure.

******

I decided that I wanted to be a college professor. Of what? Why Education. I had discovered in my work with Sandra, and a few others, that I had a knack for teaching the somewhat challenged among the student population of the universe. I was especially good at making clear things that were—well—not clear to almost anybody. One guy I'd helped during my senior year said I was more like a wild ass evangelist than a teacher. But, he'd said, that my style suited him. I thought about it, and I guessed that I'd have to have agreed with him: I was a kind of evangelist in pressing home academic truth.

Yes, I'd decided to be a college professor, but then things changed: kind of a perfect storm of pressures that had me switching majors. I went from an Ed. Major to pre-Med by the end of the first quarter at school. Why the change? The short answer was because of Roger Grimes and Sandra. But, more about that shortly.

I'd gotten a free ride of course, a 2300 SAT had seen to that. Why not 2400? I think I misspelled my name on the test. Well, whatever it was; it was enough for the University of Southern California, A.K.A the Southern Cal Trojans, to tender me the scholarship.

I learned through the grapevine that Sandra was doing fine in her practicums in her junior college nursing program. I learned also that good 'ole Roger Grimes had flunked out of school. He'd gone to state on a football scholarship, but his less than sterling classroom performance got him booted. Bad news? He was back in town and in possession of the one I wanted to possess. And, he was working, he was an orderly at the hospital, at County USC Medical Center actually.

All of such being true, I found myself at nineteen launched on stage two of my life.

******

Over the next several years I laid eyes on nurse Sandra but a few times. She was always polite and friendly and on two occasions we had coffee together. And, to rewind a little here, yes she'd managed to pass her NCLEX and was now a staff nurse at guess where? Why County General, A.K.A. USC Medical Center. And Roger? He was there too, as previously mentioned, and still an orderly. And then the worst day of my life came to pass. She married him. I was still a senior at the university and still, of course, unemployed

I was so sick at heart that I couldn't eat or sleep or anything. Well, that's not true: I had no trouble drinking, and I did. At any rate . . .

By the end of four years I did graduate summa. At the end of three more years I graduated at the top of the Med school's list of neophyte doctors. I'd blown out the licensure exam, and I was accepted into residency at County.

The university held a major soiree for its new resident interns. Surprise! Sandra was there. She was one of the hostesses. A friend of hers, a doctor with a lot of gray hair, Dr. Philbert, I learned later, had gotten her on the list. Well, she had always been an A-lister; nothing had changed. Her husband? Not in evidence. I was glad. It would have ruined it for me.

"Well, you made it: you're a doctor. I'm happy for you," she gushed.

"Yes, thank you," I said. "How is everything with you and Roger?" She kinda frowned. I guess my tone had a tinge of something in it.

"Fine," she said. "Okay?" I nodded, kinda sadly. She picked up on it.

"Can I ask you a favor, Mikey?" I gave her a look.

"Sorry, I mean doctor Dorne?" she said, smiling indulgently.

"Huh? Oh no," I said. "I will always be Mikey, your Mikey, to you. Really. Please." She smiled.

"Except on duty," she said. "But—my favor?"

"Yes, yes of course, anything," I said.

"Will you be available after the party tonight?" she said.

"Available?" I said.

"Yes," she said.

"I guess, but for what?" I said.

"To fuck me," she said.

"Huh?" I said. I almost dropped the glass of champagne I had in my hand; I did spill some of the contents. She just smiled, and waited for me to regain my psychological balance.

"Uh—okay—I guess. But—you and Roger?" I said.

"After you do me, I'll explain everything. Okay?" she said. I just nodded. I was sure my voice would crack.

I was shaky. I mean really really shaky. The party was a mandate. There was no running off. I had to be there to the bitter end. Sandra for her part cruised the little knots of conversants sipping her champagne and casually socializing as only one used to her social level could. I cruised too—shakily. And no, we did not at any time cruise together.

