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Message-ID: <51993asstr$1127106609@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Jim C" <jimc_author@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Lucky Stiff by JiMC (17 of 46)--MF, FF, mc, md, magic, romance
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Date: Mon, 19 Sep 2005 01:10:09 -0400
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This story is copyright (c) 2003-2005.  All rights are
reserved by the author, including that of publication.
Posting on-line is only allowed when permission is explicitly
granted by the author, and then only for the complete story,
including this disclaimer.  Contact the author at
<jimc-author at excite dot com> for more information,
referring to this story ("Lucky Tickets 2: Lucky Stiff").

I explicitly grant permission to post this story to
StoriesOnline.net and asstr-mirror.org.

The following is a work of fiction and is just a fantasy.
Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely
coincidental and entirely unintentional.  There may be
references to people in a historical context, but they are
not really characters in this story.

This is a story that describes sexually explicit situations
in a fictional universe that only vaguely seems similar to
the one we live in.  Most of the characters in this story are
under aged.  However, the target audience is adults (people
over the age of eighteen) with broad minds.

* * *

This is a sequel to the story "Lucky Tickets," and as such,
you may want to read that story first to get a better
introduction to the characters present in both stories.  Like
a lot of sequels, it's not really meant to be read out of
order.

* * *

Chapter 17--Another Addiction; Another Revelation

        Baby, you'll come knocking on my front door,
        Same old line you used to use before.
        I said yeah, well,
        What am I supposed to do?
        I didn't know what I was getting into.
        So you've had a little trouble in town?
        Now you're keeping some demon down.
        Stop draggin' my...
        Stop draggin' my...
        Stop draggin' my heart around!
                -- Stop Draggin' My Heart Around (Stevie Nicks / Tom Petty)


    I saw Sherry during the three classes we shared the next
day, and she usually lowered her eyes as she realized that I
knew about the "lessons" she needed to learn.  I wished that
I could have prevented that bit of embarrassment, but I knew
that Camille indeed came up with a less embarrassing solution
to her predicament.

    I caught up with Sherry at the end of the day.

    "Have you seen Tim Hawking today?" I asked.

    "That loser?" Sherry said, making a face.  "I saw him
after third period, but I managed to turn away before he said
anything to me." She shuddered.

    I smiled.  The command I gave her seems to have worked.

    Kristen was sitting in her Camaro when I got out to the
parking lot.

    Inside the car, Kristen was so angry I thought she'd burn
a hole in the dashboard where she was glaring.

    "What's up, Goddess?" I asked.

    "A nerdy little brat tried to give me something that
looked like your lucky tickets," Kristen spat.  "I told him
if he ever tried to give anything to me, he's lose both his
hands and another appendage of my choice.  To think, a kid
like him..."

    It wasn't so long ago that *I* was a kid like Tim
Hawking, but I kept my comment to myself.

    "I'm sorry, Jim.  It just bothered me.  I mean, the
nerve..."

    "Think of it this way," I pointed out.  "He didn't hand
you the ticket, did he?"

    "No..." Kristen said, slowly.

    "At least, I was able to protect you.  I don't think I
have enough tickets to protect the entire world, though." I
sighed.

    Kristen started the car, her spirits a bit brighter.

    "What was his expression like when you didn't take his
ticket?"

    Kristen actually smiled, now.  "His mouth hung open so
wide, I wouldn't have been surprised if a cat walked into it."

    I laughed, both out of Kristen's choice of words, and how
surprised Tim must have really looked.

    Tuesday evening, Camille came over, and we discussed how
we could possibly deal with Tim by Saturday.  No ideas came
up, and there were a few questions I needed to ask Camille in
private.

    Finally, I went downstairs to practice a few racks of
pool.  I found that thinking of other things, like lining up
the miraculous shot Camille made that morning, might keep me
sane.  After three attempts, I realized that you needed to
hit the ball quite hard just to make it to the fourth bank.

    "A little right English," Camille said when she saw my
attempt.

    "Huh?" I asked.

    "Right English--hit the cue just a bit to the right and
maybe a little bit higher than its center of mass.  Hit it
strong and the spin on the ball will make sure the banks will
hit correctly."

    I tried to hit the cue the way that Camille described.  I
made it closer but still missed, only hitting the ball out of
the corner.

    "That's better.  Now aim just to the right of this
diamond." Camille indicated a diamond on the bank.  She put
her finger at the point where I was supposed to aim.

    I tried it again, and let it rip.

    The ball hit all four banks and the nine ball slowly sank
into the pocket.

    "That's it.  Piece of cake.  It's a sucker shot."

    "Sucker shot?" I asked.

    "You practice this until you get it perfect.  Make sure
your percentage is about nine out of ten.  When I was playing
with Kris, it was very difficult to get the eight ball sunk
with the nine and cue at the perfect setup.  Kristen never
realized that I was working to get into the right position
and probably thought I was just showing off."

    "You practiced that shot?" I asked, laughing at Camille's
deviousness.

    "As I said, I really loved seeing Kristen get angry.  I
wasn't trying to make her gamble."

    "Stop apologizing," I said softly.

    "Kristen's not coming down here," Camille said.

    "I know," I admitted.  "Kristen realizes now why I was
upset.  I didn't even have to tell her."

    "Why were you so upset?" Camille asked.

    "My dad was an alcoholic," I said.

    "Oh," Camille answered.

    There was a minute of uncomfortable silence.

    "Want to play a game?"

    "No," I said.  "You can teach me more sucker shots,
though."

    "How about simple bank shots?  They will come in more
handy for when you actually play."

    Camille showed me some of the standard bank shots.  She
taught me about putting spin ("English") on a ball, and how
it affects bank shots, and how it's useful to get around an
inconveniently placed ball.

    As I was taking a shot, I asked Camille, "Why couldn't
you give Kristen a ticket yesterday?"

