SSSSSSSSSMMMMACK!!!!!
Her right hand whipped out like a coiled rattlesnake as she slapped the ever lovin' shit out of me. I felt the icey cold tingle of her fingers just an instant before my cheek started burning.
"Clark!", she frowned.
"Where...", more frowning.
"...are...", yet more frowning.
"...my...", she was starting to turn a little red.
"...clothes?", oh, yeah, she's pissed.
I sat there, face burning, trying to figure out how I was going to explain the sale of her panties to some freshman. I mean, it’s not a subject they teach you in Sex-Ed--how to explain selling your girlfriend's panties to her, after she regains consciousness.
I suspected I was in some trouble.
. . .. ... .....
My parents were half asleep in the living room, watching the Late Show with Letterman--a family tradition, really. I could come and go, mostly, as I pleased because I was a good son and never did anything wrong. But how I was going to drag my potentially deceased girlfriend out of the hedges, through the yard, and up to my room without them noticing was beyond me.
I needed a plan.
Moving a body? How do people move bodies, usually?
I looked around as I made my way outside, trying to catch my own attention with anything that would prove useful. And there, behind the lawnmower, in the garage, perfectly on the way to the hedges under my second-story window, where Paula fell...
...construction bags.
30mm of heavy duty garbage carriers... seventy gallon capacity... perfect.
I grabbed one on my way to the side of the house and saw her as I turned the corner. Even dirty, with a bit of a scraped knee, without a shirt, and tangled sideways and pivoted forty degrees to the aft hanging in a hedge... mmmm-mmm, my girlfriend was hot.
I mean, don't get me wrong, she's a total bitch.
But a hot bitch. Even I can't deny that.
I looked at the situation with confusion and glee. Her ass was in the air, the skirt up over her moist panties, one leg sticking out of the side of the large bush and the other hanging down. Her arms were pointing up and down, and you couldn't see her head.
She was the most ridiculous thing I'd ever seen.
Now, if only the entire cheerleading team could be here for /this/. Mmm-hmm. My jacking off under the bleachers is nothing compared to the head cheerleader rubbing her clit for the first time on a second-story ledge and then cumming so hard she fell off into a bush and ended up looking like a really, really impressionistic sculpture.
They'd forget all about my jacking off to them under the bleachers.
The upper hand, and my pride, was returned!
. . .. ... .....
I slung my girlfriend-in-a-sack over my shoulder and made for the front door... hoping my parents wouldn't think too hard about me taking the trash "in" instead of "out", tonight. I was grateful that Paula was unconscious, not dead, because I'm not sure if the picture I took would have been more wrong.
In retrospect, it would have been wise to take a pulse before taking a Polaroid... but high school is one rough neighborhood, and I wasn't going to bog myself down with the details. Its war. And she was my Manhattan Project.
I dumped her out on my floor and looked at her curled up like a sweet girl--anyone looking at her would think she was out playing with some kids or just got back from a rough outdoor practice and was sleeping innocently on the floor... poor thing.
I knew better.
She was the devil... sent from Hell to destroy me.
Inside that lithe, tanned, athletic, hot body was the soul of pure prudish evil. The sort of evil that will rub her ass on your crotch at a school dance, but give no nooky. The kind of evil that gnaws at the hearts of men.
I should put her back in the sack.
But... you can't fight evil with evil... or, maybe you can, but you can't fight this kind of evil with its own kind of evil. That's just ensuring nobody gets laid, y'know? I had plans. I proved, tonight, that my girlfriend was curious about sex with me. I needed to push her a little further. I needed to unleash the good.
Out with the evil, you horrible woman, and in with the good.
I sat down, and found a magic marker on my desk, writing the word "Good" on my still semi-erect cock. I'd like to say I did it because it was a cool idea, but it was probably because it was late and I was tired and I was starting to let my imagination run my life.
So, me and Goodcock picked up Paula, and took her to my bathroom. If I was going to have sex with her, tonight, I might as well get her cleaned up for it. Besides, I had no way of knowing how she'd react to waking up in my room, and wanted to give her as little ammunition as possible. Abducted? That was bad. Abducted and dirty? Knowing Paula, she'd have had me shot.
Fast fact... did you know that cheerleading uniforms are easier to take off than most formalwear? It’s true. A zipper up top, a zipper on the skirt, a zipper on the sports bra... I mean, damn. How Cheerleaders aren't a metaphor for easy access is beyond me.
I took off Paula's skirt just after the bathwater got warm enough. That wasn't so strange. I'd seen her in this skirt so many times, during games and pep rallies... and everyone had seen what was under it, as Paula was the most gymnastic one the team.
I took her sneakers off, carefully, and her socks. I even massaged her feet a little, but if she was having any reaction to it, I couldn't tell. I began to get a bit worried... what if this was a coma? Or brain damage? Should I call a hospital? How would it look if they found her without her shirt (which I couldn't find)?
All in all, brain damage would just have to be risked. I'm not letting my leverage get away that easily. Paula with brain damage was a small price to pay for NOT being considered a pervert by the whole school.
...teenage logic at its finest.
So, there I was, holding my girlfriend in my arms, her gorgeous face resting on my shoulder. I took care unzipping her sports bra... this was going to be one of the moments I was waiting for. The first male to see Paula's tits. I could hear the chorus of teenage boys singing, in anticipation.
Z-zzzzzzzzip.
I took it off and pulled it over her head and was confronted with two perfect breasts... I moved my hand over them and they filled my palm. They were firm and tanned (so, she tanned... nude?), they were smooth and I had to fight the urge to start nuzzling and nibbling at them. I wanted to suck on her perfect nipples so badly, it took everything I had not to.
I was not a molester.
I was a pervert.
There is, apparently, a difference.
Her panties, however, were another story. Moist, white, cotton... they would have to come off, but I wasn't sure if I was ready to naked-ify my unconscious girlfriend just yet. I mean, Chrissake, tits are one thing... exposing her nether regions was just, I dunno, a little much.
