A Stitch in Time Pt. 03

Chapter 8

Ex Libris Salvatio. Do you like that? I made it up. I have no idea whether it's actually Latin, but it is my new motto. From books, salvation. Or more accurately in my case, from the library, salvation. A lot of people find solace in the library; heck, I'd found some pretty good solace in the library myself the day after Christmas. But salvation? That was a lot harder.

Since Monday was a day off, for the students anyway, I decided to return the three library books I'd checked out, all of which were due on the following day. At the same time, I thought I'd start work on a paper that Mr. Anson had assigned us on President Andrew Jackson's battle against a national bank, a harbinger, according to Mr. Anson, of the Civil War struggle over states' rights. It actually wasn't due for another two weeks, and there was always the chance that I could be expelled by then, but I had a naïve hope that justice would prevail.

Mostly I just found it hard to accept the idea that they'd throw me out of school because Stephie van Carlen was trash-talking me. Particularly if she wasn't willing to share the video she supposedly had. Stephie was only the queen of the senior class, after all, not the whole school.

My working hypothesis, based on what Coach Torianni had told me, was that it was actually Stephie's father who wanted me thrown out. And I figured that if he had enough clout to get my scholarships withdrawn, and my tryouts cancelled, getting me expelled was probably like swatting a fly. Stephie as queen? No. Dutch as king? Sure.

Why did he want me thrown out? It was possible, of course, that Stephie was still the force behind the throne. In my limited experience, though, that would be a pretty big overreaction. Although I couldn't remember breaking up with a girl myself, I did remember it happening to other couples in eighth and ninth grade. Some of them got to the public tears and yelling stage, but never any farther that that. So the idea of Queen Stephie screaming "off with his head!" over a breakup, particularly with an asshole like me, was just a little much. On the other hand, King Dutch getting me chucked out because he thought I'd abused his little girl? Sure, I could see that. I could see that pretty easily.

Nevertheless, I trooped down to the library to start my research. Most of the kids, I figured, would just do their research on the Internet, but they were a lot more comfortable with the Internet than I was, and I'd always liked real books anyway. I got there around ten, and Miss Edwards gave me a big smile when she saw me, but there were too many people around with too many demands on her attention for me to give her more than a whispered "hi."

I was wading through a poorly written book on the controversy when I heard a voice across the table: "The library's closed for lunch, young man."

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," I yelped. I'd slammed my book closed and nearly jumped to my feet before I realized that I'd been given the message by a beautiful woman leaning over the table wearing nothing but a bra and panties, both of them with delicate white lace attached to what looked like shiny black silk.

I sat back hard in my seat, completely bowled over by the gorgeous Lynn Edwards.

"I didn't say you had to leave, silly boy," she said with a smile. "I just said the library's closed. Everybody else has left, and we won't open until 1:30 this time."

I watched in awe as she proceeded to crawl onto the table in front of me.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you to stand up when a lady joined you at the table?" she giggled.

I did jump to my feet then, and she giggled again as she reached for the front of my jeans.

"I thought you might be here today," she said in a voice that was half-whisper and half-moan as she pulled down the zipper, all the while looking up at me and giving me a view of her chest that literally took my breath away.

"Cat got your tongue?" she asked with another giggle. "Yeah, in fact, I tried to call your cell to find out, but your voice mailbox is full, you naughty boy. Too many other girls, probably."

By now, her delicate fingers had reached into my cotton briefs and pulled out my cock.

"Mmmm," she purred, stroking it gently with her hand. "I figured I'd take a chance anyway, though, and wear the undies you like so much."

Well, my tastes hadn't changed at any rate. I liked them just as much now. On the other hand, I'd never seen a real pair of tits, either. So as Lynn ducked her head to swallow my cock, I reached forward for the hook on her bra. With only a little trouble — nowhere near enough, I hoped, to cause Lynn to think that her lover's body had been taken over by the brain of a horny ninth-grader — I unhooked it. Without missing a beat, she slid first one arm and then the other out of it, letting it drop to the table beneath her.

Oh, God, I thought as I reached down to caress her back with my fingertips, please help me last longer this time.

He may not answer those kinds of prayers, but I could tell within a couple of seconds that I wasn't going to explode in Lynn's mouth as quickly as I had the last time she blew me. How wonderful. Slowly, almost not believing my fortune, I slid my hands around the sides of her ribcage until I had two delightfully soft handfuls of Lynn Edwards's tits.

