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Message-ID: <48332asstr$1088500203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Spitfire and Messerschmitt Ch 2 {Gina Marie Wylie} (teen, mf, cons, inc)
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Date: Tue, 29 Jun 2004 05:10:03 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Davey Ch 2.doc" begin>

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	The following is fiction of an adult nature.  If I believed in
setting age limits for things, you'd have to be eighteen to read
this and I'd never have bothered to write it.  IMHO, if you can
read and enjoy, then you're old enough to read and enjoy.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a blunder on my
part.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	Official stuff:  Story codes: teen, mf, con, inc.

	If stories like this offend you, you will offend ME if you read
further and complain. Copyright 2004, by Gina Marie Wylie.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	I can be reached at gmwylie98260@hothothotmail.com, at least if
you remove some of the hots.  All comments and reasoned
discussion welcome.

Below is my site on ASSTR:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gina_Marie_Wylie/www/

My stories are also posted on StoriesOnline:
http://Storiesonline.net/

And on Electronic Wilderness Publishing:
http:// www.ewpub.org/

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Chapter 2 :: Try Out

Wanda came back from dropping off Pammie and Karen just a few
minutes before Mom and Dad got home; there was no chance to talk
for the rest of the early evening.  Later, I was in my room
reading again when Wanda appeared, waved at the bed, wanting to
sit on it.  I nodded.

"Tomorrow is Monday," Wanda told me.

"This isn't the surprise you think it is," I told her.

"Yeah, well tomorrow, 10:00 am, you will be at the high school
for baseball tryouts and practice.  You will spend a little time
before then doing some sit-ups and push-ups.  It wouldn't hurt to
run a little."

"Yes it would," I told her.  "Yes, I will do some exercises but
running will not be one of them.  Swimming.  Swimming will be one
of them."

"Good."  Wanda glanced at the door; odds were long that Mom or
Dad weren't going to come to my room, but it was still the middle
of the evening.  It was unlikely, but possible.

"I plan on motivating you as soon as they leave in the morning,
then again right after practice."

"I was thinking about dropping into your room, later."  I told
her, a smug grin on my face.

Wanda laughed, "Don't.  I wouldn't resist and the two of us make
a hell of a lot of noise humping.  Even if I was to come to your
room, we might wake someone up.  We don't want to get caught."

I nodded.  I'd noticed the noise thing, particularly Wanda, but
to a lesser extent me, too.

I fell asleep a little after ten.  There was no way to sneak over
to Wanda's room because I didn't wake up until after eight the
next morning.  Still, that meant Wanda came to wake me up.  She
slid into my bed, running her hand down over my stomach and
taking a firm grip on my then flaccid cock.  It didn't stay that
way for long.

"Eat me up," she commanded, as she positioned herself to sit on
my face.  So, I did.  Wanda, at least, had showered.  I was glad
I'd taken one last evening, because I was hoping she'd suck me
off again.

First though, was the meal at hand, so to speak.  I licked and
sucked, getting more into it than I'd done yesterday.  The smell
seemed to be less and less an issue; watching Wanda moan and
writhe -- oh my, did that feel good!

After about her sixth or tenth orgasm, she collapsed down on top
of me.  I expected her to do like she'd done yesterday from the
same position: stuff me inside her.  Then I would start applying
some serious attention to her breasts while my cock made wild
love to her pussy.

"Davey, Davey, my, oh my!" she said, resting for a second,
obviously catching her breath. 

"Liked it, eh?" I said, lifting my hips against her, feeling my
cock rub across the skin of her abdomen.  I was filled with
teenage male bravado.  I had been tested in the crucible of a
woman's desire and found to be addictive.  That thought was as
effective at swelling my ego as seeing my sister naked was
effective swelling my erection.

"What's not to like?"  Then Wanda looked at her watch again and
gasped in surprise.  "Jesus Christ!  Look at the time!"

I turned my head and blinked, as Wanda must have.  It was 9:25!

"Up!" she told me, bouncing to her feet.

I watched her for a second, before dragging myself up.  "Get in
the shower!  Get dressed!  I'll be back in ten minutes, ready to
run you over to school!"

Ten thousand things ran through my head; almost all of them
screams of, "Get back in bed, woman!"

I'd promised, I had.  And I'd never planned on spending and hour
and a half eating out my sister.  That was a little short of
amazing.  Even before my sister had led me to the Promised Land,
I'd treated my promises to her and everyone else as my word of
honor.

I got up, hastily showered, put on tennis shoes, jeans and a
Diamondbacks' t-shirt I'd bought on a whim at a Ranger's game Dad
had dragged me to last year.  I rummaged around in my walk-in
closet and found the baseball glove my dad had given me when I
was in sixth grade; it was a full-size glove that he'd spared no
expense on.  It was still virtually new.

Wanda was ready and drove quickly to the high school.  "Call me
on my cell when you're done," she said.  I nodded and trotted
toward the baseball field.

I recognized the Coach, so I walked over to him.  "My sister said
you were holding tryouts today."  I was trying to ignore the fact
that there were about ten guys doing jumping jacks on the field,
pretty sparse for a baseball team.

Coach Wells nodded.  "I watched you hit at the picnic the other
day, Harper."  He waved at the players.  "Go out there with the
others and start warming up."

