Creative Non-FictionCreative Writing 214
I saw you running in PE class! Your buns are really cute! They make me hot!
the note read. Below the message, as a signature, was written: Your Admirer!
Peter had waited until almost the end of the class on Wednesday afternoon. He wanted to put off disappointment should a note not be there, and to make the discovery of the note, if present, sweetened by anticipation. He folded the note, slipped it into his left jeans pocket. He pushed it deep down for a reason.
His penis had been stirring in anticipation of a note even before he'd opened the drawer in the lab bench. When he saw the message, his appendage had taken on the consistency of cured concrete. That was a problem. His penis had been straight down into the upper part of his left pant leg. He looked. It appeared like he had a dry board marker in there, jutting down, and it wasn't going to just disappear.
He needed to rearrange it so it was straight up behind his zipper. That was always less conspicuous. Then, when he stood at the end of class and walked to his locker and to the school bus, his un-tucked tee shirt would hide most of the evidence.
The class was reviewing for the final exam in two days. Peter, hand in pocket, brought his bottom up and at the same time leaned forward, pencil in his right hand, and made a note in the margin of his text, as if he'd actually heard what Ms. Spyri had said and thought it important enough to write down. That cover established, his raised position gave him some slack in his lap, and he used his left hand to quickly whip his boner into the less conspicuous location. Then he settled back.
"That must have been a good note," Heidi, his lab partner, whispered. She didn't miss much. That made her a great partner for labs, but a lousy person to sit next to when in need of boner redisposition. Peter was pretty much lost in the sciences. Through the labs, Heidi patiently taught Peter much about the subject. It was almost like teaching him to read in a new language.
"Shut up," Peter whispered back. He could feel his face taking on a deep shade of red.
"Do you two have something to add that I've missed?" Ms. Spyri asked. The red in Peter's face deepened when he looked up and saw Ms. Spyri was addressing them.
"No, ma'am. Sorry," Heidi said with the right amount of contrition in her voice. "I was just telling Peter that the problem is so easy."
"Wonderful!" Ms. Spyri said. "So, why don't you and your partner come up to the board and work this one together?"
"No problem!" answered Heidi, smiling. Peter heard the amusement in her voice. He knew its source was the thought of him walking to the board, a little bent over, in front of an attentive class.
"Fuck you, Heidi," Peter murmured. As they came to their feet, though, the bell sounded. In a moment students were gathering books, talking, and walking toward the door.
The notes had been there, from time to time, for about five weeks: sometimes a couple or three a week, sometimes none for an entire week. But once they'd started to appear in the lab bench drawer in front of Peter's stool, they continued, and he looked forward to them. Peter had left notes too, but there was never any reference to what he'd written or asked in the next note. Except once.
The first note had appeared on a Thursday in April, and its message had gotten his attention. So he left a note of his own: Who are you? Boy? Girl?
The second note had been there the following Tuesday. It didn't answer his question directly, but at the bottom was the dark red lip gloss impression of a pair of puckered lips. Peter, solidly straight and now reassured, could look forward to the teasing contacts, enjoy them, and let his mind wander.
Now, near the end of May, Peter had received almost a dozen notes, this one the most suggestive and enticing. Just a week left in the school year. Would she reveal herself? The feelings and questions the notes elicited were heady for a high school junior. This girl must really be into me
, he thought. Still, this shy, mysterious someone competed for his attention with Melanie. * * * * *
In April, at roughly the time the notes started, Melanie, whom Peter had known through elementary and middle school, caught him up on the way to the buses.
"Hey," Melanie said, after tugging his shirt sleeve from behind.
"Hey," Peter answered. They were almost finished with their junior year, both seventeen. He'd caught sight of her only occasionally during the intervening years. So, a nice surprise.
"Good to see you," said Melanie.
"Yeah," Peter answered, pleased. Peter gave her the once-over as discretely as possible. Yo!
he evaluated, Melanie's grown up!