    Camille looked at me seriously.  "I knew you'd ask that.
I'm not exactly sure what would happen but I don't want to do
anything that could possibly affect the fact that the tickets
don't work on me right now.  If I use them--even once--then I
might end up stuck with them again."

    "Why couldn't you tell us yesterday?" I asked.

    "I cannot talk about the tickets except to you.  Having
Kristen helping us with ideas may become difficult for me.
Forgive me if it looks like I can't tell you something when
she's around."

    I nodded.  "I once tried giving the roll to Kristen and
asked her to hand me one.  She told me that my wish couldn't
be granted.  How did your sister get rid of her tickets?  If
she got rid of them, then maybe we can trick Tim into losing
his."

    Camille shrugged.

    "How did you get rid of them?"

    "I cannot answer that question."

    I nodded, and took a few more shots before I realized
that I had asked the wrong question, but Camille also gave me
the wrong answer!

    Up until this moment, Camille told me that she just
avoided the tickets.  Now she implied that she got rid of
them, which might mean that she actually may have had
possession of them at one time.

    I'm not sure if Camille realized her mistake, but she
changed the subject.  "Tim's going to find out something is
strange about Sherry and Kristen.  In fact, Kris told me that
he already knows they don't work on her."

    "Kris just had a hissy fit when he tried to give it to
her," I pointed out.  "Maybe he just thinks that she's a bit
stuck up." I thought to myself, and slowly added.  "I know
that I used to think that about her."

    "He's going to notice that Kristen and you are
inseparable.  You might be a possible target, and maybe
possibly Patty."

    I put Patty on my list of people to protect from Tim.

    "I'd hate to receive a ticket from him," I sighed.  "It
might work and he might find out about my tickets.  I'm also
afraid of trying to give him a ticket first--if it doesn't
work, it would give away one of our secrets!"

    "I'd say that things are about to come to a head real
soon.  It looks as if the two of you are heading full steam
ahead into each other."

    I sunk my third bank in a row as I nodded to Camille.

    We didn't talk much more about Tim or the magical
tickets.  Instead, Camille gave me a couple of pointers on
how to hold the cue to get better control.

    After a half hour, the two of us went upstairs.

    The apartment looked empty, but the door to the master
bedroom was closed.

    The two of us went into separate bedrooms.

* * *

    The next morning, after breakfast, Kristen went back to
the bedroom for her morning shower.

    I went to join her, but Camille put her hand on my
shoulder.  "Jim?"

    "Yes, Cammy?"

    "It's... difficult staying here with you two."

    "Huh?"

    "The more that I'm with the two of you, the more... I've
told you that I'm drawn to you, Jim."

    I was confused.  "Drawn to me, how?"

    "Sexually."

    Oh, shit.  I remembered Camille telling me that.  I
thought we got past that, though.

    Camille saw my expression and said, "I'm not sure why I
feel that way with you.  It might be your tickets, but I know
that I don't feel that way toward Tim Hawking."

    "I'm sorry, Cammy..."

    "There's another problem, Jim."

    "What?" I asked.

    "It's something that I avoided telling you at Lake Shore
Point.  Staying here has made it worse for me."

    I was confused, but I was starting to get apprehensive.
"What are you telling me?"

    "I'm also in love with Kristen."

    I thought that I couldn't be surprised any more.  "In
love?"

    "I think my sister did it to me," Camille said, her eyes
downcast.  "I know that I went to Kristen, and she turned me
down.  I felt so ashamed.  I was in love with her, and she
just laughed at me.  I never really tried to get with her
again, and found myself thinking of her constantly, and
eventually started to hate her guts.  Kristen had this power
over me, even if she didn't know it.  I was happy that she
was on your list for getting even with the tickets..."

    "Huh?" I was stunned by this admission.

    "I mean, I figured that you'd teach her a lesson in
humility.  I really thought of Kristen as a bitch at the
time, mostly due to the way I felt about her.  I remembered
that you didn't do much with Patty and Wendy, so I figured
that we'd have a big laugh at Kristen's expense.  It wasn't
until the next day that I realized that you could become the
same monster that Debbie became... and I was helping you!"

    I sighed once more.

    Camille saw my reaction, and softly said, "But you made
it better..."

    "I know," I said sadly.  "We talked about that."

    Camille shook her head.  "I always felt guilty about
that.  I love Kristen.  Only three people know this.  Debbie,
who probably is the one that made me love her; Lynette, after
she told me that she had a crush on Kristen as well; and you."

    I didn't know Lynette well enough, but was surprised to
hear from Camille that she might have lesbian tendencies.
"Lynette?"

    "Lynette and I fool around, and I doubt my sister had
anything to do with that.  I'm not in love with Lynette like
I am with Kristen, though." Camille closed her eyes for a few
moments and continued.  "Anyway, Lynette and I don't
advertise our relationship to the world, and it's not like
we're going to spend our lives together.  Aside from any
girls that Debbie made me do, Lynette may be the only one
that I did by my own choice.  Even so, sometimes, I find
myself thinking of Kristen when I'm with Lynette."

    I didn't know how to respond to this, so I said nothing.

    "I'm sorry, Jim," Camille said, hugging me.  "I don't
want to steal Kristen away from you."

    "I don't think you could," I said with a sigh.

    "Huh?"

    "Kristen still has her addiction, Cammy," I pointed out.
"If she decides to sleep with you one day, she will still
need me.  I don't like that one bit, but I can't seem to
think of anything that I can do to prevent it."

    Camille looked at me for a few moments.  "I never thought
about that."

    I shrugged.  "It's my mess.  I'm going to have to clean
it up.  I don't have a clue how, but I will do everything I
can.  If, afterward, Kristen hates me, then that will be my
ultimate punishment for what I did to Kristen last fall."

    Camille hugged me again, and when we finally pulled
apart, I could see tears in her eyes.  It wasn't
surprising--I had tears in my own.

    I decided to grab the bull by the horns.

