I was having a hard time with the scene in that basement. Here was this nice high school girl in her strange state of undress, and I knew she was going to talk about some provocative topics.

I had a sudden attack of prudishness. She seemed to understand what I was thinking.

“You know, Hank, let me put my skirt back on. I get the feeling that the sight of my bare crotch is unnerving you a bit.” Odd, being half-dressed doesn’t seem to be unnerving you in the slightest. She also pulled her blouse back down, and then she sat up with her legs crossed. “Should I also put my panties back on?”

Now I felt I should go in the opposite direction. “Ah, no that’s not necessary.”

She smiled at me. “You don’t know what you want, do you? Come on, sit up, I want to talk to you about a couple of things. We have some wine left, so let me pour a couple of glasses.” Then she asked me a question I hadn’t expected. “Have you ever had a wet dream? The technical term would be a nocturnal emission. I mentioned that before, didn’t I?”

“That’s kind of a personal matter.”

“Come on, Hank, put away your reserved side. You can be blunt with me, you know that.”

“Okay, no, I never have had a wet dream. I think I would remember it.”

By this time, Margery would say just about anything. “And I know why; you masturbate too much to have one! Hey, don’t blush. After all, we’ve just done it in front of each other, right?”

“I wonder what other guys actually dream about, assuming that they have such dreams?”

“I wouldn’t know, and maybe you’ll never know either. Well, ask your buddies Mark and Dan, they might know.”

I had a hard time imagining talking to them about that. 

She continued, “Knowing those guys, they probably whack-off as much as you do.”

“Wouldn’t I be doing it less now that I’ve met you?”

"Aw, that's sweet of you, but no, I bet you’re doing it more now.”

As usual, I was impressed with her insight. Now that I was learning something first-hand about female sexuality, including what women’s bodies felt and looked like, my fantasies had become more vivid.

She asked me, “Did you think about me on that day you met me? Or really, that night?”

Does she have to ask me about this? “I’ll admit, I did think about you.”

“So what were we doing?”

I figured I might as well answer, “The way I pictured it, you were on top of me, and you were naked except for white knee socks.”

“Wow, that is pretty hot. I must have made quite an impression on you that day. And are you also going to think about that halter-top lady tonight, the one we saw earlier?”

Her again? Do I have to answer that one too? It seemed like a good time to turn it around on her. “You haven’t told me about any of your fantasies yet.”

“All right. I have had one, just recently in fact. I’ll tell you about it if you want to hear it. And, sorry, it wasn’t about you.”

It was just a fantasy, no big deal. “Go ahead, I’ll listen.”

I expected to hear that it was about Ben or one of the other guys in the neighborhood, but I was wrong. She went into some detail about it, and the upshot was that she had imagined herself as a student at a Catholic school. One of the nuns had caught her masturbating in the girls’ room and had punished her by paddling her bare behind as Margery lay across her lap.

I asked her, “And what color knee socks were you wearing?”

“I can see how your mind works. These same red ones, of course. And my panties were red too.”

I could quite vividly imagine that. “Was this at Mount St. Ursula?” That was the high school near Dan’s house.

“I think it was. While standing against the wall doing my corner time, this nun came up behind me and started rubbing my sore behind. You want to hear the rest of this?”

“You started it. Yeah, of course, I do.”

“She said that I had taken my discipline well and that I deserved some comforting. One thing led to another, and then she was fondling me, and I was fondling her, and finally, we licked each other to our climaxes.”

“What do they wear under those habits?”

“Well, they are starting to loosen up their dress codes a bit recently, as you may have noticed.”

“I mean, whatever they had about six or seven years ago.”

“I don’t know, Hank, so I just made it up. This one had a petticoat, I guess you’d call it, and these ample white bloomers. Well, those bloomers didn’t last long on her, as you might imagine.” She noticed the expression on my face. “You’re looking at me with something like awe. You have no idea what women really think about, do you?”

“I guess I’m learning that from you.” Man, I wonder if all women have the kind of imagination that this one does?

Then the implications of what she had said started to strike me. “Wait a minute, where did you get all these ideas from? I mean, for your fantasy about being with a nun?”

“You should know. There’s a lot of stuff in those magazines that you haven’t seen yet.”

“Are there nuns in them?”

