Ritas Bet Chapter One

Here is a little story for your enjoyment. The story is presented in three chapters, and all have been submitted.

Obviously it's not the third part of

Emily & Ellen

. I'm still working on that.

E & E 3

is a long tale (similar in length to the first two parts) and may take some time yet to complete.

However, hopefully you will find this little tale interesting. It is a bit different from my previous stories in that there is no actual sex in the story. I hope that won't disappoint. But I have formed some ideas to submit an additional version of this story, but one in which the plot goes in the direction of reluctant sex.

This is usually where I encourage my readers to post their comments and observations about the present story. I've discovered through experience that making a general and open invitation of that nature is not the best way to handle the matter. I very much and very genuinely enjoy comments related to the literary elements of my stories.

BUT, really, if you are a budding junior attorney and just have to post to let everyone know about the dire legal ramifications of the actions in the story, or the potential divorces and child custody battles that will arise from the tale's plot line -- well, I'm really not interested in reading about that (and I'd surmise that very few others are either). This is an erotic literature site: just enjoy the story (or don't, and click on some other story and bother some other author with your pseudo-legal babblings).

AND if you just have to post a comment that is really nothing more than you venting your anger at women in general, who in your estimation are all skanks and whores because they might occasionally have less than entirely morally upright sex, and you just have to lash out at women (even, and most pathetically, fictional women) because somewhere in your past some woman done ya wrong, well I'm not at all interested in reading your rant in that regard.

AND there is a permanent marker mentioned in this story. If you feel moved to post to give me the unabridged history of permanent markers and their antecedents: sorry, not interested in that either.

ALSO, if you're posting with the hope of influencing the story line, there is no need to do that either. My stories are in final form when I submit them and before you see the first chapter.

OH, YEAH. And I really don't need any opinions on whether or not anyone feels I've submitted this story in the wrong category.

HOWEVER, ALL THAT ASIDE: if you have comments or observations on the literary aspects of the story (characters, plot, plot progression, settings, writing, imagery, etc.) those are very welcome and eagerly read and responded to.

I finally found the button to turn off anonymous comments to my stories, and that's bound to block at least 90% of the most lame-brained comments.

Anyway, thank you for your interest and please enjoy the story.

bb

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Rita's Bet -- Chapter One

I began to get a sinking feeling in my stomach as I rounded the corner that November Sunday evening in my high school senior year. Even so, my steps did not slow as I aimed myself toward a house on the right that I knew quite well: Rhiannon's house. The night was a bit chilly, but my varsity sweater provided enough warmth for me during my short walk. The cool air felt good as it chilled the skin above my taut knee socks and crept slowly up under the pleated skirt of my cheer uniform toward my thighs.

Rhiannon and I had been friends since first grade. We were in class together almost every year in grade school. Those years that we were not we were still inseparable on the playground. And in junior high school, when recess was a thing of the past, we were together almost every day after school and on weekends.

Rhi and Ri. Rhiannon and Rita.

But as our freshman year of high school rushed by a cloud suddenly descended on us. Enrollment in the district had been slowly and steadily increasing each year for the past decade and the bond issue to fund a new high school had passed three years previous. That shining new edifice, its bathroom stalls still free of graffiti and all its light bulbs presumably working, would be ready for its first classes the following fall. Rhiannon and I hadn't thought this would affect us. We lived only two blocks from each other. Just take a right out my front door and walk a block to where my neighborhood ends at county highway 117, a two-lane, increasingly busier thoroughfare. Cross the highway, walk one block, make a left and Rhiannon's house is the second on the right.

What separated us was the decision by the local school board to use county highway 117 as the boundary between the two high schools' service areas. Shocked and disappointed, we learned that I would spend my last three years at our current high school while Rhiannon would attend the new school.

Sure, we stayed in touch and got together when we could. But with academics and clubs and sports and other activities we slowly, and I suppose inevitably, receded from each other, our relationship becoming increasingly tenuous.

One girlish enthusiasm we shared from our first meeting in childhood was what we then considered the swanky, to-die-for excitement and thrill of being a cheerleader. We both wanted to be one someday, and many of our play encounters found us jumping in the air trying to see how high we could fly and how wide we could spread our legs while shaking imaginary pom-poms.

That last year that we were together in school, freshman year, the first thing Rhi and I did was audition for spots on the cheerleading squad, vowing not to participate if the other didn't make the team. Well, for reasons no one ever had the time, inclination, or obligation to explain to me I was selected and Rhiannon was not.

Talk about a dark cloud. My heart broke for her. My promise to Rhi pressed on me like the weight of the world. How could I not honor my agreement with Rhi? But how could I pass up the chance to pursue the dream and goal I had entertained since my knees were covered with scabs? Finally I sat down with Rhi and told her how much I wanted to cheer. Could she ever forgive me if I went ahead and accepted the spot on the squad?