For the next half hour we did exercises, followed by a run around
the field.  I don't know what I was expecting, but the pace was
much slower than my threshold.  Not only did I not have trouble
keeping up, but I also stayed in the front of the pack the entire
lap.

Then came batting practice.  One of the coaches stood on the
mound, throwing lob after lob towards the plate.  You were
expected to take a rip; if you got a hit, you'd run down to first
base and come back to the end of the line.  Anything else, you
kept trying until you missed four straight "strikes."  Strikes
were whatever Coach Wells said was a strike, standing behind the
catcher, like an umpire.  Four strikes and you went out into the
outfield and shagged a half-dozen balls back to the infield.

The first ball that came to me was just perfect: chest high and
seem to hang there forever.  I mashed it solidly, hating for the
g'zillionith time the awful clunk of aluminum bats.  The ball
lifted up, arced down straight away center field, hitting just
short of the fence.

A few minutes later the pitch was considerably faster, there was
almost no hang time.  I crushed it again, knowing as I did I'd
pulled it more to the left.  This time it went zipping over the
fence.  Not by much, but unless the defender had been close to
the right spot, it would have been a home run.

An hour later I'd never been out shagging balls, while the others
had.  Only one other guy got a ball deep into the outfield and
that only once.

Then fielding followed by a dozen other exercises.  One thing I
remembered my dad saying once, lamenting to someone -- I don't
remember who -- about a player who had once played for the
Dodgers.  "He used to have a lot of hustle, that guy.  Used to
hustle, even when he didn't have to.  Got himself a million
dollar contract -- then that sorry son of a bitch stopped. 
Stopping hustling, didn't play worth a shit after that."  Dad had
shaken his head.  "So now he's still got the million dollar deal,
but he doesn't play for a contender."  Dad was big on being on a
contending team.  So I hustled every time I moved.

Finally the coach gathered us together.  "That'll be all, men. 
Thanks, good work out!  Next Saturday, same time."  He grinned,
"We should have a couple more players back from football camp."

You can hope, I thought.

I was startled when he gestured to me, "Harper, see me."

With that, everyone else headed for the lockers; I headed for
Coach Wells.

"Sir?"

"You showed a lot of hustle today, Harper.  Frankly, I wasn't
expecting that from you.  The word on you from Coach Morales is
that you hate PE."

I looked him right in the eye.  "I hate PE."  I waved at the
field.  "This is baseball.  I like baseball.  Anything I do, I
try to do as well as I can.  So I hustle."

"That's what I ask of my players.  Hustle and 110%."

I didn't laugh; I'd seen no hustle and nothing close to 100%. 

His eyes met mine.  "Are you serious about this, Harper?"

"Yes, sir."

"We don't play a regular season until March," he stated baldly. 
"Between now and then, what we have are practices twice a week. 
After school on Tuesdays, and on Saturday mornings.  We play some
intermural games, just for practice.  A lot of these guys," he
waved at the field, "know that and don't plan on putting in the
effort until next year."

"If I do something, I do it as well as I can; start to finish," I
said doggedly.

"Well, that's the way to do it!  We have our first game in three
weeks.  As of now, you're on the varsity.  Next week we'll play a
few innings of scrimmage."

"Yes, sir."

"Come with me, there are some papers you'll have to fill out
before the next practice Saturday.  You're going to have to
hustle to get some of the things done."

I followed him into his office, took the packet of paper and went
outside and called Wanda.  "Be right there," she told me.  "I'm
over at Pammie's.  How'd you do?"

"You put the fix in," I told her.  "How do you think I did?"

"Well, you could have always messed up."

"Not motivated the way I was," I said with a laugh.

"There's that.  See you in a few."

She picked me up in ten minutes, and then drove me home.  "Did it
go okay?  Really?" she asked.

"It went okay.  I had no idea baseball players were such
wusses."

She nodded.  "Jack says that off season it's hard to get much out
of the team.  Only when you seriously start getting ready does
the team go all out."

"Well, according to the coach, they play games with other schools
all year long; it's only the ones in the spring that count."

She looked at me.  "Really?  I didn't know that."

At first I thought she was shining me on, but I realized she
wasn't.  It was probably terra incognita.  She'd been dating Jack
since she was a freshman and for Jack, football and girls were
the sum total of life.  Well, maybe prom king or homecoming king,
but I suspected he thought that was part of football territory.

We got home, and she went to her room to drop her purse and keys;
I went to the bathroom for a shower.  When I got out, she handed
me a glass of ice tea; welcome, even if I wasn't even dry yet.

I dried off; I didn't bother getting dressed, not with Wanda
sitting on my bed.  She gestured to me and I went over to her.

"I'm not reneging, Davey," she said.  "But, ah, a problem's
cropped up."

My first thought was that she was starting her period, which I
thought was gross beyond words, considering how I'd spent the
morning.

"I am not just a little sore, Davey, I'm incapacitated," she
explained, waving at her crotch.  "I'm rubbed raw."

My first thought was exactly that: she was reneging.  She went
on, "Davey, oh Davey!  You are so good!  No one's gone down on me
for an hour and a half before.  Jack can last pretty good, but
not like you, Davey!  And after he comes, he's the one who goes
to sleep, not me."

