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  • There's Something about Sarah Ch. 02

There's Something about Sarah Ch. 02

12

Chapter Two -- The Ice Queen

Sloane did go to beautician school and also qualified as a hairdresser and took a reasonably well paying job in town in a beauty salon. Her natural beauty and style declined into what I described as a 'skank ho' countenance; short tight dresses openly displaying her breasts, the hems of her skirts and dresses were so short her panties often showed. She liked to wear platform soled wedges or fuck-me heels, her hair was permed and frizzed, and she wore way too much makeup. She walked around in an effluvium of 'Poison' perfume and Salem menthol lights cigarette smoke. She had become a caricature of her mother.

We remained friends and confidants, even after the day she threatened me in the loft. But we grew more distant. She stayed out late; often overnight and she was catting around. My friends at school never said anything to me directly but their oblique references to Sloane's lifestyle were enough for me to know she was considered a slut.

I continued to study hard which was sometimes difficult when Sloane came home drunk, emotional and often quarrelsome and indignant.

"You think you're better 'n me doncha!" she'd screech in a drunken rant.

"Well I gotta good job, all the boys like me and I got a life Sarah. What have you got? A fucking education and a cock taped between your legs!" she'd bawl.

I knew she didn't mean it, but it hurt. I'd hold her close and comfort her and listen to some story about how her latest boyfriend had treated her bad.

She would end up sobbing and apologetic.

"I'm sorry Sarah. I don't know why I'm such a bitch to you; I love you honey. You're like a sister to me," she'd sob when I put her to bed and lay beside her, consoling her.

She tugged at my heartstrings when she said that; I still idolised Sloane and was sad to see her hurting herself this way.

I turned eighteen just before graduating in the top ten percentile of my senior year. My Aunt Amanda couldn't hide her pride in me and even Sloane told me how proud she was.

"Fuck me Momma, a Grayson girl is going off to college! We better celebrate!" Sloane raised her glass to me.

She and Amanda were sitting on the couch sipping gin and smoking. I'd taken a beer from the fridge which I did rarely, but this was a celebration.

"So who's taking you to the Prom baby?" Amanda grinned drunkenly.

"Jeez Momma! Don't you know all the boys call her the Ice Princess? She ain't so much as kissed any of those randy pecker-woods, but there's plenty 'd like to taste them pretty pink lips and slide their dirty hands under her skirt," Sloane teased.

"Shame is they'd end up with a handful of cock," she horselaughed.

I blushed and put my face in my hands and Amanda slapped Sloane viciously.

"You don't talk to your cousin like that! She's special yes but she's done nothing to you but love and adore you Sloane so you apologise now!"

"I'm sorry Sarah; you know I was foolin'," Sloane smiled at me, her mother's handprint visible through her caked on makeup.

"Yeah. I knew you were joshing me Sloane," I replied.

I'd found it easier to talk like Southern white trash in the house as I knew my perfect diction and refined accentless speech was annoying to both of them. But once again Sloane had driven a barb into my heart when there was no need.

I was going though my own private hell but was scared to talk to them about it.

A few of the nicer boys had approached me and asked if I'd be their Prom date but I was so worried that they would find out my secret so I always said no. My girlfriends all had dates and they were beginning to nag me to make up my mind and pick a boy to escort me to the Prom.

Lizzie Sanders, my best friend, if I had one, I never confided much to anyone, was becoming particularly insistent.

"Sarah Grayson you've got some of the most handsome, intelligent boys in this school yearning for you and you haven't settled for one of them! You know that you are one of the prettiest Seniors but you insist on being the Ice Queen."

I was both flattered and annoyed by her comments.

"Lizzie I'm too busy trying to decide on which college to go to and what degree to take that to worry about boys!" I quipped.

"Oh pish Sarah! There isn't a eighteen year old girl in the country that doesn't think about boys now and then!" she replied.

And that was the reason for my private hell. I was thinking more and more about boys.

My wet dreams were becoming more frequent. I'd dream that some handsome boy would take me in his arms and kiss me and hold me close; we'd lie down together and he would fondle me and I could feel the heat from his body. He would stroke my small breasts through my blouse and his hand would slide down to my thigh where his fingers would stroke and caress me. Usually the dream ended when his fingers slid up nylon-encased loins and I would ejaculate and awaken.

