by Johi Jenkins
“What are you thinking, Margarette?”
She sits up quickly as if afraid he had heard her thinking, and looks at him with her head tilted to the side. Her expression softens. “Tommy…” she begins.
“Yeah?”
“What do you know about me?”
“What do you mean?”
“About me… what do you know?”
“Well,” he says, and looks up as if thinking. “For one, you’re beautiful.”
They are mostly cloaked in the shade of the bleachers so she can’t see his face clearly. She squints, but has to assume he’s flattering her. The football field is almost completely empty. They are alone other than a shoeless boy walking across the field behind them. There is no one else.
Margarette smiles and sees in Tommy’s eyes how hard he is trying. She just needs him to say a word or make a gesture to let her know he wants her.
“Why would you think that?” she asks. “I’m not….”
“I used to watch you before at your locker.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You had a purple binder.”
“It was”—she acknowledges the color at first but then switches her response—“a popular color some years ago.”
“It was you. You didn’t smile like other girls.”
“What was I?”
“You had this crazy calm like nothing would surprise you. I never saw you giggle or stare.”
Thoughts flood from a different time and she blinks them away. “I was sad.”
He continues like he didn’t hear her. “I liked watching. You were so delicate with each step. It was like watching a ghost in slow motion.”
“Well, thanks,” she says, only a little miffed at the comparison.
Tommy looks like he isn’t sure if that was sarcastic or not. He just asks, “Have you seen yourself? You are so beautiful. That’s why she’s so jealous. She wouldn’t care if you weren’t. I wouldn’t if it wasn’t you.”
“You’re horrible.”
“Me?” He raises his eyebrow. “You know she gave me her ring finger size?”
“Seriously?”
“In the first three months….”
Margarette snickers knowing it would kill Sharon to know that they were talking about her.
“She said she wanted to help me keep it a surprise later on,” Tommy continues. “Now it’s been almost two years and it’s not going to happen. No bent knee, even with the hints.”
“Do you love her?”
He takes a deep breath. “Not like I should. No, I think I knew I would screw things up with her, but I wouldn’t have done anything with anyone else. You, Margarette.” His voice drops at the end and it sounds like Violet.
“Who says you’re going to do anything with me?”
“I meant when I took you home.”
“I know what you meant.”
“Yeah.”
“Tommy, well… you know how everyone thinks we had sex,” she says in a higher tone, with the sharp hint of intent.
“Yeah.”
“And well, I’m just not sure we can convince anyone that didn’t happen.” Her voice has turned sultry and she doesn’t know how to turn it back off.
Tommy doesn’t seem to notice. “We have to be able to.”
“Well… I mean, what if we can’t? What if you and I spent the next few weeks trying to convince them and it doesn’t work?”
Tommy’s hands slide to her and wrap around her waist. His chin touches the top of her head as he towers above her. She feels his breathing sync with hers, and she feels something stir in her belly. But then the harmony stops as he inhales to answer her question.
“I don’t know what to do then,” he says.
Margarette takes a second before she continues. “I’m not saying that we have to do anything, but she’s already gotten revenge. Would you take her back now?”
“No. You’re right. I can’t kiss her after seeing that. I’ll never get that out of my head.”
“Well, there’s that, and she’s never going to believe you. She’ll always think about me riding you, or whatever bullshit she imagines, when you have sex with her.”
“I’ll never have sex with her again. That dude is gritty.” He moves nearer to Margarette.
“It doesn’t seem fair that she’s blaming you for something you really didn’t do.”
“I know.”
“What I’m trying to say is you’re already getting punished for something you didn’t do…” she trails off and bites her lower lip.
She knows there is something wrong with what she’s saying, and that there could be consequences. It doesn’t really matter at that moment. She’s never been what she’s wanted to be. Everything she wears is old and out of fashion. She feels cheap then; worse even considering the outfit she’s in.
And she feels nothing could replace that pain better than the excitement she feels trembling on the cusp of revenge.