"Mmmmm," she moaned.

"Mmmmm," I moaned right with her. I found myself gently squeezing her, letting her nipples slip through my fingers and then very slowly squeezing them as well.

"Bastard."

I looked down to see Lynn looking up at me through heavily lidded eyes.

"Do you want a blowjob or not, Trick?" she asked in a husky voice. "Oh, fuck, Trick."

She closed her eyes and rolled her head from side to side.

"Let's —" she gasped. "Let's go to the sofa in the office."

Apparently there was a sofa in the office. Even better. I let her lead me there, both of us walking kind of hunched-over to avoid being seen through the library windows. When we were finally in the office, she practically pushed me down onto the couch.

"Now you just leave my boobs alone for a minute, Trick Sterling," she scolded me. "And let me finish my job."

She reached down and pulled my pants and shorts completely off, and then dropped to her knees in front of me.

"I don't think so," I teased her. I reached down and grabbed her under the arms, causing her to yelp in surprise as I swung her up into the air and deposited her beside me on the couch. By the time she could react, I was on my knees in front of her, my hands once again caressing her body, only this time from the front. I took only a moment to admire her sno-cone perfect breasts, and the small red nipples that topped them, each surrounded by just a wedding ring of crinkled red flesh.

"Trick," she moaned as my fingers closed over them and cut off my view. "Stop."

"Why?" I asked her, resting my chin atop her pubic mound, still covered by her black panties but already giving off the wonderful smell that I remembered from our last session together two weeks ago.

"'Cause they're too small," she murmured.

"Baloney," I said, leaning forward until my mouth hovered over her left tit.

She looked down at me, her body still slowly undulating beneath me.

"They're perfect," I breathed. I dropped my head a fraction of an inch and reached out with my tongue.

"Oh, God, Trick" she cried out, "oh, God."

If the spasms I'd caused the other day were climaxes, she had two more of them, one from sucking each of her breasts, and yet another two when I finally pulled off her panties and applied my newfound talents there.

Finally, with her panting and gasping underneath me, I moved up to insert my still hard cock into her.

"Fuck, Trick!" she yelped as I slid the whole thing deep inside of her well-lubricated opening. "Oh, fuck, I'm gonna... oh, Trick."

That last Trick was drawn out, turning into a wavering keen over twenty to thirty seconds, like Tri-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ck!

I still wasn't ready to cum myself yet, though, so I just changed my rhythm ever so slightly and within five minutes had her on the verge of another one. This time I was right with her. We spent five more minutes coupled together before she finally blinked open her eyes and gave me a strange look.

"You've changed, Trick Sterling," she said.

I decided the best course was to simply smile at her. If I had changed, she certainly hadn't seemed to have any objections to it.

"You always told me my boobs were too small," she smiled at me.

"I was an ass," I said. "Your boobs are perfect."

"Say it," she said.

"Say what?" I asked her.

"You know," she nudged me.

I sighed inwardly.

"You were great, baby," I told her.

She looked at me again and opened her mouth, and then burst into tears. She sat up and threw her arms around me, still sobbing on my shoulder.

"What?" I asked, slowly pushing her off of me and wiping the tears off her cheeks. "What is it?"

She sniffled at me.

"I know it's just our game," she sniffled. "You say that, I say 'you too, stud, ' and I pretend I'm one of your high school girlfriends. I'm sorry."

"Sorry about what?" I asked. "About crying?"

She nodded, her eyes welling up with tears again.

"Why?"

"'Cause it actually sounded like you meant it," she buried her head in my shoulder again.

"Hey," I said. I lifted her head by the chin. "I did mean it."

Her upper lip trembled, her eyes looked deep into mine.

"Why do you doubt it?" I asked her.

"In high school," she sniffled again, "I was always pudgy, with these tiny little tits. I never dated at all. And only a little bit in college. And then when we started, you know, fucking, I used to pretend that I was in high school, and that I was one of your girlfriends, instead of, you know, a woman ten years older."

"Hey," I was still holding her chin. "Right now you're my only girlfriend."

"Why?" she looked astonished.

"It's a long story," I shook my head.

"Well, I'm gonna give you the blowjob of your life," she told me fiercely, "and then you can tell me all about it."

