In Summertime Saga

The hallway between classes was loud and I was looking at lockers.

Panties didn't grow on trees. They grew in locker rooms and bedrooms and laundry baskets and all of those required access I didn't have yet. Jenny wanted variety. Cheerleaders were gold. Popular girls in general. I was walking the main hall after Bissette's French period thinking about where underwear came from and how a person acquired it without becoming the school's designated creep when the locker stopped me.

Someone had written COW on it in black marker. Capital letters, thick strokes, the handwriting of someone who wanted it visible from across the hall. The marker had been there long enough that someone had tried to scrub it off and the letters had smeared but not disappeared, leaving the word ghosted onto the metal, readable from any angle. COW. On a teenage girl's locker in a school hallway where every student walked past it every day.

I knew whose locker it was.

Judith Dinkle was standing in front of it with the door open, reaching for something on the top shelf. She was on her toes and her arm was stretched as far as it would go and her fingers were about an inch short. She was wearing a skirt and a button-up and she had red hair in a ponytail with a purple hairband and glasses that had slid down her nose from the reaching. She was short and soft and round in places that her blouse was not designed for.

She dropped back to her heels. Looked at the shelf. Got on her toes again. Still short.

I walked up behind her. "Which one?"

She startled. Turned. Her eyes were green behind the glasses and they were wide and her cheeks were already going pink. "Oh. Um. The- the binder. The blue one."

I reached over her. I was taller by a good six inches and the binder was right there and I grabbed it and she was pressed against the locker door and I was pressed against her back for about half a second while my arm went up and the half second was long enough to catch that she smelled like soap and that her hair had a flyaway piece tickling my chin.

I handed her the binder. She clutched it to her chest with both arms like it was a shield.

"Thanks," she said. Her face was red. Full red, the red that starts at the neck and climbs. Her eyes were looking at my chest instead of my face because looking up would have meant being closer.

"No problem."

"I always- the shelf is too high and I keep asking them to move my stuff down but they-" She adjusted her glasses with one hand while holding the binder with the other and the glasses went back up her nose and then immediately slid down again. "Anyway. Thanks."

"Judith, right?"

The red got redder. "You know my name?"

"We have French together."

"Oh. Right. Yeah." She nodded too fast. "You sit in the- the back. With the-" She gestured vaguely toward a direction that didn't correspond to anything. "Yeah."

The hall was thinning out. Students were filtering into classrooms and the noise was dropping and Judith was standing in front of her locker holding a blue binder and looking at me like I was a math problem she hadn't studied for. I knew her from the game. Her scene, her route, her mother who worked at the donut shop. The word on her locker had been put there by Martinez and Lopez, two girls who had nothing better to do than make a quiet kid's life worse. In the game, this hallway led to the locker room and the locker room led to the first sexual encounter the player had and the girl standing in front of me with the sliding glasses was that encounter.

She was fidgeting with the binder's edge. Picking at the plastic cover with her thumbnail.

"I should- class is-" She turned to close her locker and the binder caught the edge of the door and the binder flipped out of her hands and the papers inside scattered and one of them slid across the floor toward the boys' locker room door like it had somewhere to be.

"Shit," she said, and the word sounded wrong in her mouth, like she'd borrowed it from someone who swore more often. She dropped to her knees and started grabbing papers and I helped and we got most of them except the one that had slid under the locker room door.

"I'll get it." I pushed the door open. The locker room was empty. Fluorescent lights buzzing, rows of green metal lockers, a bench down the center. Cold in here. Tile floors and metal walls holding onto it. The smell of floor cleaner and rubber and old sweat. The paper was on the floor just inside the doorway. I picked it up. It was a worksheet with her name on it and the header said CHEMISTRY and the first three answers were filled in neat handwriting.

Judith was in the doorway. "You didn't have to-"

The door swung shut behind her. The heavy fire door with the push bar, the kind that closes on its own. It clicked. The sound was loud in the empty room.