“… So it’s like you can have sex with someone and it doesn’t count,” she concludes in a whisper. Her words slip softly past his ears. She waits for a while for him to answer, and thinks he might not have heard her, or understood what she meant.
But she feels his hand press against her and she has her answer. She wants him, but only to satisfy her need to be contrary, to be known and to feel powerful. She feels like she is using him, even.
Margarette moves back to the shadows by one of the bleachers supports, pulling Tommy with her. She lifts herself and sits back on one of the fuel tanks with the skirt tucked underneath her so her bare skin doesn’t touch the edge. She feels a chill tickle across her body. It only lasts a heartbeat, but every hair in the chill’s path stands up.
Tommy steps forward and she cradles him between her legs. His hand slides down her waist and grips her leg under her thigh, lifting it. Her shoe braces against the barrel, keeping her leg boosted up. Then his hand moves up her skirt, quickly gliding up her bare legs, pulling her forward to the edge. She slides back almost slipping and grabs the back of his neck.
She brings his face close to hers, and he comes pliantly, as if under a spell. He moves forward as if to kiss her, but she pulls back.
“You know this doesn’t really mean anything,” she whispers.
“She’s never going to forgive me either way.”
“No, you’re never going to forgive her.”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
His voice is sweet when he says it, and Margarette smiles. She leans forward and kisses his cheek. “You’re mine to play with now.”
“Wait, what?”
“Do you think you can handle me?”
Faintly his voice cracks. “Yeah?”
Margarette slowly pulls up his shirt with a coy smile, then leans in and bites his chest below his nipple. He grips her legs instantly, but then drops his hands off her.
“Take your pants off,” she commands.
“I’m not sure we should be doing this here,” he protests weakly, but doesn’t sound like he’s convinced that they shouldn’t.
“Take your pants off now,” she insists. “Don’t do this for her. You do this for me.”
She unbuckles the belt for him and pulls on the button until it pops, and then slides his pants down as he just stares, powerless to stop her. She reaches into his pants and grips him hard. Tommy breathes in when she leans into his chest expecting another bite, but this time it doesn’t hurt when her lips press against his body. She tightens her grip and feels him harden as she kisses his chest. She leans back and blows, making him twitch and arch his chest to her.
Margarette leans back in the short cheer skirt. She brings her other leg up on the barrel, brushing her knee against his hip, then lies on the flat of her back. He steps closer and she looks to the side. They are near the field house far from the school, out of sight from everyone. Margarette doesn’t want to look back at him because she can’t keep her lip from trembling. She feels his long fingers glide under the elastic of her da
mp gym shorts and black satin panties. He pulls them down while she lifts her hips, and her underwear ends at her knees. Tommy helps to partially free her, the shorts and panties still looped through one leg.
He leans forward to kiss her, but she’s too far back. Instead he kisses her neck, gently pressing his tongue against her as his lips move over her skin. He slides further down, kissing her chest over the fabric of the uniform, and then lifts the hem of her top piece, exposing her belly. He bends down, kissing her breastplate and ribs, her abs and belly button.
Deep down she knows it’s not right, but it feels good to be there doing the wrong thing.
Tommy smiles like a young boy and reaches into his back pocket retrieving a condom in a purple wrapper.
He slides down the top of his boxers and tries to rip open the condom. She reaches up to grip his head, bringing his lips down between her legs. He leans forward into her without using his arms and her eyes roll back in her head as she feels his tongue on her clit. Oh, mmmf. His breath is hot on her as she grips his hair tugging him forward. He begins to softly lick her and her hips rise and fall meeting his strokes.
The condom wrapper almost slips in his hands, but he gets it open, and then goes down on her again while sliding it on. She feels like she’s hovering in the air trying to balance on the flat barrel lid. She shifts lower and her skirt flips up on her chest, and all she can see is the top of his blond head through the pleats. She gasps for a breath of air and he thinks it’s a moan. The bright lights of late day sun shimmer on them through the seats above them and she can see the dust dance in the rays.