The night seemed interminable, but it did end and we did leave two minutes apart. She was waiting at my car, and yes I had my own now, a gift from grandma, in the parking structure. I'd given Sandra the location when we happened to have the same need at the same time to refill our glassware.

I was a resident, but I was not on duty this particular night. So, she and I were cool. My ten year old Hyundai sedan was reliable if not lovely; well, it was ten years old. I headed for the Knights Inn, a somewhat upscale bistro and hotel not too far from the hospital. The ride over was dead silent. I was afraid to talk and she was amused.

I registered, and we headed for the elevators; we had room 414. I could barely walk; her scent was driving me wild. The look of her was enslaving. Jesus! how I adored this woman! I mean almost on a religious level.

The room was largish. Spacious sleeping area, king sized bath, a six drawer dresser, a wall mounted TV, and a table with two actually useful chairs.

She stood hands at her sides near the bed as I closed the door and set the keys on the dresser. She stared at me with a slight smile playing around her mouth.

I stood across from her kinda hoping she'd say something. I did instead.

"I guess we should get undressed?" I said. It was almost 12:30AM and I didn't want to waste time.

"Okay," she said. And she continued to stand there. I started stripping. I was down to my boxers and she still hadn't moved. She just continued to smile at me.

I went to her and tentatively motioned for her to turn around. She did and I slid the zipper to her dress down; the garment pooled at her feet. Her bra and panties were minimal and black and spelled sex. I felt stupid in my ballooning boxers.

She was still in her high heels; I'd shucked my shoes. At least I was in shape. I had a six-pack that would have made Arnold proud; well, maybe not Arnold. But, I looked good except for my stupid boxers. I shucked them too.

She looked down at my manhood as though appraising it. "Not bad," she said. I've had bigger, but it looks like it can do the job. Oh, and I know you're not a virgin. I talked to Helen. She told me she'd gotten your cherry and assured me that you would be quite trainable.

I think I turned red as a beet. "You talked to Helen? About me?" I said.

"Yes, she knew that you were going to be mine one day, and well, maybe today is the day," said Sandra.

I was confused. His Rogerness kept raising his objecting head--figuratively. But, I did not want to ruin things at this point in my long dreamed about, fantasized about, best moment of my life. I kept my stupid mouth shut. She'd said we'd talk about him when were done, and that was good enough me for me—hell yes it was.

I knelt in front of her and slowly peeled her panties down and off of her. Her bald pubis was wonderful. I kissed it. I had an odd thought. I'd just kissed her pubic slit, but I had not kissed her lips. She hadn't seemed to notice, or, noticing, said anything.

I began licking and sucking at her mound hoping it was good for her. She turned around.

"Spread my cheeks, Mikey, and continue," she said. I did exactly as she commanded. I sucked on her anus like the sex starved slave that I was. Pussywhipped didn't even begin to describe my state at that moment.

After several minutes she turned around once again and offered me her hand. "Time to do me, my little man," she said. "I need it and I need it now."

She led me to the bed and lay back. She spread herself wide for me to take her missionary. I loomed above her and poked at her slit, but gently. She was already kinda wet from my sucking on her, and I slid in easily. I began fucking her, at first slowly, and then with increasing speed until I was going at her hard and fast. She had an orgasmic seizure just as I was cumming. She'd made it, and I think it surprised her.

"Whoa, cowboy. You did me good. It's a good thing too," she said.

"Huh?" I said. She went pensive on me.

"Roger beat me up a month ago. We were at the Grand hotel; it was my birthday. He didn't like it much when I was getting kisses from half the staff that worked there. He spent a night in jail. I almost forgave the asshole, but last Monday he slapped me. No marks from that one, but it was the last straw for me," she said. Oh, and in case I forgot to mention it. He was served with divorce papers yesterday.

I didn't know what to say. Oh, I had plenty I wanted to say, but I didn't dare. I didn't want to queer my relationship with her by going macho, and I didn't want to sound like a pussy either. So I took the easy way out. "Jesus, Sandra, I don't know what to say. But, anything I can do . . ." I said.