Had he seen her all the time the gradual changes would not have been as dramatic. Her straw-colored, thick hair began with a low hairline and ended at her shoulders, middle part. Even now, at the end of the day, her face looked fresh and scrubbed, her cheeks were rosy. At five and a half feet she was a few inches shorter than Peter. He could tell her body was taut, athletic, under the wide-open, flannel shirt with the yellow tee underneath, and her faded jeans. "You look great."
"Been running cross country since freshman year."
"Yeah, I heard. Third at state this year?" Peter appreciated how that yellow tee shirt had no contact with her tummy, a combination of a flat stomach from tens of thousands of calories of cross country running and the breasts that pushed it outward.
"That's right. What's up with you? Mom says you've probably got a dozen girlfriends."
Peter colored slightly. Yeah, one, at least. I think I do. Maybe. If you can count notes in a drawer as a relationship,'
Peter thought. 'I just don't happen to know her name is all.
"Nah," he said and fell silent.
"Well, maybe one of these days we ought to do something together?" Melanie asked.
"Yeah," Peter said. "Yeah, definitely." He was making the motions that indicated he was about to turn and head for his bus. Is it the penis? The testosterone?
Melanie thought. What makes them so damned dense?
Melanie was willing to take the initiative. She didn't have a date to the junior prom. Peter wasn't hard on the eyes: black hair brushed back, lean face, just the suggestion of dimples, brown eyes, a couple or three inches short of six feet. It might be nice to get to know this older version of him. Yeah, she could do it, but a girl likes to be asked.
"Okay, well, see you," Peter said and began to walk. 'Peter' was just about to leave Melanie's lips when he abruptly turned. "Hey, you got a date for the prom?" Peter asked. Well, Halle-fucking-lujah!
Melanie thought. "Wow, no! Gosh, I completely forgot all about that, Peter. Sure. If you're asking then great, let's go," she said.
"Okay," Peter said, "I'll call you." He turned and headed for his bus.She wanted me to ask
, he thought. I think she did. Man, she's grown! And there's whoever-she-is checking out my ass and liking what she sees. Next thing you know I'm going to have to carry a stick to keep from drowning in women! * * * * *
The idea occurred to Peter at the dance: could Melanie be the one leaving the notes? It was possible. So he asked her, as casually as he could, what science she was taking. Oceanography. And the Oceanography classes didn't use the lab in question. That didn't bother him. In fact, a yes would have been a disappointment.
So, Melanie and still whoever as a backstop. Isn't life grand?
he thought. * * * * *
What Peter didn't recall was how he'd found that first note. Heidi had asked in April, a week or two before the prom, if there was a lab manual in his drawer. Nobody ever went into the lab bench drawers. He'd opened his halfway and scanned what he could see of the interior, had said no, and closed the drawer. But Heidi had asked was he sure? Maybe all the way at the back? So he'd opened the drawer again, swept his hand across the back, and had felt the folded paper. He'd brought it out, Heidi forgotten, and opened it. Hi, Peter! I'd like to get to know you! - An Admirer! * * * * *
On Thursday, Heidi sat atop a grave marker at the cemetery near the school, a favorite hangout, and unzipped her lunch pack. The sunlight warmed her skin, and she turned her simple, pretty face up to let it wash over her. She had brown hair that reached well down her back and curled around her shoulders, intense blue eyes, a small nose reached by an attractive low bridge from her forehead, and full lips. Her large breasts made her look top-heavy; they were over a midsection that varied only slightly in width through her waist. Her legs were sturdier than she'd like and only lifted her to five-three.
She hoped as an adult she'd be able to get a breast reduction. They made her incredibly self-conscious and, whatever her mother might say, she felt they were all anyone saw when they looked at her. A couple years ago her mother had talked her into a pixie haircut. It had been a disaster. She'd felt like a pair of walking tits. Now her much longer hair gave people something else to look at. She could recite chapter and verse from the don’t-notice-my-big-bust fashion bible: chokers, necklaces (small beads, amulet, small medallion) no lower than the suprasternal notch , jackets with shoulder pads, straight-leg jeans, boat-neck tops. Never dolman sleeves, tee shirts, halters. She knew it all.