“Oh yeah, a few, the clergy is a theme in them. And that’s been an erotic interest of people for a couple of centuries at least.”

“Not real nuns, I suppose.”

“Of course not; it’s easy enough to get the costumes for a porn shoot.”

More implications came to me, and I expressed my curiosity. “The bigger thing is – you thought of having sex with another woman. I mean, licking each other, as you said.”

“I was wondering when you were going to get to that. You’re a bit slow today. I saw that in a magazine too, although I don’t have that one right now.”

“So it had girl-on-girl action?”

“It’s called lesbianism, as you might know.”

“Of course I’ve heard of it.” However, it wasn’t in my fantasy repertoire yet. “So, you liked looking at it, I mean the pictures?”

“Obviously, I did have a fantasy about it. Although, as Kinsey said, most of us are at least a bit bi-sexual. You know who Alfred Kinsey is, right?”

“I’ve heard of him too. So what was in this magazine? I mean, what do women do with each other, besides, well, going down on each other?”

“That’s called cunnilingus; it doesn’t matter if a man or a woman is the one doing it to the lucky chick getting her pussy licked.”

I told her the truth. “All right, I don’t know that term.” The “health ed” class I had taken in school the previous year didn’t go anywhere near that level of detail. Probably the large majority of my classmates didn’t know the word either. I was certain I had never heard Mark or Dan use it.

Margery said, “So you asked what other acts women do each other? Well, I’ve seen photos of this, so you’ve asked the right person. They could use dildos on each other. Or, there is this thing called a strap-on. It’s basically a dildo that a lady can strap around her waist and then, of course, she can fuck another lady with it.”

“So why not just get some guy to bang you?”

Margery was slightly impatient with me, “Because, they don’t want a man, but they still want to come from having something pushed up their vaginas.” She could see that I was confused. “I know it sounds counter-intuitive, but that’s the way some women are. By the way, many men are just wild about seeing lesbian porn. You obviously are barely aware of its existence.”

I shrugged, “I’m sure I’ve never seen it.”

“That’s okay, you didn’t know much about anything until you saw those other pictures. But there’s something else you missed.”

“So what is that?”

“That she paddled me, and I liked it. I suppose you’ve never heard of BDSM, have you?”

“Is this something else in those magazines?”

“Oh yeah, especially some of those from Britain, but they are hardly the only nationality who are interested in it. In fact, I’m beginning to think it’s such a common fetish that it hardly qualifies as one. Would you like me to explain it a bit? I mean, I don’t have any pictures to show you about that either.”

I agreed, and she gave me a condensed but still fairly complete treatise on the whole subject. I couldn’t help but be fascinated by what she was telling me.

I asked her, “How did you know that you’d like it, I mean, this nun paddling fantasy?”

I should have known how blunt she would be. “Because of the results. I had an orgasm while imagining it; that’s pretty good evidence, I would say.”

She looked down at my crotch.

“You came right back up again, I see.” She rolled over and stretched. “My lips are going to be chapped from all of the work I’ll have to do on you.”

“Oh, poor Margery. Now you’re going to have to wear Chap-stick as well as lipstick.” She found that funny. “So, are you going to do that no-panties-in-the-street-bit again sometime?”

“If I’m not wearing jeans or trousers that day, sure, it’s no problem.”

*********

In the day or two after that particular basement session, I was pondering my developing relationship with Margery. It occurred to me that I was always responding to her beck and call, and that maybe I should pretend to be busier than I really was. I can’t let her take me for granted; maybe I should make myself scarce for a bit and let her chase me for a while.

I don’t know how I figured out that insight on my own but eventually, through some trial and error, I discovered that maybe I was on to something.

Sure enough, she called me the next day and asked me to meet her outside her building – for exactly what, I wasn’t sure. It was in the afternoon after school, and I just made up an excuse about why I couldn’t see her on that day. I said, “I’m sorry, I’ve got this paper I have to write and I really should get going on it.”

I listened carefully to her voice to see if I could detect any reaction to my refusal, but she seemed to accept it. I couldn’t see her expression of course, which would have been helpful for what I needed to know.

Three days went by and neither one of us contacted the other. I was starting to miss her a bit, but I resolved to stay on my course. She’s not going anywhere; if anything, she must be missing you too.