"Well, actually there is, but I'd like to be with you when you do it," she said.

"No problem," I said. "I'll kill the asshole for you. No problem." She laughed.

"No, I do not want to be visiting you in jail. No, I had something else in mind," she said. I felt like an idiot—maybe because I was an idiot.

"Then what?" I said.

"Just that when you go to pick out the rings, I'd like to be there advising you," she said.

"Huh?" I said.

"You do still want to be my husband don't you?" she said. She was being earnest now. I got off of the bed and went down on my knees. Not "a" knee, but both knees.

"Sandra Hill, will you have mercy on me and be my wife?" I begged.

"Yes, I will Michael Dorne. And, I will treat you like the excellent man you are," she said in an even more earnest tone than before. Still on my knees, I wrapped my arms around her body as she lay there. And no, I didn't cry for joy but damn near.

I should say that at that moment, Roger Grimes didn't know it, but he was in grave danger, very grave danger. Beat up my woman! Not a real good plan, no, not good at all.

******

We did shop for rings and I did get my shot at his Rogerness. He showed up at her house while I was there the same day we'd gotten the rings.

In the entire four years that I'd attended Central High, I'd never gotten in a fight. The bottle over the head thing at Demetrius' party wasn't a fight. I got hit from behind and went down. This time the asshole was in front of me.

He stood there at the front door staring. He apparently couldn't believe I was there. "Well, well, well, shrimp, what are you doing here?" he said. "No, better yet, how long is it going to take for you to get the hell away from here?"

"Well, since you ask, I'm staying the night," I said. I'd stepped outside onto the porch.

His first punch missed by a country mile. His second, a jab, glanced off the side of my head. The estimated next twenty-six punches were mine, and they all landed. And then, Roger the woman beater Grimes was being entertained by singing birds in lalaland.

Sandra had come up just as Roger, his face a mess, was weaving his way earthward. She gave me a look laced with incredulity. "Jesus! Mikey, how did you do that!"

"He made me mad," I said. "If you get me a glass of water, I'll give him a drink and run him off. I mean . . ."

"Yes. Good. I'll be back in a second," she said. She was back in half a minute—close enough. I took the glass and slowly poured it over his face trying to target his nose. He sputtered awake.

"Like I said, buttfuck, get the hell outta her before you ruin my evening," I said.

He said nothing, but snarled at me as he stumbled his way back to his car.

We were seated at the dinette and she was eyeing me with suspicion.

"You have some hidden talents, don't you, Mikey?" she said.

"Hidden? Not sure about that. My fighting? It just never came up. I used to fight silver and later golden gloves for a while," I said. "But, that's been a long time ago now." She nodded.

"Uh-huh," she said. "Roger's a big guy, a lot bigger than you. You some kind of champion or something?"

"I did okay," I said. Now, she smiled.

"Well how do you do. Who would ever have thought it," she said.

"It is what it is," I said. "Truth is, he's a sizable guy, but he's not really very tough, and he is very slow. Any decent fighter could take him down, easily."

"Dancer, musician, genius, fighter: helluva a combination. You got any more talents?" she said. I shrugged. She gave me a look that spelled even greater suspicion, but she just nodded.

"And modest too. Very interesting," she said.

******

The next several weeks saw to my education in sex. Before that night with Sandra, I'd had exactly one experience with sex. Hell, I was still a virgin in practical terms. Now I was having sex twice and three times a week as we dated.

Roger didn't show up during the entire time until ten minutes ago. He was surly and angry and wanting to talk to me. Me? I didn't even want to be around him, but, I was. And oh how I wish I hadn't been.

"Like I said, tough guy," he said, referring to me. "She's cheating on you like she did me. And the bad news for you is that she's gonna keep on doing it."

"You're a lying piece of shit, Roger, and you better cut country while you're still upright," I said. He laughed.

