Hi. How are y'all doing? You're probably wondering who I am, and why I'm writing this story. I wonder why I'm writing it myself, so I can't really tell you much about that. I can tell you a little bit about who I am though. My name is Kelli Stewart. I live in Arlington, Texas with my mom and dad. I had a little brother, but he died of leukemia a couple of years ago. I was sad about that for a long time. I don't think my parents have really gotten over it yet. I had an older sister that died just a year before that when she had a bad reaction to the anesthesia the doctors used to put her to sleep before they took her tonsils out. They said the reaction happened because she didn't tell them she'd been using cocaine. I don't know. Maybe that's true, and maybe it isn't. I just know my sister's dead, and so is my brother. I try not to dwell on them too much. I was really close to both of them.
I have another sister. Her name is Laurie. Oddly. She and I aren't really that close. She was much closer to Kaleb, that was my brother, than she ever was to me. We got closer after Michelle died. Then we got even closer after Kaleb died, but we're still not quite like most sisters. Maybe it's because we're so different. She's really wild. I mean really wild. I'm not exactly pure, and I'm certainly not a virgin, but she's been with a lot of guys. I mean a lot. She doesn't know I know about it, but she even turns tricks. She's been doing it for a while. I think she did it the first few times just for the fun of it. Kind of like on a dare. But after that, she just kept doing it because to her it is easy money.
She's really street smart. She barely finished high school and she's not that much in the way of book smarts, but she's a Rhode Scholar in real life matters. I'm just the opposite. I'm very book smart, but I don't seem to know my way around the streets at all. My sister Michelle was both. Sally, that's my mom, says if someone could put Laurie and me together, they'd have Michelle. I look a lot like her. More so than Laurie anyway. I'm almost as tall as she was. I'm five-nine, and Michelle was five-ten. Laurie's only five-five. Plus I've got lots of freckles, just like Michelle had. Laurie's whole complexion is a smooth dark brown. She doesn't have a freckle or a blemish anywhere. She does have a tattoo on her ass. She's thinking about having her tits done too; hers are really small, while mine are big, round and firm, just like Michelle's were; so that might leave some kind of scar. Without that though, her skin is absolutely perfect. I don't see how. She eats chocolate like it's the staple of life. She smokes around fifty cigarettes a day. And, the only time a piece of fruit or a vegetable ever enters her body is when she uses a cucumber to masturbate with. I won't even get into the amount of coke she packs up her nose. I'd be lying if I said I never had an occasional drink or a cigarette, and I've been talked into the odd line of cocaine, but Laurie acts like the stuff has no consequence whatsoever. I mean none.
Still. She's Laurie and I love her, and being Laurie works for her. To tell you the truth, being Kelli hasn't really been working so well for me. As smart as I supposedly am, I seem to screw up a lot. One of my perpetual screw-ups is what led to the events of this story. I'm heading into my senior year at St. Joseph's Academy in Arlington, TX. Where, as I already mentioned, I live with my parents. I've been dating my best friend Cathy Diaz's brother for over a year now. Timmy is beginning his sophomore year at the University of Texas. Laurie warned me that college guys only hold onto their high school girlfriends so they'll have a sure piece of ass set aside for the weekends they come home to get their laundry done. Cathy even said similar things to me, and Timmy is her brother. I refused to listen to either though, and doggedly stayed with the belief that Timmy and I are different. Can you spell S-T-U-P-I-D? I can. Didn't I tell you how book smart I am?
Timmy has a friend that played strong safety for the Longhorns last year and got drafted by the Jacksonville Jaguars. He sent Timmy two tickets to their preseason game with the Dolphins and we flew to Florida last Friday to watch the game. I'd been to Dallas games before, but this was the first time I was ever a player's guest and our seats were really cool. Then one of the other players was having a party in their hotel and we got invited along. It seems as if he rented the entire floor of this hotel that was downtown on the St. Johns River. It was beautiful. All the rooms were open and people were going in and out. Buckets of champagne and wine coolers and every kind of drink imaginable were right there with a snap of your fingers. My sensitive nose didn't have any trouble detecting that not all the cigarettes being smoked were Marlboros. That was cool. When one got passed my way, I didn't turn it down. How often does a teenage girl get to party with NFLers anyway? Besides, it's not like it was the first joint I ever toked on. When the mirror, with white lines laid out on it, made it's way to me; I couldn't turn that down either. That would have been rude.