    "Go into the master bedroom, and from there into the
bathroom and into the shower.  Find the soap while you kiss
her.  She'll open her eyes and she'll be surprised, but start
soaping her breasts and whisper, 'Jim says it's OK.'"

    "Huh?"

    "Cammy.  I spoke to you in plain English.  Isn't that a
language that you, your class' valedictorian, can speak?"

    Camille's eyes opened wide.  "You mean...?"

    "Treat her gently," I advised.  "Make her feel good, but
don't make her too worried."

    "Soap her breasts?" Camille asked, still unsure of
herself.

    "Trust me.  Soap her breasts and she's yours."

    Camille looked at me for a few moments and then walked
toward the master bedroom.  Before she entered it, she
stopped, and turned around, as if she was going to say
something.

    I waited, but we stood there, staring at each other.

    Camille turned as if she were to continue toward the
bedroom, but stopped again.  She ran back over to me and
kissed me.  "Thanks, Oogie!  You know, you are a real friend
to the cheerleaders to help us deal with Tim Hawking!"

    I watched Camille tiptoe into the master bedroom to give
Kristen an interesting surprise.

    After Camille entered the master bedroom, I wondered why
I told Camille to take her shower with Kristen.  After all,
Kristen never gave me permission to do anything like that,
and after Camille left, I realized that I hoped I hadn't
crossed a line.

    However, Camille alerted me to one of the biggest dangers
I faced.  She was a friend--more than just a friend--to me,
and to Kristen.  I think she told me about her love for
Kristen and me in a moment of weakness, and if she were to
admit that to me, she must have felt it hard.

    I knew how hard one can fall for my lovely blonde
Goddess, even without the benefit of having that love imposed
upon you unwillingly by a ticket.  Even with Camille being a
female, I knew that Kristen was quite sure of her
heterosexuality.  I didn't see the two of us as being
competition for Kristen's affections, just like I didn't have
a problem with Kristen's apparent ongoing relationship with
her brother.  I figured that Camille's love was a different
expression of love than mine.  Of course, if Kristen didn't
want to swing that way then that would be her choice, but
they had been together in that bathroom for a while.

    I started to understand the concept that Kristen's
brother Will explained to me: bisexuality.  I still didn't
agree with Will completely about it, though.  As I mentioned,
I felt no jealousy about Kristen and either Camille or Will.
The truth of the matter was that what I told Camille before
was the one truth that I never told anybody--not even
myself!--up until now.

    On New Year's Day, Kristen told me that her addiction
made me hers, but in truth, she was quite mistaken.  I loved
Kristen because she was a wonderful person.  She was more
mature than me, but also more impulsive.  She fit a part of
me that I didn't even suspect needed a connecting part until
she was there.  On the other hand, I still had moments when I
suspected that Kristen's love for me was just a way for her
to get her fix without making her feel less in control.

    That was punishment enough for me, I thought.  Maybe
Kristen and I were doomed to a life where she would never
love me as much as I love her, despite all her acting to the
contrary.

    At the same time, I realized that I might have been more
than a bit presumptuous about giving Kristen so casually to
Camille.  After all, both Kristen and Camille told me that
Debbie offered Camille to Kristen and Kris apparently turned
her down.

* * *

    The girls spent a half hour in the shower.  Neither one
could look me straight in the eye when they finally came out
of my bedroom.

    "I was hoping that we'd not be late for school," I said.

    We took Kristen's Camaro to school.  Both girls kissed me
as we parked, and got out and headed for homeroom.

    I was quite moody, and Sherry noticed my feelings in
first period.  Between first and second periods, Sherry tried
to get me to talk.  "What's up, Jim?"

    "I have a lot on my mind," I said.

    Sherry reddened, no doubt believing that I was thinking
of her extracurricular "lessons."

    I sighed.  I found myself making more mistakes than great
decisions lately.

* * *

    At lunch, Kristen didn't appear to be angry at me.  In
fact, she didn't appear to be as embarrassed as she was
earlier when she came out of her bedroom this morning.

    "What's wrong, Jim?" Patty asked about halfway through
lunch.

    "Huh?" I asked.  I hadn't been listening to what the
girls were saying.

    "What's going on?" Patty asked.

    "Problems at home," I said.

    Patty looked at Kristen, who shrugged.

    I tuned everybody out and kept on thinking about the
situations that I was about to fuck up.

    When the class bell rang, it surprised me.  Sherry,
Patty, and Kristen were all looking at me strangely.

    As we left the cafeteria, I held Patty back.  "Patty, I
need to talk with you... privately."

    "You seemed a million miles away," Patty said.

    "Can you meet me at the band room for a few moments?"

    As we were walking toward the music room, I noticed Tim
Hawking about halfway down the corridor.  I don't think he
saw me, but I immediately spun around, surprising Patty.
"Let's go upstairs and come back downstairs."

    "I'll be late for class..."

    "Please, Patty."

    "All right."

    We took the long way, and finally made it to the band
room unmolested.

    "What's up, Jim?" Patty asked.

    Instead of answering, I handed Patty a ticket.

    "You have one wish."

    "Answer me truthfully the following two questions."

    "Your wish is my command."

    "Do you know Tim Hawking, and has anybody other than me
ever given you a lucky ticket?"

    "Yes, and yes."

    Shit, and more shit!

    "Did Tim give you a ticket?" I asked.

    "Huh?"

    Shit again.  I handed Patty another ticket and asked the
question again.

    "No."

    I sighed.  However, if Patty received a ticket from
somebody else... who was it?

    Another ticket later, I found out: Debbie Lombardi.

    I decided that Debbie could wait for a while.

    One more ticket later, I protected Patty from Tim
Hawking.  I left a bewildered Patty behind me and it wasn't
until I got to gym class that I realized that I should have
told her the situation with the tickets.

* * *

    In the past few days, I used quite a few tickets.  So
much for my desire to cool down on using them.  However, I
was starting to feel quite paranoid.