****

On Saturday, I relented on my plan, and I asked her to go with me on the Circle Line the next day. That company ran excursion boats in the rivers surrounding Manhattan. I had only been on the ride once before with my family years earlier, and Margery had never been on it. She agreed to go.

When we got to the waterfront at West 42nd Street, she had a little surprise for me. For whatever era, the Circle Line always charged a substantial fee to ride their boats. It was not like there was a competing company on the same route. Anyway, she offered to pay for her share of the trip.

Neither one of us had jobs, but my parents had always given me, on an ad hoc basis, a little cash for carfare and such. Now that they knew I had a girlfriend, they were giving me a bit more, but they never mentioned that it had anything to do with Margery. I wondered if perhaps her family was doing the same for her.

I shrugged and I agreed to go Dutch with her. I had no idea how boat rides fit in with dating protocols.

We stood up for almost the entire trip and leaned on the port side railing. I remembered that my one previous time on that line had been around 1964; I was sure I was still in elementary school back then.

One of the biggest changes at the time of that later trip was that the World Trade Center was under construction. The two towers had topped out their steel frames, and the outer cladding was mostly up on the north building and partially up on the south one.

A little later, we were going up the East River, and I looked over at Margery to my left. It was a mild day, and she was casually dressed in a short-sleeved blouse, jeans, and sneakers. Her hair was tied up behind her head.

It struck me that she looked so young and innocent at that moment. Nobody seeing her could imagine the kind of sexuality this girl was capable of, but I’ve seen it first-hand. In fact, I’m just getting started with her.

She turned and looked over at me. I almost flinched from the gaze of her dark eyes, but I held my position and continued my perusal of her.

Rather abruptly, she said, “So, what are you looking at? What is it that you see in me?”

I tried to pass it off as a random incident. “I don’t know, nothing in particular.”

But she was very sharp about such things. “I know what it is. You’re trying to figure me out. I mean, based on the way I look, I’m not the way you expected me to be.”

That was almost it. I somehow knew that about her in the earliest moments of that first day when she was mouthing off to me on the sidewalk. She looked young and inexperienced, yet I had wanted her almost instantly. I also knew that I could have her if I made a move on her. Yet I didn’t want to admit on the boat that she had read my present thoughts so well. “Something like that, I guess.”

She simply scrunched her face a bit and nodded. Yeah, Hank, I’ve got you down pat.

******

Eventually, we went up the East River and then the Harlem. Then we turned south on the Hudson River for the final leg of our trip. We had maybe a half-hour to reach the pier at 42nd Street.

We were now on the starboard side of the boat. Margery and I were looking at the New Jersey Palisades when she suddenly said, rather quietly. “So Hank, I’ve been thinking about a little role game for us to play; I mean, I’ve been planning it. You obviously don’t know what a dominatrix is, do you?”

It sounded familiar but I wanted to hear her explanation. “Well, tell me what I need to know.”

“All right, there are a lot of men who are so eager to have a stern lady spank or paddle them that they’ll pay a woman – a sort of prostitute, you could call her – to punish them. Usually, they’ll make up some pretext or maybe there is something really bothering them.”

I wanted to know how she knew all that. Instead, I revised the question as, “Why would they want that?”

“I don’t know, there’s probably a whole psychology of guilt and punishment and desire that goes back to the – well, to the Oedipal Complex maybe.”

Wow, it’s really cool that she can so casually throw around the term Oedipal Complex in a conversation. I didn’t say that, however, and she went on. “How about you? Maybe you’d like to try it yourself. I mean, maybe you can imagine me punishing you.”

I acted confused even though I mostly understood what she was getting at. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh yeah? I think you do get it. I’m thinking about a scene where I do something to punish you. I want us to play roles and be directly involved with all this. Are you at least curious to hear about it?”

I was, but I protested, “But I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“That’s not the point. We’ll invent some misdeed.”

“So it’s playacting then.”

“Except, the spanking will be very real.”

It felt weird, but I was suddenly intrigued by her suggestion. Just how perverse am I? Just how perverse is she? “All right, tell me about it; I’m listening.”

“Okay, what’s about the worst thing that ever happened to you in school, I mean, the worst trouble you ever had with a teacher, a female teacher?”