Somehow, between the wine coolers I drank, and the pot I smoked, and the cocaine I snorted, I lost track of Timmy. Don't ask me how, but while I was in the process of looking for him, I managed to avoid the offers to be kept company that I received from a certain wide receiver and a certain running back that I won't name. Too bad, because when I finally wandered into the right room, I found Timmy shirtless and down to his boxers, lying on a king sized bed, kissing and sucking the nipples of a blonde cheerleader, who oddly enough was only in her panties. Maybe it was the pot, or the booze, or even the coke; but that didn't piss me off. I just thought he must have been waiting for me to come join them and that's why they both still had their underwear on. I know. S-T-U-P-I-D. I'm stupid.
So, rather than storming off, I started lifting my white tank top over my head. Now, even though I have fooled around with and done some kissing with Cathy, I wasn't really into the idea of having sex with this cheerleader. Still, I know the idea of a threesome turned Timmy on. What guy doesn't it turn on? And, if watching me go down on this bimbo made it better for him, I was willing. Only problem was, once I was down to my panties, and crawled onto the bed, I discovered that the bimbo wasn't quite as willing to share her new discovery. Just because the guy's girlfriend was willing to eat her pussy for him didn't mean she wanted the girlfriend taking that dive.
So. Embarrassing scenario number one occurred when she called me a dyke and told me to get away. Much worse was when she told Timmy to get rid of the dyke or she was leaving. Now, most of you are probably thinking Timmy told her that was no way to talk to his girlfriend that she was the one that should leave. If that's what you're thinking, then you're just as S-T-U-P-I-D stupid as I am. No. Timmy told me to leave. Right. Me. Not the blonde, bimbo, cheerleader he'd only met half an hour ago. Me. The girl he'd know since forever.
I was in shock as I stumbled from the bed and snatched up my clothes. Fortunately, I had enough sense to put them back on before I exited into the hallway. Unfortunately, I was out of the hotel and walking along the river walkway before I realized that I had next to no money and Timmy had both tickets back to Texas.
I was about five blocks from the hotel before I really started thinking about what I was going to do. I mean, shit. Here I was a couple of thousand miles from home with seventeen dollars in my purse and no ticket. I'd say shit again, but that doesn't even begin to describe what I was in. Deep shit maybe, but not plain shit.
I fished into my purse and dug out my cell phone. I might be the one that can solve differential equations in my head, while Laurie only passed Algebra II because she blew her teacher the day of the final; but I trusted Laurie to know what to do about this a hell of a lot more than I trusted me. Only problem was I got her voice mail when I called. Fuck! What was I going to do now? I went ahead and left Laurie a message, "Laurie. It's Kelli. I'm in more shit than I know what to do about. Please call me back on my cell and tell me what to do."
I closed my phone and dropped it back in my purse. I gave marginal thought to calling Cathy, but I knew she'd have about as much clue as to what I should do as I did. For about half a millisecond, I thought about calling my mom; but there is no fucking way I'd put myself through that kind of torture unless it was life and death. Were I just a little bit smarter, and I were I just a tab bit more sober, it probably would have occurred to me that walking the streets after dark in the clothes I was wearing actually was on the verge of being life and death for me.
As a matter of fact, when I reached back into my purse to pull out a cigarette to try to calm my nerves, a blue Nissan Frontier pulled up to the curb I was standing at, just as I placed the cigarette to my lips. The passenger window rolled down, and a sort of cute guy asked me if I needed a light. Since I hadn't been able to find any matches in my purse, I clinched the cigarette between my teeth, shrugged my shoulders and said, "Seems so."
He handed me out the truck's lighter, and I took it from him so I could hold it to my cigarette. After it was lit and I was blowing out a stream of smoke, I handed the lighter back to him. He had nice hands. Strong looking. I like a guy with strong hands. I hate guys that have hands that look like they belong on a girl. I handed the lighter back to him and said, "Thanks."
As he was putting the lighter back in place, I noticed the driver for the first time. He was kind of cute too, but not as cute as his buddy. He had blond hair. Hair so blond it was almost white. I like that. He looked like he'd had an acne problem when he was younger, so his face was a little scarred up and he had a long pointed nose, but he was still rugged looking and I like that. Rugged gets me going.
Now, if they'd asked me if I wanted a ride, I'm just dumb enough that I would have thought they were being sweet. As it was, the one nearest me said, "We're looking for a date."
Even I am not so dumb that I haven't heard that asking for a date was code for trying to pick up a hooker. But, I'm also not so smart that I didn't realize that he hadn't just chosen his words poorly. So, I thought I'd tease him a little about his accidental pun. Yeah. I know. S-T-U-P-I-D. I'm stupid. Anyway, in my attempt to be cute, I said, "I might be. Y'all aren't cops, are you?"
They both shook their heads and the driver said, "No way, baby."