“You know who I like?” said Brett. “That girl who wears those sleeveless sweaters. Wendy. God, it’s like she was born to wear those things.”

“Doesn’t she seem kinda stuck up, though?” Gary said.

“Nah, I don’t think so. Anyway, what if she was?” he grinned playfully. “I’d happily take the job of fixing her attitude. Who knows, maybe all she needs is a good licking.” Brett stuck his tongue out, smiling.

“Oh, for the love of God.” Gary rolled his eyes, knowing Brett was just making fun of him.

“No doubt, dude,” said the one they called T. “But sweaters? Are you crazy? You ever been to a football game?”

“Football? Come on, gimmie a break, T.,” said Brett.

“No seriously, dude. Who cares about sweaters? That cheerleader, Diane. What I wouldn’t give to pull up that skirt, and dick her right under the fucking bleachers!”

“Would you guys please stop?” Gary laughed nervously–his face hot.

“What do you think, Jim?” said Brett, clearly enjoying how Gary squirmed at the way they were talking.

“Kelly Granger,” nodded Jim, as if his mind was long made up.

“Fuckin’ A!” T. agreed.

“I don’t get you guys,” said Brett. “What is it about her that everyone likes?”

“Tits, dude! What kind of stupid-ass question is that?” countered T. “Don’t you want to just sit on top of her and squeeze those things around your–”

“Shhh. Jesus, T.,” Gary whispered as the rest of the guys snickered around the table.

“You know the coolest part though,” Jim ignored Gary. “She’d probably be totally up for it!”

“I know!” said T. “I’m tellin’ ya–one of these days, dude! Did you see her the other day, wearing that tank top and those shorts? Shit, man!”

“What, do you think I’m blind?” said Jim. “Her locker’s right next to mine, dude.”

“Alright, so Gary.” said T. rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Who would you like to fuck?”

“I can’t believe you guys.” Gary shook his head.

“Oh come on, lighten up, Gar,” said T.

“You know who Gary likes?” said Brett excitedly.

“No.” Gary looked threateningly at a smiling Brett. “No! Don’t, man.”

“Oh, come on. This is great. You know who he thinks is cute? That girl, Kathleen.”

The others stared at him blankly while Gary looked around and felt anxious perspiration forming on his forehead. He reached out to touch Brett’s arm in an attempt to get him to stop.

“She’s in Polson’s English class. Dark hair, kinda plain lookin’, sits in the corner, you know?”

“You don’t mean that really short girl?” Jim asked.

“Right, right!”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait.” T. held up his hands and stopped everything. “Why haven’t I heard about this? You think that girl is hot?”

Gary shifted in his chair, uncomfortable that Kathleen was being brought up in this conversation. “I don’t know. I like her smile,” Gary said, his voice impatient with embarrassment.

“She’s a bean-pole, dude!” blurted T., followed by another round of hushed laughter.

“How would you know with those giant grandma sweaters she wears?” joked Brett. He looked over at his friend’s red face and saw how upset he was. “He’s kinda got a point about her smile, though.”

“I’d like to see her with her hair down, actually.” Jim affirmed.

“You got a sweater fetish, or something, Brett? And you.” T. knocked Jim’s shoulder. “You and chicks’ hair, man. I swear to God. Are you guys all on crack? She’s just so. . . I don’t know. Blah.”

“No,” Gary said, shaking his head. “I don’t think she’s ‘blah’ at all.” His spare, matter-of-fact way of speaking always had a way of making his friends listen. “I kinda like the way she looks. You know?”

“No, dude,” said T. “I don’t know. Totally unfuckable, man.”

“Not to me.” Gary’s quietly sincere admission penetrated their flippancy like a silent arrow, and a hush settled over the table.

“Hm.” said Jim.

“That’s cool,” said T. “Hey, you should ask her out.”

They all looked with unspoken hopefulness at their shy friend.

“No, no,” said Gary quietly. “Come on, let’s just. . .” He waved his arms in circles in front of him, indicating the pile of books on the table. “You know.”

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Sark, the librarian, who seemed to enjoy patrolling the back corners of his domain in search of mischief. “You boys are in here to study aren’t you?” he groused, shaking his head almost humorously. “Come on, now. Let’s get back to work.”

