Saturday Night School

Charlie lingered in the door to the AV closet, watching Ronni as she placed a projector onto one of the shelves. Ronni was a junior who had started working with the AV department earlier that year. She had straight black hair and always wore glasses with dark frames. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, with an unbuttoned black flannel shirt over the t-shirt.

Back towards the beginning of the year, Dinesh had asked her if she ever wore dresses. "I do," she said. "But not very often, and when I do, everyone says, 'Hey, you're wearing a dress today'. That makes me feel like not wearing them."

Charlie had never seen her in a dress. But he had a feeling she would look good in one.

"Okay," she said, looking at the shelves of equipment in the AV closet. "I think that's everything signed in and put away. You have anything else that needs to be done?"

"No, that's it," Charlie said. "But actually, there's something else I wanted to talk to you about..."

She gazed at him expectantly. "What's up?"

Charlie fidgeted. "You know the prom is next month... are you going?" Pine Hills only had one prom each year, with all the juniors and seniors invited.

A smile flickered at the edge of Ronni's mouth as she shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't decided."

"Well...would you ever want to go to the prom with me? I mean... we could go together. If you want."

Ronni grinned. "With you? Sure, Charlie. I'll go with you."

"Great!" Charlie smiled. He moved to the side of the doorway so she could step out of the closet. For a moment, as Ronni passed near him, he thought he could smell the slight scent of perfume on her.

The same perfume that Michelle liked to wear! Charlie started to open his mouth, to ask Ronni the name of the perfume. What a coincidence, that the two girls wore the same perfume!

But before he could speak and make a fool of himself, he realized it was just his imagination. It was lavender. Ronni used a hand creme that smelled like lavender; he'd seen her use it. She said she had dry hands. That's what he was smelling. Lavender. Nothing like Michelle's perfume.

Charlie looked over at a sound board on one of the shelves. THE sound board. The sight of it tempted him into falling into that memory, the memory he had started to think of as the Third Michelle. He looked away instead. Ronni was speaking to him and he focused on her voice as he turned off the light switch, letting the closet go dark. He closed the closet door and locked it.

***

Daryl had talked to him, the Monday after the Second Michelle. When Charlie arrived at his Euro Lit class, he found the guard waiting for him outside the door. "Charlie! Hold up a minute!" The guard pulled him to the side.

Daryl pitched his voice low. "Hey... I wanted to talk to you about Saturday."

Charlie shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah. I'm really sorry..."

Daryl chuckled. "Don't worry about it. I'm not gonna pretend I didn't enjoy getting some attention from your lovely lady. She's a wild one, no doubt. But no more of it, okay? I can't be involved in what you got going. I got a job to do." He fell silent as two girls passed by, then continued, "I can't be seen as being involved with any of the students here, in any kind of way. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah. Right. Sorry."

"Cool. See you later, Charlie." The guard started to walk away.

"Did you tell her the same thing?" Charlie asked quickly.

Daryl paused. "No... I haven't talked to your girl. I was hoping you would relay the message for me. Okay?"

"

Sure. I'll tell her."

Daryl gave him a thumbs up and walked away.

But Charlie didn't tell Michelle anything. He didn't talk to her at all. This time around, he knew what to expect, and when he saw her in the hall, he walked by without even looking at her. He pretended like he didn't know her. Just like before.

Unlike the First Michelle, the Second Michelle had left him with some souvenirs. He had the paper with the heart drawn on it, which he folded carefully and stored in the top drawer of his desk at home. He also had a pile of Michelle's clothes, an outfit of hers which he had never actually witnessed her wearing. Black blouse and skirt, blue bra and panties. At home, he separated each of the garments on his bed, thinking to himself that if his mom ever discovered them, he would definitely have some explaining to do.

The clothing almost made him confront Michelle. He considered throwing the garments in a paper bag and taking them to school. He would walk right up to Michelle. "Here!" he would say as he passed her the bag. "You forgot these the other day!"

And then what? He could picture her response clearly. She would look uncomfortable. She would take the bag and say, "Oh, thanks." Then she would leave him standing there. She would hurry to hide the bag in her locker. That would be the end of the interaction.

