(Usual Disclaimer Time: Even though this story almost entirely takes place in a high school setting, all the characters in this story are 18 years old or older, and since we're living in the wide wonderful world of porno-land here, where clichés roam free and things might get a little unrealistic from time to time, please remember it's all in good fun. This story is highly serialized, and though it's not 100% necessary to have read the whole story up until this point to enjoy the content of the chapter, it's definitely advisable to understand the many ongoing plots.)
(Author's Note: Apologies for that brief hiatus while I dealt with some real world annoyances, and thank you all for your messages of concern and support. I went through a bit of a rough patch there, had a bit of a crisis that's since been wrapped up, and now I'm back, and hopefully better than ever! Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!
And yes, before you all take it to the comments, I understand this one is a little on the long and rambling side. So sue me, I got a little self-indulgent with this one, and on average strive for chapters to be a little shorter than this one.)
Previously, on Senior Year Memories: As 18-year-old nerd Ryan Collins continued to cover the goings on with Regan Hills High's drama club's upcoming spring musical for the school paper, his conflict with arrogant actor, Micah Burke, came to a head when he falsely accused Ryan of bullying. Forced to defend himself in front of Principal Annika Carpenter, Ryan was only truly saved when his new friend, Olivia Raine-Goldblum, came to his defense with evidence exonerating him. Shaken, and knowing his Micah problem wasn't over, Ryan returned in a foul mood only to discover the beautiful Latina actress, 18-year-old Faith Serrano, who believed charming Ryan was her path to winning the lead role in the musical. Not in the mood for dealing with the bitchy and stuck-up Faith, Ryan tried to brush her off, but Faith wouldn't be denied, and coaxed Ryan into a session of some truly enjoyable, and rather rough, sex. With some of his stress relieved, Ryan received a mysterious text that promised aid with his Micah problem, leading him to an uncertain future...
***
I'd have been stupid if I didn't think that this could be a trap.
While it was true that almost every mysterious text that I'd gotten over the past six or so months had almost always been a prelude to some genuinely amazing sex, dealing with a jackass like Micah Burke, who had only the day before tried to get me in serious trouble with Principal Carpenter, had a way of making me more cautious than usual. After all, it wasn't like these anonymous texts were a shining beacon of comfort.
UNKNOWN: I hear your Micah problem's getting worse
UNKNOWN: I can help
UNKNOWN: After school, tomorrow, Whitehorse Gymnasium
UNKNOWN: You're not alone
On the one hand, I was happy for the idea that there might be some others out there who were willing to help me deal with the Micah problem. Having Olivia in my corner had already gotten me out of that trouble with Principal Carpenter, and I felt awkward leaning on my girlfriends for help with the problem any more than I already had; Josie, Brooke and Sarah had been so supportive even while dealing with their own end of the school year issues, and I didn't want to put any more on them.
New allies would have been a godsend, under the circumstances.
On the other hand, there was every chance that this unknown mystery texter could have just as easily been Micah himself, looking to get me on familiar ground before making some kind of stupid, haphazard move on me. That the texts indicated that someone wanted to meet up with me after school at a location whose website proudly advertised itself as a gym offering "BOXING & MMA FIGHTING LESSONS & SUPPORT" made it seem like it could be a familiar stomping ground of Micah's, especially after his self-aggrandizing boasts about his karate prowess.
It would have been all too easy to ignore these texts and just stay home, maybe watch a movie or hang out with my girlfriends or actually even get some of that elusive homework time.
It would've been easy... but if I'm being honest, if I'd always done things the easy way, I'd have missed out on a lot of the best opportunities that this year had given me.
So, perhaps foolishly, the next day after my "memorable" encounter with Micah Burke in Principal Carpenter's office (and my even more memorable encounter with the bitchy and beautiful Faith Serrano at my place afterward), after school I hopped on my bike and pedaled my way into downtown Regan Hills... well, about as much of a "downtown" as we had, anyway. The businesses that lined Main Street had always been an eclectic mix of shops that had been there seemingly forever and businesses that came and went on a yearly basis, with that ever-present filler of your usual blend of fast-food restaurants to fill in the gaps. While I'd known about all these places from growing up in Regan Hills, it was only this year that it felt like I'd truly *seen* them for the first time, allowing me to discover the wide variety of experiences my small town had to offer.
My phone's GPS took me down Main Street, hanging a right at the side street just past the Tech Noir karaoke bar, before heading about another block down before I found the seemingly ancient brick building that held Whitehorse Gymnasium.
A glance at it had me marveling that this building was still standing. With bricks that needed a good power-washing and a sign that had probably been faded since before my father was born, it was only the large plate glass windows that lined the front of the place showing activity inside that indicated the place was open. Peering past the posters taped to the windows that advertised the various boxing and MMA classes they offered and upcoming fights, I could see what looked like the kind of place you'd expect a boxer from an underdog sports movie to train.
An underdog movie from the 70s, by the looks of some of the equipment within.
I could see men and women, some on the older end, some college-aged, and even a few people I recognized from school, lifting weights and battering around a variety of bags. In the center of the building was a well-maintained and elevated boxing ring where two gloved, helmeted opponents battered on each other before getting pulled apart by a wiry, dark-haired young woman with her hair up in a pair of buns on the back of her head.