She waved at the bed.  "Lie down here."  I did, and she leaned
down running her hand over my shower-shriveled cock.  "But
there's nothing wrong with my mouth!"  She laughed and started
stroking me, her tongue running over my balls.

It was an electric feeling, more so when she sucked on my ball
sack.  A few seconds later I was hard as a rock.  She swallowed
my erection, she had me so far down her throat her nose was
bumping my abdomen;.  Her tongue came back along my erection,
licking me, as she sucked and sucked.  I reached down, rubbing
those wonderfully large breasts, eliciting a sigh from my sister.
 She redoubled her effort, and in no time I was shooting into her
mouth.

She licked me clean, leaving me hard again.  She scooted back up,
still wearing jeans and blouse, cuddling up to me.  "Was that
okay, Davey?"

"That was just fine, Wanda," I told her.  I leaned close, kissed
her lightly.  "Better than fine."

She looked at me strangely, lifted her mouth and I kissed her
again.

After a bit she pulled away, a strange look on her face.

"What?"  I asked, curious.

"Jack never wants to kiss me after..."  She waved at my erection.
 "Says it would be 'perv.'"

It took me a few seconds to realize what she was talking about. 
Oh, I'd come in her mouth!  Well, I hadn't stuck my tongue down
her throat, that was true.  I looked at her and shrugged.

"It's not that big a deal," I told her.

"You mean it, don't you?" her voice was a whisper.

"Sure."  I didn't know what the big deal was.

"You understand, it wouldn't be good, being... raw... when Jack
gets back."

I contemplated Jack the Ripper finding out I'd knocked his
girlfriend out of commission because of eating her out and
fucking her too enthusiastically.  An awful, terrible thought. 
Jack had gotten his nickname in Pop Warner as a running back; his
blocks tended to be a little high.  As in, ripping their heads
off.  They made him a quarterback out of self-defense; there'd
been one lawsuit, anyway.

"No," I said mildly, "that wouldn't be good."

"I mean it, Davey.  I like you.  I really do."

"Wanda, until you heal up, we can go back to being brother and
sister.  I wouldn't like it, but if you want, we can just do
that."  I was concerned about one thing, she was concerned about
something I'd left out of my reply, the central part of what
she'd said a second before.

"Don't you like me?"  I saw her expression; it looked like
someone had punched her.  That someone had been me.  I realized
my mistake almost at once.

"Of course I like you!  Gosh, Wanda, sex is..."  My voice trailed
away.  "Wild!  Wonderful!  Ten thousand other words.  But you and
me, Wanda, we're never going to get married and have babies.  We
just can't.  We can like each other a lot... but not too much."

She looked at me, and then she was crying.  My sister, the
haughty, over-bearing dominatrix of my life was crying on my
shoulder.

"I'm being really cruel to you, aren't I?"

I laughed, "Wanda, my wicked, big sister; don't be silly.  I'm a
teenage boy.  Sex with you is like sex in my wildest dreams.  A
tall, voluptuous blonde who's all over me!  What's not to like?

"Sex, Wanda.  It's sex.  You don't love me any more today than
you did a week ago.  I think I like you better, but love?  I
don't think I love you any more today than I did a week ago,
either.

"It's something we're good at, and it's good between us.  As a
long-term, permanent thing, it's just not possible.  But now and
then..."  I leaned over and kissed her hard, my tongue spearing
into her mouth.  She kissed back, her hands hot on me.  A few
minutes later, she jerked me off.  I left gobs of white cream all
over her hands.

"Back in a jiffy," she muttered, and vanished toward the door.  I
leaned back, smiling.

I was still smiling when the door opened, and I started to open
my mouth.

Mom stood in the doorway, staring at me.  I was still rampant and
oozing cum, a huge shit eating grin on my face.  I froze in
horror.  Then it got worse as I heard the bathroom door open.  I
saw Mom turn and look that way.  Oh God, I thought, Wanda had
gone in there dressed!  Let it be that she came out the same
way!

Wanda was dressed, which was something, but she had a wash cloth
in her hand.  Mom stood still looking at us, then beckoned to
Wanda to go outside, glanced at me one more time, then followed
Wanda out into the family room, closing my bedroom door behind
her.

I frantically wiped myself off, getting dressed as quickly as I
ever have in my life.  I could hear faint murmurs from beyond my
door, but no raised voices.  I gave a mental sigh of relief,
maybe we'd missed the bullet and Mom had misunderstood.  It was
stupid to think that; events didn't take long to show me the
error of that thought.

Mom reappeared, and then surprised me, closing the door behind
her.  She stood there for a long moment, looking at me.  She was
a grown-up version of Wanda: full breasts that looked really
good.  She weighed one forty now, instead of one thirty.  She
still looked slender.

"Wanda is a careful girl," Mom said softly, "or so I thought. 
She told me about what the two of you are up to."

I gulped, wondering what the penalty for getting caught doing it
with your sister was going to be.

"Thoughtful girl.  Or so I thought."

"I'm sorry," I said as contritely as I could.

She looked at me and shook her head.  "You haven't a clue, David,
not a clue.  Shut up."

I blinked and shut up.

"Her little plan... gosh, it just requires a whole bunch of you
to lie.  To us, to Pamela's parents, Karen's parents... most of
all, it requires you to lie to yourselves.  It was never going to
work.

