Darcy 1

A work of fiction

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While this is a stand-alone story. The characters in this tale also appear in "Philadelphia, Texas" and "My Two Brother's," which chronologically predate and are contemporaneous with this story.

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In New Mexico a mile above sea level, separated by the Gallinas River sit 'New' East Las Vegas and 'Old' West Las Vegas. Once named the 'New Mexico Normal School' 'New Town's' Highlands University is proudly acclaimed by residents as a premier institution of higher learning. This story does not take place there, it occurs at the more fictional Marston-Byrne University across the river on the other side of Arroyo Hermosa in West Las Vegas. An institution that is not often spoken of, and those very few who do are often given to calling it the 'New Mexico Abnormal School.'

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All pseudo-educational and sexual activity in this story occurs between characters at least 18 years of age.

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Just because I have done every single kinky thing described in this story in real life does not mean that it is or that it was safe, I might just have been lucky. Don't try this at home (or at work unless your workplace has an experienced Dungeon-master on the payroll and a really interesting definition of casual Friday).

No actual NCAA regulations were broken in the writing of this story.

***

Riding the bus mostly north and east up Interstate twenty-five from Albuquerque I read the small pamphlet and wondered to myself, "why was I doing this." Oh yes, because nobody that I knew ever got out of Philadelphia, Texas and went anywhere. I had been the first person in my family to even visit a college with the intention of attending. Almost a year ago I did the unconceivable. I had in my hand a partial athletic scholarship to the University of New Mexico.

Enough money to pay for classes and books if I slept in a pup tent in the quad and ate acorns. Which as it turned out turned out was apparently against the rules or something. It was tough, but I am tough. I had managed a four-point-oh for two semesters, while working in a restaurant for the free food and trying to find a place to sleep without becoming a whore.

I sublimated everything into getting to college and then I sacrificed everything to stay there and to get good grades. UNM wasn't exactly Harvard or Stanford but it wasn't a non-competitive school either, which is what Marston-Byrne was. It was an expensive private non-competitive school for rich east-coast kids whose parents could pay the substantial tuition, and for a very fortunate few scholarship athletes good enough in their sport to wear the 'Sand and Sky-Blue' while standing on a winner's podium.

My apparently now ex-coach had told me to make a choice. Well there I was on that bus that was heading south in order to go north as we passed the exit for the State Capitol. It must have meant that I had made not one but two choices. I chose academics and a degree over track, and I chose doing absolutely anything on earth rather than going back home a failure. Going home with my tail tucked between my legs to marry some little twerp like Joey Wilson and talk about my bygone 'glory days' when I won the 'Half' back at the 'Seventy-Seven Bangin'-Bertha' in Lubbock.

Life is full of irony. Someone should write a song about that. My speed, endurance and dedication to my sport made me desirable enough to get a scholarship, but then my dedication to getting good grades in the fairy difficult classes I took in Albuquerque was an unacceptable distraction. When offered choices I refused to drop any classes or take fewer or easier ones. So, I was on that bus to see if I could transfer my credits to 'Old Las Vegas' where the track and field coach had probably violated a couple of NCAA rules just to talk to me back in Las Cruces.

"Marston-Byrne was named for its first three presidents," said the pamphlet, "venerable professors, world famous authors and inventors politely asked to leave the employ of Tufts, American, Columbia and Harvard for their nonconformity to social norms," whatever that meant. "With a faculty of free-thinkers infused by an influx of notable academics fleeing from the tyranny of the Communist block today, as it had been forty years earlier by European emigres fleeing Nazism." A place to start again. "Home of the prestigious Elisabeth Holloway School of Law."

Marilyn, the track and field coach was there at the bus stop waiting for me with Annie, a girl that I had competed against a few times. In fact, it was my telling Annie that apparently 'our' event was going to be all hers next year because I had just lost my scholarship... That conversation led to my first clandestine meeting with Coach Grynduer. After a bit of perfunctory hugging and small talk about the heat and the long bus ride we got into Marilyn's multi-colored split window VW 'hippie van.' One that she said had once belonged to John Muir whoever he was.

As Annie drove Marilyn and I talked. Or rather Coach Grynduer went into a little monologue and I nodded politely at the appropriate times to show her that I had not dozed off. As we drove through the, "college for the merely normal," as she put it, we crossed a mostly dry river on a long concrete bridge.