“I guess there was a time when one of them accused me of cheating on a test. I mean, she gave me a hard term verbally, but that was it.”

“So imagine if I was that teacher. There are still states where it’s legal to spank or paddle a high school student. Yeah, it’s usually a teacher of the same gender, but – we’ll be creative!”

How did she know those details? “But you’re too young to be a teacher.”

“We’re making it up, so it doesn’t matter. You can call me Miss Carlin. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“Not yet, I don’t. And you’re the one making this up, not me.”

“Okay, say, I’m the teacher and I make you come into the classroom after school is over. That's called detention, of course. I would make sure that the door is locked during this.”

“That never happens at my school.”

“It’s probably not even legal in this state, but you’re being too literal-minded. So I’ll tell you what you did wrong – rightly or wrongly, let’s assume that it has something to do with cheating as you said. Thus I’m going to chide you for being a bad boy and that you deserve everything I’m going to dish out.”

“And what exactly are you going to dish out?”

“I just told you. As your teacher, I’m going to put you over my knees or over the desk or maybe both. Then I’m going to spank you – on your bare backside.” She smiled at me. “Maybe you’ll start claiming that you are going to be good from now on. But that’s not going to deter me from my purpose. Does any of this sound interesting?”

I didn’t know then how common, almost to the point of being a cliché, that naughty student-stern teacher trope was. The detention idea was a sub-trope, perhaps. I looked around the boat’s deck, but no one was that close to us. However, I could imagine the older people on the boat looking at us and thinking, I wonder what that nice young couple is talking about? They’re talking about staging a kinky sex scene, that’s what.

I asked something in protest again. “And why do you get to do this to me?”

“Because, sweetie, I thought of it first.”

Instead of replying directly, I said, “So where we would do this event? In the basement?”

“No, I was thinking of my apartment. My mom goes to work and my sister goes to Lehman at times. We can do this in the afternoon. I’ll pick a date when I know more.”

“We’ve never used the apartment before.”

“That’s because we haven’t needed it until this. But it will work, I’m sure of that.” Then she said, “I’ll give you an incentive to sweeten the deal. I’m almost positive that you’ll get an erection during this session, and I’ll make sure you have an orgasm after your discipline. I’ll still be playing your teacher, of course.”

Wow, that was blunt. Yet she was so calm, almost deadpan about it. And she was making a big assumption about how I’d react. Yet, I was getting the feeling she knew more about my inner desires than I had previously suspected.

I said, “You’re quite a naughty teacher yourself, I see.”

“Oh yes, indeed I am. But you’re not going to pull a switch on me, not this time.” I knew what that term went because she had explained it to me in the basement. “I do expect that you will give me an orgasm too, but don’t ask me how just yet. I mean, here I am in the classroom with all of these horny young guys. I just can’t keep my hands off of them.”

I wondered if this had been one of her fantasies that she hadn't told me about. It sounded unusual, but maybe she had pictured herself as an adult teacher having access to the guys she was interested in at her school. There had to be some of those she had never told me about, probably from before I had met her. She was right, I was learning what girls really thought about, things I could never grasp before.

Since she asked about the girls at my school, then maybe I could eventually slip in a question about the guys at hers.

We were almost under the George Washington Bridge by that point. She said, “It’s going to take a few days to set this up, but I’ll get back to you soon.”

*****

Back at West 42nd Street, we stopped to get snacks and drinks. There were some benches and tables that the boat company had set up, and Margery leaned over one of them before going back to buy something else. Just as she did that, on impulse, I gave her a hard smack on the seat of her jeans. I didn't even check to see if there was anybody nearby to witness that.

She obviously was surprised, and she stood up and turned to look at me. “Why did you do that?” She wasn't smiling.

I tried to pass it off as the playful stunt that I had intended, “I don’t know, I guess I thought I could give you a whack on your ass if you are going to whack mine.”

She asked another question, “And who gave you that idea?” She sounded rather snippy.

“I gave it to myself, of course.”

“Well, maybe you are wrong.”

She sounded truly annoyed for about the first time ever. That situation wasn’t going well, I could tell that much. “Maybe we could do that switch at some point.”

“I haven’t decided on that yet.”

