The Fifth Stage Part 6

"Tell me about it."

"So does that mean we're on?"

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"Okay. We're on."

"It'll be fun." She stands up, seeming to sense my excitement is fake. As she leaves, she looks back. "Meet me here about seven.

Casual."

I nod and grab my purse. After tossing a bill on the table, I head toward the door.

This could turn out to be a very bad decision.

CHAPTER 9.

Autumn came late that year. The days and nights were unusually warm for early October, but the mountains around Franklin were blanketed with the vigorous colors of the seasonrusty oranges, b.u.t.tercup yellows, and shades of red so dark and rich you'd swear they'd come from an artist's palette. The hues danced and swirled, dappled and mottled the landscape like a patchwork quilt thrown down to protect Mother Earth from winter's icy grasp.

But winter was the last thing on my mind. It was a breezy Sat.u.r.day evening, and Matthew Carter and I were on our fifth date. It was a festive hometown evening at the annual Franklin High School fall carnival.

The soph.o.m.ore cla.s.s had sponsored a game where the object was to toss a football through the center of a radial tire. Big mistakeMatthew cleaned them out. He won nine stuffed koala bears, three packs of baseball cards, and a black light poster of a unicorn. And at the tender age of seventeen, Matthew already knew how to work the fans. When Princ.i.p.al Jarvis intervened and made him quit playing, my boyfriend distributed his winnings among the crowd of wide-eyed junior high kids who'd been watching.

Later, we nearly barfed up our corn dogs and popcorn on the Tilt- A-Whirl, and Matthew spent twelve dollars playing Skee-Ball to win me a fifty-cent Kewpie doll. I told him the gift was special because he'd had to work hard for it. He seemed to like that.

I liked being with him. He wasn't like most guys. He opened the car door for me and held my chair when I sat down. He was clean-cut, handsome, and just plain nice.

We'd left the festival and were barreling down Old Simms road, a winding two-lane flanked by waist-deep ditches and a dense overgrown forest. The full moon shone through the winds.h.i.+eld, casting a soft glow across Matthew's profile.

He glanced at me. "It's still two hours till your curfew. Want to drive down by Fuller's Dam?"

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I didn't know what to say. A couple of my previous dates had suggested a cruise to the best make-out spot in Franklin, but I'd declined. Matthew was different, though. I really liked him, so I shrugged, trying to seem calm. "I don't mind."

"We won't stay long. I thought some of the gang might be hanging out."

Did he think I bought that line? No one hung out at Fuller's Dam.

There weren't any bonfires with kids sitting around strumming guitars and singing Michael Row Your Boat Ash.o.r.e while roasting marshmallows on pointed sticks whittled from nearby saplings. No, the teenagers who took Fuller Creek Road were like us, two kids looking for a little privacy. Make that one and a half kidspart of me wasn't sold on the idea.

We drove in silence, the chilly evening wind tousling our hair through the half-open windows and cooling the heat in my cheeks.

Matthew's left hand was draped across the top of the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the blacktop ahead.

For a moment, I almost felt normal, almost caught a glimmer of that feeling the other girls talked about in the locker rooma nervous antic.i.p.ation in the pit of my stomach, a p.r.i.c.kling excitement like ants crawling beneath my skin. But as Matthew flicked the signal light and turned left onto Fuller Creek Road, I felt a little hazy. What was I doing anyway? We'd only been out a few times. Had I gone from being a goody-goody to being a s.l.u.t because the great Matthew Carter had flashed his dazzling smile and bedroom eyes?

The front tires thumped when we veered onto the gravel road, and tiny rocks pelted the undercarriage. The sound reminded me of popcorn as I watched the darkness close in around us. Nothing but trees, crowding around us till they reached out and scrubbed the fenders as we pa.s.sed.

Matthew pulled the car to the side of the road into a spot worn down by hundreds of tires on hundreds of cars carrying hundreds of h.o.r.n.y teenagers. He cut the lights, killed the engine, and turned toward me. "I hope you don't think I brought you down here to take advantage of you." His voice was gentle and timid, nothing like the roar he used to bark out play changes at the line of scrimmage.

"If that's what I thought, I wouldn't be here," I said, trying to sound coy but coming off like Rod Stewart with the croup. I coughed and tried to act s.e.xy.

"I want to be alone with you for a change, you know?"

"Why, Mr. Carter, are you trying to woo me?"

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"My intentions are honorable." He placed his hand over his chest and jutted out his chin like a bulldog.

I snickered, somewhat more at ease. "And if you happen to steal a kiss..."

"That'd be okay, too."

A wind gusted down the lane, sending multicolored leaves skittering across the winds.h.i.+eld. Matthew's eyes went serious. He leaned close and found my lips in the near-total darkness. I leaned into him, hungry for affection, any kind of affection, but what I got was more like a bad soft p.o.r.no flick, with him gouging his tongue into my mouth like a dull knife and me making indistinct wheezing noises through my nose.

Right there on Fuller Creek Road, on the very spot where half the teen pregnancies in town originated, Matthew and I were a regular comedic instruction book of what not to do with the opposite s.e.x. Not knowing any better, I tried to enjoy the sensations and share his excitement. Besides, it was high time I explored the pa.s.sions that kept other kids on pins and needles. I was tired of wondering, dissatisfied with constant self-a.s.surances that my s.e.x drive would eventually kick in. This was it, my moment of reckoning. I'd like it or die.

So, half an hour and a gallon of saliva later, I didn't resist when he unb.u.t.toned my blouse. That part wasn't so bad, no worse than wearing my bathing suit at the community pool. When he clumsily reached behind my back and unhooked my bra, I didn't try to stop him. That took a little more gumption. No one but me and maybe my mother had seen my naked chest since preschool.

