Houlihan lingered overeach shot for several minutes. He had never faced this situation before in his life. He was enraged and shocked and totally turned on. He had a thing for young girls, and even being in his mid twenties, never seemed to show interest in anyone his own age. He despised slutty women, yet the more reserved women who crossed his path bored him. Women should be saints everywhere except the bedroom, that was his theory on things.
Girls like Monica enraged him because he was well aware of their power and so were they. He had wanted what he termed the “better quality” girls but ended up with the looser women. He tolerated them, but they were not interested in the type of games he wanted to play. He was well acquainted with frustration and humiliation and having to eat dirt to get somewhere in life. Women like Monica would have an easy time of it in life; from wealthy, loving parents to a wealthy, loving husband. Houlihan hadn’t had that. His parents didn’t understand the value of a good education, and that was part of the reason why they were poor.
Early in life he knew the way out was through school, and from fifth grade on he made nothing but As. Because of his study habits, he rarely dated, and his father assumed he was gay. Houlihan wasn’t, but because of too many trips outside to be paddled (usually for minor infractions) spanking became an obsession. It got worse when he joined a fraternity.
During hell week, he was spanked for not dropping to his knees and squealing whenever one of his frat brothers blew a whistle, and other stupid things. He joined a fraternity to get valuable connections. At times he loathed it, but he figured it was just one more thing in life he had to do in order to get where he wanted to be. And now he had this good-paying job helping the sons and daughters of the town’s movers and shakers (the Catholic ones, at least) get into good schools and prosper.
But he also was allowed to steer the wayward onto the right path. And Monica was thumbing her nose at convention. There hadn’t been anyone like her at St. Veronica’s, not ever. In time, Houlihan became obsessed with her. The pictures were tantalizing. Presumably, Monica had goals after high school. Houlihan decided to have her in for a little chat. Perhaps he could get what he wanted. He was not above bribery.
* * *
Monica was a little surprised when she got the note in Spanish class summoning her to Houlihan’s office after school, if she didn’t have any other obligations. Her last class was World History, and it was there that she took the note out again and looked at it. Gabriel Houlihan. It was impossible not to have noticed the handsome new guidance counselor; she’d heard some girls in the locker room talking about him. She merely listened; she hadn’t had anything to say about him. But she was intrigued. He didn’t seem very old. She hadn’t talked to him at all; it was still early in the school year. The one-on-one college meetings wouldn’t start up for another month or so. So she was definitely wondering what was going on. Her grades were impeccable. So what was it?
Monica thought carefully. There was a girl that she’d been mean to, starting last spring. She was brilliant, but unpopular. Not very good looking, either. Brenda Hartley would make a good nun, except she wasn’t headed in that direction. She wasn’t popular with the boys at all, and had a couple girlfriends, but that was about it. Brenda seemed very conservative and judgmental about things, and since Monica had no qualms about flaunting her body, it pissed her off.
Monica enjoyed making Brenda feel bad about herself, and it was obvious she did
feel bad. The plain face, the heavy body, both of those things were strikes against her. Yes, she was very smart too, and would probably get a good paying job somewhere. A good college was definitely in her future, but she struck Monica as one of those teenagers who seemed in their forties already. And not a good kind of in their forties; no, this was work your ass off until you die kind of forties. Not like her parents, both of whom had successful careers and had invested their money carefully. They seemed to enjoy their jobs and had enough money to be happy and have a few of the nicer things in life.
Monica couldn’t imagine Brenda in a nice house twenty-two years from now; she seemed like the type of girl to deny herself the finer things in life, just because she could. Monica could tell Brenda was the kind of girl who thought behaving would earn her brownie points. If she only knew! Monica and Brenda were the same age, but in many ways, Monica was much older. So far, she’d been lucky in her choices. She’d wrapped the boys around her finger, and she lorded it over the girls. She picked on Brenda because she was such an easy target, and why not? It was fun.
After world history, she went to her locker and figured out which books she should take home. She was actually tempted to buy extra copies of her textbooks for each of her classes so she could have a set at school and a set at home. She supposed the extra weight of her backpack was making her strong. They had a gym set up in the basement at home, where Monica worked out regularly. She was obsessed with her body and her grades. She would make them work for her.
She made her way to the administrative wing, which was in an older building. As the school got more and more successful and popular, it was imperative that it had to make room for the students, whose numbers seemed to grow bigger almost every year. St. Veronica’s was the
school, even though there was a private school in town not affiliated with any religion at all. Since quite a few former students ended up attending Georgetown, the school was nicknamed, ”Mini Hoya.” Those who didn’t get into Georgetown (it was difficult to get in) usually got into other good schools. But there was always the wistful look in students’ eyes when they came back to visit, when they met up with their peers who had made the cut, and were living the dream.
