You would like Jordan if you met him. He was a happy, good-natured young man. He was kind and always willing to lend a helping hand. It might not have been a very efficient helping hand, but it was available. He seemed to see the best in everyone and this made him like everyone.
This attitude, plus the fact that he wasn't the brightest spark, tended to make him a target for bullies when he was younger. This tendency started to fade markedly after I beat the crap out of a couple of idiots who thought Jordan an easy target. Dumb though he was, Jordan was a friend of mine, and I look out for my friends.
My current problem with Jordan couldn't be fixed by giving some guy a clout across the back of the head with a warning of what would happen if he didn't pull his head in.
They say that the female of the species is more deadly than the male, and a little clique of senior cheerleaders seemed to be trying to prove this. They were picking on Jordan, bullying him and subjecting him to quite a bit of unwonted humiliation, and the poor guy had no idea how to handle it.
I have to admit, I wasn't sure what to do either. I'd had a friendly chat with a couple of the girls, explaining that Jordan was my friend and that their actions were displeasing me, but they just brushed me off. I wasn't on the team or really a very noticeable guy. I've always preferred to hug the shadows, as it were, going about my business with no-one noticing me. Accordingly, to the cheerleaders I was a non-entity and totally ignorable.
Mel was the leader of this little clique. I wasn't sure what Mel was short for. Melanie, Melissa, Melody, something like that I supposed. She was just Mel to everyone. She was around nineteen, by my best guess, a bitch as a child and a gold-plated bitch now that she was officially an adult. Blonde, stacked, lovely features, marvellous skin, intelligent and with a sting that a hornet would envy.
It seemed to me that if I was going to stop this little clique from targeting Jordan with their nasty little pranks, Mel was the one I would have to convince. So I started making plans.
Like I said, people just tend not to notice me unless I deliberately make my presence felt, and I try not to do that too often. This made it fairly simple for me to keep an eye on Mel and establish a few of her habits. What I wanted was to meet her quietly somewhere so I could have a heart to heart with her, sort of let her see the situation from my perspective. I was fairly certain that I could reason with her.
I finally hit on a way of having that chat. I parked near her place and waited in my van, door open. As she passed I called out.
"Hey, Mel," I said, and she turned towards the van to see who it was.
That's when I hit her with the Taser. I was out of the van and holding her before she even started to collapse and then I just helped her into the van. If anyone had been watching all they would have seen was Mel turning to meet me, falling into my arms and hopping in the van with me. Quite romantic.
I drove off. I figured I had a good five minutes before she surfaced from the Taser and that was ample time for me. Two minutes to get her home and into the garage, with the garage door closed. Another two minutes and she was in the house, bent over the bed with her hands fastened to the bedhead.
I tucked the back of her dress up under her belt and lowered her panties a little. Not much, just enough to expose her bottom. Then I turned on my camera, sat back and waited for her to come out of it.
It was only a minute or two later and Mel was shaking her head, trying to clear it. She must have tried to move her hands and found she couldn't, because her head came up with a jerk and a gasp. Then she started squealing and jerking at her hands.
Not wanting her to go into a full-blown panic I slapped her casually on the bottom and told her to stop fussing. She squealed and turned to look at me.
"You," she squealed. "What do you think you're playing at?"
Then she blinked and went pale.
"Y-you're going to rape me, aren't you," she accused.
"You have a crude mind," I reprimanded her. "I am most definitely not going to rape you. There's no way of knowing what diseases I might catch off you."
Here I am reassuring her and she acts as though I'm insulting her. Fancy calling me a rotten bastard for not wanting to rape her? The way she protested her healthiness you'd think she wanted me to rape her. Come to think of it, maybe she did? Did that sort of thing turn her on?
"Are you saying that you want me to rape you?" I asked.
The answer was definitely in the negative.
"Then why are you whining when I said I won't? However, to get on with what I wanted to discuss with you, this is about Jordan," I explained. "I tried to talk this over with you and your friends but you weren't interested in talking about it. I thought a little one on one conversation would help."