The boys hushed quickly, when a sudden loud bump interrupted them. The vibrations traveled through the wood of their built in seats. It seemed to come from the other side of the study partition they were all huddled in.

“What the hell was that?” T. stood up and looked on the other side of the half wall. “Hm. Weird.” He surveyed the area quizzically.

“What was it?” asked Brett.

“I don’t know; nothin’ I guess.” T. sat back down. “One of you guys fuckin’ with me?”

Jim raised his eyes in a spooky searching motion and wiggled his fingers, “Woo Ooo Ooo.” They all laughed. “So who are you inviting to your Halloween party, T.?”

“Well, not you, smart ass!”


* * * * * * * * *

“Ouch,” whispered Kathleen, rubbing her sore shoulder, now safely out of sight in the opposite corner of the library. A stupid, inexplicable panic had prompted her to jump out of that booth as soon as possible, and now her shoulder was paying the price. She felt like an idiot. Still, she was grateful that she had been able to slip behind one of the nearby bookshelves before that T. guy saw her.

Kathleen loved listening to guy talk, and opportunities like that were rare. She still couldn’t believe they were talking about her. Gary? Gary Bennett? He was in her Chemistry class, but she remembered him from a few classes she had shared with him over the last couple years. She couldn’t understand it. Gary had always seemed so stand off-ish to her. He usually talked in grunts to everyone but his friends, and he hardly ever made eye contact with anyone. Her practical side scoffed at the rising feelings of giddiness in her stomach. As much as his words stung, Kathleen was more inclined to believe T.

Even so, their dirty talk had turned her on. She couldn’t help it. She was strangely anxious to get a good, fresh look at Gary when she got the chance. The voice she’d heard on the other side of the wall had seemed so sincere. She blushed to herself, embarrassed at her chronic, overactive imaginings of what could be.

– – – –

Kathleen evaluated herself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. T. had it right, she thought. “Blah” was a pretty dead-on description. She sighed and turned sideways, seeing her dark hair trickle in strands behind her shoulders. She could barely make out that she had breasts at all underneath her oversized t-shirt and the thick cardigan sweater she wore over it. Her butt was similarly nonexistent underneath the loose jeans that lay in bunched folds down her legs.

She leaned toward the mirror to try to get a fresh look at her face, and grimaced at that stupid freckle on her cheek. With an optimistic impulse, she tried out a smile, and was immediately sorry she did. She looked like she did in the family pictures–as if being forced to smile at a live cat-skinning–and just shook her head, groaning. She even tried pretending she was laughing at something, and then had to look away to prevent having to see her face turn red on top of it all. It was awful. She somehow felt less hideous without the smile. What was that Gary guy thinking?

Maybe they knew somehow that she was listening, and were just playing games with her. Still, that crew could be annoying, but they never had the reputation of being malicious. It was a small high school, and those guys were almost inseparable, especially Gary and T. Two more opposite people she couldn’t think of, and yet their friendship was obvious. She wondered what it would be like to have friends like that.

She stood silently, still in conflict with her imagination between what was and what could be. Her practicality surrendered with a resigned exhale, as she removed her sweater and unbuttoned her jeans. She bent over, her hair slipping off her shoulder and behind her head as she turned to watch the denim slide down her legs on to the bathroom floor. She stepped out of them, and turned to face herself in the mirror, noticing how her white panties peeked out underneath the hem of her baggy t-shirt. She crooked her head inquisitively, trying to see herself through Gary’s eyes.

Pressing on, she lifted her T-shirt up across her flat tummy and over her head, tossing it onto the floor with her jeans. They had mentioned Kelly Granger. Kathleen was so far the opposite of Kelly that the comparison prompted a hopeless chuckle at the image in the mirror. She wished she were more like her. Kelly had boobs that turned heads, an ass that no one could ignore, and on top of it all, she had a kind of sexy confidence that Kathleen really admired.

What if Gary looked at her the way the rest of the guys looked at Kelly. Was that even possible? The mere fantasy of such a thing made her shoulders shrug in a shiver of excitement. Her mind was playing games with her again. For a moment, she ignored those ugly taunts of self-consciousness and wrapped her hands back to unhook her bra, pretending she was stripping for a phantom, entranced Gary. She pretended she was the sexiest girl in the world, trying to mimic the look of the models she’d seen in her sister’s fashion magazines. Her face turned a hot red as she slipped the bra strap off her arm and pulled the garment away from her breasts. No matter how wild her imagination, they just couldn’t play the part, and she finally dropped her bra, along with her stupid delusion, onto the floor.

