The Perfect Beginning

****

The next two days were an emotional hell for Tim.  He was so depressed, he could not even go to school.  He'd not been scheduled to babysit and had to wait in his purgatory, ruminating on all his profound flaws and wondering if Michele would ever speak to him again.  He jumped in fear every time the phone rang.  He was certain Donna would call and explain how they were replacing him with someone else more suitable.  

Did she hate him?  Obviously she'd lost all respect for him.  Why did she want to know these things about him just to push him away like that?  He actually told her he'd let a girl slap him.  He'd told her he'd actually beg for love. 

What the fuck was I thinking!

He hated himself.  Did she like him at all anymore...even a little? 

Oh my god, I told her I'd be her 'boy-maid'! 

He thought that a horrible phrase and he was not really speaking it to a fictitious girlfriend, he was saying it to Michele.  And they both knew he meant every word he spoke to her. 

Every word of it was true. Does she know that?  Of course she does, she's my therapist.  Or she was.  Hell, when we play "the Game," I'm her servant.  Am I even still her babysitter?  Will she have me? 

Worse was the thought he'd already been replaced.  He was half convinced he had been and he felt so disposable, so rejected and so unworthy.  

Yet the phone call never came.  What does it mean?

At the very least, he had to go to the Lanza home to retrieve his backpack.  He imagined her standing at the door in her comfies.  She looks at him with a near blank expression, yet contempt radiating from this goddess of a girl.  Holding his backpack straight out at him, without so much as a single word spoken from her gorgeous mouth, she drops it to the porch at his feet and then closes the door in his face.

Of course he went on spinning his own lies.  His sense of loss was profound and inescapable.  Yet he told himself it was mostly because Michele had become such a good friend and highly valued confidant in a time of crisis.  He could not admit even to himself that he'd fallen in love with her.

I just like her is all. 

Nor could he quite grasp just how confused he was.  One moment he's acknowledging that he professed his very real love for Michele and in the next he pretended to himself that he wasn't in love with her but that he just liked her and it was nothing more than a meaningless crush.  Certainly he admitted it was a romantic liking, and infatuation, but to keep his sense of his place in the world, it was a liking that was magnitudes less than actual love.

And she and Tanya were having boys over!  This thought alone drove him mad. 

Didn't she know how dangerous this could be?  Didn't she know she could be taken advantage of by one of these guys? 

And worst of all was the thought that she falls for one of them and he takes her away from him.  And what difference would that make?  At best, Tim would be nothing more than the harmless, supportive sidekick.  He'd be nothing more than a Kimberly to give her dating insight as she gave herself intimately to another guy, a real man.  All the while, he'd be there to tell her how pretty she was, what outfits looked good on her and hang out with she and Tanya.

Like one of the girls.

As he walked to her house, he thought of the countless times over those two horrible days, he'd wanted to call her.  He could not bring himself to do it; he disgusted her. 

He just wanted any kind of contact.  He'd have taken anything from her, just so he could feel close to her and somehow be important to her. 

Maybe even if she did start seeing one of these guys, Tim could be there for her as a friend, to help her.  One moment he hated the thought, yet seen from the prospect of total rejection, it was a table scrap he'd kneel and beg for.  He saw himself kneeling, hands up begging like little Snookie as she dropped it on his face.  "Good, doggy." 

At least he'd be near her. 

With this thought, he realized it came from his inner Kimberly and he did not even care.  He just wanted to be near her, just be part of her life.  The answer was yes; though it hurt, he'd gratefully be her supportive sidekick just so he could be near her.

And who knows, maybe one day have a shot.  Maybe one day she'd realize I am the one.  

Does sidekick also mean boy-maid? 

He could not take that question any further.  It could not be considered because deep down he already knew the answer.

Yet he knew he disgusted her.  Again and again, he replayed in his head Michele telling him to get out, go home and leave.  She was so mean about it.  

He was smitten.

He'd do anything just to have things go back to normal.  He wanted to have fun with her, be around her, play the Game and please her.  Even if he could not ever be with her, he wanted things to just go back to the way they were.

He stood on her porch, frozen in fear.