The boys who approached me tentatively asking for a date were handsome and educated and I felt regretful when I turned them down.

It was soon after the conversation that I had with Aunt Amanda and Sloane about attending the Prom that I finally got the gumption to ask Sloane the question that I had been dying to ask.

She was lying on her bed smoking, listening to her Walkman so she wouldn't disturb me while I wrote out college applications.

"Sloane?" I said to her.

She was staring off into nowhere; probably a little high, and didn't respond.

"Sloane!" I yelled.

She took off her headset, a tinny rendition of Aerosmith's 'Dude looks like a lady' blasted out the sponge covered miniature speakers.

She clicked the stop button and the tape stopped.

"What?" she was a little angry at being disturbed.

"What did Amanda mean when she said 'When you're older I'll tell you how your kind do what they do'? " I asked.

"You really wanna know sugar?" she looked at me searchingly.

"Sure," I replied.

She popped the ring-pull tab on a beer she had sitting on her beside table and lit a cigarette. She offered the packet to me and I shook my head.

"Take one! You're gonna need it. Here take my beer too," I took the proffered beer and cigarette and lit up.

Sloane reached down into the cooler and grabbed another beer for herself.

I hated myself for smoking but living in this house it was a bad habit I had picked up. I didn't smoke at all at school, only rarely in the house or in the loft of the old barn when I went there with Sloane, which was less frequent now that she was working.

"Ok Sarah, you sure you wanna go through with this? It's really a conversation you should have with Momma," she looked seriously at me.

"I want to know Sloane! Now!" I beseeched her.

"Ok. So you know you are special; you been raised as a girl for most of your life. You look like a girl, you act like a girl, and you smell like girl; hell you even think like a girl. But you ain't a proper one and you know it."

"Youse probly ninety percent girl but there's bits of you that ain't. I'll be blunt. You ain't got much in the way of titties but that don't matter much; you wear a padded bra and it looks like you got a little, and for most boys that's enough."

"But you ain't got a pussy. You seen mine enough to know what one looks like and you know what us girls use it for besides pissin'."

"Yeah I get that Sloane, but what is it that Momma was implying my kind do?" I asked.

"Well your kind is what's called transvestite or transgender is the new fangled name for it. I've been with boys who have been to the city and seen them. They say some's just a boy in a wig dressed like a girl and some look just like a real girl; they got everything, even titties, but they ain't got a pussy, although there's some apparently that have, they had the operation."

"I understand I think; go on please," I said.

"Well these special girls still wanna please their boys, and to be honest, the transvestites that most of my friends have met ain't givin' it away if you know what I mean."

"Prostitutes," I replied.

"Whores, yes," Sloane pulled on her cigarette.

"Not that I'm saying youse one of course."

I just nodded wanting for her to get on with it.

"Well regardless of what sort of girl you are, boys gotta real hankerin' for having their pecker sucked."

I blanched. I had heard of fellatio but it was preached to be a sin.

"Oh don't go all shy and virginal Sarah; most girls won't admit to it but there's a lot do it to keep their boyfriends happy and from strayin'. Specially those that's hell bent on keeping their virginity."

I nodded. I was intelligent enough to understand the paradigm and had heard plenty of rumours.

"Course you can always give a boy a handjob but most won't settle for that."

I blushed a deeper red.

"So. And now wees getting to it; some girls, not many but some, will let their boyfriends...Christ! There ain't no way to say it but plain...they let their boyfriend fuck their butt."

I gasped. I was mortified.

"Yep there's some will allow their boyfriends to put it in their anus so they can keep their virginity for marriage. And I'll be honest; there's some boys like to do that regardless, even if they can get pussy."

Sloane blushed a deep guilty red.

I had averted my eyes but I looked up at Sloane and she read the question on my face.

"Don't you tell a soul but yes I've done it, and I ain't no virgin as you well know" she took a long pull on her beer.

"It hurts like a sumbitch the first time, but if a boy takes his time it ain't so bad," she shrugged.

"But to get back to the subject. Special girls like you can give out handjobs and blowjobs; you think about it, ain't no one gonna know you ain't got a pussy if you do that."

"But I'm figurin' if you let a boy fuck you that other way; he'll find out for sure you ain't a real girl."