Her eyes close as he fumbles below her skirt trying to please her. Her legs muscles tighten and her abs clench. He has a great sense of rhythm but he keeps changing the pace. She still enjoys it, and her back arches lifting her skin off the barrel. The canvas under her feels rough on her thighs as she shakes, and a soft squeak escapes her.
He completely stops, then after a breath he starts faster and harder than before. She grabs his head forcing him into her skin and crushing his skull into her. Almost instantly Margarette breathes out a real moan, but she exaggerates the volume and intensity to please his ego. He reacts to the sound, and his licks become quicker and pulse as if he had done this before many times. Margarette moans with a soft cry and hisses his name as she comes.
“Tommy!”
She reaches down and feels the soft fabric of his boxers. Her index fingers tug the elastic, pulling him closer. She just had an incredible orgasm but wants to feel him inside her. Her legs twitch as they loosen, and she has to put a hand on her knees to stop the shaking.
Tommy stands back and fully pushes his boxers down, then grabs his length as he looks down at her. She watches his eyes widen as he places the tip of the condom against her wetness. Slowly he eases into her, and she bites her lip as he fills her inch by inch.
“Margarette,” he whispers, dazed. His free hand caresses her stomach, his thumb presses into her belly button as he eases out and back in. She tightens her abs and breathes in a lungful of air.
Margarette begins to doubt herself, conscious of her actions. I’m having sex with Tommy Gallager because someone told me I couldn’t. She thinks about everything that led to this moment and can’t really feel anything. It’s all revenge. What is it to him? It’s next to nothing to her, except a simple experience intended to numb a tragedy. It wasn’t supposed to prolong it. Maybe she made another mistake; allowed herself to become hurt again. Eventually this would only hurt more, and she’s already too familiar with that feeling. Realizing how little she knows about him she feels even more vulnerable.
Unaware of her internal struggle, Tommy pushes himself into her over and over until he begins to slide easily, and she shuts her eyes while he moves inside her. She recoils nervously crossing her arms behind his back. She feels nothing. No connection, no heart, no pulse, no pleasure, nothing other than his force.
“Margarette?” She opens her eyes and sees him staring at her, and only her. She can tell he’s captivated by her. “You really are beautiful.”
And in that second, her doubt washes away like dirt in the rain. She still feels the same, but her heart is cleansed. Tommy really does like her. That is what she needed to see.
“Thank you. You’re not so bad yourself,” she replies, and he smiles.
His eyes shine with renewed excitement. She breathes out like a wild animal, and he looks at her with a look of intense pleasure. His face changes quickly as she surprises him with a slap across the face.
“What the frick was that for?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
She falls back down on her elbows and her chest shifts into the light. Tommy watches her cheerleader top rise and fall as she catches her breath, and doesn’t question her strange antics. He pushes himself deep inside of her and she lifts her hips against him as he slides out. She can’t tell who’s pushing against who, or if they are just following each other.
“Don’t stop,” she says, but the sound almost doesn’t come out. A soft whisper slides a little lie through her lips. “You’re huge.”
His pace had started slow but he now quickens with each breath. She winces as he presses against her with each thrust, and feels him starting to shake. She leans forward as he grips her at the waist and pushes into her furiously, breathing heavily.
Margarette is close to another orgasm, and her legs and abs tighten. Tommy is also on the cusp of orgasm when a man with a whistle steps around a blue tarp squinting in the sun, trying to see under the bleachers. It’s the coach.
Coach Swane’s voice calls out, “What the hell are you two idiots doing out there?”
Margarette leans up in a flash, and Tommy’s shoulders stiffen.