That was enough for me. I thought it would be awkward to have to then sit there and eat with her, but she solved the issue for us. She stuffed her wrapped sandwich into her bag and picked up her drink. “Let’s have these on the bus.” We had to take the crosstown line to Times Square to reach the subway.

On the way over, she didn’t talk to me or even look at me. Jesus, she really has a bug up her ass about his trivial incident.

******

Things didn’t go so well back at her building either. As we stood there, she said, “Come with me; we’ll go downstairs. You know why.”

It took some willpower on my part, but I decided that I was going to refuse her again. I used the same excuse that I had things from school to do.

She was truly miffed; I could see the look on her face. After a moment, she said, “If that’s what you want, then okay” Then she turned away without kissing me or even saying goodbye. As she walked up the steps of her building, I watched her slim behind inside her jeans. Not a lot of curves on that girl, but – man, you could have had that, right now, but you said no.

Then I thought, don’t worry, keep up going with your plan. See what she does next.

*****

More than four days went by, and we didn’t hear from each other. I started to think, what have I done? I’ve messed up my relationship with the best girlfriend I could imagine. By Thursday afternoon, I thought about conceding and calling her that evening. However, she got to me first.

When I was within a half-hour of eating dinner with my family, the buzzer for the lobby intercom rang. My mom answered it and she told me it was Margery. I spoke to her, and she asked me to meet her in the vestibule. That was on the first floor, just a few yards from my apartment.

When I opened the inner door, I said, “Hey, do you want to come in?” I noted that she had dressed up for her visit. I didn’t know the reason, but I figured I’d find out soon enough. On that day, she had her usual blue blazer, plus a blue dress with a white pattern, nylon stockings, and black, formal-looking shoes.

Margery replied, “No, I want to talk to you, alone. By the way, I like those stained glass windows in this building. They’re real glass; pretty nice, I’d say.” She was referring to the two panels on either side of the inside door. One notable aspect of them was that they both depicted sailing ships

I was a bit baffled by her comment, but I went along with her. “Yeah, I guess it goes with the mock-Tudor theme, although it’s a bit overdone. It’s like the fake fireplace over there.” That was inside the lobby, facing the doors. “With this style, they must have figured that all those people moving up from the Lower East Side or wherever wanted to live like lords of the manor.” I later found out that my building had been built in 1931. “So, let’s go to the park across the street.”

“We need a little more privacy than that. Is the door to the roof unlocked?”

“It sure is. We can take the elevator up there.” Back then, many buildings in New York did not have locked roof doors.

Once in the cab, she said, “O-o, an elevator. How fancy. We don’t have one in my building.”

“At least you only live on the third floor.”

“It can still be a chore to haul things up there.”

At the roof level, we stepped out and went to the wall on the south side where we could see the New York skyline about ten miles away. I had a little story for her. “The first time I was up here, last year, a woman came up a minute later to hang up some laundry to dry. She was freaked out when she saw me, I could tell that from her expression.”

“You mean she just left?”

“That’s right. I should have gone right then too, but I hung around anyway. A moment later her husband came storming out of the stairwell, and he actually grabbed me. I had to explain that I lived here and I was just looking at the view.”

“Sounds like he was something of an asshole. I mean, putting your hands on somebody is technically an assault.”

“He must have figured that it was an emergency of some kind.”

“I know, Hank, you’re such a menacing-looking guy,” That didn’t seem like a compliment, and I must have frowned at her because she continued, “Take it easy, I’m just nudging you a bit. But, in any case, Mr. D’Amato, I have something important to discuss with you.”

“Okay, and what would that be?”

“I’ve noticed that recently you’ve been playing hard to get with me.”

I was impressed with her insight, but I tried scoffing anyway. “That’s ridiculous. Girls can play hard to get, but guys can’t.”

“No, that’s not true; they do it all the time, although they may deny it like you are right now.” I wondered if she had picked up that tip from her older sister.

“I told you, I’ve been busy with schoolwork.”

“Really, you mean too busy for this?”

She reached down to lift the hem of her dress, and I saw all of the new underthings she had bought for herself. She had mentioned it before but now she had a black garter with straps clipped to her stockings. The best part was the panties on top of everything. Those were white and quite ample, but the cloth was so sheer that I could see right through them.