My hands were shaking and I snatched another cigarette and lit it. I sat in stunned silence taking it all in. Some of what Sloane had told me I already knew; but some was a revelation.

Sloane came over and sat next to me on my bed and put her arm around me.

"Listen honey. You're one of the prettiest girls in school and you got brains. You don't have to do any of what we been talking about but you got options."

"You don't wanna turn out to be a slut like me..."

I lifted my head to protest but Sloane put a finger to my lips.

"I know what I am and it's my choice; don't you go feelin' sorry for me or I'll get angry."

"But you can still date a boy if that's what you want. Plenty of girls at the school ain't even stuck their tongue in their boyfriend's mouth, let alone let him feel them up. But boys is boys and if they can't get what they want from their girlfriend they're liable to roam and get what they're hankerin for elsewhere."

"What I'm sayin' is, you got alternatives to fuckin'," she looked me the eye, as serious as she'd ever been.

"Can you tell me what it's like? Giving handjobs and blowjobs?" I asked tentatively.

"And kissing? What's this thing with the tongue?" I smiled at her.

Sloane punched me in the shoulder and laughed. A good belly laugh like she used when we were kids.

"Why Sarah Grayson...I never!" she giggled.

She reached under the bed and pulled out her bong and stoked the bowl from the stash she kept in her top drawer.

"If I'm going to give away all my confidences I'm going to need a little bit more than a can of cold Lone Star," she laughed and fired up the bong and took a deep draught.

She offered it to me but I shook my head.

"I'll take another beer though," I said.

Sloane reached into the cooler and then proceeded to provide me with an education that I would never get in school.

Two things happened shortly after that night that changed things forever.

Having listened to the advice that Sloane had given me I set my resolve to attend the Prom with a suitable date and having found said date Aunt Amanda began to fuss over me like she had never before.

It was two days later that I was sitting cross-legged on the lawn under the shade of an old oak eating my packed lunch. I was flicking idly through a fashion magazine relieved that my final grades were in and my college applications were in the post. I had not a care in the world other than what I was going to wear to the Prom and who might approach me to ask to be my escort. As I had turned down most of what I considered eligible candidates I was worried I might not even get asked again.

It was mid June and two weeks before Prom night. Because of the warm weather I was wearing a white A-line skirt and light-blue capped-sleeved blouse. My legs were clad in control-top pantyhose, not because I needed them to pull in my waist but because they gaffed me without needing tape. I was engrossed in my magazine and not aware that the hem of my skirt had ridden up to show off the darker bands on the hosiery at the top of my thighs and my long coltish legs. My feet were shod in black, low-heeled Mary-Janes, my long blonde hair was worn loose with bangs and as always my makeup was perfect and perhaps a little heavy for summer but that was how I liked to wear it.

Unbeknownst to me, Drew Carter a lettered running back on the football team who was hoping for a football scholarship, was looking purposely in my direction. He stood with two of his team mates about thirty yards away under the shade of a slowly dying Dutch Elm eyeing me off.

"She won't have anything to do with you Drew. She's a bookworm and you're a jock," Bing Holthouse Jr, the quarterback for the Rattlesnakes, our football team, chided.

"Fuck you Bing! She still doesn't have a date; she's declined all the academics so maybe I have a chance," he retorted.

"Declined". That's a big word for an athlete. You been book learnin' again ain't you!" Bing punched his best friend playfully in the shoulder.

Bing had already been picked up by the Arlington Mavericks at Texas U and his future was assured with a football scholarship guaranteed. Drew Carter was a pretty good running back and had been scouted but not yet signed up. But he had also made reasonable grades, not only because he was not assured of a football scholarship, but because he was actually quite intelligent and could have made it into the top ten percentile of graduates himself but for his commitment to football at the expense of scholastic studies.

"Double fuck you Bing!" Drew chided his team mate and sauntered over to where I sat in the shade.

Engrossed in my magazine I had no idea how long Drew Carter had been standing in front of me until I became aware of his presence and I jumped with alarm.

I slammed my magazine shut and gazed up at the countenance standing before me, raising a hand to shield my eyes from the bright sunlight.

"I'm sorry ma'am I didn't mean to scare you," the tall athletic apparition before me drawled.

"What do you want?" I said curtly.

I saw his shoulders droop and sensed his confidence dissipate. Being curt was my natural defence and I chided myself for it.