Clara skipped up and leaned against the stone.
"So, did you see him?" Heidi asked.
Clara laughed. "Yeah, in the commons on his way to the bus. Wonder why he was all bent over?"
The two leaned into each other and laughed: half-suppressed, snorty guffaws. While they attended to their lunches, Heidi filled in Clara on the scene the previous afternoon in the lab. They were soon laughing so hard they had to support each other. Close since seventh grade, they'd had their moments. They were now seventeen, and this escapade was more amusing than anything they'd pulled before. Finally, they settled, occasional snickers still bubbling out. As Heidi finished eating, her legs, crossed at the ankles, began to stir and soon her heels were bouncing lightly against the back of the granite marker.
Heidi said, "Um, so, just a few days left. You going to tell him?"
Clara thought about the question and asked h erself if she should tell Heidi what she was really thinking: that Peter seemed like an interesting guy. Maybe someone she'd like to see about getting closer to someday. The feeling had been building for a few weeks, since they'd started the notes.
The idea of tormenting him had been Heidi's. She sat next to him, so the notes had to come from someone else. That Clara sat on Peter's stool two periods before had been too good a coincidence to let pass. It seemed like harmless fun, but now Clara saw the cruelty in it. Okay, maybe not cruelty. It wasn't torturing an animal, after all.
Still, she could see now that it was a bit callous. Yeah, he'd undoubtedly gotten some benefit from it, had enjoyed the attention and mystery, had perhaps relished the possibilities and fantasies the interaction might stir. But, all that aside, Clara knew that if she were to get him alone at the right time and reveal herself as the author he was wondering about, well, there was no question he'd be interested. Then she could try on the pairing for size, see how it fit.
She thought herself attractive. From her Japanese maternal grandmother she'd gotten lovely, lidded, oval eyes and straight black hair that these days ended at her waist. Any short, oriental genes had been overwhelmed by the height on her father's side. She was five-eight, and might still add an inch or two. Her legs were long, hip bones noticeable but not prominent, and her waist gathered her body in before swelling out to breasts that were far short of Heidi's, but that she liked just fine.
Clara thought, If it doesn't fit then I can dump him
. Mentally she winched. She had no idea she could be so casually insensitive. Okay
, she thought, Not 'dump' exactly. If it comes to that I'll let him down easy. But, who knows, I've got a feeling like it has a chance to turn into something. I won't screw Melanie, but if that fizzles it would be worth giving it a try.
"Haven't decided yet," Clara said, trying to not let a coy tone manifest itself. "Maybe not."
"Good," Heidi answered.
"Well, yeah. Peter seems like a nice guy. I mean, I've been sitting next to him all year."
"And?" Clara prompted.
Heidi's face reddened. "And, honestly Clara, I wasn't thinking of this when I suggested the whole note thing, but, you know, it's like, well, maybe I could tell him before school ends it's been me. I guess it's possible he might be mad, but I think it's not so hard to get a guy to come around. At least, that's what Natalie tells me," Heidi said, referring to her sister, four years older and worldly in ways Heidi was hoping to emulate sooner rather than later.
As Clara watched her imagined romance evaporate, she said, "Sure. I guess you've got the rack to make him see the light." She tried to keep the comment light, unchallenging. Heidi had the tits, all right. Clara felt a flash of… was it anger? She didn't envy Heidi. Even without a crystal ball Clara could see chiropractor visits in Heidi's future, and she was glad her own genes had kept her boobs on the reasonable side. Still, she could see how a pair of winnebagoes could come in handy on occasion.
Heidi looked down modestly. The occasion was rare when she viewed her bust as a blessing rather than a curse. Satisfied, she lifted her face, flashed a smile, and said, "I do, don't I?" Bitch!
Clara thought and was surprised at the intensity of her reaction. Yeah. I'd love to be the one to shove your wheelchair down the mountain! And with you in it!'
They'd read Heidi
in Lit. class the year before, and the teacher had made a big deal through the whole unit about how there was a Heidi and a Clara in the classroom. And they were such good friends! It got old very quickly. Clara thought maybe it was time to take a little wind out of Heidi's sails.