"Wanda thinks you can make love all you want without
complications.  That's not what life is really like, David.  You
can't have sex with someone very often before you either love
them or hate them.  Sure, there's recreational sex, sex with no
regrets.  That's as fine a way to spend time with another person
as there is.  But the reason why there are no regrets is that,
come morning, you move on.  If you don't move on, recreational
sex becomes something else.  Then one morning you wake up with
more than a few regrets.

"And I'm sure you're looking forward to the better part of a year
playing baseball so you can pretend to be in love with a girl you
never get to kiss."

"Something was said about mistletoe and Christmas," I said
grasping at straws.  I realized as I spoke that the idea was
insane; I was making my mom's point at the same time I was
contradicting her.

"If you are content with that David, we need to get you in to the
doctor to have your hormone levels checked.  Someone your age can
do that for about a month before you explode... unless you're a
eunuch.  From the look of things when I came in just now that's
not the case, is it?"

I considered not saying anything.  This was a
"have-you-stopped-beating-your-wife?" question.  "No, that's not
the case."

"And the baseball?"  I was a little surprised she'd moved away
from the topic of me with a hard-on and Wanda with the washcloth.
 In fact, on reflection, the discussion of sex with my sister had
been brief and dismissive.  As if it wasn't important at all.

"I have the forms on my desk."  I waved towards my desk.  "I was
going to talk to you and Dad tonight about the medical exam I
have to take.  It's going to be tough scheduling it before
Friday."

"You really want to play ball?"

I met her eye.  "I went to the tryouts slash practice today.  I
wasn't particularly impressed with the athletic rigor of the
team.  I can hit better than anyone else at the practice.  Only
half of the team was there, but the coach says he needs some
hitting."

"You know, you are going to send your father into orbit; he'll
never let you quit?"

"Mom, if I start playing, it will be because it's something I
want to do.  And if it gets to the point I want to quit, why
that's what I'll do."

She snorted.  "Sure, that'll be something to see."  She stood
looking at me, and I psyched myself up for the long-awaited
penalty phase.

"If you play, you will finish the season."

I shrugged.  She was welcome to think that if she wanted to, but
it was going to be just like I said.

"You will not give a class ring or jacket to a girl you are not
truly going steady with."

I looked at her, surprised.  It had seemed like a harmless white
lie.  The direction of the conversation had never been what I
expected and showed no sign of going there.

Okay, baseball was going to be a big deal for my dad.  I
understood what a big deal completing the season was for both of
them.  But class rings and jackets?  What about your son, gnarly
hard, dripping sperm, naked on his bed, with his sister at the
door, washrag in hand to clean up the mess?

"And as for you and Wanda...  I had three brothers and I managed
to survive sex with all of them.  I am not going to be a
policeman or your conscience; you both can figure out where the
limits are."

She turned and walked out of my bedroom, leaving me stunned and
speechless.

Much later, much thought later, I came when called for dinner. 
Dad had been home for a while; I was certain that he and Mom had
talked.  Considering the content of my talk with Mom, I couldn't
imagine the topics they covered.  It was entirely likely that the
punishment phase of the discussion had been given over to him.

But the talk at dinner was about unimportant matters and not a
hint of anger or concern.

After dinner, Mom and Wanda vanished into the kitchen to take
care of the dishes.  Dad had been reading the paperwork I'd
brought him.  He lofted the stack, and looked at me steadily for
several minutes, not saying anything.  It was a disconcertingly
long time.

"We've never gotten along," he observed, without preamble.

"No, sir."

"That said, the reason we never got along is a lack of common
goals.  I can't understand why someone would be disinterested in
athletics; you can't understand why someone would be.  Is that a
fair characterization?"

"I think, sir, that's a good part of it."

"Linda tells me this is Wanda's idea; Wanda has some plot or
something that involved you joining the team, lettering and all
of that.  Your mom says, though, that playing on the team is
something you really want to do, and not something that Wanda
cooked up."

"I do, sir.  Wanda pointed out something to me; to my surprise I
find the idea appealing."

He studied me a little longer.  "David, you've heard me talk a
thousand times about how good it is to win, the feeling of
accomplishment and all that."

I nodded.  A million or ten million times.

"And you never accepted that."

"There are other things in life than being number one," I told
him.

He smiled.  "I was on contending teams all my life," he said
simply, then dropped a totally unexpected bombshell.  "But I was
never on a big championship team.  Oh, city and regionals, sure.
But there was always someone better, at least in high school.  At
UT, we won a conference championship two out of my four years. 
All four years we went to bowl games.  We went 0 for 4 in those
bowl games, David."

How was it, I wondered, that I'd never asked how his teams had
done?  The truth?  He'd never spoken of it, and I'd never given a
damn.  I just assumed.

"So, I will set this up.  I'll call Doc Moran in the morning, set
something up for later in the week.  No problem."

I nodded, still trying to digest everything.

"One last thing, David."  I looked at him, wondering what could
be last.  "Your mom didn't get into details; but then I'm not a
detail sort of person."  No, he was the General Manager of one of
the biggest automobile part plants in Texas.  "My father was a
letterman in the fifties; I was as well, in the late seventies. 
David, those symbols mean a great deal to me, as they do to a lot
of people.  Sure it's symbolism and all of that, and hardly
anyone seems to give a rat's ass about symbols any more.