He thought about how when he was with Michele, he felt like a kid again, not like an over-school student.  There was no pretense, no need to put on airs.  With Michele, he felt free to just be himself.  With Michele it was alright to play little kid games in which he had to obey her like she was a Princess and he were a slave or when they played "horsey."  Horsey was tremendous fun for the boy.  Tim loved play serving Michele.  It was sooooooo exciting and indulgent!  He liked cleaning her house and it felt so good, so gratifying when she told him he'd done a good job. 

Yes, yes, yes.  God damn it, yes, I'd be her boy-maid!  

When she said she was proud of him, he was on cloud nine!  And what he did not know, could not even consider was that the way she treated him, cut at his ego, aroused him beyond anything he'd known. 

God, she's so perfect.

After ringing the doorbell, he was once more seized by panic.  Immediately, he wanted to run, too frightened to face her.

*

Reflecting on all she'd done to Tim, Michele decided it was important to really trust her intuition with him.  It had been nearly two full days since they'd seen one another and when she saw his sad puppy dog expression at seeing her, instinct told her to be aloof, to continue where she'd left off.  As much as she was looking forward to Tim coming over, it dawned on Michele how easy it was to project a sense of indifference toward the boy.  And she now saw him as a boy next to her burgeoning womanhood.

Opening the door, she gave him a barely there and gone, shallow smile, turned and walked back into the house leaving the door open by way of invitation.

There was no mistaking it: Michele felt and expressed in a single fleeting expression of pure distain for him.

Yet he could not believe he was being allowed back in!  His eyes went big with wonder.

She's letting me, she's letting me!

It did not occur to him how elated he was to be allowed to be the shit stuck to the bottom of her shoe or the dirt yet to be washed from her pretty hands.  All he could feel was hope coursing through him.

Ohmygod, ohmygod, oh my god!

As she walked away into the house, he stared at her ever sauntering, always beckoning, stunningly gorgeous, pert, firm round, bubbled bottom. 

I'd do anything for her.

As he tried to interact with Michele, he was met with the most cold and terse responses.  The effect on Tim was profound as he was totally unnerved and seemed to be losing self control.  His attempts to engage Michele in conversation became increasingly forced and awkward. 

By the time he realized she was totally not into him, he became emotionally downcast.  He cycled through excitement and joy to near frantic uncertainty, to a sense of anxious depression in the course of 15 minutes.  Though she'd allowed him back in through the door, he was convinced that it would never be the same.  The excitement, the joy and fun they'd had since this began would be no more.  And he knew the Game was finished. 

Why did I have to open my big, fucking mouth!  I went too far and it's all my fault.

Michele was delighted, and her confidence at an all time high.  It was as though she had Tim on a yo-yo string and she was exhilarated. 

It was almost as exciting as the dark little images that ran through her mind when she lay in bed at night touching herself.  This was purely emotional, but she found it was just as arousing as anything.  It was drama, it was a rush... and it was a major turn on. 

It was weird because it felt so good to send him into an emotional tailspin and it was also so endearing.  He looked so cute with his sad and desperate need for her smeared like brushed tears, all over his face. 

Eventually we'll have to fix your mascara and get you cleaned up, sissy-girl.

She'd been so caught up in the rush of self discovery and the new world of boys that she thought it important to recognize that she was developing real feelings for Tim. 

Before she'd had a crush, but that was based on nothing real.  Now she understood that real mutual affection was developing between them.  She knew she was falling in love with her boy. 

And Tim needed a strong girl, a Bitch to open up to and share real emotion with.  And she knew that of all the different kinds of boys out there, more than all the others, she wanted an adoring, devoted, obedient boy just like Tim.  And it was more than that; she wanted a boy with whom she could share her moods, really be herself. 

What is intimacy if you can't be yourself? 

And she wanted a boy that was spiritually, emotionally and physically aroused by her moods.  She wanted her boy to need her.  Tim was perfect.  

She became all the more excited about sending Tim into emotional free fall.  

Once he accepted her mood, they did their homework in silence.  

As Tim made one last attempt to engage Michele in conversation, she looked at him with a bored expression, stood, turned her back to him and walked away. 

Look at my pretty ass and want me. 

He could not see her smile.

He was grief stricken.  

Michele was responding to intuition when she sent Tim away when last she saw him and it felt wonderfully powerful.  As she sauntered away from him, swishing her powerful bubble-bottom from side to side, knowing his eyes were glued to it, as he experienced rejection and total loss, she was soaring!  She hoped his sense of powerlessness and rejection was accompanied by a hard-on. 