After a silent moment, feeling her skin exposed to the cool, still air of the bathroom, her thoughts of inadequacy slowly succumbed to her more overpowering instincts. Her fingers automatically took their place on her nipples. Although still technically a virgin, she was brought up not to be ashamed of sex. She had stimulated herself to orgasm so many times that her routine was second nature. Her hair tickled across her shoulder, as her nipples slid into the sharp curves separating her fingers. She pinched them lightly, and rubbed them until they were little peaks poking out toward the mirror.

Her hands slipped along her thin waist and her thumbs hooked around the waistband of her panties, finally sliding them down and letting them drop around her ankles. She stepped out of them, and brushed her hair away from her face.

Now finally naked in front of the mirror, she felt so insignificant, so little–like she was the runt of the litter. The tiny freckles on her forearms, the bruise she’d gotten the other day on the inside of her calf from that damn kitchen chair, her plain face, and her small boobs–they all just seemed the antithesis to what guys wanted. Her sister was so gorgeous; she sometimes wished she had been born with one tenth her looks. Thank God her body’s reflection had nothing to do with how good it could feel. She was a sexual creature, and she knew it–probably more so than most girls her age–even those that actually had sex.

She glanced at the tiny patch of hair that remained between her legs. She bit her lip, pretending once again that Gary was looking at it. A lot of guys apparently liked girls who shaved. Ever since she’d tried out her sister’s vibrator–one of the more embarrassing private moments of her life–she had started down an ever-widening road of experimentation. The silver dildo, which after some persistence and a little pain had given her the best orgasm of her life, was only the beginning. Kathleen had a love-hate relationship with her sexual imagination, which seemed boundless, and she had given shaving a try in hopes that that it might further increase her sensitivity to the toy. She was right. She suspected she was a bit of a masturbation junkie, and even now, a familiar ache grew inside her pussy.

She became steadily aware of her breathing, and let her fingers slip down and tickle the tiny curls above her clit. She pretended to look into the eyes of the phantom guy who was watching her–trying again to believe that she was turning him on, this time because of the way she felt, rather than the way she looked.

A shaky sigh escaped her lips as she marveled at how intense her eyes looked. Her finger started to instinctively slide lower just as she had a tantalizing thought. She sucked her lips inside her teeth and bit down, listening for any commotion outside the bathroom. As far as she knew, her mom was still making dinner, and her dad hadn’t arrived home yet. A fresh surge of excitement rushed through her body at the idea of watching herself cum in the mirror.

Kathleen awkwardly bent her legs and rested her bottom on the tile in front of the door. She felt a strange, exciting rush as she spread her thighs for the mirror, and reached her arm behind her to support her body. Her pussy lips reflected back at her–exposed and vulnerable below her tiny patch of dark hair.

Her breathing shortened even more in her growing urgency. She leaned forward and spread herself open with one hand as the other finally teased along the nub of her pleading clit. God, it felt good–blatantly showing off her most private parts to her imaginary voyeur.

Her fingers played along the outer lips of her pussy, feeling her slick warmth starting to seep out from inside. Her toes stretched apart and dug into the cold tile. Her unsteady knees shivered in response to the taut muscles in her thighs while her finger tortured her impossibly sensitive clit.

“Ohh.” Her eyes closed instinctively. “Wait wait,” she whispered–reminding herself to be patient.

Her eyes flung open with renewed purpose. Her breath whisked in through her teeth as she urgently slid her feet toward her and rested her weight on them, lifting her bottom and squatting on the floor. Her hair lay along one ear down the front of her shoulder as she looked into her own brown eyes as if they were Gary’s, and stuffed a finger inside herself.

“Oh, my God.”

Her spread legs almost buckled underneath her, reacting to her ravenous pussy’s acceptance of her impatient fingers. She looked at her stretched lips, now wrapped tightly around two of her knuckles. She flexed her fingertips and pushed against the soaked inner walls, wrapping them up underneath her pubis. It created a wet, slurping sound that reverberated within her confined space between the bathroom counter and the wall next to her.