"A ring, David, is a symbol of something later.  The jacket --
that's a sign of intent."  He grinned.  "I gave my jacket to two
different girls in high school, just your mom in college.  She's
the only one I gave a ring to, and it wasn't my class ring,
except for a few days at the very first before I got her a proper
one.

"You and I don't agree on very many things, David, but I'm asking
you now to honor the tradition and symbolism of something I hold
in high regard."

If I did that, I was going to disappoint Pamela and Karen; worse,
it would disappoint Wanda with her wonderfully wicked designs on
my body.  If nothing else, I'd realized Mom had more or less
green-lighted the relationship -- to a degree.  I didn't think it
was possible she hadn't talked to Dad about it either; so it
meant he had, too.

"Yes, sir."  Well, Wanda was a schemer, that was for sure.  She'd
just have to come up with something different.  Although I was
honest enough to admit to myself, I doubted she was going to be
able to do better.  It had been a good idea.

As if reading my mind, Dad grinned.  "Oh, one last thing before
you go play with your sister."

I blushed and he laughed, "I never figured you for an athlete. 
So I left out the real reason why I think it's important.  The
word, David, is team.  You've probably heard a million times it
takes the entire team pulling together to win; well, that's not
just BS, David.

"It's how I learned to make things work.  It's what works at the
plant, David.  Those are my teammates; I treat them all as
integral to our success.  It's magic, David, true magic.  Whether
it's a bunch of guys playing football, baseball or basketball; a
group of musicians twiddling, blowing and banging instruments, an
infantry squad taking the objective.  The team, David.  Play for
the team first, yourself second."

He got up, taking the papers with him, and vanished.

I went back, turned on the stereo in the family room, put on some
Enya.  A little later Wanda came in, saw me sitting on the couch,
walked up and snuggled down next to me.

"That was exciting," she told me.

"Oh, sure.  I thought I was dead when Mom walked in and saw me
gnarly hard covered with come."

She kissed me on the cheek.  "Better this way, although I am a
little surprised."

"A little?" I said, raising an eyebrow.  I was stunned and
overwhelmed; my imagination had had quite a workout since the
picnic.

"I saw Mom and Uncle Sean a couple years ago when we were
visiting them in LA.  They were doing it in the pool.  It sure
didn't look like the first time they'd done it."  She kissed me
on the cheek.  "It's when I started seriously thinking about
you."

"I promised them I wasn't going to lie about Karen.  Or give her
a ring or jacket."  There, I'd said it.  Now it was time to wait
for the kisses to turn to blows.

"Yeah," Wanda sighed.  "Mom talked to me for a long time.  I
really hadn't thought that through.  She is of the opinion that
Jack won't be cool about Pammie and Karen."  Wanda sighed again.
"She's right; he's talked a few times about gays."  She shook her
head.  "It wasn't good things he was saying.  I just thought he'd
go along because I asked.  That was the stupidest part of my
plan."

She hugged me, pressing her breast against my arm.  Tonight she
had a bra on; I sighed.  A sign, I thought, of a lonely night. 
Then I kicked myself, like how many lonely nights versus other
nights had I spent in my life?  I'd never actually spent the
night with anyone.  I'd spent some time in bed with Wanda; I'd
spent time on this couch with Wanda, but never the night.  Get
real, Davey!

"So, now I have to think of something else."  She kissed me
again.  "That doesn't mean I'm going to forget my promise.  It's
not your fault that it's not going to work.  You sure did your
part!  And then some!"

"So now what?"

She grinned.  "I'm still sore.  That and I need some time to
think.  You've done wonders for my hormone levels, I suspect that
for the first time in weeks I can get a decent night's sleep." 
She looked at me.  "You still going out for baseball?"

"Yes," I told her simply.

Wanda grinned.  "Good for you!  It's time, Davey, that you were
part of something bigger than yourself."

She kissed me on the cheek again, got up and left.

I read resolutely, trying not to think about this and that.  I
fell asleep there on the couch, waking up around midnight.

The lights were out, the CD player turned off.  Someone had
looked in on me.  A measure of the changes in such a short time,
I thought.  A week ago I'd have been bothered; now I silently
thanked whomever, crawled into my bed, pulled up the sheet and
slept again.

No Wanda in the morning; I cracked an eye at the clock.  I
needed, I thought, to learn how to tell what time it was.  It was
a little before 5:00 am.  I rolled over on my back, stared
blankly at the ceiling.

Wanda and sex.  Pamela, Karen and sex.  Baseball and sex.  Mom,
my uncles and sex.

It would be cool, I thought, to come up with something so that
Pammie and Karen could be together, thus poking a stick in the
eyes of our parents.  Sure, Mom, and I assumed Dad, didn't
approve of lying to parents.  Well, tough!  It was, I thought, a
question of priorities.  In my humble opinion, two people loving
each other trumped parental concerns.

Still, both Mom and Dad had made it quite clear: I was not to lie
about letter jackets and class rings.  I laughed at the thought.
First I'd have to have a letter jacket and a class ring.  What
would Wanda's plan look like without those signs of teenage
fidelity?  No matter how temporary?