Better to keep the clothes. He hadn't known at the time that the Third Michelle would happen, but he still imagined that if it ever did, he would ask her what to do with the clothes then. Charlie carefully arranged the outfit on his bed, placing the bra inside the blouse and the panties inside the skirt. He moved each item on the bed to where he thought they would be if she was wearing them, laying on his bed. He could picture her there, wearing the sexy outfit, waiting for him with that impish look in her eyes. Charlie picked up his camera and panned slowly over the clothes.

Another shot to add to his project.

Afterwards, he wrapped the clothes in a scarf and hid them in the box spring of his mattress. The week after Second Michelle, he pulled those items of clothing out just about whenever he could find time to be alone. He held them in his fingers, stroking them, gazing at them. Particularly the tiny panties. She'd been wearing those panties the moment she'd decided to strip next to his car and put her clothes through his car window. How turned on had she been when that mad idea popped into her head? Had her arousal soaked into the fabric?

Charlie couldn't decide whether or not to return to the AV room the Saturday after Second Michelle. He felt like it would be awkward to be there with Daryl. Charlie cringed inside when he remembered loudly proclaiming to the guard that he was going to take Michelle to the athletic building and have sex with her. He'd said it in an attempt to provoke Michelle, to remind her of her nakedness. Afterwards they'd done exactly what he'd said they would do, had sex in the athletic building. But how had he appeared from Daryl's perspective when he'd said that? Incredibly reckless and cocky, probably. An asshole acting like he had the run of the school. And the run of Michelle.

He also wondered what would happen if Michelle showed up again. Daryl had given him a clear warning to cease their Saturday adventures, but if Michelle showed up at the AV room inclined to remove her clothes again, was Charlie really going to say no to her?

In the end, the decision was made for him. Coach Phillips stopped him on Thursday to ask if he could edit together a highlight reel featuring the six graduating seniors from the boy's varsity basketball team. The school would pay him $100. Charlie accepted, and on Saturday he found himself in the editing bay, working on the highlight reel. Daryl stopped by to give him a Pepsi, and aside from some teasing comments about his new girlfriend, Daryl seemed pretty much the same.

Michelle didn't show up. Not that Saturday, or the next one.

The Third Michelle happened on a Friday, and Charlie was not expecting it at all. He was in a bad mood. Mr. Anderson, the head of the English Department, had asked if he could set up microphones and run the sound board for a performance of select scenes from Shakespeare's plays, taking place Friday evening. The event had been planned for more than a month, but Mr. Anderson only asked him to handle the sound the Monday before. Apparently, they'd been trying to get the actors to speak loudly enough to be heard in the auditorium, but finally gave up and wanted to use microphones.

Only four days warning! But Charlie said yes. Who else would do it if he didn't?

Then, to make things worse, on Wednesday he found out that Spencer McNeal, the boy who was supposed to run the lights, had come down with the flu. Mr. Anderson asked Charlie if he could handle the lights, too. And Charlie reluctantly agreed to that task as well.

So Friday night, Charlie sat alone in the control room, looking down through a long rectangular window at a stage and an audience. He had a sound board in front of him and the lighting control panel just above it, trying to do both jobs at the same time. He was working as much from instinct as he was from the written cues, following the action on the stage and adjusting the sound and lights accordingly.

The door to the control room opened and closed behind him, but he was so busy that it took him a minute to glance up and see who it was.

It was Michelle. Charlie stared at her in astonishment, then quickly turned back to the light controls and flicked on a line of overhead lights as the actor moved across the stage. He looked back at Michelle, absorbing her appearance.

She smiled at him with that twinkle in her eyes. Her dress was a deep burnt umber and it ended ten inches above her knees, revealing a generous length of her long legs. The dress clung to her body, and the thin straps that crossed her shoulders were doubled by the visible straps of an olive green bra.

"Hi..." he said, the only thing he could think to say.

"Hey, Charlie!" Michelle walked over and crouched down next to his chair. She leaned close and brushed her lips against his cheek. Charlie inhaled the familiar scent of her perfume and the memories rushed back, memories that seemed like dreams. He felt himself stiffen, as if he'd developed a Pavlovian response to the scent.

Michelle always wore cute outfits, but this was a step above her usual school clothes. This was a dress with a purpose. He wondered what she was up to.

