by Wilde, Ora
And he started to lick me.
And I screamed.
“Oooohhhh ahhhhh....” a sound of absolute pleasure, of wild anticipation for what was to come.
“I swear to God, Andrea... those sounds aren’t coming from you!” Finn yelled. “Are you watching a porno movie?”
“N-No... of... of course not!” I tried to deny with feigned vehemence that I knew wouldn’t even earn a passing mark in any acting audition.
“I dunno, Andrea,” he added, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say that you sound like you’re having sex with someone.”
As if on cue, Nash spread out the lips of my vagina, allowing his tongue to enter deep into my pussy... and once it was there, he licked upwards as if he was ordering me to come to him.
And again, I let out a loud moan.
“Uuunnggghhhhh...” I uncontrollably groaned. I tried to recover my bearings so that Finn wouldn’t get more suspicious. “T-That’s so... so... so... untrue...” I hurriedly added. My eyes were closed. My mind was drowning in a whirlwind of pleasure. And my body wasn’t responding to me anymore. It was responding to Finn and the wondrous things he was doing to me.
There was silence on Finn’s end.
He was thinking.
He might’ve been assuming the worst.
Then, Nash stood up and unzipped his jeans. He pulled them down, together with his boxers, and there it was again... his gargantuan cock staring at me, just like how it did the first time we made love. It was imposing. It was menacing. And it was very, very arousing.
He grabbed my hips and turned me around until I was on all fours. He positioned his dick from behind, prodding my cunt with its tip, spreading my wetness all over my pussy, testing how slippery it was and how ready and willing I was for him.
“I don’t know Andrea,” Finn started to speak once again. “I feel like I have to go there and check if everything’s really alright with you.”
And Nash thrust his cock inside me, his hips violently pushing towards my buttocks. One swift, deep thrust that was both painful and blissful at the same time.
“Noooooo... oh God... please no!” I shouted, losing my mind, wanting to come up with an answer that was coherent, my senses astray in an ocean of carnal wanting...
“What?” he asked nervously. “Andrea? Why are you screaming?”
Nash kept thrusting. My juices kept flowing. And his penetrations became smoother and smoother with each intrusion.
I couldn’t think anymore...
I was hopelessly devoured by the passion of our lascivious entwinement.
“No... oh fuck... oh fuck... please don’t... please...” I was begging for Finn not to come, but I was also pleading for more of Nash’s manhood inside me.
“Andrea?” Finn was panicking. He didn’t know what to do. “What’s happening? You don’t even curse. Why those words all of a sudden?”
“N-No... I... I didn’t... I don’t... please... oh God... please...” I couldn’t think anymore. I was just uttering the first words that came to my mind.
Nash kept fucking me. In and out and in and out he went, establishing his rhythm, picking up his pace. He very much wanted me that night, that I could easily tell. It was in the way he pounded me, the way his hands held me, the way he was grunting... as if he was showing me how needful he was of my body and teasing me with the idea that I had that kind of an effect on him.
Nash kept thrusting, and the thrill became too much for me to manage. I wanted him to stop before I completely went insane. I wanted him to continue and bring me to a place where there was nothing but euphoria... pure and savage bliss. I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t...
I can’t think...
It just felt so good...
I panted, then moaned, then wailed...
My body shivered. My groin seemingly contracted. Every inch of my skin tingled. They were signs... signs that seemingly told me to let go... to forget about everything... to submit... to surrender...
And just when I was about to come...
“Andrea... that’s it!” Finn said definitively. “I’m coming over. Something’s not right.”
“Oh God! Please no... don’t... I’m... don’t... coming... don’t... stop... unggghhhhh....”
In one fiery explosion, I came... with so much fervency that it was almost primal. I bit my pillow just to prevent myself from making a sound that would incriminate me even more.
“Alright, that does it!” Finn exclaimed. “Expect me in ten minutes.”
Then he put down the phone.
I turned my head to look at Nash.
He was smiling at me.
No.
He was smirking.
Then he pulled out. He didn’t even come.
“W-What was that all about?” I asked him. I was still breathing hard from the just concluded action.
He drew his head towards my nape and kissed it. My lips reached for his, and he met them. A soft kiss. A tender kiss.
A loving kiss.
“Just a reminder that you’re not his,” he said. “You’re mine.”
Normally, I would’ve found that quite alarming... an indication of how possessive he was, how easily jealous he could be.
But not that time.
At that moment... I actually found it sweet.
I was his.
It was a thought that I knew I would cherish for a long, long time.
20
And She Rises…
Is sex even allowed while the woman is pregnant?