As I walked along the dark sidewalk in front of the house next to Rhi's I could still hear her voice clearly in my mind, and imagined I could hear it in my ears.

"Sure, Rita," I heard her voice say. "Sure go ahead. I wouldn't want you to miss out on your dream." I could hear her heavy emphasis on the words 'you' and 'your.' Now, twenty years later, I would know exactly a girl's feelings hearing that sentence spoken in that way. But then I was far too immature to understand her meaning. Instead I heard only the surface words, the sweet parole that set me free. All else was dismissed unnoticed in the swelling of sheer joy her permission had unleashed in me.

The rest of the year went by, but even I began to notice by February how distant Rhi had become toward me. When I asked her what was the matter she would smile and tell me, 'Nothing, Rita. Nothing at all.'

I don't know that my soul really accepted that evaluation, but in that chilly, third academic quarter portion of the academic year any association with our broken cheerleading deal in September had receded too far into the past for me to link it to whatever might be bothering her. I was a cheerleader, she was not, and those two facts had now become just a part of our lives and our experiences at school.

My sinking feeling came from all the cars parked in front of Rhiannon's house and farther down the street. I had never seen so many near her house. I suspected the reason for their presence, and that suspicion sparked a knot of trepidation in my gut. We had said friends could be invited, but I never imagined any crowd like all these cars seemed to forebode.

I had timed my departure from home to arrive at Rhi's front door at exactly the appointed hour: eight in the evening. From all those years of experience I knew well by now exactly how long it took for me to walk from my house to Rhi's. At right on the dot I was ringing her doorbell, after having mounted the two steps from the sidewalk to the Paulson's walk, and then the three steps up to the small porch at their front door. I rang the bell and waited, the sight of those numerous cars again tickling at my apprehension nerve.

While I waited a moment for the door to open a recent memory came to mind, and in spite of the unease that I was feeling since turning the corner. The memory made me smile. It was just a couple weeks ago, a week or two into November. I was in the convenience store and suddenly there she was two aisles over. I'd not seen Rhi for months, not since the summer in fact. But it was good to see her and I immediately made my way in her direction.

I came at her from the side and slightly from the back, she examining the choices displayed on the magazine rack. I gave a hank of her shoulder blade length raven hair a little tug. She looked up, a smile starting on her face. When her eyes met mine the smile faded and she said, "Oh, hi, Rita."

Her demeanor left no doubt she wasn't excited to see me. I guessed that we really had taken different forks in the road after freshman year, and that we were now far down sundered and increasingly divergent paths. I tried to make some small talk, tried to engage her in a conversation about how our respective senior years were going. But no dice.

She answered my questions monosyllabically or with as few words as would suffice, her body still mostly turned toward the Newsweeks, Times, Guns & Ammos, and Seventeens. She asked a couple questions of her own, but I could tell her heart was not in it.

I made a last stab before withdrawing. I knew that after that disastrous, strained freshmen year she had hit her new school and immediately had made the cheer squad. 'Mission accomplished,' I had thought when I'd heard the news. She was off on her own adventure, her own childhood wish fulfillment quest. I had sincerely hoped it would be good for her.

"So, still with the cheer squad?" I asked.

"Um, yeah," she said, her eyes avoiding mine. I didn't really have to ask: her varsity jacket told me the tale. I was not wearing mine that day.

"I made co-captain this year," I said, trying to make the statement matter of fact, not wanting to seem like I was rubbing my success in her face in case her own experience had not taken her to such lofty heights.

"Wow, good for you," she said, real enthusiasm in her voice for the first time. She turned more toward me displaying the front of her jacket: the varsity letter, the words 'Cheerleader' and 'Co-captain' in wooly script. "Me too. I'm co-captain this year too."

I leaned into her for a hug saying, "I'm so happy for you, Rhi." I was glad to see she hesitated only an instant before returning the embrace, although not as tightly as I would have liked.

We pulled back and looked in each other's eyes. "All those years ago," I said, giving my head a sentimental shake.

The veil seemed to drop back over her face and her eyes became clouded and then dropped. "Yeah, all those years ago," she said with a little forced enthusiasm.

I really couldn't think of anything else to say, and couldn't bear to torture her any longer if this really was the chore for her it seemed to be.

"Well," I said. I wasn't sure how to withdraw. "See you," I offered. Lame.

"Yeah, see you," Rhi returned in a rote fashion.

I paid for my purchases and exited the store. I beeped the car open, put my two bags in the back, and was standing next to my car, my back to the store, fumbling a bit to isolate the ignition key before I climbed in.

Suddenly arms were around my shoulders squeezing me in an embrace, and Rhiannon's head and hair were tight against mine. I knew her scent and breathed it in, relished it.

"Hey girlfriend," she said, real sparkle in her voice. "I guess I was a little distracted in there. Sorry."