    On Wednesday night, I realized that Camille gave me a
clue to how I could get more information.

    "Camille?" I asked.

    "Yes?"

    "You said you know where your sister lives."

    Camille nodded.

    "Is she still there?" I asked.

    "Do you intend to call her?"

    Actually, I didn't.  I shook my head.  "Kristen, could
you get me reservations on a red-eye from Chicago to New York
City?"

    Both girls' eyes went wide.

* * *

    The "New York City" I envisaged in my mind was Manhattan:
big buildings, large crowds, Wall Street, the Empire State
Building, the World Trade Center, and the Chrysler building.

    Camille's sister lived in Queens, which was still New
York City, but not on Manhattan island.  From La Guardia, I
took a cab to the apartment where I was told Debbie lived.
Kristen had given me a lot of cash for such expenses, which
were in various pockets and in my shoes.  After all, New York
had a reputation!

    As I was driven, I could see the world famous skyline and
I guess I stared like a typical tourist.  The cab driver
didn't say much, but I doubted he spoke English very well.
When we stopped, I was surprised by the amount of the fare,
but paid it and gave the driver a five dollar tip.

    At Debbie's apartment building, I knocked on the door to
her apartment, and it opened a bit, with a chain keeping the
door from opening too far.

    "Hello, Ms. Lombardi," I said to Debbie Lombardi's
familiar face.  "I need to talk with you."

    "How did you get upstairs?"

    "A teenager let me come in behind him.  Please, I don't
intend to harm you."

    "What's this about?" Debbie asked.  She then furrowed her
brow and said, "Do I know you?"

    I said the two words that I thought might get me into
Debbie Lombardi's apartment.

    They worked.  Debbie closed the door, unlatched the
chain, and then opened the door to let me inside.  Once we
were inside, Debbie asked, "How do you know about them?"

    "Do you know who I am?" I asked.

    "Should I?" Debbie asked, confused.  "You look a bit
familiar."

    Had I changed that much in three years?  "My name is Jim
Crittenhouse."

    "Jim?  From Illinois?" Debbie was very surprised.

    "Yes," I answered.  "Cammy gave me your address."

    "Why?"

    I repeated those two words.  Debbie looked shocked.

    "Is Cammy abusing them?"

    "I might be abusing them, Debbie."

    "Huh?"

    "I need to know about them.  I found somebody else who is
using them to ruin people's lives.  I made a few mistakes
when I first discovered them, but up until recently, I've
mostly been using them as a weird 'truth serum.'"

    Debbie looked at me.  "That's strange.  I thought Cammy
got them."

    "Huh?"

    Debbie shook her head.  "I was an asshole, Jim.  I abused
her.  I think I may have even abused you, but not very much.
You were just a kid.  Even when I didn't abuse them..."
Debbie ended with a sigh.

    "What happened?"

    Debbie sighed.  "Why should I tell you?"

    "There's somebody who is trying to ruin people's lives.
You've done things like that, and you seem sorry now.  I've
done things like that, and now I'm trying to make things
right.  This other person tried to rape your sister."

    Once again, Debbie sighed.  She got up and went into her
kitchen.  She came back with a glass full of something that I
recognized as whiskey.

    Debbie offered me some, and I respectfully declined.

    Debbie sighed and told me her story.

* * *

    Debbie did indeed have possession of the tickets at one
time.

    Unfortunately, Debbie abused them.  She discovered how
they worked with Camille, and then with me.  She found out a
week or so after she found them that she could make an
outrageous wish, and it would be granted, much to her horror.
(Debbie never explained what this outrageous wish was, but
told me that she swore to never use them again when she saw
the consequences.)

    It was about a month later that she found the tickets
again.  This time, she couldn't help but heed their siren
song.  (This was another area that I couldn't get Debbie to
talk too much about.)

    After a while, Debbie found herself to have bisexual
tendencies, although she only did girl-girl things with her
sister.  (Debbie expected me to be surprised by this
revelation; I wasn't and she was shocked.)

    Debbie eventually got sick of her life, and left the
Midwest.  She wanted to get lost in Manhattan.  She used the
tickets to get enough money to be comfortable, and to just
live her life anonymously.

    One day, at a strip club, Debbie met the love of her
life, a stripper named Jenny.  Once they met, they hit it off
immediately.  Both of them discovered that they had an
attraction for each other, and for the first time, Debbie
found herself in love with somebody.  She wanted the
relationship pure, so Jenny was one of the few people she
slept with that she hadn't seduced using a ticket.

    Since Debbie had money, she decided to help Jenny fund a
new club that Jenny envisioned.  Jenny used to work in a
number of "wiggler bars" (her name for strip clubs).  Jenny
told Debbie about her dream to own a place like the Ansonia
Hotel on Broadway, but specializing in women patrons.

    It was a shocking idea, but Debbie agreed to it.

    The biggest difficulty was obtaining a liquor license.
Such a club would be doomed without one, and the licensing
bureau was giving them problems.  In addition, there were
problems with the local Board of Health.

    Suddenly, a savior of sorts came into the picture.  His
name was Vinnie and he offered to help the two women for a
small cut into the venture... only twenty percent.

    The two girls were witnessing their dream flying away,
and agreed that twenty percent wasn't too much of a price to
pay, but only if Vinnie came through and made their problems
with liquor and the Board of Health disappear.  As soon as
they agreed, their problems melted away like ice in a hot
oven.

    The club opened a year ago.

    Vinnie had quite a head for the business.  He suggested
that Debbie and Jenny get official jobs as "Hostesses," where
they could draw a nice income, and the girls did so.

    Things were going fine, but after a few months, Debbie
and Jenny noticed that there seemed to be slight problems
with the books.  They discovered that some of the people that
they hired were less than scrupulous.

    A bartender, for instance, was caught stealing money.
Debbie confronted the guy, using her lucky tickets of course,
and found out that he was part of a conspiracy orchestrated
by Vinnie to rob the club blind.  Vinnie, in addition, had
managed to create a whole lot of shady deals that worried the
two women.