I spent the entire morning thinking about the events of the previous night. Nash made love to me... while I was talking to Finn! How crazy was that?
Finn was suspicious throughout our conversation, so much so that he decided to come over to check up on me and determine, for himself, if everything was indeed alright. Dressed in my pajamas, I met him outside. He didn’t have to go down from his car. Just seeing your smile assures me that all is well, he said. He didn’t stay longer than a minute and he bid me good night... but not before reminding me about Saturday.
Saturday.
The Homecoming Party.
Oh, how much I dreaded that day!
Two more days, I reminded myself, I still had two more days to psyche myself up for that event, to prepare myself mentally (and perhaps, even emotionally) so that I could do what must be done and get it over with.
I arrived in school that morning and I saw a bunch of students picking up the latest issue of the high school newspaper from a pile that was left just above the main steps right before the entrance to the hallway. The Bulletin, as it was called... a title which I found very antiquated considering the fact that it hasn’t changed since it was first published in the nineteen-twenties, when the school was established. The world has evolved since then. Nowadays, people gravitate more to overdramatized titles like News Beat, The Juice, The Lowdown, The Bottomline, The Radar, OMG Today... or other similar names, much like many of the news sites on the internet. But no. We were groomed to follow tradition, to adhere to ages-old customs that may have become obsolete, just because the administration continued to think that we were too young to form ideas of our own, to determine for ourselves what was right and what was wrong... what was improper and what was improper... what was acceptable and what was unacceptable. We can’t be bohemian. We can’t revolutionize. We can’t think out of the box. We had to stay in the world they have delineated for us, trained to conform to the rules that I doubt they themselves wouldn’t consider as outdated.
What the fuck, Andrea? What’s with the rebellious streak this morning? The hormones, maybe? Or have you started to acquire some of Nash’s more insurgent qualities?
I approached the pile of newspapers and grabbed a copy.
The headline was nothing special. Tuition Fee Hike Next School Year Confirmed. Thank goodness it was my last year of high school.
I opened the spread and skimmed through the contents. Marissa Del Mundo wins 4th Place in Interstate Declamati
on Contest. Wow! I mean... wow! There’s such a thing as fourth place? Royals Win Penultimate Regular Season Game, Marches On To Big 16. I was sure Finn was mentioned there somewhere, as the leading scorer most probably.
What caught my attention, though, was an article about the vandalism that struck the school last week. It was placed under the Sports section, just below the writeup about the Royals’ victory. Rival School Suspected Of Vandalizing Hallway, the headline read. I never imagined that they, the higher ups, would actually form a conclusion out of a mere suspicion. Did they even coordinate with the police? Or did they just dismiss it as a petty transgression caused by a rivalry between alma maters? If they only knew the truth, they would realize how grave the matter truly was. Dangerous gang members - armed and violent - have easily infiltrated the premises. That should be a major concern for the school, as everybody’s welfare was at risk.
Disappointed with the admin’s lack of concern, I decided to skip the article altogether and proceeded to the other contents on the back pages.
And then I saw it.
An editorial from a junior staff member.
A headline that just made me want to explode with anger.
Why Teenaged Pregnancy Should Be A Ground For Dismissal.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. It’s 2015, yet, I was greeted with an opinion piece that seemingly came from the Dark Ages. I started to read the body of the column.
Though we are a non-sectarian school, we have always adhered to the highest standards of ethical living. Sex outside of marriage, though prevalent, should never be accepted as the norm. This is especially true for us young students, with our impressionable minds, who are exposed to the acts of our fellow students, ill-advised as they may be.
What the fuck was I reading?
We are left unprotected from the predicaments they are involved with. Minus proper guidance, many of us may find them normal, or worse, in the parlance of our generation, we may even find them ‘cool.’
This is why premarital sex, which can only be verified with certainty when the woman gets pregnant, should not be tolerated. Granted that the school cannot control the wayward acts of its students, it can at least provide a deterrent against such inappropriate conduct.
That is so fucking discriminatory!
How could this piece have passed Martin’s scrutiny? He has been the editor-in-chief for a year and half now. I always admired his class... his wisdom... his judgment. How could he have approved this piece of shit?
What I read next made me lose what little control I had left...
Take the case of Althea Carter, who was a student of our prestigious school until the second semester of SY 2013-2014. She dropped out because she got pregnant. Though no one knew the details surrounding her condition, rumors began to spread. These gossips eventually became a favorite subject within the community’s social media network, with some of the enrollees actually saying that she should have continued her studies.