I couldn't possibly tell her what a small goal she'd actually selected for herself. Let her think that I'd had dozens of girls blow me, even if all she really had to top was the blowjob she gave me two weeks ago. I was honestly going to be able to tell her that it was the best I'd ever had.

"So," she said after we'd finally cleaned up, still ten minutes short of the time she was supposed to re-open, "tell your older lover what's going on. What about that teacher you were doing?"

"She, uh, broke up with me last summer," I explained. "After they passed that law."

Lynn nodded.

"And your current girl?"

"I just broke up with her," I said. "And now I'm about to get expelled from school."

"For what?" Lynn demanded.

I hemmed and hawed, but finally just swallowed my pride.

"This girl is saying that I, um, hit her and, uh, choked her," I stammered.

"Trick," she cocked her head at me. "Tell me this is not that loopy bitch with the cock-sucking whore game."

I stared at her, frozen into immobility.

"The what?" I finally gasped.

"That nut case you told me about who wanted you to spank her and slap her and call her a cock-sucking whore," Lynn said. "I thought you told me you were going to break up with her."

"Uh, well, I didn't," I said. "Until last week, anyway. So I, uh, told you about this?"

"Yes, don't you remember?" Lynn asked. "You said it was disgusting. You couldn't believe she wanted you to do that. How come you didn't break up with her right then and there?"

"I guess she must be pretty persuasive, huh?" I scratched my head.

"Men," Lynn shook hers. "All you have to persuade is the little head. The big one never stands a chance. So why don't you just tell them that you couldn't possibly have done that. Surely all your other ex-girlfriends will back you up. Oh. You don't get along with most of them, right? And if I told them, people would just assume you only treat high school girls that way, huh?"

I smiled at her.

Like I'd ever ask her to do that. I'd known better than that when I was a ninth grader.

Someone started banging on the library door just then — it was 1:31, after all — and I got lost in the stacks while she let them in. A few minutes later, when a larger crowd had entered, I made my way back to my research. When the library closed I walked by the circulation desk to check out a few more books, and then dropped a note in front of Lynn. As I reached the door and looked back, I saw her finish reading it and blush furiously. Well, it was the best.

The next day at school, I at least had some peeps on my side. Mr. Anson and Mr. Kennedy weren't among them, but Mrs. Palmer at least called on me during class. Aaron and Cammie both said hello when I got into Astronomy, and Tanya was waiting for me with a shy smile on her face when I reached Religion. We were apparently friends again, just like we'd been at the beginning of last week. We sat together at lunch and she asked me, again with exquisite shyness, if I wanted to go to the Winter of our Disco-tent.

"The what?" I asked her.

"The winter dance," she said. "Haven't you seen the posters? They're all over school."

I had actually seen the bright yellow posters, but I hadn't paid a lot of attention to them. So little attention, in fact, that I thought it was some sort of Shakespeare thing; I was quite proud of the fact that I'd read "Richard III" when I was still in ninth grade. It turned out, though, that I'd just missed the joke.

"I honestly don't know if I'm going to be here then," I said softly, after Tanya had explained that the dance was still several weeks away, on the tenth of February.

"You will," Tanya smiled. "I believe you, Trick. I'm sorry that I kind of pulled away last week."

I smiled at her. Tanya Szerchenko was no less a kid than any of the rest of us, just as susceptible to peer pressure.

"I thought maybe you wouldn't ask me because of all of this stuff," she continued. "So I decided to ask you."

"Well, then, sure," I agreed. "If I'm here. As friends."

"As friends," she smiled.

And then, since we were friends, she asked me for my cell phone number.

"Cell phone number?" I repeated.

"You do have a cell phone, don't you?"

"Well, sure," I said. The way she'd looked at me suggested that if I didn't have one, I was probably some sort of antisocial freak. And actually, I did have a cell phone, come to think of it. Stephie had been upset that I hadn't answered it over the Christmas break. Lynn had told me that my voice mailbox was full. And Jill, bless her heart, had gotten me a new one for Christmas.

"Actually, I just got a new one from my sister," I said. "And I haven't figured out if I can keep the same number or not."

"Well, that's just a simple call to the provider," Tanya said. "And you have to change out your simcard."

"Oh, yeah," I said. "I'll just do it tonight and let you know the number tomorrow."