"It's ok," I offered. "We all have those days," I said, turning and cupping her cheek with the palm of my hand. "Rhi it was really good to see you. Remember all those days we spent all afternoon playing cheerleaders? Well, I guess we've both arrived."

Her mood seemed to darken again for a moment, but she brightened right back up. "Both made co-captain," she said. "One to cross off the ol' bucket list."

I laughed at her joke, glad to see her in a good mood.

She got serious for a moment. "Hey, we need to get together," she said. "Our birthdays were a couple weeks ago."

"Ta-da!" I enthused. "Eighteen at last!" We had been born three days apart, her on October 30th and me on November 2nd.

"Well, we need to celebrate," Rhiannon said. And we were soon into planning our night out. I felt on top of the world.

I was never much into drinking and I was glad to discover Rhi had not gotten into it either. We ended up going out that Saturday evening. Of course we were not old enough to enter any licensed establishment, and not being too interested in alcohol abuse neither of us had the needed fake ID. But we hung out, went here and there, drove around laughing, and we ended up back at my house.

I opened a bottle of wine, snatched from the pantry, and we toasted our birthdays while watching a movie in my room. Our low alcohol tolerance was clearly evident: both of us got a little snockered by sharing a bottle of wine.

"You know what we need to do?" Rhiannon asked me at the conclusion of the movie.

"What, Girlfriend?" I asked in return.

"We've got to do something wild. No, no. Something outrageous," Rhi said.

"I'm listening," I said.

She thought for a few moments, but I got the sense she knew where she was going. That was fine with me since I had no clue where to take this. I just knew I wanted Rhi and Ri to be together again. The Dynamic Duo.

"Ok," Rhi said, and her face colored. "Remember seventh and eighth grade?" she asked, her voice lowering.

"Sure. What about it?" I asked.

"Remember how we used to play strip poker?" she asked.

Now my face took on the same reddish color Rhiannon's was exhibiting. We had been twelve and thirteen in those two grades. Both of us had been starting to sense insistent feelings from 'down there': the promise and potential for enormous pleasure, curiosity and an unfocused longing filling our minds. We shared the news of the tickle we both felt in our stomachs: not just the curiosity of seeing another person naked, but the thrill of having to strip for another.

We had always used the word 'strip', rather than a synonym like 'disrobe' or 'unveil' or 'undress.' Although not invariably. Sometimes we would a play a game in which no clothes came off until the end of the game and the loser was obliged to strip from scratch. On those occasions if I were the loser Rhi would take particular delight in loudly ordering: "Ok, Rita, you lost. Peal!"

It didn't matter yet at that age that our eyes would take in the nude body of someone of our own sex, or that our revealing of our own nudity would be just to the eyes of another girl. We just knew that we wanted to experience that thrill. The prospect and anticipation of that thrill was mixed up somehow with those blurry waves of desire we were both experiencing.

So for the last couple months of seventh grade, through the ensuing summer, and into eighth grade we dealt the cards on a regular basis whenever we had her house or my house to ourselves for an hour or two.

The thrill had been everything my adolescent, just barely pubescent brain had hoped for. My stomach roiled with anticipation every time, both and either over the prospect of our game ending with me nude and blushing or me giggling in triumph as Rhi was obligated to model her birthday suit.

And the night after every one of those games my hand was in my panties under the covers as that potential for pleasure I had sensed became a powerful and mind-numbing reality.

"Oh, do I ever remember," I said smiling. "These little fingers never got such a workout as they did at night after those games." I wiggled the fore and middle fingers of both my hands at her.

She laughed. "I know exactly what you mean," she said.

"So, should I find a deck of cards?" I asked.

"No," she said. "No, something else just came to mind." But again I got that sense that whatever she was leading to had come to mind before this minute. "Not a card game," she seemed to muse. "Mmmmm. How about a bet?" she asked.

"Well, on what?" I asked in return.

"The homecoming game is coming up this Thursday," she offered.

"Thanksgiving Day," I said.

This would be the third year the other high school, Rhi's school, would be open. And the tradition of a Thanksgiving Day, season-ending matchup between her school, West, and my school, East, had started the first year. Each school had won one of the first two gridiron meetings.

"Ok," I said. "Fine by me. But what are we betting?"

She leaned in toward me and began to explain her idea. It took a little convincing but not too much to get me on board. I was just a little shocked at her proposal, but I could also see the outrageous and essentially harmless mischief in it. And that insistent little tickly thrill in my stomach and from below, the thrill of the risk I'd be taking, was a strong argument in favor. What finally won me over was the thought of sharing this experience with Rhi: how close I would feel to her (and I hoped her to me) as the suspense of our bet built over the next four day, when we got together to have the loser pay off, and when we then (in my imagining of the event) retired to her room or mine, depending on who had won the bet, giggling over our outlandish wager and its consequence for the loser.

And in my hastily concocted little fantasy that would be the reincarnation of Rhi and Ri.