"I'm sorry ma'am. I'll leave you to your reading and to your lunch," he said in conciliatory tone.

He turned to leave and I summoned my resolve.

"Wait! I was rude and I'm sorry," I replied.

He turned back to me and smiled.

As he did a cloud obscured the sun and I could see him clearly. He was handsome in a lean cowboy sort of way. Tall and tanned, slim-hipped, long-legged, with a crooked smile and long sun-bleached sandy hair that he habitually flicked out of his deep blue eyes.

My heart skipped a beat.

"May I?" he indicated a spot beside me on the lawn and when I nodded he effortlessly eased himself down beside me at a respectful distance.

"What are you reading?" not 'whatcha readin'; I was impressed this jock actually spoke English.

I blushed when I held up the fashion magazine and his face lit up with that cheeky smile.

"I was expecting something a little more, shall we say, intellectual, from a girl with you're reputation" he grinned.

He saw the cloud cross my face and he reached out and gently touched my hand.

"I didn't mean anything bad by it Ms Grayson; just that you are known to be the studious sort that has no interest in frivolity of any kind," he explained.

"The Ice Queen?" I replied.

"You said it ma'am; not me," he grinned.

I laughed and he laughed along with me. He scooted closer to me so we were nearly hip to hip.

"I'm Andrew Carter but everyone calls me Drew," he held out his hand.

I took it and he squeezed just a bit; the feel of his long cool fingers sent shivers up my spine.

"And I'm Sarah; not Ms or ma'am; just plain Sarah Grayson," I smiled back at him shyly.

"Sarah, as us country folk are like to say, you is anything but plain," he said and beamed that smile at me again.

My heart melted at the compliment and I blushed bright red.

We chatted for what seemed like an eternity but it was closer to a half hour. We discussed what subjects we had studied, what books we both liked and what colleges we hoped to get into. He looked at me with his deep blue eyes but I notice they flicked down to my tiny breasts and more often to my legs. Unconsciously I fiddled with the hem of my skirt, pulling it down and smoothing it out. I saw the look of disappointment in his eyes and I was secretly glad. A boy who seemed to like me for my brain and my body; an intellectual jock, we were both different to the rest of seniors but for totally different reasons.

"May I come around to your house and call on you sometime?" he asked as he was about to leave.

He sensed my uneasiness; I had never had anyone around to the house. With Aunt Amanda's gentlemen friends likely to arrive at any time and Sloane's recently found penchant for the life of a slattern; the Grayson house was not conducive to visitors of the genteel kind.

I scrambled around in my pocketbook and found a pen and wrote down our home number on the page of my magazine and tore it off and proffered it to him.

"Call me. We can meet, on shall we say neutral ground," I smiled up at him.

Drew was astute enough to understand my dilemma and he gave me that heart-melting smile. He took the scrap of paper and his fingers touched mine. They lingered as neither of us wanted that fragile touch to end. He looked searchingly into my eyes and his fingers intertwined with mine. He pulled me forward and leant into me and kissed me. It wasn't anything passionate but it wasn't chaste either. He kissed me on the side of my mouth; our lips barely touching. He made to move away and I pulled him back to me and put my arms around him and kissed him.

I kissed him properly, our lips crushed and I let the tip of my tongue slide into his mouth. When he tried to press harder I gently eased him away and as I did I head a loud whoop.

Bing Holthouse Jr and Bobby Fillay where still under that old Elm and were whooping and yahooing when they saw us kiss.

I blushed a deep red and Drew gave me his high-beam smile.

"Sorry ma'am, but you know what them jocks is like," he grinned at me.

"You talk like a cowpoke again Andrew Carter and you may not get another kiss," I smiled back at him.

"Well we can't have that now, can we?" he said getting to his knees.

He kissed the tips of his index and middle fingers and waved me a kiss,

I blushed again as I watched his lithe athlete's body spring to his feet and stroll away. My heart was beating like a racehorse on the home stretch. I could feel my penis had become erect inside my control-top pantyhose and even felt a little wetness there. I liked how that felt but I also so wanted to be a real girl.

I sighed and went back to my magazine; but I couldn't concentrate. I kept thinking of Drew Carter and my first real kiss.

The call came the very next day and I was both excited and trepidicious when I heard Drew's voice in the receiver of the telephone.

12
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