I smiled at her and she smiled back at me. It was nice to have a friend. She looked like she thought the same thing, even if hers was an idiot.

After lunch, I got a summons to the nurse's office, where I found Ms. Carter waiting for me to tell me that I had a meeting with Liz Torianni during my seventh period study hall. Mrs. Torianni's office was just like her husband's, albeit on the girl's side of the gym, but fortunately it didn't require a trip through the girls' locker room to get there.

"Hello, Patrick," she extended her hand as I entered, greeting me with a firm handshake that had me rethinking my answer to Ms. Carter about the nature of my relationship with Mrs. Torianni.

"Mrs. Torianni," I smiled.

Her face fell. But she recovered and shut the door behind me.

"Four months of fucking and all I get is Mrs. Torianni?" she asked me.

"With the door open, Liz," I stood up.

She gave me a big smile.

"How've you been, Trick?" she asked, drawing me in for a hug against her big tits.

"You tell me," I said. "You're my lawyer."

"I wish," she said ruefully as she sat down behind her desk. "Why did you ever start dating this bitch? You certainly weren't dating her when we broke up. Never mind, it's not relevant."

"Do you think it would help to have people, um, other girls testify that I've never done anything like this to them?" I asked hopefully.

"No," she said flatly. "They'd just say you changed. Besides, it's not really your conduct that's at issue here; it's your presence."

"So I'm screwed?" I asked. "Even if, like, Stephie liked getting, you know, slapped around."

"Is that your defense?" Liz asked. "That she wanted you to hit her?"

"No," I said quickly. "I just wondered. You know, hypothetically."

"Trick, we don't have time for this," Liz said. "If you actually had a lawyer he could probably just demolish this whole thing and convince them to pay you his fees. But all you've got is me."

"My aunt is gone for another week and a half," I told her. "She's the only one who might help me hire a lawyer."

"The hearing's next Monday," Liz said, lifting a piece of paper off the desk. "I just found out. And I asked my husband, the dick, about helping you out with a lawyer, and he said absolutely not, he wasn't jeopardizing his job here even if you were the next Roger Clemens. And since all our money's in one joint account, I can't help you either, Trick."

"So what do we do?"

"We make the best argument we can," she said. "And if it doesn't work, then maybe you can get your aunt to hire you a lawyer and appeal it to the school board."

We sat there for another half-hour, reading through the documents that I'd brought with me. I left school even more depressed than I had on Friday. And dinner, even though Jeanne did her best to involve me, wasn't a big improvement.

Late that night, after I'd finished my homework, I pulled out the new phone that Jill had "bought" me for Christmas, and read over the fifty-page instruction booklet. After a few minutes searching, I found my own phone, lying in its charger in my bookcase. I flipped it open to find a bright banner flashing at me: VOICEMAIL! VOICEMAIL! And after a few tries, I figured out how to get rid of it. Or how to start getting rid of it, anyway; I apparently had 24 messages.

The first one — surprise, surprise — was from Stephie. Maybe all of them were going to be from Stephie. Listening to all of these was going to be a real treat.

"Hi Trick. I wish it was the real you. It's Christmas Eve, and we finally got here at six after five hours on the road. God, five hours with Daddy and Mommy and Andy. I feel like a fuckin' dishrag. Anyway, call me when you can, as long as it's before eleven. And if it's not before eleven, where the fuck are you? Bye-bye!"

I had my finger poised over the number six key, following the machine lady's instructions for deleting the message. But suddenly I decided no, I should listen to them all first. I can always go back and delete them afterward. By the time I finally went to bed, around one o'clock in the morning, I still hadn't deleted any of them. But I was feeling a little bit better about life in general.

The next day of school, Wednesday, went much like the previous day. Except that in Astronomy lab, Aaron Fleishmann was absent. Mr. Carruthers explained that the experiment that we were supposed to be performing, involving the measurement of gravity and the calculation of its effect on heavenly bodies, was the foundation of the whole semester, and urged me to move up next to Cammie so that we could do it together.

"If you screw this up for me, Patrick Sterling," Cammie hissed at me as I took Aaron's seat and we began to set up the experiment, "I'll never speak to you again."

We were actually allowed to talk freely during lab, but it seemed that Cammie wanted this conversation to remain confidential.