"This road runs up to the Old Plaza. It's named Bridge Street here in Old Town, but it was National over in New Town. A hundred years ago the railroad reached Las Vegas which had been settled by the Conquistadors as a trading post three hundred years before that. The federal government gave the railroad a land grant on the east bank of the Gallinas, so they went and plotted New Town over there. The thing you have to remember is that 'Sixty-Eight, Schmixty-Eight' there is not one Las Vegas, there is Old Town and there is New Town, annnd..."

"WE ARE OLD TOWN." Annie joined with Coach, both shouting and then high-fiving as the van made a hard-left hand turn onto a cross-street.

A few blocks later we pulled up to the parking lot located adjacent to the athletic fields behind the 'Margaret Stanger Women and Children's Hospital' and I looked at the fieldhouse.

I thought to myself, "what are, what is a, or is it the... Fermions?"

As I stood dumbly in the doorway looking at the sign. Smiling, Annie said, "We are on Fermi's team not Einstein's."

"Excuse me?" I said, getting out of the van.

"See half of all 'Hard-ons,'" and at the word 'hard-on' the two instantly giggled at what was apparently terribly funny inside joke, "are Fermions. We are the unique half that spin in half rather than in whole integer intervals and can't simultaneously be in two places at once," said Coach.

My facial expression must have been priceless, they seemed to have their own language around here.

"Really you just need to know that it's a term from particle physics." said Anne.

OK, I was in the parking lot of an athletic field house and this hot little runner-girl in front of me was talking about fucking particle physics. I thought to myself, "I guess this must be a real college."

"Most things in the known universe are Bosons," said Coach. Was it cute or creepy the way they finished each other's thoughts? "We aren't Bosons. We are unusual, we arrre..."

"FERMIONS," Anne and Marilyn sang out loudly together before high-fiving again.

Inside we talked with Silvia Daghlian the Athletic Director and we negotiated a deal. I had three-hots-and-a-cot for four years, with a mutual option on a fifth. I could do anything I wanted to do academically. All I had to do to keep the deal was to always show up ready and live up to my Kinji, the one that was the subject of an impromptu show-and-tell with Anne and Coach Grynduer at a rather confessional 'New Mexico State University Invitational,' "go fast."

As I walked out of Dean Slotkin's office later that day my head was spinning at a high rate of speed. I jokingly thought to myself that I had better keep it down to only a half-integer rotation if I didn't want to fuck this deal up. I did not have any idea how they had worked it out so that I never had to return to Albuquerque, or how I would get credits in Old Town for classes taken at UNM. But it was on paper and duly signed. I was just a twenty-year old runner-girl, so what did I know. I walked across the Pueblo themed quad, past the Harvey House Pavilion, the hospital and the Leslie Groves ROTC Center to Coach's office in the Field House.

"Annie, Miss Steinberg, will take you over to the registrar's office tomorrow and get you signed up for summer and fall classes," Coach Gryndeur said as she handed me two small pamphlets, several forms and a 'Marston-Byrne '79-'80 Academic Class Catalog.' "Any idea what you want to do after college?"

"I always wanted to go back to Philadelphia as the State Ag. Agent," I said. "But Aggies and Prairie State grads pretty much have a monopoly on that gig. So, I just concentrated on core requirements at New Mexico. Even if I still wanted to be an Extension Agent, I would have had a tough road ahead, it's State that offers most of the required Ag. classes."

"Getting the requirements and other core stuff out of the way first is really smart. It gives you more flexibility later..." Marilyn said, looking me over. I fought my nerves as she slowly assessed me. "Darcy, are you going to totally kick fuckin' ass for the 'Sand and Sky-Blue?'"

"Yes coach."

"Between you, me and that wall over there can you keep a confidence?"

"Yes coach."

"I'm sleeping with the head of the Psych department. They are doing research on methods and approaches to practical endorphin stimulation and are always are looking for research assistants, you don't have to be a Psych major. Not that Psychology isn't a wonderful field of endeavor."

"Yes."

"For a runner, especially a longer distance runner, there could even be practical applications that you could take away from the research. Carol assures me that no possible harm could come to any of my girls from their participation."

"Carol?"

"Caroline L. DeLeuw, head of the Psychology Department here. You wouldn't have a problem with that would you?"

