by Avery, T. C.
It was discovered in the midst of all the compulsory D.N.A. testing that Suzanne's little boy belonged to Luke.
"How the fuck did that happen?" was a common expletive used by most of them at some point. Especially Luke.
Arguments and counter arguments, accusations and allegiances, in-fighting, going it alone and mutual support. Falling in and falling out. Every kind and manner of partnership, double dealing, and friend or foe scenario was mooted, suggested and propositioned by each and every one of them. To each other, with each other and at each other. And the trial proceedings were no better.
Neither the five of them, nor their legal teams could come to any agreement on who, how, why, what, where and when any or all of this was supposed to have eventuated. One suggestion revolved around Luke and Maddy stitching up the rest of them, on the grounds that they were in control of the bank account and the funds. Another loyalty split suggested that Luke and Suzanne were 'in it together' since they had managed to produce a child. The problem with these, and in fact all supposed scenarios, was that not one of our characters seemed to know, or would at least admit, anything about any of it, or the others, and least of all their own alleged involvement.
Trouble was, they couldn't prove that they were 'not' involved either.
Any suggestion of an outside stitch up or frame job never even arose, since there simply was no one else to cast suspicion on. There was no one else who could possibly make a gain.
Hanging their defence, therefore, on complete denial, unfortunately didn't sway, or endear, the jury and “Beyond all reasonable doubt” was the final and only logical verdict in all cases.
The evidence, as had been said all along, could not lie.
Chapter 15
Teenage voodoo
Jody took great delight every time she reminisced over the success of her revenge operation. It's not very often anyone gets the chance to so completely exact one's personal premeditated punishment and even less so with total anonymity. Most folk, of the wrongfully harmed variety, would reciprocate their deserved talion in full view. The pleasure in punitive justice of the 'eye for an eye' kind an' all that is generally all about the perpetrators getting their comeuppance face to face.
…. But not in this case.
Jody wanted nothing to do with her past, or the people in it. She was busy concentrating on the here, the now and the future.
Having said that, getting her own back had been a mission and a major part of her life for so long now. How would she cope? Why would she even get up in the morning without a raison d'être, a mantra, a plan?
But she had a plan. Jody always had a plan. In fact whilst you were studying the pages herein, and the salient historical events from Jody's memory, she had any number of plans to keep her occupied. Additional reasons to be. To turn her skills and attentions to. But they're for another time and place.
During all the celebration, self-congratulation and memory casting in honour of her conquest, she couldn't help but remember and re-live the root cause of it all. The very reason she so badly needed to have these people, these bastards shown up. Shamed and shat upon from a great height.
School character mixes stand typical, typecast and true to form whether your time was in the thirties, the sixties or the nineties. Come to think of it, nothing ever changes the world over. There have always been the academics, the elite, the bewildered, the lost, the dirty, the despicable and the downtrodden. Class has nothing to do with it, though your average lefty, greeny, do-gooder would have you believe that stereotypical poor character traits are a direct result and product of financial hardship.
"I say bollocks!" said our sixth form, seventeen year old Jody, during one of her pow wows with her mates, at lunchtime, on the relaxing chairs, in the corner of the common room, nearest the vending machine.
Someone had inadvertently left it on 'Free Vend' mode after giving it its weekly hygiene treatment and emptying the coffers. It took five milliseconds, precisely, for most of the sixth form to realize their lucky day had arrived, then a frenzy of button pushing, arguments, pulling, shoving and swearing resulted in drink spills by the 'half cup load' of scolding coffee, rudely extracted from the besieged little machine, until the authorities got wind of the matter.
The rich kids were just as bad as the others. It would seem that character is not a financial depth gauge after all.
"Maybe that's how their parents got rich. They never paid for anything, and the offspring have simply resorted to genetic intuition. Or have they been schooled in the art of the free lunch?"
"Leave it alone, will you Jody?" whined one of her gathering. "You're only pissed off you couldn't get to the front for a free drink yourself."