She explained everything in some detail. “I got all of this at the same place downtown. I especially like the underpants. They’re like granny panties except they’re virtually transparent.” As she must have known, a wave of lust was going through me. “I can see that you like it all, don’t you?”

I tried to be as casual as I manage, “We’ve talked about his before.”

“We certainly have. You said to get both black and white ones, and I did.” She briefly turned to give me the rearview, then she dropped the hem and faced me again. “They have an orange and black number too, but I didn’t get that one yet. But, if necessary, I can also bring it all back for a refund.”

She was trying to put some pressure on me, I could see that. But then I realized I didn’t have to worry about that particular issue. “Margery, you’re not going to take them back, because I know you like them too much yourself.”

She squinted at me, and then said, “You are pretty sharp. But then maybe you also need some more motivation.” She reached under her skirt and pulled her panties off. It seemed that she might hand them to me, but instead, she put them over the top of my head. Even my face was partially covered.

I swatted her hands away. “Hey, what are you doing?” I pulled her garment off of me, but I continued to hold it.

“I’m just giving you a reminder of me while you eat dinner, even if they’re only in your back pocket.”

“So I can keep these?”

“No, they’re mine, but you may borrow them for a little while.” Then she gestured for me to come closer. “Come over here and touch me.”

“Touch you how?”

“I think you know what I mean.”

I certainly did, and my resolve to resist her was fading rapidly. She lifted her dress again, and I looked at her pubic hair and her slender legs. My fingers seemed to be tingling as I pictured the rest of her taut body under her dress. Before I could think much about it, I had stuffed her panties into my back pocket and then I put my hands on her flesh. It was delightful to stroke her hips and then move to her bare behind.

“So how do I feel?”

By that point, I could no longer even attempt to be calm and aloof. “Margery, you’re so warm and smooth.”

“You bet I am.” Then she dropped her hem and put her hands on my shoulders; she pressed her body against mine. That allowed her to gyrate her pelvis against the front of my trousers.

Some resistance still seemed necessary on my part. “Come on, this isn’t fair.”

“Who said anything about being fair?” She kissed me and quietly said, “You see, Hank, you and I are going to face the world together.”

That seemed rather ambitious for someone I had only known for about a month. I attempted a bit of humor, “It would be good if I graduated from high school first.”

“Well, consider me. I still have nearly two years to go.” Then she kissed me again and coyly said, “Besides, I haven’t even truly busted your cherry yet.”

“What makes you think that is necessary?” I had never actually admitted to being a virgin, but neither had she.

Margery laughed. “Don’t try to fool me. It’s just so obvious with you, and you’ve never denied it.”

I pushed back, “How about you? That day I met you, you claimed to have been on a lot of dates. Like with whom? Guys in the Evander cafeteria?”

“And how about you? Have you ever been with any girls in your school cafeteria?”

I lied about it. “Yeah, with a couple or so.”

“And what are their names?”

At random, I picked two. “For example, there’s Susan and Lenore.”

“Who are they? I bet in reality you simply picked them for your nightly jerk-off sessions.”

There was a bit too much edginess in her statement. “You can be quite a little smartass at times.”

“You already knew that, and I think you like me that way. Look, what I’d like – no, what I’m offering to you is this. I have to have dinner too. Then, when we’ve both eaten, come down the block and buzz my intercom. You must know where we’re going.”

I was curious about something. “Doesn’t your family wonder why you’re so dressed up today?”

“I already told them that I have a date with you, which is true. Perhaps you need one more incentive.”

That time, she turned around and lifted her skirt once more. She presented her bare ass to me and used it to rub herself against my crotch. She must have known what the effect of that was going to be. I grabbed her hips and moaned, “God, Margery, that just feels so good.”

“I think, if I did this enough, you’d come right inside your pants. In fact, when we’re in my building, I’m going to try it and see how I do with you.”

She turned to face me again. As she dropped her hem, I could see her beaming at me. For my part, there was a tightness in my throat and a huge bulge in my pants. No man, especially one as young and inexperienced as I was, could resist what she had done to me.

I asked her, “Where did you learn that, and I mean that bit with your behind? From one of your girlfriends?” I almost added, or maybe one of your boyfriends, but I knew not to say that.

“It doesn’t matter, I just know how to do it.”