Althea Carter wasn’t even enrolled in our school anymore. She didn’t have the chance to defend himself. Besides, no one actually confirmed that she was pregnant. All that was disseminated were gossips and hearsay tattles.
I had to find Martin. He was my classmate. He’s usually early in school. I could talk to him about this very condemnatory piece that he allowed to be published.
This growing liberality towards premarital intercourse, and consequently, teenaged pregnancy, is very alarming. It speaks of a paradigm shift in favor of careless choices and blithe indiscretion.
I’d like to appeal to the school’s authorities to define the rules regarding teenaged pregnancy, and to send a strong statement against this issue that threatens to corrupt our youthful years.
I crumpled the newspaper with my hand and started to walk briskly towards my room.
As soon as I entered, I saw Martin, sitting in the front row near the window. I approached him.
“Martin, what the hell is this?” I asked furiously as I threw the scrunched periodical on his table.
He turned around to look at me. He adjusted his spectacles to identify who I was, his skinny frame slightly shaking as my rage seemingly startled him.
“Oh... Andrea,” he greeted me. “What’s what all about?”
“This editorial you published,” I said, almost screaming. “The one written by Melanie Lang. The one about teenaged pregnancy and how it should be a ground for dismissal.”
“Oh, that one,” he replied. He actually chuckled. “A sophomore wrote that. She wasn’t confident yet... with her craft... so I gave her a spot at the back pages of the issue, just to let her test the waters.”
“Just to test the waters?” I couldn’t believe what I heard. “Martin, your trainee just wrote a highly discriminatory piece... and you allowed it to get through!”
“Hey! Chillax, Andrea. She’s young. You can forgive her for her lack of political correctness.”
“I can forgive her... but I can’t forgive you! You should know better!”
“Geez,” he tried to dismiss my concerns. “It’s not like people would read the back pages. It’s not like people actually read the Bulletin, for that matter. Besides, it’s just a meaningless topic that no one would care about...”
A meaningless topic?
“That editorial mentioned Althea Carter!” I yelled at him. “No one even knows if she really got pregnant! She’s not here to answer the issues your trainee has thrown at her! Are you trying to tell me that Althea Carter, and others who have been or will be similarly situated, are a meaningless topic that no one would care about? That anyone can just condemn them because they got knocked up?”
Martin was shocked into speechlessness. He didn’t expect my strong and aggressive response.
The others in the classroom were all looking at us, listening to what we were talking about. Some of them found it highly entertaining. A good number, though, were feeling anxious as the tension between me and Martin was escalating.
“Andrea... I... I...” he couldn’t find the right words to say.
“What’s wrong about getting pregnant at a young age?” I asked him. “Do you know that a lot of teenaged mothers actually chose to give birth to their children... when everyone and everything else were pressuring them to just get rid of their babies? That takes a lot of courage, don’t you think? To face the disapproval of their families, the stigma of a backwards-thinking society, and the vilification of, of all people, their peers? Peers who are so quick to judge. Mindless fucked up pricks who sensationalize what they’re going through for... for... for what? For the sake of something to talk about? For the sake of having someone to chastise so that they’d feel better about themselves? For the sake of providing a sophomore writer the chance to get her feet wet? That’s so, so, so fucking messed up, Martin!”
Everyone in the room was stunned into silence. I was cursing and hostile, and they have never seen me that livid before.
After a few seconds, Martin started to speak.
“W-What do you want me to do, Andrea?” he asked with a tone of surrender.
“Remove that fucking article!” I firmly screamed.
“B-But it was already published...”
“I don’t fucking care! It’s wrong! Remove it!”
“Uhm... I’ll tell you what,” he replied nervously, “I’ll just issue an apology next issue. W-Would that be alright?”
“Fine!” I said. I turned around to proceed to my seat.
To my surprise, however, everyone was looking at us intently, as if they weren’t breathing... including Mr. Schumeister who I didn’t even notice has entered the room.
I didn’t care though. I went straight to my seat, slammed my books on my table and dropped my bags on the floor, and looked straight at the blackboard. Rage was still possessing me, but at least I have summoned enough sense to compel myself to calm down.
“Ooookkaayyyy, class,” Mr. Schumeister said. “Show’s over. Get back to your seats and we’ll begin our lessons for
today.”
Everyone did as he instructed, though still stupefied by what transpired.
“Alright, what book did I assign yesterday?”
“The Scarlet Letter,” one of my classmates said.
“Ah... errr....” Mr. Schumeister somehow felt uncomfortable with the student’s reminder. “Let’s just continue with Great Expectations from last week, shall we?”