Did it have to be when he had so much to concentrate on already?

"I'm running both the sound and lights," he told her as he adjusted the levels on one of the microphones. "Sorry, it's a lot to keep track of..."

"That's all right," she said. "You don't have to pay any attention to me. I just wanted to watch you work." She stepped over to Spencer McNeal's vacant chair, but instead of pulling it next to Charlie's chair, she pulled it to the middle of the room. She sat down facing him, her back straight, her knees together and her hands folded in her lap. The model of ladylike posture.

"You're just going to sit there and watch me?" he asked.

She smiled and glanced down. "No..." She unfolded her hands and pressed her palms against her upper legs. He realized that she was nervous.

Charlie's heart beat faster. He wondered again what she was up to. On the stage, Romeo crossed from right to left. Charlie carefully moved the dial to light up Juliet in her window. When he glanced back at Michelle, she was standing in front of the chair. Her hips swayed back and forth, as if dancing to a beat only she could hear.

She reached up and slid the strap of her dress off her left shoulder, then did the same with the right shoulder. As she swayed back and forth, her palms pressed against her hips and she pulled downward on the dress, slowly sliding it down her body like a snake shedding its skin. Charlie stared at her, watching as the dress revealed more and more of her chest. The lacy green bra underneath was hardly there; it supported her breasts but barely covered them at all. Her hard nipples peeked over the top of the bra.

"This is really dangerous, Michelle," he warned her. "Mr. Anderson is directing. He could walk in at any second. Literally any second."

"I know," she murmured, peeking at him through her eyelashes. "It's really awful that you're making me do this." The corner of her mouth twitched as she suppressed a smile. She continued to pull down on her dress, pushing the bunched up fabric over her hips. Charlie could see her panties now. Olive green and lacy to match her bra. She slid the dress down her legs and then sat down in the chair, wearing only her bra and panties.

How had she learned that he would be sitting in the control booth alone? He had only known himself two days before. Did that mean she was keeping track of him? Watching him in hopes that she'd find an opportunity to indulge her appetite for risky public exposure?

Charlie realized that Romeo and Juliet had almost finished their back-and-forth on the stage. He turned back to the controls, fading out some of the lights and adjusting the microphones. "You're very distracting," he told Michelle.

"Oh, don't worry about me," she said. He glanced at her just as she slipped out of her bra and dropped it carelessly on the floor. "Just keep your mind on what you're doing."

Those perfect breasts. How was he supposed to keep his mind on the show?

The next scene was from The Merchant of Venice. Charlie let the actors find their places, then he brought the lights up. Not much more to do with that scene, so he turned his attention to Michelle. She slouched low in her chair, naked except for her panties, her hips at the edge of the seat. When she saw him looking, she let her legs move apart. Her hand slid down her flat tummy and into the top of her panties. Her deep brown eyes watched him as her fingers moved underneath the thin fabric of the panties, touching herself.

"Are you shy now?" he asked.

"What?"

"Take off your panties. I can't see what you're doing."

Michelle squirmed in her chair, her legs fluttering open and closed like a butterfly's wings. Dropping her eyes, she slipped her fingers into the waist of her panties and pushed them down her hips to her knees. Lifting one leg and then the other, she wiggled the panties down her calves until they dropped to the floor. Resuming her previous slouching position, Michelle opened her legs again, and now Charlie had a clear view of her fingers nestled between her swollen labia.

He watched her playing with herself for a minute, before abruptly realizing that the Merchant of Venice scene had almost finished. He spun back to the control panel and scrambled to find the correct switches. The actress on stage playing Portia was almost done with her lines; Charlie watched and waited so he could turn down the lights. It took all his will to keep his eyes on the stage and ignore the low gasps coming from Michelle behind him.

Fade to black. Next scene: As You Like It.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked. On the dark stage, he could see the new group of actors finding their places.

"Yes." Her voice sounded out of breath. "I just came."

"So now you're done?"

"Oh, no. That was just the start."

Charlie turned up the lights on As You Like It. Finally, he was free to look over his shoulder at her. "What the heck is that?"

Michelle held a cylindrical device in her hand. Where it had came from, Charlie had no idea. The device was partially clear with light blue running across the surface like circuitry. It had stem-like appendages splitting off the main cylinder. "It's a vibe," she said. "My vibe."