    Instead of firing the bartender, Debbie kept him on,
using him to keep tabs on Vinnie.

    Vinnie wasn't a stupid person, and found out that Debbie
somehow had some sort of power over the bartender.  Before
the inevitable confrontation, however, Debbie managed to
finally get rid of the tickets, and they disappeared forever.
(This was another thing that Debbie would not discuss, no
matter how much I asked her.)

    This past December, Jenny was found dead in their
apartment with slit wrists in the bathtub.  Debbie found
herself in agony... the person she loved, and one of the few
that she never used a ticket on, was dead!  There was a
suicide note that said that she and Debbie's bartender were
in cahoots, stealing money from the club.  The bartender's
body was discovered in the East River soon afterward.

    Debbie knew that the suicide note was a fake.  It was
typed but not signed, and the wording was perfect.  Debbie
knew that Jenny was notorious in her inability to spell.  The
police stated that the note was indeed written on the
typewriter found in their closet.  There was no sign of foul
play, but it seemed as if the police were all too eager to
call it a suicide and drop the case.  Debbie knew in her
heart that Vinnie had something to do with Jenny's death, but
she didn't have any proof.

    After Jenny's funeral, Vinnie confronted Debbie with a
notarized transaction that showed that Jenny "sold" her
shares in the club to Vinnie.  Debbie hired an investigator
and found that there was indeed a deposit from Vinnie in
Jenny's checking account.  There was also another transaction
a week later for a check of a similar amount made out to
"cash" and that money was never found.

    Debbie realized that Vinnie now owned sixty percent of
the club... his original twenty plus Jenny's forty.  As
majority owner, he changed a lot of things, including
suppliers and employees.

    By contract, Debbie must continue to work there for
another three years as a "Hostess," but now that Vinnie
controlled the club, he now redefined the job description to
be the equivalent of "Stripper." He also changed the
clientele from all women to mostly male.

    Now, the club is now just another "wiggler bar," which is
what Debbie and Jenny wanted to prevent from the start.  In
addition, Vinnie has his own accountants doing the books,
burying the profits from the operations with a whole bunch of
"losses" and expenditures.  There are drugs, and Debbie
thinks that a few of the girls might be underage.  There's
little that she can do, since she's part owner of the club,
she could be held legally liable, despite the fact that she
has no say in the running of the club any more.

    Debbie was now getting nothing from the club, as the
profits are mostly negligible, and due to the shrinking
profits, Debbie's paycheck is next to nothing.  Nobody is
interested in her shares of the place--nobody would be stupid
enough to own a minority share in a place controlled by
Vinnie.  Vinnie has offered her a ridiculously low price
himself, but Debbie realized that without her tickets or her
job, she can't even afford this place here in Queens where
she moved from Greenwich Village.

    Debbie found herself in a terrible situation where she's
forced to strip for Vinnie's club, and she's sometimes even
forced to sleep with customers just to earn living expenses!
She's now not just a stripper but also a hooker!

    The police have raided the place once, and as "chief
operating officer," Debbie was fined for various violations,
and a number of the girls working there were busted for
prostitution.  Vinnie has "loaned" money to Debbie to pay the
fines for herself and some of the girls in return for an
extension of her "Hostess" contract.  She's now in debt to
Vinnie for over forty thousand dollars.

* * *

    I was appalled by Debbie's story, and felt sorry for her,
despite what she did to her own sister.  I could see why
Debbie didn't want to talk with Camille.

    For some reason, Debbie's story was hazy on the aspect of
the tickets.  I kept asking her questions about them,
especially as I saw her drinking continuously and refilling
her glass, hoping the alcohol would lower her inhibitions
about telling me what I wanted to know.

    Debbie did give me some important information, though.
"You need to be careful who you use the tickets on," Debbie
warned.  "Most people don't know that they've been handed
tickets, but not all of them!  Some people will do whatever
you tell them to do, but afterward will be very suspicious of
you."

    My ears pricked up at that bit of information.  Patrice
Williams, one of the first people that I abused with the
tickets, seemed quite leery of me after I told her about what
I had done, although this wasn't exactly what Debbie was
telling me.  "What do you mean by suspicious?" I asked.

    "This didn't happen often," Debbie said, a faraway look
in her eyes.  "I remembered giving one to a teacher so I
could get a B in her class.  From that day forward, she
always had it in for me, even though I still managed to get a
B. I finally resolved the situation by not even bothering to
show up for her class.  I still got a B. Even a year or so
later, before I left town, it was like she'd go out of her
way to get me in trouble."

    Something about that revelation clicked in my mind.
"What subject?" I asked.

    "English."

    "Let me guess.  Mrs. Taylor."

    "You gave her a ticket, too?" Debbie asked.

    I shook my head.  "No, not at all.  I had mostly stopped
using the tickets, and she suddenly started picking on me."

    "Detention?" Debbie asked.

    "Yeah."

    Debbie shrugged.  "My suggestion is to just give her a
ticket, tell her to give you an A or a B, and stop showing up
for class.  The less she sees you, the better off you will
be.  Mrs. Taylor has friends that will try to make your life
miserable just the same."

    "I've taken care of Mrs. Taylor, and without using the
tickets."

    "How?"

    I gave Debbie an abbreviated version of the confrontation
between Mrs. Taylor, Mr. Yank, and myself.  Debbie seemed in
awe that I wouldn't just use the tickets to fix the situation.

    "I didn't use the tickets because I didn't see that I had
to use them," I explained.  "I'm not sure if she'll find some
other way to hassle me, but I got the feeling that Mr. Yank
already has a bad impression of her."

    "Yeah, well, that was back in high school.  I'm living a
real life now."

    I thought about Debbie's "real life" and decided not to
make a wise remark.  Instead, I asked, "Can you tell me
anything else about the tickets?" I hoped that Debbie would
open up more.