I had to pull myself together. “It’s time for me to get back downstairs.”

“All right, I’ve got to get going too.” She poked a finger into my chest. “So, sweetie, see you in about an hour, okay?”

While riding down in the elevator, I said, “I wonder what my mom would think if she knew your panties were in my pocket?”

“If she has any sense, she’d be glad that you found a nice girl to keep you company.”

I said, “Keeping company? That’s a term my grandparents used to use.”

“Actually, that’s where I’ve gotten it too – from my grandparents.”

When I was in my apartment, and my hormones started to go down, I realized that my attempt to regain some control over Margery had failed, at least for the moment. She had known exactly how to counter my efforts.

******

That evening in our basement room, one of the first things she said to me was, “Let me try that ass grinding idea against the front of your trousers.”

I knew what she meant, but I wanted to hear her describe it in some detail. “How is that going to go?”

She squinted at me; she knew I was joshing with her. “Then let me make it plain to you again. I’m going to turn around and raise my dress. I’m not wearing any panties because they’re still in your back pocket.  You’ve got that so far?”

I pretended to be serious. “Sure, I understand it.”

“Then I’ll move my bare bottom against your crotch until you ejaculate right inside your clothes.”

“Really, Margery, do you think you can do that?” Actually, I was pretty sure it would work but I wanted to see her reaction.

“I know I can do it. You are going to find out right now.”

When she had bared herself to me, I noted again how her small backside had that subtle but nice curve to it. After that, she was very enthusiastic about swiveling and gyrating her hips again mine. I grabbed her and held her tight, helping her move around as I wanted her to go.

She looked back at me and said, “Do you believe me now? I can feel how stiff you are in there.”

I was moaning at that point but I managed to say, “Yes Margery, I believe you now, I sure do.”

Our vigorous thrusting on each other continued until I felt myself shooting my load into my own underpants. She felt it too and encouraged me, “That’s it, baby, I can feel it coming out. See, your girl wasn’t fooling you, was she?”

As I often did after some sex act with her, I fell down and sat on the sleeping bag. There was quite a sticky mess in my pants but, man, that had been fun to do.

She sat next to me and surprised me by asking, “Did you ever imagine some lady doing that to you on a crowded subway? Of course, her own clothes would have to be thin and tight too.”

I answered truthfully, “No, I’ve never imagined that.”

“Well, some guy did tell me that he once had that fantasy.” That raised my suspicions again. Like the unseen porn providers, who was this guy revealing himself to her in that way?

She continued, “But, even if it does happen once in a while, I’m sure it’s entirely the guy’s idea. Me, I wouldn’t up with something like that. I’d yell at him and threaten to have him arrested, although I doubt a cop could get there fast enough.”

I had never seen the expression she had then. She was angry, fierce even as if that had really happened to her once. For a second, I wondered if it ever had.

But she had a new proposal that distracted me from my doubts. “In a few minutes, we’ll do it again, but this time your trousers will be down.”

When we started the second time, I loved the feeling of my cock, my whole pelvis, in fact, sliding along her smooth flesh. It took a bit longer to come than before, but not by much. That time, I shot off all over her buttocks and lower back. She obviously liked it. “Oh, that feels so hot on me! It’s great the way you young guys can keep doing it all day long.”

******

That night, I found that I still had her panties in my back pocket. As I looked at the sheer white cloth, a less than noble thought came to me. I had always wanted to shoot a load into a girl’s used panties, and that’s just what I did. It was a very adolescent thing to do, but I guess I was still an adolescent.

I said some strangely nasty, aggressive things to myself during that act in my bed, and I could picture what she looked like while wearing them. “Yeah, honey, you’re getting more than a bit stuck-up, but I'm going to put my cum into your panties whether you like that or not.”

When I was done, I pondered just letting them dry out and presenting her underwear to her the next day encrusted with my semen. But then I thought, why should I do that? It seemed unnecessarily crude. It wasn’t funny; it was just weird.

Instead, I got up and washed them out in the bathroom sink. Then I hung them off the edge of a shelf in my closet. No one would notice them in there.

####

Evander refers to Evander Childs High School, which Margery attends. Yes, there was someone with the last name of Childs. Mount St. Ursula is also a real school that still exists.