"The Beginning..."
EDITED BY:
Miriam Belle
CREATIVE CONSULTANT:
Simply_Cyn
Author's Note:
"For me, this story is the most personal. A lot of this story is based in truth from my own life, so it really has a special place. When it first posted 2 years ago, the reader response was overwhelming. I thought about making changes to it for this reposting, but I decided against it. So, here you go. Cheers!"
***
My senior year of high school was probably the best of my life, if not the most eventful.
This was the year that I finally came into my own as a person and started really exploring what life had to offer. I was never what one would call a jock, or a nerd, or geek or even popular. I was one of those guys who cruised in that moderate gray area, not really ambitious enough to strive for that ever-elusive and sadly-finite title of "Popular," nor did find myself labeled with the far more common and unfortunately for most long lasting brand "Loser." I was just myself.
I played football (not very well, mind you, but I could plow people over with the best of them), I worked as hard on my studies as I guess any average senior does and I was stupid enough to start smoking, but smart enough to avoid the pitfall of serious drug addiction.
My best friend Elle was my right-hand woman, my partner through thick and thin since we were six years old. She was a great girl and she had really blossomed starting our freshman year from the beanpole I had know and loved for years to a fully rounded young woman that I lusted after. I guess we both liked each other a lot, but we knew our friendship wouldn't survive it. I had been through seven different girlfriends during the last four years (typical of the high school mentality) and she had been experimenting with her sexuality with a number of different guys. Our relationships never lasted longer than a roll of Mentos, and we cared too much about each other to screw up our friendship with sex.
Elle was 6 foot even with long mahogany hair that hung from her head like shiny silk, all the way to her shoulders. She was a little on the heavy side, but it wasn't grotesque or anything. She just had the right amount of meat on her hourglass frame, with the biggest set of tits in the senior class. She was a healthy 40DD, and the other girls despised her over her natural bustiness. She had large brown eyes that really told you everything you would ever need to know about her. She tended to wear her emotions on her sleeve, which was both good and bad depending on the situation, but for the most part she was a loose cannon.
And it worked for her.
Her parents had been going through another dive in their marriage that year. Her dad, Tom, and her mother, Sheila, had known me since I was a kid and had always been friends with my family. My mom and Sheila had gone to school together and once it became clear that they would never get out of this one-stoplight town, they resigned themselves to a life of marriage and children.
I'm not saying that my mom or Sheila regretted getting married or having kids (well, maybe my mom does, at least the marriage part), I just know from talking to Sheila that they both had some pretty upper-end goals for their lives. Instead of becoming a doctor, Sheila settled on becoming a real estate agent and marrying Tom.
I guess we all knew Tom stepped out on her, which blew my mind because Sheila was everything her daughter was, only with bigger tits if you can imagine. I had always meant to sneak a peek at one of her bras throughout my adolescence, but never got an opportunity. I figured that they were at 42DD, if not bigger. I had lusted after Elle to be sure, but Sheila was my secret obsession and the golden standard that not many women could ever really meet. Why in the world Tom would cheat on her was beyond me.
Unbeknownst to Elle, her father had dealt with the guilt over his infidelity by turning all of his attention to her when he was home. She had been daddy's girl all her life, and their relationship was strong and clearly meant to isolate Sheila from the family. I think, even now, that Tom was trying force Sheila to leave or cheat on him so he could be justified in his lifestyle. The hundreds of times I had been over there hanging out with Elle allowed me to witness his mind games, and his total hold over his daughter. It could be simple shit like what to do about dinner, and Sheila would suggest making her homemade pizza (which was fabulous and way better than even Round Table, I might add) while Tom complained that he wanted Chinese.
Elle would follow suit and finally, Sheila would give in and start to order the Chinese food. Tom would then say he didn't want it if she was going to be a bitch about it, and that they should just have the pizza if it was going to be such a big deal. Sheila was at a breaking point after eighteen years of this, and to her credit, would be as gracious as she could be and offer to make the pizza again rather than argue. Tom would make some smart-ass comment and she would crack. An argument would ensue, and somehow Sheila came off as the villain through the process of Tom's lawyer-esque argument tactics.
In the end he provoked his wife to such angry extremes that Sheila had finally had enough. She slapped the shit of Tom one night, in front of Elle and me, and sent the man to the floor, breaking a lamp. It was no easy feat, as Tom is well over 215 lbs and no slouch when it comes to strength. We were all dead quiet as he stood up, dusted himself off and calmly said, as though he had been rehearsing it, "You know, Sheila, I've fucking had it with you. You're a self-centered bitch who never thinks about anyone but herself, and now you've taken our bullshit and put it out in front our daughter and her friend. It's over."
With that, Tom stormed out confident in his self-nurtured righteousness and made for his truck in the driveway, and Elle got up to follow.
"Sit down, Elle," Sheila said, her eyes on the floor.
"No," Elle said as she knocked over her chair and scooted the table into me, "He's right, you always do this!"
Sheila looked at her, her eyes filled with tears and said, "Do you think I want this? He wants me to leave, don't you understand? He's turned you against me!"
"If you had been a good wife, maybe it wouldn't be that way!" she yelled.
"Elle," I said quietly as I stood up, putting a hand on her shoulder, "You're not being fair."
"You stay out of this," she fired at me. I had never experienced her directing her rage towards me, even for a second in all the time I had known her. I stepped back, my eyes wide as I put my hands up inoffensively.
"Elle, do not go out that door," Sheila said, her voice clearly not kidding as the truck outside started up with a roar. Elle looked at her for a moment, and then left. We stood there for a moment as we heard the truck door slam and then the whine of the tires as Tom pulled out of the driveway and drove off. Even after the squeal of the tires had faded, I could still hear the spiteful words Elle had spat at her mother hanging in the air. Sheila leaned against the kitchen counter, and then slid down the front of it, crying as she went.
"Jesus, Sheila," I said as I sat down beside her and put my arm around her. Her shoulders were shaking violently as she wept, and I couldn't blame her. Tom had fucked her over, and just for standing up for herself, she was being crucified by her own daughter. I said, "She didn't meant that, any of what she said... and Tom is full shit, Sheila."
"Don't talk like that," she said as she regained her composure.
"No," I said, feeling that I had to speak my mind, that maybe if I did, it might help her, "I've seen this shit going on now for a long time, and it isn't fair. He's been turning her against you, and I see it and you see it. I know I have no right to be saying anything, but you and Elle are so close to me, I don't want to see either of you hurt."
"That's sweet Doug," she smiled and looked at me, her eyes puffy and red and yet, looking so reflectively radiant that I felt my heart start thudding in my chest and an erection begin swelling in my pants. "But this is just the way it has to be."
"Why?" I asked, "Why does he get to do this to you? You had every right to slap his sorry ass to the floor, which by the way, was the coolest fucking thing I've ever seen."