"Want proof? Go home now and check it out. She's got Demetrius Davenport in your bed right now appreciating his nine-inch dick. Check it out. She does him and a couple of other guys damn near whenever she's off.

"Fuck you," I said. He laughed and walked off.

I didn't believe him of course. But, denial ain't no fucking river. He'd planted the seed of doubt. He'd sounded confident. The right thing to do would be just to ask her, tell her what the asshole had said.

And, logically, why would she want me around if she had other guys servicing her. I was a fucking beginner when it came to sex! Maybe they had bigger dicks? Maybe they had more money? No, I was a fucking doctor. True, I was only pulling down maybe 40K at the moment, but that number would be getting a lot bigger after my two years of internship ended eight months down the road.

I made up my mind to do just that, ask her. She'd always been straight with me. I had no reason not to trust or believe her now. And, she was wearing my ring. Yes, I had to ask her.

******

I was sitting at the table sipping tea when she came in. I had two days off, a rare thing for me these days.

"Hi, you're home," she said.

"Yeah, yeah, got a couple of days off. Thought you and I could do some stuff," I said, smiling.

"Well, yes, good," she said. "I've missed you these last few days. We have so little time together. I can't wait till you've finished your internship."

"For real," I said.

"I bumped into the asshole today, Roger," I said. I left that hanging in the air.

"Really? Where at?" she said.

"The bar. I was kicking back a couple; it was Miller time. It's been kind of a hard week for me," I said. "He and I almost got in to it. The sonovabitch was badmouthing you. I should have taken him down right then, but I didn't want you having to bail my ass out."

"Badmouthing me!" she said, her tone rising.

"Yeah, said you were cheating on me with our old friend Demetrius. But, I told him he was full of shit. He said you have a whole colony of boyfriends and have had right along. That's when I almost lost it, but he hightailed it outta there, so it all came to nothing," I said. Her face went pale.

"Sandra?" I said. "Something wrong? I can still hunt the bastard down and get him to regret this shit."

"No, no, nothing's wrong. It's just—hurtful—him slamming me like that," she said.

"Yeah, I believe it. But, don't worry, I hear of him spouting shit like that about you again; he will be answering to me and he ain't gonna much like it," I said. I was surprised. She turned and literally ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I heard the door slam shut. Of course then I knew. She was essentially confirming what Roger had said. And now I had a problem.

We were engaged. She had the ring. She had my love. She had my soul. Eight months and two weeks from that moment we were to get hitched. And, she was fucking around on me, and, according to Roger, she had the big cock habit. We were engaged all right, but we weren't married. Question now was, did I want the ring back? Could I somehow get by the stuff that was going on? I didn't see how I could, and I wanted to; make no mistake about that. All these years dreaming about her and now this. Shit!

I decided to wait her out. She had to come down sooner or later. It turned out to be later. I was asleep on the couch. I had to get up to pee. It was 1:00AM. She was sitting in the easy chair across from me. She'd been crying; and I assume watching me as I slept.

I swung my legs around and onto the floor. "I have to pee," I said. She kinda shrugged in her seat. A few minutes later, having peed and splashed some water on my face, I headed back to what I was certain would be a truly awful family meeting.

We were both still fully dressed and I'm sure I stunk. Her, maybe not so much.

"Any chance for us, Mikey?" she said.

"You're saying that what asshole told me is true?" I said.

"Yes. Well, in the sense of the sex. There's not nor will there ever be any emotional involvement with any of them," she said. I nodded. Well, I believed that part. Lots of boyfriends meant little or no emotional involvement: one boyfriend would be the exact opposite, a guaranteed emotional involvement.

"How many?" I said.

"I don't know. It varies. Now? Maybe a half dozen or so. It changes. Somebody calls me, has a friend they want me to meet. If I'm clear, I mean if you and I don't have something going; well, I make the date, meet him, and fuck him," she said.

"Sounds kinda clinical," I said. "Now that I know, what are you planning on doing?" She gave me a look. She morphed from fatalistic to—what—hopeful.