She basked in her body’s blatant, unashamed reaction to the stimulation. When she withdrew her fingers, they glistened with her juice under the intensely focused parabolic light recessed into the bathroom ceiling, and she raised them to her face, smelling the deep musk of her own cunt. She touched her fingertip along the bottom ridge of her nose, wiping a tiny bit of her pussy’s lubricant against it. She breathed it deeply, and the unapologetic sexual aroma seemed to travel directly into her fantasies. She wondered hungrily what Gary might smell like.

She needed to cum. Her hands went to work in earnest on her demanding cunt. She became aware of the thin layer of sweat that was covering her body when she noticed the strands of her mussed hair sticking to her forehead in the mirror.

“You want me to cum, Gary?” she whispered to herself, feeling her face burn with embarrassed excitement even as she said the words. Her thighs started to shiver and weaken. Images of him entered her mind, and her sex clouded imagination revealed him in a way she’d never thought of before.

She wondered at the mystery behind his deep-set green eyes, and she imagined what his hands might feel like if they touched her. Would his tongue feel cold on her nipples? Would she be able to feel his cock throbbing with blood as he pumped it in and out of her soaked pussy? Would he pull out and squirt on her tummy if she asked him to? What would his cum smell like? God, what would it taste like? She wished she could try it all.

Her mind flooded with lusciously dirty images, and her fingers fucked against the soft flesh inside her cunt. Her legs strained to keep her small body upright, and she pretended she was doing it for Gary’s benefit–to get him off. In her own way, she was making herself work for it.

She stifled a moan that just ached to escape her lips. She felt a tear roll down her cheek, and her voice cracked toward the mirror timidly–intensely quiet, “Ohhh, Guuhhod. Just watch. Just be quiet and w-w-watch.”

The inevitable buzzing of her building orgasm rose from her lower thighs. It crackled inside her like a disappearing fuse as she fingered her clit deliberately, and without patience. Her upper arm brushed against her nipple. Her other hand grabbed the bathroom counter to steady her shaky body. She gasped in breaths of air, blinking in blurry determination to keep her eyes open–fighting not to scream out.

Finally, the torrent of release washed over her like a violent ocean wave. Her self-conscious feelings had long since melted away as she struggled to focus on her sweaty, pleasure racked body in the mirror. Her reflection and the arousal in her eyes at that moment, in contrast to the plain, tiny girl she’d seen earlier, was something she found inexplicably sexy–even beautiful.

“Ooohh. Oh.” Her violent, shaky whispers escaped her parted lips as she looked through the mirror into her glazed eyes. In her blurry haze of lost awareness, her body almost toppled and she had to reach her arm back to catch herself from falling. Her bottom rested on the floor, and she let her legs relax against the seams in the door leaking light from the hallway outside the bathroom.

Once again, she evaluated herself, wondering what it would be like to look through her imaginary lover’s eyes at that moment–beautifully oversexed, naked, exposed. Her soaked pussy had that insatiable look of impermanent satisfaction, and a thin sheen of perspiration reflected off her small breasts.

She shrugged her shoulders–breaking her fantasy with a sort of “I am what I am” embarrassment–and breathed in the intoxicating mixture of scents her body had just created. As the last remnants of her beautiful orgasm faded into memory, she suddenly caught a glimpse of that genuine smile she’d tried so hard to reproduce earlier.

She wondered bashfully whether Gary would’ve liked it.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“So, wait. Explain your fucked up theory to me again.”

“They aren’t theories, T. They’re observations.” Gary said with a sly grin, convinced that his best friend just deliberately refused to understand them. “Which one?”

“The women thing.”

Gary rolled his eyes with a smirk. It figured. He unwrapped his sandwich and pulled the apple out of his lunch bag, pursing his lips as if T. wasn’t worthy of yet another explanation.

“Come on, freak, just tell me,” said T., his voice rising above the lunchroom din.

“Okay, but are you listening this time?”

“Don’t make me come over there and kick your ass.”

“Ooo, All the way over here? Alright, the basic premise is that both men and women exist in two worlds simultaneously. One world is called ‘La La Land’ and the other is called ‘Real Life’. You–you live in ‘La La Land’ most of the time.” Gary smiled.

“Hardy har har.”

“They’re both pretty self explanatory. ‘La La Land’ is a magical place populated with pop stars, actresses, and models. It’s total fantasy–all based on image. ‘Real Life’ is, well, real life.”