She looked at the door. Looked at me. Her cheeks were going darker and she was calculating how this looked.

"We should go," she said. "If someone-"

"Here." I held out the worksheet.

She took it. Our fingers touched on the paper and her hand was warm and damp and she pulled back fast and the paper crinkled. She was standing between the first row of lockers and me and the bench was behind her and the room was empty and the fluorescent light was washing everything flat.

Her eyes were on me. Green and wide and her lips were parted and she was breathing faster than before.

"We shouldn't be in here," she said. Her voice was quiet. Barely there.

I didn't step back.

"You dropped something," I said.

She looked at the worksheet in her hand. Then at me. Her mouth opened and closed and she bit her lower lip and she stepped forward and kissed me.

Her mouth was warm and soft and she tasted like mint gum and the kiss was clumsy at first because she was nervous and her glasses bumped my cheek and she pulled back an inch and said "sorry" and her face was burning and I said "don't be" and kissed her again and this time I put my hand on her waist and pulled her in.

She made a small sound against my mouth. Surprised. My other hand went to the back of her neck and her hair was soft and the ponytail was in the way so I slid my hand under it and held her head and kissed her deeper and her hands found my chest and she was gripping my shirt and the grip tightened when my tongue touched hers.

I walked her backward. Two steps. Her back hit the lockers and the metal rattled and she gasped at the cold through her blouse and I swallowed the gasp and pressed against her. Her body was soft. Her breasts against my chest, big and warm through the fabric, and her hips wide and my hand on her waist feeling all of it through a cotton blouse and a school skirt. She was full and round and every place we touched was getting warmer.

Her hands moved from my chest to my shoulders and she was pulling me closer and her hips shifted against mine and my cock was getting hard and she felt it against her stomach and she broke the kiss with a small intake of breath and stared at me and her face was so red the heat came off it.

I didn't pull back. Neither did she.

My hand slid down from her waist. Over her hip. The hem of her skirt under my fingers.

"Is this okay?" I said.

She swallowed. Her eyes searched my face. She bit her lip.

"Y-yes."

My hand went under her skirt. Her thigh was warm and soft and my hand was cold from the room and she shivered when my fingers touched her skin, a full-body shiver that pressed her harder against the lockers. I slid my palm along the inside of her thigh, slow, and her legs parted just enough for my hand to move up and her breathing was coming through her mouth now, fast and shallow.

My fingers found the edge of her underwear. Cotton. The fabric was warm. Damp. Wetter than I expected. She turned her face away and closed her eyes behind the crooked glasses.

"Oh god," she whispered.

I pressed my fingers against her through the cotton. Rubbed. The fabric was wet enough that it clung to her and I could feel the shape of her through it, the heat, and she jerked against the lockers and the metal rattled again.

"Shh."

Then I pushed the cotton aside. My fingers found her bare and she was slick, wetter than the cotton had even told me, and I slid one finger along the length of her and her hips bucked forward against my hand.

"I- I'm-" She couldn't finish.

I found her clit with my thumb. Pressed. Her whole body went rigid and her mouth opened and nothing came out and her hands were on my shoulders and her nails were digging in through my shirt.

"Ah-"

Quiet. Barely a sound. Tile and metal and fluorescent buzz turned it into more than she meant it to be.

I slid one finger inside her. Slow. She was tight and hot and the heat of her around my finger was startling against the cold room. I curled it up. Her hips jerked. Her nails dug harder.

Two fingers. The stretch made her gasp and she was biting her lip again, biting it white, and her eyes were squeezed shut.

"Don't bite your lip," I said. "Breathe."

She breathed. It came out shaky and loud in the empty room.

Thumb on her clit in small circles, two fingers inside curling against the front wall, and she was pressed against the lockers and my chest was against hers and her heart was hammering through her blouse. She was so wet now that the sound was there on every stroke, the slick of my fingers moving inside her, quiet but audible in the silence of the room, and her face went redder when she heard it.

I pressed my mouth against her ear. "You're okay."