Yet what she was doing was not part of a conscious plan; rather, she acted on instinct. 

Only in the intervening two days did she become aware of why she had behaved as she did.  She was preparing Tim, getting him ready.  She knew she could take him.  She thought it the other night when she watched him gawking at her while she stretched before him.  His open desire made the act so much more sensual!  He all but drooled as he stared at her.

She could have taken him, but she was not yet confident she could keep him.  He was not quite ready.  As much as he wanted her, needed her, she knew how hard this was for him. 

Putting herself in his shoes, made her shudder.  Could she imagine falling for a boy so much younger as she was to Tim?  It was unthinkable. 

She was not doing all this work for a mere make-out session.  Her thoughts gravitated toward conquest and ownership.  Tim would be her boyfriend.  She just needed to bring him to that place where he was hers for the keeping.  She smiled as she visualized the witch fattening up cute little Hansel for the oven. 

He's right here!  He's where I need him!  Today is the day!

In time she went to her room to put on her comfies.  

Tim felt as though the wind had been knocked from him when he saw what she'd put on.  She was wearing the sweats she wore when she was little. They were skin tight and left nothing to the imagination.  With a small but developed body, they fit like sprayed on capris. 

They were stretchy, tight, but comfortable and she actually felt cute wearing them even if they did show off her little hips, hugged her crotch and pubic bone and rode right up her strong bottom.  The elastic ankles clung tightly half way up her shins. 

Tim would, for the rest of his life remember the image of her standing there, showing herself off. 

She actually stood in the doorway turning around as though she had on a prom dress. "Like my comfies?" she said playfully as she ran her hand down her tight, pushed out bottom and put on an exaggerated pouty face while looking over her shoulder. She played as though it were all innocent fun, but she knew otherwise.  Michele decided she'd be visiting the girl's department at Lacy's as she laughed at Tim's shocked stare.

Not only did he LOVE her comfies, he was relieved beyond words that she'd addressed him with badly needed warmth.  She was an absolute vision.  She was his dream girl.  With uncharacteristic enthusiasm, "Oh my god yes!  Like, totally, they look way, super pretty.  Like, oh my god, super cute!"  Tim surprised even himself with that one. 

Good one, Tim, spoken like an insecure Kimberly, valley girl getting to hang out with one of the cool girls while shopping at the Galleria. 

Scary what desperation could bring out.  Yet he knew then for sure that if all he could have was the role of Kimberly, supportive girlfriend/sidekick to Michele, he'd be relieved to take it.  He'd be grateful for the role of boy-maid.

Still pushing out her bottom, "Do you really think they look good?"

"God, totally!"  It felt wonderful to Tim to be able to say anything to Michele that might please her.

"Do you think I look pretty?"

"Um...ah...yes."

"I don't know.  You don't seem so sure."  She flashed a knowing, superior smirk.  "Kinda pretty or really pretty?"

"You look really pretty, Michele.  Really.  I mean it and I'm not exaggerating.  Seriously.  Like the prettiest girl ever!"  There was nothing to obscure this offering; he was speaking not to a fictitious girlfriend but to Michele, the girl he was babysitting, the girl he was charged with caring for.

"Honestly?" she asked while rubbing her bottom.  "How pretty?"  This really was a lot of fun and it was a thrill to get him to share just how much he wanted her.  Michele enjoyed the same consideration as Tim. There was no pretense of play acting to hide behind.  They were not in character.

"Oh no, I'm sorry, Ms. Michele.  You look really super pretty, like cuter and prettier than anybody!"

"Do I look prettier than Tiffany?"

"Yes...totally!  So not even close.  Way prettier!"

That felt good, that felt like victory.

"Am I really 'prettier than anybody'?"

With desperate sincerity, "Yes, Ms. Michele.  Prettier than anybody, I swear.  God, I think you really are the prettiest woman on Earth!  Way prettier than anybody I've ever seen and that means TV and movies too."

With the sweetest, beseeching voice and while still pushing out her beautiful round bottom, "They are a teeny bit tight, does my butt look good in them?"