    Debbie took a big sip from her glass, emptying it.
"Don't make wishes that you'll live to regret."

    "I've learned that one," I said.

    "No, you haven't!" Debbie yelled.  "You don't know shit!
Donna is..."

    Debbie suddenly stopped, and stared at me, refusing to go
any further.

    "Who's Donna?" I asked.

    Debbie refused to answer.

    Debbie was staring at her now empty glass, and it seemed
as if she was once again considering a refill.  I saw that
expression before.

    I decided to get off the particular subject.  "How did
you get rid of the tickets?" I asked Debbie once again.

    "I... I can't tell you."

    "Can't?  Or won't?"

    "Both.  I truly cannot, and therefore I will not."

    I sighed.  I made this trip to find out how to get rid of
Tim's tickets.  Debbie gave me some information which I could
use, but my main objective seemed to have failed.  "Debbie,
Camille seems to think that I now own your tickets.  However,
somebody else seems to have found a similar roll."

    "Two rolls?" Debbie asked, genuinely surprised.

    Shit.  I hoped that I would find out where Tim Hawking's
tickets may have come from.

    "You never knew anybody else to have possession of the
tickets?" I asked.

    "Not while I had them."

    "Well, this other guy is hurting people with them."

    "Like I did," Debbie said sourly, half to herself.

    "Nobody is perfect, Debbie.  I also made mistakes.  One
needs to learn from them and move on."

    Debbie looked at me with surprise.  "I always liked you,
Jim.  I never intended you to be a victim of the tickets.  I
didn't intend for Camille to be, either.  I was young when I
found them--that's my only excuse.  I got rid of them because
I wanted to make sure that Vinnie couldn't use them, either
by stealing them or forcing me to use them in despicable
ways."

    "When did you first come upon the tickets?"

    Debbie rolled her eyes and sighed.  "A man gave me one
when I was nine."

    "What did he have you do?" I asked.

    "What do you think a middle aged man would ask of a nine
year old?" Debbie asked.  "He got my cunt and my ass that
day.  He stuck it in my mouth and I puked."

    This was more information than I really needed.

    "He only did that to me once.  I guess he was only
interested in child virgins.  The guy didn't live far from
where I lived.  He was hit by a car or something when I was
fourteen.  I found the tickets soon after he died."

    That's how Debbie figured that Camille would have gotten
them next.

    "Can I hand you a ticket to see if they work on you
still?"

    Debbie looked me straight in the eye.  "Not if you want
to retain your tiny prick."

    I noticed that females that knew about the tickets
harbored castration ideas when somebody suggested them
receiving a ticket.

    I didn't press my luck.  "Thank you for talking with me,
Debbie.  You've given me some information.  May I tell Cammy
your story?"

    Debbie shrugged.  "Yeah.  Tell her that her big prick of
a sister is now a stripper and a whore.  She'll love that."
Debbie's sarcasm hung heavily in the air.

    Maybe that wouldn't be a good idea.

    I pulled on my jacket, and as I left I turned and said,
"It was nice talking with you, even if I didn't find the
information I needed to know."

    Debbie shook my hand.

    After the handshake, our hands separated and one of my
tickets dropped down.  I quickly bent down and picked it up.

    "I needed to know if it would work on you," I said.

    Debbie looked as if she was about to kick me in the
family jewels.  I quickly left the apartment, hearing Debbie
cursing me as I left.

    It was a lonely flight home.  I decided that flying
without Kristen, even in first class, just plain sucked.

* * *

    I arrived at the airport at six in the evening.  Camille
and Kristen were there to greet me.

    The first thing I noticed was that a tension I once saw
between Kristen and Camille was no longer present.  In its
place was a closeness.  I smiled.

    "Debbie called my mom," was the first thing that Camille
said when she saw me.

    "Oh?" I said.

    "She left a message for you.  She says, 'Thanks.'"

    I smiled.  I think the fact that the ticket I palmed when
I shook Debbie's hand didn't work on her might have cut
through her fear of them.

    Kristen didn't bother to speak, she simply pulled me into
a hug and a deep kiss that lasted minutes.  Boy, I found
myself really missing Kristen--even if it were just most of a
day--and I tried to put as much into a kiss as Kristen did.

    "Can I have some of that?" Camille asked with a smile on
her face.

    "Of course, Cammy," Kristen said, and pushed me toward
Camille.

    Camille's kiss wasn't as romantic as the one that I
shared with Kristen, but it was quite friendly.

    "What did you say to Debbie?" Camille asked.  "She really
sounded different."

    "I asked her the story about the tickets," I said.  "I
didn't get much information, but she told me what happened
after she moved to New York."

    "What was the 'thanks' about?"

    "Despite the fact that she told me she didn't want me to
try to hand her a ticket, I tricked her and it didn't work on
her.  I expected that."

    "Oh," Camille said, a bit surprised.

    "The 'thanks' was that she no longer fears the tickets.
Maybe she will find that she doesn't need to drink to forget
them, but her life is a hell of a lot less than a dream come
true for her.  I'll tell you her story some other time."

    Camille nodded.

    "I have a question, Cammy.  Do you know anybody named
Donna?"

    "There are a few people with that name at school,"
Camille answered.

    "Debbie mentioned her name."

    "Oh, Donna!" Camille said.  "That used to be her best
friend."

    "Used to be?"

    "They got into a fight, and I think Debbie never made up
with her.  Donna died quite suddenly afterward, and Debbie
was a bit of a wreck for about a month."

    I felt a coldness hit the pit of my stomach.  "Did this
happen before or after Debbie had her tickets?"

    "A bit after," Camille said, nervously looking at
Kristen.  Camille was still under some sort of restraint
against talking about the tickets in front of anybody but me.
A moment later, Camille shook her head.  "Debbie hid the...
them... after Donna died."

    Camille seemed to realize what I was asking and her mouth
hung open.  "No!  Debbie wouldn't have... I mean, this was
before she got mean!"