A moment before the coach had been heading to his Mustang, which he dearly loved, on the way to meet some hot lady as he would say. He had parked further away to keep his car from getting scratched, especially since he just got it detailed. He stopped when he saw a shadow moving under the far end of the bleachers. But the coach shook his head thinking it was dopers and continued to the car. That’s when he heard her voice.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Tommy mumbles, and he slows down but doesn’t exactly stop. The bleachers supports and the barrels around them afford Tommy’s pants some privacy, but the coach can see above their chests, although he is fortunately dazed by the bright light. By the sound alone he can easily tell that they’re fooling around; he only doesn’t know to what extent.
Tommy slowly straightens up and pushes himself deep inside of Margarette, holding her hips tightly, afraid to move. Margarette adjusts her position, curling herself into his chest as if they were just making out. Her jerky motion pushes him deep inside and over the edge of control. He gasps and with a rhythmic warmth pulse he ejaculates inside her. She grips his ribs and feels his lungs swell and contract with each heartbeat.
The coach continues to yell. “Tommy? Tommy Gallager? Is that you? What the hell are you doing here, fornication?” The coach loves the word fornication, and loves when he gets the chance to use it, during or after work. Nobody replies to him so he continues. “I know it’s you. Can’t you get a room at your own gosh darn house? It’s big enough…. Why the hell do you have to do this here on my watch? Now it’s my damn problem?”
Tommy looks for Margarette’s eyes, but she tucks her head into his arm hiding her face.
“Go on, you two… get out of there,” the coach says without a whole lot of emotion. Clearly, he doesn’t know exactly what the two are doing behind the crates.
Tommy slides out of Margarette pretending that he is just stepping back. Without bending, Margarette brings her leg up close and artfully puts back on her underwear and shorts in one subtle move, while Tommy tugs at his boxers and pants resting above his knees, struggling to bring them up without alerting the coach as to what he’s doing.
“Uh, coach… can you give us a sec?”
“I’ll give you more than that
. ‘Can you give us a sec,’ are you kidding me?” His voice is sarcastic. “I think you’ve had enough. I’ll put you in detention so fast your head will spin and thank me for not suspending you. I tell you what.”
“Coach, I don’t even go here anymore.”
“Then why the hell are you here? And anyhow, your little girlfriend does. I want you out here—now!”
Margarette grows nervous while Tommy finally pulls up his pants, not bothering to remove his condom. They both inspect each other briefly, for any telling signs. Margarette’s hair is fine but Tommy runs his hand gently over it as if straightening it out. With a little smile at Margarette, he grabs her hand. She tucks her head into his chest as they walk out, the coach still shouting.
“I’m waiting! March… march march march,” drums the coach.
As they walk towards the parking lot avoiding the coach’s eyes, she fights the thought that Tommy took her body as recompense for his lost Sharon. Margarette now earned the reputation she had already gained.
“Can I drive you home?” Tommy asks.
“Um….” She feels the need to be alone to think things through. “Thanks, Tommy, but I… I want to walk.”
“Are you sure? Let me drive you.”
“No, I…” she looks around for an excuse. There are some cars left in the parking lot. “There might still be people around. Already too much talk….”
“Oh, I see. As you wish,” he says.
He leans in to kiss her goodbye, but she gives him her cheek instead.
“Thanks anyway, Tommy,” she says, and walks away with as much dignity as she can muster, for a girl in a borrowed cheerleader uniform who just had sex under the high school bleachers.
Chapter 7. Scandal
Later that evening Margarette is alone in her house as usual. No one else is home. She has no siblings, hasn’t had a father for years now, and her mother is never around much.
No one really took care of her full time as a child. Her mother would say the neighbor would watch her, but it doesn’t really count if you never make an arrangement directly with the neighbor, and she only takes care of your child because she feels bad for the poor abandoned kid. Margarette is also close to an aunt who isn’t technically her aunt, not by blood anyway; however, she was only at her aunt’s house for holidays. For the most part, she was always alone. It’s a miracle she never burned down the house. Her parents were still together when she was little but they fought all the time; when they did, she read books to escape reality. Unfortunately she read a lot.