R Finch - No longer virgin

She stretched out her slender legs, wondered also if Alan would show up at noon, as he always did, to have lunch with her in the school cafeteria. She was at least hopeful.

The hard plastic seat felt like it was beginning to bruise her. She shifted her weight uncomfortably, scooted her bare bottom back. She managed a dribble, fumbled with the tissue dispenser, finally pulled two paper squares free from where they were jammed in, absently dabbed at herself. She dropped the tissues into the bowl.

The outer door to the hallway banged open, slowly closed with a pneumatic hiss. Wendy perked up, listened. Whoever it was who came in went directly to a stall, quickly did what it was she had to do, left as quickly without even going through the pretense of washing her hands. The door hissed shut.

Wendy relaxed again, toyed idly with the elastic band of her panties, snapped it. She glanced down at the patch of curly hair covering the hollow between her thighs, considered a brief bout between her fingers and the sensitive area within, thought it might help pass the time.

She dismissed the idea finally, was not really in the mood at all. She chose instead to fold her arms across her bare knees, lay her head in the crook of her elbow. She thought of Alan. She closed her eyes.

The outer door to the hallway opened again. Wendy heard two girls walk in. She sat up. One of the girls giggled about something. Wendy recognized the voice, tensed. It was none other than Lucinda Krell.

Wendy could picture the small girl without actually seeing her and would have guessed Lucinda's round face was garishly painted, especially around her doll-like eyes, knew that the girl's dark hair was ratted-up like someone in a 1950's movie. Lucinda stood barely five feet tall and was as thin as a piece of chalk, but she made up for her slender stature with an abrasive, and almost nonstop, mouth. She was one of the few girls in the school that Wendy truly couldn't stand.

And the fact that Lucinda was so obviously hot for Alan, always rubbing her small behind against him when she had the chance, didn't help to endear the girl to Wendy, either. Why, once she even sat down on Alan's hand, "without looking where I was going", of course. And the things she did with the other boys, sometimes with more than one at a time, it was reputed, were legendary around the school. Lucinda was, in fact, occasionally called "Peanut Butter" behind her back, obviously because she spread so easily. It fit.

Wendy knew, of course, that Alan, in spite of his threat to go see Lucinda, would never actually touch the girl. He had more than once mentioned that he thought Lucinda must be diseased, probably mentally, definitely physically. That, of course, didn't stop Lucinda from trying.

Wendy heard a match strike, could smell the burnt sulfur, realized the two girls had ducked into the bathroom for the illicit pleasure of a cigarette. She hoped they'd be quick about it, preferred to brood alone without having to listen to them babble. Besides, all Lucinda ever talked about was her love life, her sex life, actually, with one and sundry and the girl's blatant crudity could literally make Wendy flinch. As far as Wendy was concerned, Lucinda was a real "oink".

"Give me a drag," the other girl said – she was Bonnie Ivar, another, though chunkier, winner.

"Don't take it all!" Lucinda giggled, then coughed.

"So, what happened after he called?" Bonnie asked. "Did you go meet him?"

"Sure. He was waiting for me down in Clement Park. The place was deserted."

"Well? What happened?"

"What do you think?" Lucinda giggled again. She was a great one, for that. "I still have grass stains on my ass. It's sore as hell, too!"

"No kidding! What's he like?"

"He's really big!" Lucinda laughed hoarsely. "I'm tight, anyway, but God! I thought he was going to break something! Or, come out the other side, at least!" She giggled still again, sucked at the cigarette, exhaled.

"Great," Wendy said to herself disgustedly, "just what I need to listen to. Why don't they get out of here?"

"I thought Alan was Wendy Winkler's boyfriend?" Bonnie asked, and Wendy stiffened suddenly. She held her breath, leaned forward. She couldn't believe it! Alan!

"So what?" Lucinda answered. "She got him all excited last night, then told him to go whack off Christ, he must've come about a gallon in me! What's she expect?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Bonnie Ivar agreed, laughed.

"She's such a lead pipe, anyway."

Only overpowering pride kept Wendy, just barely, from rushing at Lucinda, pounding the small girl's face flat into the hard tile floor. She dug her fingers into her thighs.

"He's coming over for lunch," Lucinda continued. "My folks both work. I don't think we'll be eating lunch, though."

Bonnie laughed.

"He said he'd screw me until I couldn't move!" Lucinda added.

"Christ! If you come back to school on crutches, I'll know why!"

"I may not come back at all!" Lucinda giggled.

One of them banged a stall open, flipped the cigarette butt into the toilet. The outer door opened and closed. Wendy was alone again.

A choked sob escaped her, shook her. Tears ran down her smooth cheeks. She buried her face in her hands, could not stop crying. She thought she was going to be sick.

A vision of Alan, her Alan, and Lucinda, both naked and rolling in the grass, locked against each other's thighs, captured Wendy's mind, would not let her go. She considered double murder, believed she was actually capable of it. She rejected the idea finally, reluctantly, as ridiculous. She didn't know what do to. She sniffed, thought of the alternatives, knew that she had to do something, anything, to get back at Alan to repay him for his betrayal of her. And with Lucinda Krell, yet! she thought almost hysterically, with that scab Lucinda Krell! She hated Alan as she had never hated anything in her life, thought it would explode inside of her, destroy her. An idea came to her. She would do it, she decided, stupid or not, it had to be done! She would have to vent her rage and frustration somehow, or go completely mad. She knew that.

She stood shakily, took a deep breath, pulled up her panties. She grabbed several pieces of tissue, blew her nose. She pushed her hair back, another tissue, wiped her eyes.

She picked up her small purse, straightened herself, pushed the stall door open. She walked steadily to the sink, splashed cold water in her face, wiped it dry with a paper towel. She looked at herself in the mirror.

She burst into tears again.

"Hello, George," Wendy said and smiled warmly at him.

George Davison seemed a little startled, looked up from where he stooped over putting his books into his locker, gave her a shy smile in return. It was lunchtime and the hallways almost completely deserted. He always seemed to be where other people weren't.

"Waiting for Alan?" George asked and straightened his lanky, loose-jointed frame. He looked like the type that would wear thick, horn-rimmed glasses, but he wore none at all. Maybe that was why he always seemed to be squinting, Wendy smiled to herself. She had chosen him, of course, because she felt he would not be too difficult to handle. He shared the locker he stood before with Alan. "Waiting for Alan?" he asked again.

"No, George," Wendy said quietly.

"You're not?"

"I wanted to see you," she smiled, moved closer to him.

"You did?"

"Well, what's wrong with that?" Wendy asked. "I thought we knew each other pretty well. Don't you like me?" And she lightly touched his arm. She hoped she wasn't overdoing it, realized it all sounded a little stagy so far. "It'll just have to do," she thought, did not know any way around it.

"Sure, I like you," George said hurriedly, coughed awkwardly. He turned away from her, made a show of staring down the hallway as if he was watching for someone, seemed to be blushing. He coughed again. "I like you a lot, in fact."