    Kristen's eyes were wide as she heard this interesting
bit of news.  I could also see in Camille's eyes that she
made the same realization that I did: Debbie did something to
Donna with the tickets, and that's when she got scared and
stopped using them, if only for a few weeks.

    The three of us were silent for about five minutes.  I
just learned that the tickets could have even more terrible
repercussions than the feelings of guilt that I had over
using them.

    "It's getting late," Kristen finally remarked.

    "Let's stop somewhere for a quick bite and head home.
Even though I've been sitting most of the day, I'm still
beat."

    "I'm not that hungry," Camille said.

    Neither Kristen nor I answered Camille.  I now wondered
how I would ever tell her the story about her sister, and how
she was not just a stripper and a whore, but quite possibly a
murderer.  No wonder why Debbie continued to live in the hell
hole she dug for herself.  I thought I had feelings of guilt.

    We left the airport and drove home, mostly in silence.

    We were about halfway home when Camille, of all people,
broke the silence.  "Any ideas about your friend Tim?"

    "He's not my friend," I pointed out.

    "You don't think he's mine, do you?" Camille shot back.

    I shrugged.  "You blew him, not me."

    I immediately regretted my remark.  I saw Camille redden
and a look of anger shot across her face.  After a few
moments, however, she nodded.  "Yeah, I guess.  The next
time, he'll feel what teeth really feel like." Camille made
snapping sounds as the top and lower half of her mouth
connected repeatedly.

    Instinctively, I shuddered at the idea.  I figured that
resorting to physical violence would not be a good idea, but
Camille did have an effective solution.

    "I'm sorry, Cammy," I said.  "I shouldn't have said that."

    Camille nodded but didn't answer me.

    "To answer your question, I haven't come up with any
ideas regarding Tim.  In that respect, my trip was a waste of
time."

    Camille nodded again.

    We continued in silence, and about five minutes out of
town, Camille said, "I'm sorry I got angry, Jim.  I didn't
mean to imply that Tim was your friend."

    "Friends?" I asked, hopefully.

    "Friends," Camille said.

    We got back to the apartment late.

    Kristen and I went to the master bedroom, and Camille
took her own.

    "Jim?" Kristen said softly once we were in bed together.

    "Yes?"

    "Cammy and I... you know..."

    I nodded at Kristen softly said, "Yes, I know."

    "I never felt it like that.  I mean, it's not the same as
you and me.  It's just... different."

    "I figured that."

    "Cammy said you sent her into the shower the other day."

    I continued to nod, rather than answer her directly.

    "She said that she and Lynette both had a crush on me for
a long time."

    Camille told me about Lynette, the captain of the
cheerleading squad.  I shrugged, and said, "When I told her
to go into the shower, I didn't consider how you might
react." This had been bugging me.

    "I was shocked, but at the same time..."

    "Curious?" I asked.

    "Yeah.  We didn't do much, other than touch.  We still
haven't.  You told her that if she soaped my breasts then I'd
be hers!"

    "Isn't that true?" I asked.

    Kristen gave me a wry smile.  "We still haven't done
anything.  I'm still a bit scared."

    I hadn't known that.

    "I'm confused," Kristen admitted.

    "I understand."

    There was a few moments of silence.  I reached over and
pulled Kristen into a hug.

    "Kris?"

    "Yes?"

    "Cammy is feeling really bad about her sister.  She
doesn't know the entire story, and it isn't pretty.  I'm
sorry that I mentioned her sister's best friend, but Debbie
blurted out that name and then clammed up."

    "Do you think Debbie killed her best friend?" Kristen
asked.

    I looked at Kristen, a bit surprised that she had put all
this together.  "I think she may have done something to cause
her friend's death."

    "Those tickets are scary."

    I shook my head.  "You're telling me."

    In the middle of the night, Kristen shook me to wake me
up.  "Jim, you know that it doesn't have to be an either/or
situation."

    "Huh?" I asked, confused.

    "I'm talking about Cammy and me," Kristen said, hoping
that I would be awakened enough to understand her.  "It
doesn't have to be an either/or situation."

    "Of course," I said, my voice full of sleep.

    I kissed my Goddess, and felt tears on her face.

    I was tired enough that I fell back asleep very soon
afterward.

* * *

    When Camille woke up the next morning, she seemed bright
and cheerful.  Both Kristen and I looked at her for any signs
that she was thinking about her sister, but that didn't
appear to be the case.

    Once I got to school, I realized that I blew off jazz
band rehearsal and a part of me understood that I was going
to have to have a heart to heart with Mr. Proilet.

    I found the music teacher before band class.  He raised
his eyebrows as he saw me.

    "Hello, Jim."

    "I'm sorry about rehearsal yesterday."

    "Not a problem.  I was surprised to see Kristen there.  I
thought that the two of you..."

    "I needed to visit somebody yesterday," I said,
truthfully.

    Mr. Proilet nodded.

    The rest of the class was starting to file in.

    There were a number of assignments for my "missed" day of
class, and I did them during lunch.

    Camille and Kristen purchased a few more (smaller!)
dildoes when they made the trip out to Chicago to pick me up,
and Camille and Lynette privately offered them to the
cheerleaders so they wouldn't have to be seen as tramps to
the other students.  Camille and I also "protected" the
cheerleaders from Tim.  I wished that they wouldn't accept
tickets from Tim, and to the ones that had already been
affected by Tim, I made an additional wish that they wouldn't
think too much about the power he had over them.

    Despite my attempts to keep the cheerleaders from
worrying, according to Camille about half of the girls were
still facing Saturday with trepidation.

    I still hadn't come up with a workable solution to
dealing with Tim Hawking the next day.

    The rest of the school day progressed slowly.  During
English, when we were supposed to write some essay, I looked
up at my teacher and noticed that Mrs. Taylor was glaring at
me.  I quickly shifted my attention back to my essay and
thought about Debbie's words about that teacher.  I also
thought about how Will said that he could see my "strange
aura" and how he associated it with magic.  If Will was
sensitive to my tickets, then other people might be
sensitive, even if they didn't know why they felt a
particular way.