"Didn't really want to get splashed."
"Yeah right."
"Jody." The unfamiliar sound of her name in 'Queen's English', rather than some common and colloquial mother tongue, usually associated with her clique of compatriots, came from behind her. Then again.
"Jody."
She peered over her shoulder and was surprised to see Carmel standing there, equidistant between Jody and the rest of her own clique of friends. A sort of non-committal no man's land, where it was almost safe to associate or speak loudly from, without having one's social status brought into question.
"What?" Replied Jody, straining over her shoulder, trying hard to fulfill her duty as a nondescript and to reciprocate the disassociation with one of the 'It girls'. In truth, just like everyone else, she would have dearly loved to cross the divide and join the elite, the well turned out, the stunning and connected. But as protocol would have it, a conversation opener like this was more likely than not to turn derisory, rather than pleasant. An invitation to converse on a level and socially acceptable playing field was a world away and so completely unexpected that Jody missed it when it arrived.
Carmel repeated herself. "We need to catch up with you later. It's about Suzanne's eighteenth. The party. Tell you later. See you round the sheds after school."
Jody was gob-smacked. This was not expected. 'Left field' was an understatement. She turned back around to face her mates after first uttering her agreement with Carmel. Then with mouth and eyes wide open she tilted her head sideways in mimed, though genuine, disbelief. Each girl in her gaggle responded likewise. Every one of them, sitting with legs tucked under them, simultaneously brought their shoes to the front, feet to the floor and dipped in for a huddle of the most skeptical kind.
They hadn't got a clue what had just 'gone down' but were intrigued to know more. Jody was given no choice by the others but to follow through with the meeting. “Whatever the outcome.”
The sheds were a poor state of affairs near the tennis courts and used to be a collection of lock ups for the games equipment in summer. No one really knew what they were for now, other than to provide leaning posts and gossip hangouts for the older girls at school. An area for bitching and moaning and scandalous wit. The teachers left them to it most of the time, but occasionally had a crack down when the cigarette butts rose past ankle deep.
Jody decided she'd be last to arrive. "It's gotta beat hanging around on your own waiting for a gang to turn up."
She spied from afar and waited for them to muster, as agreed, before making her move. Then over she went, dodging and weaving against the tide of schoolies heading for the main gates, the buses and the ever-growing legion of mothers with four-wheel drive monsters.
On the one hand, she was excited about her 'call up'. But on the other, she was cautious of a potentially unwarranted and merciless assault on her character at the hands of those with more peer power and influence than the penguins who were supposed to be in charge. Nuns and teachers, that is. All affectionately and appropriately nicknamed.
"Hurry up. We're doing this for you."
"Yeah, Jody"
She didn't say a word but broke into a trot to join them. Her bag of books in her arms, hugged tightly against her boobs in some sort of forearm bra configuration that te
nds to leave onlookers wondering whether or not it’s an insecurity measure or a lack of support.
She arrived. Quite sheepish, very wary, but majorly inquisitive.
"So…. What about the birthday party? You didn't invite me. At least I didn't receive anything. Didn't think I would."
"It's like this Jody," started Suzanne but she was interrupted by Charlie.
"Actually we've always thought you were more like us than all those dykes you seem to hang around with."
"They're not dykes...."
"Yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah. Anyway, we got to thinking it would be good if we invited you to the party. It'd give you a chance to mix in with rest of us. Meet some of the guys. You do like guys, don't you?"
"Of course I do." Jody defended herself, stopping just short of being insulted.
"Well there'll be heaps of guys. The good ones, and well, we just thought it was about time we included you. What d'ya think?"
"Ummm......"
"Don't think too hard. You won't get another offer."
"Okay. Yep. I’m in." Jody smiled and bounced on the balls of her feet, mimicking and matching the enthusiasm of her 'instant besties’.