Monica walked down the hall to Houlihan’s office. The building was ancient, but well taken care of. The floors were the original wood, lovingly restored, and the white baseboards seemed outrageously tall (five inches, in comparison to the ones in her house, which were maybe two inches high). The offices had crown molding and the doors were that old wood that looked so solid, like nothing could get through. The furnishings were original, for the most part. Monica appreciated the modern age, but the old-fashioned vibe of this building awoke something in her. Tradition. Wealth. Success.
And here was Houlihan’s office. It was right off the corridor, no inner sanctum of offices like the teachers had in the more modern buildings. They each had their own offices, but they didn’t look anything like this. Huge, ancient windows, wood floors, old furniture. She knocked. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Houlihan?”
“Yes, Monica. Come on in. Go ahead and shut the door. I’m not keeping you from anything, am I? You’re not going to miss the bus, are you?”
“No, I drove my car to school. I have been, since I was sixteen.”
“Oh. Well, I haven’t been here very long, and I’m trying to get to know the seniors as quickly as I can; the conferences are coming up and I’m looking through everyone’s files so I’m somewhat familiar with them…”
good looking, she thought. Mid to early twenties, self-assured, looked you directly in the eye. He was different from the boys she played with. When she was right in front of his desk, he stood up to shake her hand. “Have a seat,” he said.
Monica sat. She hadn’t bothered to change out of her uniform today. She thought it would be inappropriate to show up at a meeting like this in sweats.
“The reason I asked you to see me is because … well, I’ve been hearing some things from some of the girls. Brenda Hartley, in particular. What has she done to you to make you pick on her?”
“That’s what this is about?” Monica couldn’t believe it.
“Well, that’s part of it,” said Houlihan. “You’re an exceptional student, but you seem to …have a bit of a behavior problem. Or maybe I should say attitude problem. Like I said, Brenda is only a part of it.” He took the packet of pictures out and handed them across the desk. “I got these anonymously. Care to explain?”
Monica looked at the familiar photos. She’d taken them herself. “I took these. I sold them. I figured, ‘hey, why not?’ I know what guys like to look at, and it’s pretty obvious I’ve got it. I’ve had to deal with this ever since I was thirteen years old. I figured I could either be mortified or proud. And I decided to be proud, and I also decided to try and use it to get what I want.”
Houlihan gazed at her. “You mean the photos. What else do you do?”
During this brief exchange, Monica could feel a kind of electricity in the air. She was very, very attracted to this man. “Have you heard that I do things?” She asked innocently.
“There was a note that came with the photos. It was an anonymous note. But it was full of information about how you …have private dance parties for boys. You do things with them.”
Monica smiled. “Really? So what kind of things do I do with boys?”
Houlihan wasn’t smiling. “What do you do with boys?”
“That’s kind of private, don’t you think?”
“Yes, but so are these pictures.”
“I sell them. Or did. I thought it would be a great money-making thing, but the guys just made copies of them. Making money off of photographs is hard, because unless you charge a bunch up front, you never see your money’s worth. People make copies on their printers at home, or they scan them in and put them on disk, then take them to the drugstore and make copies. I’m not ashamed of the photos, but I’m kinda upset that I can’t make more money with them. And yeah, I do the private dances. That’s something you need to do in person. They’ll never outsource that
“Is that all you do with the boys?”
Monica was amused. “Why the obsession about what I do with a bunch of high school boys? I know how to take care of myself. If a bunch of guys want to give me money to touch my breasts, who cares?”
“Are you charging them for sexual intercourse?”
“No. I know that’s illegal, although it has crossed my mind. And yeah, I’ve slept with some guys, but not for pay.”
Houlihan was starting to sweat. Here was a young, gorgeous uninhibited girl. What did she do? What did she like to do? He was treading in dangerous waters. He’d only been here a few months, and already he was being lured into temptation.
“Why?” He snapped.
“Because it’s fun,” purred Monica. “I like playing with boys. It feeds my ego. It’s pretty cool, having guys hang out with me, and buy me stuff and take me places.”
“And picking on other girls.”
“I don’t like people judging me,” Monica flared. “I roll with the punches, so to speak. Guys are going to think I’m a slut for the way I’m built, so I might as well deal with it. I like my body. I like sex. There. Am I going to hell now?”
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<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/fetish/anything-for-georgetown-part-two.aspx">Anything For Georgetown Part two</a>