"Yeah, well, he went to the prom with Melanie, and they've been pretty tight ever since. So maybe you could cram your udders into a halter and give it a try, but maybe it just won't work." Udders!
Clara thought. Yikes!
Why hadn't the filter that was supposed to be between her brain and her mouth caught that one?
Heidi, her face burning - even her best 'friend' couldn't see anything but her tits! - gave Clara a hard look. "They'll burn out." Comprehension dawned on Heidi's face. "Oh, I get it. You want to take a swipe at him yourself. Well, fuck you very much anyway. Me and my udders are going back to school now." Heidi stood, displayed her middle finger, and walked off. Clara's head dropped into her hands. * * * * *
Clara didn't see Heidi again for a few days. She tried to tell herself they weren't avoiding each other, but she realized that's what she was doing, and she knew they would have run into each other just by chance if Heidi were not doing the same.
The next Tuesday, the next to last day, Clara was walking from the building onto the elevated walkway above the four lane road that bordered the campus. When she was about a third of the way across Heidi suddenly appeared, turning onto the walkway after having climbed the stairs from the other side. They approached, each eyeing the other warily. They did a walk-past-and-turn.
"Sorry," Clara said.
Stiff, unyielding, Heidi said, "Sure."
"Hey, please don't be mad," Clara said. Silence drew out. The sound of traffic filtered up from below. "I got bad news over the weekend. My dad's being transferred. He thought he'd finish up and retire here, but he has to go to a new assignment in Alabama. We leave in August." Clara's father was a Coast Guard officer with seventeen and a half years of service.
"Alabama?" Heidi said, as if trying on for size both the name and the concept of living there. "What do you want from me?"
"I just want us to part friends. Okay?" Clara asked. "I guess Peter's all yours now if you get a chance."
"Oh, fuck you!" Heidi said. "You think that's all this is about?"
Clara began to sob and soon couldn't form words. She tried to at least get the word sorry out, but without success. When she finally stopped crying enough to open her eyes Heidi was gone. * * * * *
In mid-August the time for Clara's move came. She tried calling Heidi to meet before she left, but the messages went unanswered. Their household packed and shipped, Clara and her mother, father, and younger brother drove onto the ferry for the sailing to Bellingham. Clara stayed with her family while they picked up the stateroom key at the Purser's office, and she went with them to the stateroom to arrange her things for the voyage to Bellingham. After a while the ferry's motors gunned, and Clara could feel the boat begin to move from the dock. She said she was going up on deck.
Clara went to the stern railing. The boat's wake - white and widening - trailed behind. Mount Stroller White with Mount McGinnis like a younger sibling in front, the spikes of the Mendenhall Towers, and hulking Mount Bullard were flushed from the light of the setting sun. The lower reaches of Mendenhall Glacier wallowed in shadow. All of it was slowly receding.
Her questions began. Why couldn't she have managed to put things right with her friend? Was that really so hard? Was it that she was afraid of that confusing stir of emotion she'd begun to feel toward Heidi? She thought she knew what it was, but why would that be so threatening since she was leaving? The thought of Heidi brought Peter to mind. Could that have turned into anything? Do you really have to lose your best friend over a boy? Clara knew the questions were ones she'd likely never learn the answers to. Her friend Heidi and maybe-it-could-have-been-something Peter were receding, just like the ruddy mountains.
Clara knew those questions would ask themselves again, though. The names would be different, but the questions would be the same. She wished she could have the answers to Heidi and Peter: those would help her find the answers to the next questions. The M/V Columbia picked up speed, but the ferry terminal was not so far away yet that Clara couldn't recognize Heidi when she walked from the building and came to stand at the dock railing. Heidi raised her arm and waved it over her head. Clara pressed the ends of four fingers to her lips and threw the kiss to Heidi. She extended the hand above her head and slowly waved, tears wetting her cheeks.
Author’s Note - Aficionadas
is a story in three parts.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com
with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/love-stories/aficionadas-part-one-1.aspx">Aficionadas, part one</a>