"A vibrator? It looks like a space gun."

"This is what they look like these days. The good ones. I call this one Hoppity."

"Hoppity?"

"Don't laugh. Would you rather I call it, 'Little Charlie'?"

"I'm not laughing." He gazed at the device curiously. "What are you going to do with it?"

She licked her lips nervously. "I'm going to fuck myself with it."

"Right here, while Scenes from Shakespeare is going on right down there."

"Uh-huh."

He shrugged. "Do it then."

Her hands trembled slightly as she fiddled with a button on the vibrator. It came to life, emitting a low buzz. Michelle opened her legs wide. Her eyes met Charlie's as she lowered the vibrator onto her wet pussy. The end of the vibrator disappeared into her while a stem-like appendage pressed against her clitoris.

This time, Charlie intentionally turned away from her and watched the scene from As You Like It, even though he had a few minutes without any light cues. It thrilled him to know that Michelle sat just behind him, completely naked and masturbating with a vibrator. He could hear the hum of the device and the gasps and squeaks as she tried to suppress her sounds of pleasure. Unquestionably it was intensely arousing to her to engage in such a private act of self-pleasure in such a public location.

Certainly, it was risky. The door to the control booth wasn't locked; it could only be locked with a specific key, a key Charlie didn't have. Anybody could walk in if they wanted to. If Charlie continued to do his job with the lights and sound, he would probably be left alone, because everyone in the production knew he felt stressed out having to handle both tasks, and they wouldn't want to bother him. Michelle, on the other hand, seemed determined to distract him.

He spoke to her, keeping his eyes on the stage. "If I pay too much attention to you, I might start making mistakes. I'll turn on the wrong light, or accidentally forget to turn the microphones back up. You know what will happen then?"

"What?" She sounded out of breath.

"Someone will come up and check on me, probably. To see if I need any help."

"Ohhh!" Her breathing became a hiss as she abruptly clenched her mouth shut and tried to breath through her nose. The chair rattled under her, and Charlie knew that his words, instead of warning her, had only triggered her next orgasm.

The funniest scenario that Charlie could imagine was if Spencer recovered from his flu and decided he could do the lights after all. He would walk into the control room and find Michelle naked in his chair with the end of a vibrator sticking out of her. Charlie would wave Spencer away. "It's fine, go get some more rest," he would say. "I found someone to cover for you."

He wondered what Michelle would think if that happened. Maybe it would cause her third orgasm.

The buzz of the vibrator went to silence. Charlie looked over his shoulder to check on Michelle, and to his surprise, she had slipped out of the chair and now crouched on the floor on her hands and knees. "What...?" he started, but he could see that she was

crawling towards him. Even the way she crawled looked incredibly sexy to him, like a sinuous cat. The actors delivered the last lines from As You Like It just as Michelle reached his chair, and while he slowly faded the lights to black, he felt her hand tentatively reach into his lap and squeeze the hard bulge in his pants.

Charlie kept his eyes on the dark stage, watching the As You Like It actors hurry off and the Midsummers Night's Dream actors hurry on. He pretended like nothing was out of the ordinary, like he didn't notice Michelle undoing his zipper and pulling his erection free of his pants. Or maybe he pretended that this was what he expected of her, to crouch next to his chair, completely naked, stroking his hard penis in her small hand as he worked.

He brought the lights back up. turned up the appropriate microphones. The scene began, and he stole a glance down at his lap. He was shocked at the sight of his own erection, jutting obscenely out of his pants, with Michelle's feminine fingers wrapped around the shaft. Her nails were colored cherry red, with a tiny swirl of silver drawn in the middle of each nail. Had she gone to get her nails done that week, knowing that at some point he would look down and admire them as she stroked his penis? That was a ridiculous notion, right? That a girl would put effort into such a detail?

What if someone walked in at that moment? Charlie knew from the beginning that if she was caught, he would take the blame, going along with Michelle's charade that she acted this way at his behest, that he was the instigator and she was just a girlfriend trying to make her boyfriend happy. But he wouldn't even need to convince anyone at that moment. Anyone walking in would immediately jump to the conclusion that he was the pervert, having Michelle get him off while he worked the booth.