As he touched my breast, I closed my eyes and tried to take pleasure from it, but his hands felt like giant bear paws and were rough from years of football. Was this what all the hubbub was about, having a boy maul you, feeling his callused skin scrub against yours? Did the other girls like this?

I didn't know how much of his heavy-handed petting my untried bosom could take, and the thought of him carrying his manhandling between my legs made me shudder. No matter how determined I was to go exploring, there was no way I'd let him touch me below the waist, no way he'd thrust those huge fingers inside of me.

He didn't try to get in my pants, so I sat quietly and endured.

Matthew was bound to get tired, but when he clamped his teeth on my left nipple, I let out a shriek.

"Oh G.o.d, I'm sorry," he gasped, pus.h.i.+ng himself toward the other side of the car. "I would never hurt you, Claire, you know that." He slid back to me and took my hand. "I'm so sorry."

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I gathered my open blouse, secured a middle b.u.t.ton, and let out an embarra.s.sed giggle. "I know you didn't mean to."

Honestly, I was somewhat glad he'd bitten me. At least it was over and we could go home.

He pulled me to him, cradling me against his chest. His heart was beating hard, and a trickle of sweat glistened on his neck. "I guess I'm not the ladies' man everyone makes me out to be."

I felt sorry for him. What kind of girlfriend was I, anyway, hoping he'd stop touching me? Matthew was a good boy; he just didn't know what he was doing. Had he been a star quarterback on the first day of Little League football try-outs? Of course not. He'd gotten good at sports the same way all the great ones dida little talent and a lot of practice. Maybe that's all we needed, some practice. A lot of practice.

I put my hand inside his s.h.i.+rt, running my fingers through tufts of still-spa.r.s.e hair. Reaching his left nipple, I squeezed gently. "Maybe I should show you how it feels."

"Uh, okay," he whispered, taking me much too literally. He stripped his polo s.h.i.+rt off over his head and guided my lips to his neck.

So much for trying to make him feel better. Now I was lost. What the heck was I supposed to do? I didn't have a clue, so I did what any high school girl would do in that situation. I sucked in a deep breath and faked it. Practice, practice, practice.

I kissed his neck for a moment and, to my surprise, found the salty- musk taste somewhat arousing. Then I moved down his chest. When I found his erect nipple between my lips, something inside me exploded.

A lava-hot river of desire shot straight to my groin, and before I realized it, I clambered into his seat and was straddling him like a lap dancer.

Matthew's erection bulged through his jeans, and I pressed hard against it. My b.u.t.t ground against the steering wheel, but I didn't mind.

Something strange was going on inside me, and I didn't want it to stop.

We gyrated together, bucking in an odd, out-of-sync rhythm. My hair fell across his broad shoulders; his hot breath rushed across my neck. All the while, I suckled on one nipple and then the other, and ran my fingers along his chest. His hands never left my waist, but he kissed the back of my neck and nibbled my ears until he could take no more.

With a gut-wrenching moan, he released himself into his brand new Levis. A bit startled by his climax, I reined in my own desire, and sat still, resting my head on his shoulder.

Matthew seemed satisfied. He held me for half an hour and then kissed me gently and slipped his cla.s.s ring onto my finger. "I'd like you to wear this," he whispered.

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"I'd like to wear it." I twirled the much-too-large band around my index finger. I was going steady with Matthew Carter. In twenty-four hours, I would be the envy of every girl in school.

We were quiet on the ride back to my parents' house, each deep in thought about our new maturity. I wasn't sure what we'd done, but it seemed backward somehow, like he should've been on top. Matthew seemed to like it though, and it was a new experience for me. That night, my boyfriend wasn't the only one going home with soggy underwear, but he'd reached a level of fulfillment that still eluded me, a release so exquisite that it couldn't be compared to anything I knew at the time. I would eventually understand the utter satisfaction he felt at that moment, but not for a very long while.

And it wouldn't be with Matthew Carter.

CHAPTER 10.

What a way to ruin my afternoon. Why did Rebecca have to go and ask me out for a drink? Seems to me there are two things that can come of it. One, I'll end up with a worse crush than I already have on a straight woman. Or two, I won't really like her and my fantasy will be ruined. Either way, it'll suck.

I'm no good at work when I get like this, but I stay till everyone else is gone for the day, so it's dark by the time I get home. The Kingsleys' front light is on. The neighborhood watch people recommend leaving a light on when the man of the house is out, and Elizabeth takes home security very seriously.

I'm letting Jitterbug out of the guestroom when the doorbell rings.

It has to be Elizabeth. She can't stand to sit in front of the TV with the kids, so she comes over whenever the good doctor is working evenings.

I unlock the front door and motion her in.

My neighbor's physical beauty never escapes my notice. She's one of those tall, leggy, blue-eyed blondes who's never dieted a day in her life, and even after having two kids, still looks great in a bikini. Most of the women I know would kill to be heror die to f.u.c.k her. But those women don't know her like I do. They don't know that beneath that pretty package is a compa.s.sionate, loving, and truly beautiful lady.

If only Elizabeth weren't straight. And married. And my dearest friend.

She enters the foyer, and I flip on the hall light as we make our way toward the den. It's the one room in the house where I feel protected. A few weeks after Lora's departure, I went on a refurbis.h.i.+ng spree, determined to rid my home of bad memories. I bought a new matching sofa, loveseat, and chair upholstered in forest green fabric, a new wrought iron fireplace set, and the biggest freaking TV on the showroom floor at Circuit City. My spending binge kept me busy for a few days, but the high was temporary, and I decided it would be better for my bankbook not to drown my sorrows in retail h.e.l.l.

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