"The best, yes, totally!  God, I think it's perfect...like amazing!"  There was no place in this room to be cool so he just let all his enthusiasm show.  Going where a supportive sidekick, girlfriend should go, "They are totally adorable and totally show off your cute body.  They look really good on you!"

"You don't think they make my butt look too big?"  She loved what her butt did to him and she did not sound the least like the insecure girl she was pretending to be.

"Oh my god no!"  He felt genuinely offended by the notion.  "It's so incredibly pretty!  It really is like perfect!"

"'Perfect?' I guess perfect is pretty good.  I like that."  She smirked her smirkiest smirk.  She really did feel so self satisfied.

"...Really, they are darling and I love them on you.  Your butt is better than perfect...I...I love it!  You know...as a friend."  He knew that made no sense at all. 

What an ass I am!

Ignoring his response, her attention swerved suddenly.  "I found out something amazing," Michele said in the sweetest and most engaging way.  Tim was drawn up the yo-yo string with relief. 

She sat next to him on the couch and looked him in the eyes with the widest, warmest smile she had to offer.  Tim's heart skipped a beat when their knees touched.  "You're going to just die when you hear."  Tim was drawn right in and matched her gleeful mood perfectly. 

God, he's so easy...so fun to play with.

"What is it?" Tim asked with a smile and sense of real anticipation.  Though Tim wanted to hear this delightful news, his real relief sprung from her regard for him.  Her tone was that of a friend once more!  Was he forgiven or redeemed?

"I couldn't believe it when I found out.  It was just too good to be true and I've been dying to tell you."  She got really close to him, looking deep into his eyes.   "I have the best news ever!  Are you ready?"

Tim could not help but smile back.  Michele had the cutest freckles!  "Yes, come on, I'm already dying.  Tell me! Tell me, please?"

"Okay," she said as though they were digging into the juiciest gossip ever, "when you told me that Tiff was hanging out with that totally hot, hunky, cute, young guy, Brad, I had to follow up."  

Tim winced, but more from her description of the 'hot, hunky' boy than the topic itself. 

Here it comes, the guy dumped Tiff! 

Now Tim had his own reason to smile. 

Life's a bitch, Tiffany.  

"I asked Tanya's sister Cindy and she told me that Tiffany has been seeing him since waaaaaay before you guys broke up!"  Tims face shattered and it sent a rush through Michele's young body.

"What?" Tim said in total shock and disbelief. 

She two timed me! 

Shame crept into his bones.

"I know, isn't it wonderful!  I've been so excited to tell you," Michele said with warm, enthusiasm.  Michele started giggling as she realized she was getting super horny.  "I love it!" 

Mmmm, he's my pretty butterfly!

"Uh, why?  Oh my god, that's just so..." Tim trailed off unable to express his anguish.

"Come on now, I thought you'd love to hear this," Michele said pretending to be confused.  "It's actually the best news ever.  Now you can forget about her for good.  You don't have to wonder if you two might get back together," Michele said cheerfully.  "Here's the best part: they've been doing it almost since the beginning."

"No!" Tim shouted desperately.  "That's not possible, we're both..."

Michele waited a few seconds.  "You're both what?"

"Nothing," Tim said quickly.  Too quickly.  

She took a deep breath to demonstrate her resolve. "Now Tim," she said with as much calm determination as she could muster, "you will tell me what you are talking about.  You are both, what?"

"Please, I don't want..."

"Now, Tim! raising her voice to the front edge of a yell.  More calmly, "I can't help you if you don't open up to me. Tell me now."   

Why did he feel compelled to answer her, he wondered.  Were they playing the Game?  He was not sure.  The truth was, he did not know what the Game was anymore.  He felt himself regressing before her.  Suddenly Tim was a little boy being confronted by his elementary school teacher or his mother. 

Boy-maids do as they are told.  Oh my god, what's happening to me?

There was absolutely nothing playful about any of this "Please, Michele." It dawned on Tim that he was pleading, as though the choice was not his; one of the many realizations he chose to burry.  The two were setting precedence and establishing behavioral expectations that would bind them together and guide their behavior throughout their future with one another.

"Ms. Michele," she guided.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Michele.  Please, Ms. Michele?"

Michele was far more aware than Tim, always one step ahead of him and knew that they were establishing their respective roles.  This was not play; Michele was establishing real world dominance over Tim.