"Not at all coach."

"Even if it doesn't teach you anything you can use in distance running, it pays a little, and that can't ever hurt."

"No, not at all."

"I will have Annie give you her card."

"Thank you, coach."

"Come back here after you get registered. We will get you on the practice schedule."

"Yes, coach."

She looked me over again before speaking, that habit shook me a little. "Darcy, do you trust me to look after you, to look after all of my girls?"

"Yes... Coach..."

"Annie, our Miss Steinberg, she likes you." Coach said with a smile.

***

That was an understatement. In the last four-and-a-half years Annie and I have done just about every single thing humanly possible together. After a year at Marston-Byrne I went back to Philadelphia for the summer, we drove there together in Anne's little burgundy Opel Kadett. I saw my old track teammates from high school, the 'Gang-Of-Four.'

Diana was doing great, she seemed to be happy running her family's farm. I think she was fucking this oh-too-cute half-Japanese flower of a girl with the wildest ink that I have ever actually seen. Meiko was a tattoo artist, and she gave Annie and me matching 'love forever' Kinji's using old-fashioned manual needles. We stayed at Diana's place and one morning I noticed that Diana and Meiko had matching cunt-rings. That looked a whole lot like kinky wedding bands to me.

Mave had married some deadbeat who could not seem to find his own house on a day to day basis. Lydia wasn't doing much better her partners had been just as unreliable but at least she wasn't legally bound to them. It's kind of funny, no not funny, it's ironic... Someone should write a song about all of this irony in life. When we were in high-school we were worried that the stupid rumors flying around about our track and cross-country coach Sally Fulbright were true, or even just slightly true, which counts the same as actually being true in Philadelphia.

I got Marilyn, Coach Grynduer, to give Lydia and Mave a try-out but two years had taken their toll. Besides they were never as fast as I was anyway. I did hook them up with jobs through Caroline at University Hospital and they did several endorphin tests for our research, six of them are referenced in my thesis. Or rather they will be referenced just as soon as I get that big-ass paper done. Yeah, who would have believed it? Me, Darcy a B.A. in Psych working on her Master's.

Back to Sally, she was pretty weird, but she was about the only one who worked at the school who actually cared about us. People said she was gay. I don't know if she was, she never made a pass at me... But neither did Coach Grynduer and I know she is... So, who in that high school field house actually was, or who actually turned out to be gay? Let's see, I am pretty sure that Diana is fucking demure kinky sweet little Meiko. I know Mave and Lydia are a couple and me...

"Annie," I call to my lover getting dressed for dinner in the bathroom. "Am I gay?"

"I don-no Darc, did you just munch on my twat?"

"Yes Ans, I did dear it was wonderful."

"Why thank you, did I just fuck you, babe?"

"Yeah, pretty sure that ya did, and it felt really nice."

"I hate to tell ya dis."

"What."

"We just MIGHT be gay, Darc."

"Can I get a second opinion?"

"Soy-ten-lee, right after dinner, babe."

So, after a fine dinner out we returned to our little apartment off-campus near New Mexico Avenue. I sat in the soft leather loveseat with my lover, the second fastest distance runner-girl in school history. She was naked on my arm, under a shared lightweight knit blanket. I looked around the small stucco living room, our matching sand-colored miters with sky-blue tassels one atop the other in the telephone crèche. Framed photos of us being granted our Baccalaureates and those very sheepskins hanging on the wall together nearby.

Annie was snoring lightly, so our earlier question would have to wait. Besides I actually had some work to do. I used the two wired remotes to first flip on the big Motorola console television and then to start the player so that I might watch a grainy VHS tape. Studying the test records it contained for useful nuggets to add to my semi-completed thesis.

Mave and Lydia were on the video tape, their pubes were shaved and their hair had been dyed black and cut in matching page-boy bobs. They wore identical small Marti-Gras style feathered opera masks, "for anonymity," Caroline had said. They were otherwise completely naked. Test one began with title boards before the clumsy segue with Mave being the first 'test subject.' She was resting her butt on her feet, her knees and lower legs planted on the heavily padded oversized 'test table.' Her hands were clasped behind the small of her back 'in the test position.'