Actually, even if I had both, her plan would never have worked. 
It was much too complicated, I thought.  There had to be
something simple that would work.

It was like a painful spear, plunging into my brain.  Oh wait! 
Jack the Ripper!  If Wanda was right, nothing would have worked
anyway, with Jack around!  I grinned to myself.  Hey, if I was
willing to lie to Pammie's parents, to Karen's parents, would I
be willing to lie to Jack?  Oh yeah!  Piece of cake!  How about
if I pretended to date Karen, but without Wanda and Jack along? 
That was stupid; Pammie had to be along or it was all for
nothing.  I'd look like a fool, taking Pammie along on all of my
dates.

The cruel fact was that Jack might not be cool; in fact, odds
were against him being cool.  Wanda had a good reason for
including a letter jacket in her plan.  A jacket was a clear
indication that the two of us weren't playing patty cake any time
we were alone together.  Maybe not going all the way, but
certainly first and second base.  Maybe third.  I smiled at the
baseball metaphor.  I was also pretty sure that not every girl
put out for jocks; at least, I hoped that was true.

My brain was still running around in circles when I fell asleep.

My first dream was blessedly short, a parable for my times.  I
was standing facing Wanda; her face black with rage.  "You
useless little shit!  Why did you quit?"

I was standing watching a baseball game, not togged out in a
baseball uniform.  Pretty obvious what I'd quit.

The dream stopped and I woke up.  Not going to happen, I thought.
 The guys on the baseball team were a bunch of wusses.  I was in
better shape than most of them; I could surely hit harder than
any of them.  I could throw pretty good, hit pretty good -- why
would I quit?

I wanted to poke a stick in the eyes of our parents about Pammie
and Karen; even more than that, I was knew there was a growing
desire inside me that wanted to poke some sticks in the eyes of
my jock peers.  If I quit, I'd make their day, confirm every
rotten thought they'd ever held about me.  That wasn't going to
happen!

The Team.  Dad's words appeared in my brain, just as I fell
asleep.

I saw someone with the same black rage on his face that Wanda
had, except this time he was a man I didn't recognize.  "What
gives you the right?" he asked, shaking his fist in my face.

"I care," I told the unknown face.  "If you cared, you'd shut up
and put a shoulder to the wheel.  Help the team."

"Team?" the voice almost went falsetto.  "They're girls!  A
team?"

I looked at the black face, twisted in hate and anger.  "Either
help or get out of the way," I said evenly.  "If you don't --
consider the fate of road kill."

Then I was awake again, my dad shaking my shoulder.  "David."

I looked up, surprised.

"I left an early call for the doctor, he called back just now. 
They can take you at nine this morning.  Wanda will give you a
ride.  I was going to borrow her car, but I'll ride with Linda,
instead."

I nodded.  He was gone a second later.  I glanced at the clock;
it was a few minutes after seven.  I grimaced.

Okay, my dad was one of the most influential people in town;
there were times I hated to be reminded of it.  Dad's factory
employed a solid 8% of the people in town; more than once I'd
heard from Dad, from the local press, from everyone at school,
the lengths he had gone to keep the plant here and producing.  So
our doctor had gotten an early call from him and had called right
back.  Did most people get a call back from their doctor before
7:00 am?  I didn't think so.

Oh well, there was still the rest of the day to work in some time
with Wanda.

Wanda was a little grumpy on the way to the doctor's office.  "I
am," she told me, "staying here in the car, where I am going to
get some more sleep.  I hate doctors, but I hate doctor's offices
worse.  There are sick people there."

I trudged in, signed my name on the register at the desk and went
and sat down in the waiting room.

I recognized a girl from my school sitting across the room, Emily
Watson.  She was sitting with an older woman, neither of them
seemed interested in talking.  Not to each other and certainly
not to me.

I got the distinct impression via body language that there was
quite a lot of hostility between them.  Emily had her hands
folded in her lap; she shifted after a second, and I saw her
right hand was in a cast that covered her hand except for her
fingers, up nearly to her elbow.

Our eyes met for a second; the plain unadulterated loathing that
she had on her face when she saw me looking at her more than
startled me.  I hastily looked away, not sure why she was so
pissed.  Emily was a quiet, shy girl, one who got really good
grades.  We'd been in the same 7th grade class.  She was small,
barely five foot, dark-brown hair that fell down to her shoulder
blades.

I reached over and picked up a People magazine.  I was bored just
reading the table of contents.  A nurse came in, called Emily's
name and then mine.  Again the glance I got from Emily was enough
to curdle milk.  I let her go first, which turned out to be good,
because she was waved into the first waiting room.  It wasn't
until I sat down on the examination table that I realized that
the woman with Emily hadn't accompanied her, she'd stayed in the
waiting room.

Of course, I was here, alone.  But all the other times I'd been
here, usually with my mom, she'd come along with me to watch the
proceedings.  I thought for a second and shrugged: Wanda wasn't
the only person who hated doctors.  That was as good an
explanation as any.  In any case, it was none of my business.

A few moments later the doctor came in.  I'd seen her a few
times; I wasn't quite as shy about doctors as Wanda, but I was no
fan.  Doctor Lynn Jacoby was in her early thirties, slim and
pretty, a perpetual sparkle on her face.  She was dark, Semitic
in appearance, long black hair in a braid down her back, nearly
to her waist.