She nodded, fast, and her breathing went from shaky to rhythmic, matching the movement of my hand. "Ah- ah- ah-" in little bursts, each one bitten shorter than the last, and her hips were grinding against my fingers now, small desperate movements she probably didn't know she was making.

My cock was aching in my jeans. She was pressed against me and every time her hips rolled they pushed against me and I could feel her softness and her heat through both layers of clothing and I wanted to do things to this girl that the locker room did not have time for. My hand stayed on pace. My thumb found the rhythm that made her sounds go higher.

Her arms wrapped around my neck. She pulled me close and her mouth was at my shoulder and her breathing was going "ah- ah- nn- ah-" against my shirt and the sounds were muffled and desperate and getting closer together and her legs were starting to shake against mine and the wet sounds of my fingers were louder now, faster, obscene in the quiet.

"Don't stop," she said. The words were pressed into my shoulder. "Don't- please don't-"

I curled my fingers harder. Pressed my thumb flat against her clit and rubbed in tight fast circles and she was clenching around my fingers in pulses and her legs buckled and she bit my shoulder.

Hard. Through the shirt, through the skin, her teeth clamping down, and her whole body locked up. Her pussy squeezed my fingers so tight I couldn't move them and she came in waves, clenching and letting go, and the sound she made into my shoulder was a moan she was trying to kill before it reached the air and it came out as a vibration against my collarbone, low and broken, and her legs were shaking against mine and she was gripping me like the building was moving.

I held her up. My free hand went to her waist and I kept her pressed against the lockers while she shook and clenched around my fingers in pulses that were getting weaker, slowing down, and then she stopped biting my shoulder and her forehead dropped against my chest and she was trembling.

I eased my fingers out. Slowly. She whimpered, her hips twitching at the withdrawal. My fingers were slick. I wiped my hand on the inside of my shirt where nobody would see.

Her skirt had ridden up. I reached down and straightened it, pulled the hem back to her knees, smoothed the fabric. She was still leaning against my chest, breathing against my shirt, and her legs were still shaking.

"You okay?" I said.

She nodded against my chest. She didn't look up. Her glasses were completely crooked and her ponytail had come half undone and her face was so red the heat of it came through my shirt.

I let her stand on her own. She wobbled once. Caught herself on the locker handle. She looked at me and her green eyes were enormous behind the crooked glasses and her mouth was open and she was looking at me like I was a stranger.

"I..." She tried to talk. Nothing came. She pushed her glasses up. They slid back down immediately.

"Take your time," I said.

She nodded. Swallowed. Looked at the floor. Looked at the lockers. Looked at me again.

"How did you-" She stopped. Shook her head. Picked up the chemistry worksheet from the floor where she'd dropped it. She was smoothing it with hands that were still trembling and the paper was wrinkled and she was smoothing it like it was the most important thing in the room.

"I'll go first," I said. "Wait a minute, then come out."

She nodded. Fast. The too-fast nod from the hallway. "Okay. Yeah. Okay."

I walked to the door. Pushed the bar. Before I went through I looked back and she was standing between the lockers with the worksheet pressed against her chest like the binder had been earlier and her face was crimson and her legs were pressed together.

The hallway was empty. The bell for the next period hadn't rung yet. I walked toward my next class and my shirt had a wet bite mark on the shoulder and my fingers smelled like Judith Dinkle and my cock was still hard in my jeans and I was going to need a minute before I sat down in a classroom.

A janitor was mopping the floor near the water fountain and he nodded at me and I nodded back and neither of us had anything to say to each other.

My shoulder was throbbing where she'd bitten me. That was going to bruise. Jenny might notice during a photo shoot. Debbie, if my collar shifted.

I went to class. Sat down. The desk was cold and the teacher was talking and my hand still smelled faintly of soap and her and I put it in my pocket and thought about Judith's face before I left and her legs pressed together and her hands smoothing that worksheet like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

She was going to find me again.

I sat in class and I took notes and I didn't think about panties.