    I decided that the best way to handle Mrs. Taylor was to
give her as few reasons as possible to be angry with me.

* * *

    Back at the apartment, Kristen excused herself to run a
few errands.  She didn't invite Camille or me, which was a
bit unusual, but it gave Camille and me some private time
together.

    There were some things about the tickets that Camille
just couldn't discuss with Kristen around, so the opportunity
was welcome.

    "What do you think about tomorrow?" Camille asked.

    "At least the cheerleaders are protected," I said.

    "I wonder if he phrased his wish the same way to
everybody," Camille mused.

    "What do you mean?"

    "He said, quote, 'Be ready for me on Saturday,' unquote."

    "I think he meant it sexually," I said.

    "If he said it the same way to everybody, and they're
protected..."

    The two of us laughed.  I imagined a picture of the
entire cheerleading squad, complete with boyfriends, all
brandishing baseball bats with menacing looks at Tim.

    "Violence isn't the answer," I said, slightly amused at
the mental image.  I also remembered Debbie and shuddered
slightly.

    "What he's doing is rape," Camille said.  "The penalty
for rape is severe."

    "We're not going to be judge and jury, Cammy."

    Camille nodded.

    I considered tomorrow's party again.  How would we be
able to deal with Tim?

    "That creep tried to give Kris a ticket again," Camille
said.

    "Oh?" I asked.  Kristen hadn't told me that.

    "She didn't take it," Camille assured me.

    "He's going to get obsessive about her," I observed.
"Has he approached any of the other cheerleaders?"

    "I know he tried to give one to Lynette and Jackie, and
he was unsuccessful with both," Camille answered.

    I sighed.  How would I react when a bunch of tickets work
consistently until, all of a sudden, people start refusing
them?  I'd try to find out what changed.

    How do you get rid of the tickets, as Debbie seemed to
have done?

    "Can you tell me how to get rid of the tickets?" I asked
Camille once again.

    Camille didn't answer, but shook her head.

    I sighed.

    "Can you tell me about my sister?" Camille asked.

    I had agonized the previous night about telling Camille
about her sister, but I figured that she deserved to know.  I
told her most of what Debbie told me, including her comment
that she referred to herself as a big prick, a stripper, and
a whore.

    Camille had tears in her eyes.  At one time, she hated
her sister for what she did to her.  However, she realized
that Debbie was in a terrible situation.  Her sister was
being forced to turn tricks for Vinnie!  Camille didn't
confide in me, however, so I wasn't entirely sure what was
going on in her mind.  I think my suspicions about Debbie's
best friend Donna also spooked Camille.

    Kristen arrived, saw Camille crying, and looked a
question at me.  I mouthed the word, "Debbie" and Kristen
nodded.

    Without saying anything, Kristen took Camille's hand, and
led her to the bedroom.

* * *

    Two hours later, I was down in the playroom, practicing
bank shots.  I was getting a little better, but without
somebody to actively coach me, the progress was slow.

    I tried not to think about what might be happening
upstairs in my own bedroom, but I wasn't too worried.
Camille was an emotional wreck, and she needed comforting.

    The two girls came downstairs a couple of hours later.  I
was still shooting bank shots.

    "You're getting good," Kristen said.

    I nodded.  "Cammy gave me a lesson the other night."

    "She taught me a lesson, too," Kristen said, smiling
slightly.

    "Want to play?" I asked.

    "Cutthroat?" Kristen asked.

    "Eight ball," I corrected.  "My rules and my stakes," I
answered.

    "What rules?" Camille asked.

    "Kristen against Camille.  Camille can never break.
Loser pays a forfeit that I decide after each game."

    "Forfeit?" the girls asked together.

    "You'll need to trust me on those," I said.  "Other rules
as I come up with them.  I think I can make it interesting."

* * *

    Despite having the break where she sunk a solid, Kristen
missed an easy shot, and Camille ran the table.

    As her forfeit, I told Kristen to get nude.

    Kristen was better at the next game, and got seven balls
in a row, but missed the eight ball.  Once again, Camille ran
the table, starting with the fifteen and working down the
numbers until she sunk the eight ball.

    "Second forfeit, Kristen," I said.  "Undress Camille."

    "Hey!" Camille protested.

    "My rules," I grinned.

    After Camille won the third game, I had a good idea for
Kristen's forfeit.  "All right, Kris.  As your forfeit, you
must keep your hands on Camille's breasts whenever she's
shooting."

    The fourth game changed Kristen's luck.  She ran the
solids, and sunk the eight ball.

    "Camille, you must give Kris the sexiest kiss you can
muster."

    Their kiss lasted almost five minutes.  The two girls
were rubbing their breasts together, and their fingers were
grabbing each other's asses.  By the time they broke the
kiss, they were both restless.

    Kristen missed an easy shot on the ten ball, and Camille
started on the solids.  With Kristen's hands on her breasts,
Kristen finally managed to get Camille to break her
concentration on the three ball.

    Kristen ran the rest of her balls, and Camille lost once
again.

    "Bed time!" I announced.

    The girls looked confused, but I simply went upstairs.
They picked up their discarded clothes and followed me up.

    I led the two girls into the master bedroom, and put the
two girls onto the bed, still nude.  Kristen was in the
middle between Camille and me.

    "Kissing only, tonight," I said, and I kissed my Goddess.
It was an erection special, and I groaned as I realized that
Kristen wouldn't be allowed to relieve the pressure.

    After a great kiss, Kristen turned over and kissed
Camille.  I could barely see them, but I could hear the two
girls moan.

    My erection got harder, but I willed myself to sleep.

--
jimc_author@hotmail.com

JiMC is only a pseudonym.  Respect my privacy and I'll respect yours.

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