"Good morning, David," she said, quite cheerfully.

"Good morning, Doctor Jacoby."

She glanced at my chart and turned to me.  "You're here for a
physical?"

"I need it for school."

"The baseball team it says here?"  I nodded.  She looked at me
for a moment, and then sighed.  "I'll send in the assistant to
get your vital signs, height and weight.  I have another
appointment."  She smiled.  "If you've never had a cast, you
can't imagine how eager a person can be to have it off."

"My sister broke her arm last fall," I told her.  "It's not a
problem."  That had to be Emily, I thought.  Maybe her attitude
comes from that?  Wanda was just a little hard to live with the
last week of her cast.  She was a junior then and the pyramid of
which she was the apex had collapsed.  Afterwards, they put her
on the bottom and someone petite on top.

A much younger woman, in her mid-twenties came in.  Darker even
than Dr. Jacoby, Hispanic, and heavy.  Still, she was brisk and
efficient; she took my pulse, my blood pressure.  Then I went out
into the hall and stood on a scale where she measured my height
and weight.  Five nine, one forty.  Not exactly news to me.  Not
for the first time I wondered why they bothered weighing me when
I was wearing clothes.

In the distance I heard a high-pitched whine, like a dentist
drill.  I thought Doctor Jacoby was probably using a cutting tool
on the cast.  I considered what it would be like having to sit
still for something like that, made a private vow never to break
anything.

The assistant placed a tray on the examining table next to me. 
"Please take off your shirt."

I did so, and she pulled out an empty hypo.  "This is for the
blood tests," she said matter of factly.  I nodded and held out
my arm, target area up.  I'd had this done twice in the last
year, after we had a big mono outbreak at school.

She was competent, but nothing could make bloodletting painless.
She wasn't nearly as awful as the guy who'd taken my blood the
second time last year.  Next, she was back with forms for me to
fill out, asking about my medical history.  I thought it was
nuts; I'd been born down the road, been coming to this office
since then.  I filled them in, but I was a little frustrated.

Then I was left sitting on the examination table.

And sitting.  And sitting.  Then I sat some more.  I glanced at
the clock; it was nearly ten.  I should have brought a book, I
thought.

Finally about ten fifteen, Doctor Jacoby came in.  No bright
cheerful spark this time.  She smiled at me.  "I'm sorry, that
took longer than expected."

I contemplated that as she started her stethoscope over my chest,
listening to my lungs, my heart.  Checking my earwax buildup,
choking me on a tongue depressor.  The surprising thing was that
she was going at light speed.  Quick and competent, but she moved
at a gallop.  She looked through the forms I'd filled out, and
then sighed.  "David, how healthy are you?"

"I don't get sick; hardly at all.  I didn't get mono last year
when half of the people at school did."

"Were you at the Halloween Party in the cafeteria?" she asked.  I
nodded.  "Then you are healthy; that or you beat it.  About a
third of the people there never showed symptoms or antibodies,
the rest got it.  I'll know in a couple of days about the
antibodies.

"You're not stupid."  I glanced at her, not sure why that comment
had come up.  She waved the papers.  "Come back for these Friday,
the desk will have them, okay?"

Again I nodded.  "Try not to drop dead between now and then."

"I'll do my best," I said, trying to joke.  To myself I added,
"Although Wanda might give me a heart attack."

"To do this physical right would take a couple of hours.  I
promise you, I'm going to make a note in your chart, and we'll
schedule you in again next week and do it right.  I'm running
late now, Doctor Gonzales and Humphries are both out on
emergencies, Doctor Moran is adding to the population boom."

"It's not a problem," I said patiently.

While she was writing I put my shirt back on; it was coincidence
that we took the same amount of time.  We went out back down the
hall to the lobby, but she turned off before we got there.  She
opened the door to the examination room that Emily had been in. 
Looking past her, I could see Emily was still sitting on the
examination table.  I could see she had been crying, was still in
tears.

I muttered under my breath, "Gosh, Emily..."  I couldn't imagine
how having a cast cut off could hurt that much.  Wanda had all
but jumped for joy afterwards.

Doctor Jacoby turned at my words, jerked her chin down the hall.
Unsure, I took a few more steps and stopped.  She joined me.  "Do
you know Emily?"

"From school," I explained.  "We were in 7th grade together,
sometimes we played Magic."  I didn't play as much as Emily, but
I did play now and again.

"Would you be willing to talk to her?"

I met her eyes.  What was going on?  "I can try.  It's not like
we were friends."  I blushed, "I'm not very social."

She nodded.  "Wait a sec."  She went back, through the door,
leaving it a fraction of an inch open.

I heard the low murmur of Doctor Jacoby's voice, then a single
sharp, clear, "No!" from Emily.

Another long murmur, then Doctor Jacoby came back out.  "Please,
David."  She nodded at the door.

I considered Emily's expression, her single word.  "What," I said
warily, "am I supposed to talk about?"

"Weather.  Baseball.  No school, no doctors or hospitals."  She
paused, her voice dropped, "Be patient, be kind.  It's important.
 You know what I mean."

I nodded like I did know what she meant, and then followed her
in.

Emily had wiped her face on the sleeve of her blouse, her
expression was even worse than the one she'd had earlier.