Lydia connected the two alligator clips at the end of the black and red wires leading from the 'test box' to the captive ball rings in Mave's nipples. The box contained several batteries of the type used in cattle prods, together with other electronics. I could not construct a test box, but I generally understand how it works. In addition, being a responsible researcher, before I ever ordered a test done on a volunteer Anne and I shocked each other several times with the device. At moderate settings it was quite pleasurable, and at the higher ones it was interesting, painful yet intoxicating and releasing hordes of endorphins.

On the tape Lydia responded to my heard but unseen order to start the test, checking the dial before flipping the master switch to the 'on' position. I called out "one," "two," and "three" slowly and those dial settings were reached without any perceptible change in the test subject, Mave's demeanor. At four she began panting but her kept her hands clasped behind the small of her back. At five she was twisting left and right at the waist and panting more heavily.

At six Mave was bouncing up and down at the knees while simultaneously twisting to and fro, and the panting was joined by audible grunting. At seven Mave's left arm broke free and she was shrieking while she was doing a very kinky naked bull rider impression on the padded table. Lydia reached over and helped her arm down behind her back asking her if she wanted to 'tap out' and halt the testing.

Half panting and half screaming Mave clearly said, "fuck no... don't stop... please don't stop... more."

Good 'ole Mave, she wasn't the fastest, but she was one tough cookie. At eight she was bouncing up and down shrieking in a combination of pain and ecstasy while undulating, fucking an invisible phallus. At nine Mave clearly orgasmed with a scream, shaking and drooling. Lydia flipped the master switch stopping the test and she hugged Mave and stroked her hair as the screen went dark.

As the tape rolled along a second title board appeared. The second test began, this time Lydia was the test subject. She was situated on the table just as Mave had been. Mave attached the alligator clips to Lydia's nipple rings. The nipple rings that all four of us, Lydia, Mave, Diana and I got together in Lubbock years ago. I reached over and gently toyed with the little barbells in Annie's nipples, as she slept naked, and snoring on my arm.

Again, the test subject had no perceptible reaction until three when reacting to what I knew to be a light tingle she started to smile a silly anticipatory grin. At four her hips did a very slow enticing Hula dance and her smile became larger. At five Lydia's gaze became more serious and her breathing more audible. She did a little exotic belly dance on the padded table lifting her butt from its resting place on her feet. At six her hands came out from behind her back and went to her knees, her upper legs were nearly vertical, lubricant was visibly appearing on one of the two outer labia rings she received for the test here at the school.

At seven her hands were tightly gripping, kneading her knees and she was rhythmically rocking back and fourth panting and twisting to and fro at the waist. Lydia got more vocal at eight an odd guttural sound as she bent her knees and bobbed up and down a bit. Drips of her natural lubricant were falling from both rings onto the padded table. At nine she was really moving up and down, getting full extension and loudly screaming. As the dial hit ten Lydia stiffened and shook, coming hard. Mave reached to flip the test box off as Lydia tried in vain to stop her with several quick poorly aimed spasmatic slaps in the general direction of the box.

The third segment must have been recorded on a different day, Mave and Lydia were just as naked, but they were wearing different matching masks and I heard Caroline speaking to me about the upcoming test off camera. Just as before Mave was on the heavily padded 'test table' on her knees with her butt on her feet. She spread her knees wide to give Lydia and her alligator clips access to the pair of rings in her outer lips that perfectly matched Lydia's.

Mave smiled a little but did not otherwise react as I called out, "one," "two," and then "three," off camera. At four she started to gently twist at the waist and her smile grew larger. At five she started breathing more heavily but not quite panting while her knees started to move, and she began to lightly hump the air. At six Lydia had to help her clasp her hands which had come from behind her back. She was moving faster and faster, up and down making more noise and really panting heavily. At seven Mave was screaming thrusting her pelvis upward, fucking an invisible penis.

Mave's orgasm hit as I called out eight but before Lydia touched the dial. 'Ole Mave had learned a trick or two and she grabbed Lydia's wrist before the master switch could be thrown, ending the test. I heard my own voice on tape repeat "eight." Lydia hesitated slightly looking at Mave who was catching her breath, drooling, trying and failing to speak coherently while simultaneously begging Lydia to continue with her eyes. Lydia turned the dial and Mave clasped her hands behind her neck interlacing her fingers, crying, panting, screaming and finally stiffening as her second orgasm arrived.