It was fascinating to watch in its way, but already a bit nervous about coming here, I wasn't exactly comforted by what I was seeing; this was just a little too testosterone-heavy for my tastes. Sure, it looked public enough to make an ambush from Micah seem unlikely, but even if he wasn't here, what exactly could I get out of this experience? And, was this really the kind of place that I wanted to find an ally at? No... no, this didn't seem like the place for me; this was a bad idea. If I was going to deal with Micah, I'd have to circle the wagons and do it on my own terms.
I turned back toward the lamppost that I'd locked my bike to, then stopped myself. That voice of doubt that stopped me... that was the old me, an old me that Micah had brought back to life in the most irritating fashion possible. This guy was an asshole. I could *not* let him win, in life or in my head. No, if there was even a chance that the mystery texts I'd received were legit, I had to find out and see this through, no matter how outside my comfort zone this place felt.
Turning back toward Whitehorse Gymnasium, I was greeted by the sight of the front door opening, and a familiar face looking back at me.
"You weren't planning on running off once you'd come this far, were you?" she asked in her silky-smooth voice, a wry grin on her beautiful lips.
Seeing that this face was not only familiar, but friendly, I returned the smile. "I considered it... for a second. Only one second, and a stupid one at that."
Chuckling softly to herself, 18-year-old Cecilia Dunwich replied, "Yeah, we all have those stupid seconds sometimes... nothing to stress about. Glad you reconsidered, though. You *are* coming in, right?"
Truthfully, there likely wasn't much that I *wouldn't* do if asked by Cecilia Dunwich, if you know my history of how I handle such questions from beautiful girls... and Cecilia was fucking gorgeous. A 5'8" lighter-skinned black girl, her angular, clever face had a naturally easygoing look to it that I'd discovered partly came from weed, but mostly from just being an easygoing hipster of a girl who didn't give a shit what anyone thought of her. Her hair was long and kept in a loose series of dyed-blonde braids and dreadlocks that she kept pulled back, revealing her sharp brown eyes, pierced septum and lips painted a playful magenta. While I'd mostly met her in conjunction with the drama club and knew she was one hell of a singer and dancer, her time spent on the color guard gave her a truly killer body, thoroughly toned with lean muscle that showed well in her arms, legs and tight abs. Today she wore tight, distressed jeans that showed off those legs, and her remarkable ass, quite nicely, and a faintly gold, sleeveless top that highlighted her strong arms and round D-cup breasts and made it rather difficult for me to come up with a timely response as I took her in.
Still, after a few silent seconds passed, I shook clear those aimless thoughts and asked, "You texted me?"
Smirking slightly, Cecilia replied, "Yeah. Olivia told me the kind of bad spot you're in, and I thought it possible I could help. Come on in and I'll do a little show and tell, maybe some truth or dare if you force me, see if we can find some common ground with your Micah problem and might be able to find a solution you'll like."
I considered this briefly. While I didn't know Cecilia well, all of our interactions had been friendly, and there was something to her easygoing nature that naturally drew me in.
Stepping forward, I followed her into Whitehorse Gymnasium. "Let's start with some show and tell, then."
"Alright," she said, nodding and welcoming me inside the gym.
The air of this place took on a different vibe on the inside than it did the outside, smelling of sweat and old wood in a way I found familiar to the school gym I often worked out at. Though there were plenty of musclebound jocks grunting and exerting as they beat on various bags, the hostility felt remarkably low, particularly once I saw some familiar faces in the mix. Now in the ring I caught sight of the compactly muscled Noa Kanzaki and the slender Nica Dubois squaring off against one another, almost unrecognizable for the way their padded helmets obscured their faces, but I wouldn't miss those bodies anywhere. The girl with the twin buns dropped her hand, encouraging the pair of them to begin sparring.
"So, I dunno if this is your thing or not, or how applicable it is to the current situation, but I figured that if you were gonna be dealing with Micah, you'd want all your options open," Cecilia explained, leading me toward a set of abbreviated bleachers off to the side of the ring and sitting down a few rows back.
The rows were mostly empty, save for a few hangers-on who were waiting for boyfriends and girlfriends and friends and family members to finish up at the gym, but there were a few idle claps here and there as Nica and Noa began to fight. The one exception to this limited interest was a girl I recognized from school, 18-year-old Scarlett Bishop. A short half-black, half-Latina girl with a tight body and a head of black, curly hair that bounced around whenever she got up to clap, she was a one-woman cheer section for pretty much everyone it seemed, shouting encouragements and clapping loudly.
Sitting next to Cecilia, it was hard not to have my attention bouncing around the room, from the fight, to Scarlett, and of course the impossibly gorgeous girl sitting next to me. If it was possible for someone to be so laid back and easygoing that they were intimidating, well, that would be Cecilia, and while I normally might have felt a bit overwhelmed sitting next to her, after the events of the past few weeks, I wasn't stressing the situation that much.
Not to say that I wasn't checking her out a *little*.
Picking up where she'd left off, with a slightly sardonic tone, I asked her, "And of all the options I could keep open, you think I should be learning boxing? MMA?"