"Hi, Emily."  I said, trying to be as neutral as I could, while
wondering what in the world I was doing here, what the Doctor
thought I could do in the face of this awful hostility.  "Have a
nice summer?"

Oops, Doctor Jacoby should have mentioned history as a taboo
subject.  Emily's face turned beet red, "Go fuck yourself!"  She
turned away, looking at the wall.

I took a deep breath, trying to regroup.  Wondering if I should.
I saw Doctor Jacoby put her hand on Emily's shoulder, only to
have Emily twist away from the touch.

I decided to try again.  "Emily, I'm sorry."  I tried to be as
contrite as I could.  "I didn't mean to hurt or offend you.  I
just thought you might want someone to talk to."

"Not you," she said, a little calmer, but still staring at the
wall.

"That's your choice, sorry then."  What had Doctor Jacoby said? 
Be patient, it's important.  "I miss playing Magic with you;
you're a good player."  I smiled slightly, "That is, you don't
gloat too much when you win or whine much when you lose."  That
wasn't my quote, that was from my dad; it was the best I could do
on short notice.  "I hope you feel better soon."

"Talk to me in seven months, I'll be much better then."  She
said, her voice angry and bitter.  Was that an improvement?  I
couldn't sense any anger directed at me this time.

"I'd hoped to talk to you sooner," I said evenly.  "At school, if
nothing else."  I kicked myself.  Doctor Jacoby had told me to
say nothing about school; she was right.

"I'm going to be expelled sometime in November."

Emily Watson, expelled?  From school?  That didn't seem possible.
 Confused, I let my mouth run away from me.

"What, they make an appointment to kick you out?"  I giggled
inanely.

What happened next is one of those life-defining moments.  Emily
laughed bitterly, put her hand on her stomach.  "That's when I'll
start to show."

I stood there, stone-cold frozen, suddenly more humiliated than
I'd ever been in my life.  "Oh Jeez, Emily..."

"It's a human being!  I'm not going to let them cut it out of
me!" her voice was high, but not loud.  "I'm not!"

"I'm sorry, Emily.  I was being stupid.  I'm really sorry."

She looked me in the eye.  "A guy like you raped me.  Got me
pregnant.  Are you sorry about that?  Sorry about the broken hand
I got, punching him over and over and over again?  Are you sorry
about the fact that my mother says if I don't get an abortion,
she's going to kick my harlot ass out on the street?"

As complete and succinct a problem definition as you could want.
I held up my fingers a fraction of an inch apart.

"Right now, I feel about this tall," I told her.  "And yes, I'm
sorry about all of those things; they shouldn't happen to
anyone."  I paused, "I can't imagine what you're going through, I
just can't."

"Fucking right!"

"Emily, I can't imagine hurting anyone, anyone at all like you've
been hurt.  I'm in the dark about why someone would rape a girl.
I can't imagine why anyone would do it."

"He got his jollies!  He got to put his slimy thing in me and
squirt!"

I scowled with distaste; yes I'd done it to Wanda, but it wasn't
slimy.  I'd gotten my jollies, but Wanda had too.  How could
something I liked so much, that Wanda had liked so much, be
something so terrible?  "Like I said, I couldn't imagine forcing
someone to do anything, much less that."

"Go away," Emily said, seeming to shrink.  Her voice was weary,
exhausted.  "Just go away and leave me alone."

"Emily."  I wondered just what I could possibly say to her, to
anyone like her.  Then the realization hit me.  Emily kept asking
me to leave; yet she acted like she wanted me to stay.

"I can't imagine myself in your shoes."  I shook my head.  "I
can't.  I do know what I'd like if something awful happened to
me.  I'd like to know there was someone I could talk to, someone
who would listen to me; even if all I wanted to do was vent.

"So, if you ever feel like talking, well...  I'm in the phone
book."

"Please!  Leave!" she said firmly.

That time I believed her.  I nodded, turned and went out.

I spent a few minutes at the reception desk, getting things
straight; Doctor Jacoby appeared a minute later, glanced at the
older woman sitting still in the lobby.  Was she the mother who
wanted to kick her harlot daughter out just because she had been
raped and gotten pregnant?  It was hard not to be judgmental.

"Do you have a minute, David?"  I followed Doctor Jacoby down the
hall, back to the examination room I'd started in a while ago. 
The door to the room Emily was in was closed again.

"Thanks," she said.

I shrugged.  "I'm not sure if I made it better or worse."

"Better.  She wants the baby.  Emily either will have to tell
people about it or suffer rumors until she's forced to leave
school.  Now she's told someone.  Best of all, not only did the
world not end, but you were sympathetic.  You weren't
judgmental."

I laughed, shaking my head.  "Oh, I'm very judgmental!  There's
someone I'd like to meet and pound on a little myself.  I don't
have a very high opinion of Emily's mother, either."

"I meant about Emily."

Again I shook my head.  "I respect her choice.  That's something
I understand: going against my parent's wishes!"

The doctor smiled, shaking her head.  "Please, I know teenagers
love to gossip; let this be Emily's choice."

"I've only been a teenager for less than a year.  I guess I
haven't got the knack down yet."

"Thank you, David.  I promise I will have those papers ready
soon.  And a note to call you back."

<1st attachment end>


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