Arrangements were made for a 'get together' the following Saturday to go over clothing, makeup and hair, and the do's and don'ts of social etiquette in the 'In Crowd'. Promises were made by them all to bring Jody into the real world and introduce her to life on the better side of town.
"An open mind is all she would need to bring."
Jody wasn't sure what that really meant but it conjured up excitement as well as trepidation. And she loved the idea of being introduced to the guys. The real guys. Not the geeks she'd been used to chasing her, in their soft-spoken, overly polite, clumsy, pathetic, apologetic ways. She needed an alpha male, badly. She just wasn't too sure what to do with him when she got him. Lucky for her, her newfound friends would know.
"Who's your new friend?" Jody heard Suzanne's mum say from behind her as she was being ushered through the very large kitchen towards the stairs ahead of the pack. Saturday had arrived.
"Jody. We're just having a bit of a makeover day." Suzanne hollered back.
They got to Suzanne's room and it was huge. She got the tour of the bedroom, the windows overlooking the gardens, the stereo system hooked up to the computer, the walk in wardrobe and the en suite bathroom. Jody had never been in a house with more than one en suite. She never expected any teenager would have this much stuff, or this much room.
"It's like a palace," she said, half out loud then had to repeat herself when questioned.
"You must live in here. You've even got your own Telly. I suppose you only go down to eat." She added. Followed by a chorus of snorting, stifled sniggering and laughs all around her. The unintentional dirty double entendres had started and as with any group of girls, it would only get worse.
The hours whiled away and though the day's activities changed from clothes, to makeup, to 'high tea' and back around again, the gossip never ended. Jody couldn't believe the sheer level of backbiting and bitchiness that went on. Incessantly.
"Was this normal? Was it called for? Are these people really some form of superior beings?" It didn't matter. It was fun, it was frivolous, scandalous, sinful even, and Jody was in it for real, at long last. Bitching with the bitches.
And then it happened. She should have expected it really. The conversation got around to sex. Well not so much 'the conversation'. It was more the third degree. The interrogation of Jody and her private, intimate sex life. Her knowledge, her experience, her skills, her preferences and of course her virginity.
It was straight to the point. Blunt, yet sharp. It was penetrating even. A little too private in Jody's mind, and more than just a little uncomfortable. She wasn't exactly used to this amount of attention.
But she coped. She dealt with the questions, the probing, the blushing, the confessions, the admission of her innocence, her lack of real, first hand experience, and the total and, as yet unquestionable, integrity of her hymen.
Of course everyone else was an expert. At least that's what they'd have you believe. Well versed in the art of entertaining man and woman and their bodies. Apparently they'd tried all forms of sexual interaction, even if it was just to experiment. They had differing opinions on what constituted 'the best', but seemed particularly knowledgeable, at least, in the art of pleasing themselves and pleasing others.
"How could they possibly know so much? How could they have ever done so much?" Jody considered. "Are they lying? Is it all just playground bragging and bullshit for my purposes? Or, is it all true? Are they really all sexual adventurers and connoisseurs? Maybe they're all slappers? What's the difference any way? And while we're on the subject of slappers, if a guy sleeps around he becomes experienced. But if a girl sleeps around she's a whore. Surely the modern way is different now, but then again, maybe not. Equality doesn't really transpose itself well across all platforms of life."
"So Jody, if you haven't popped your cherry yet, how far have you actually got with a guy?" Maddy interrupted Jody's train of thought and probed again.
They were by now all sitting in a circle on the carpet, having finished their hot chocolates and the last slices of cake. The finger licking had obviously got them thinking.
"Have you given a guy 'head' yet? A blowjob?" asked Charlie.
"No," answered Jody.
"What about a hand job then? Surely you must have wanked a guy off by now?"
"Yes," she began. Trying hard not to be seen as a total novice and devoid of any knowledge of the male reproductive organ. "Just not all the way."
"What do you mean, not all the way?” and before she could continue, Jody jumped in,
"We got caught. Well, we nearly got caught. Had to stop anyway."
"Why, what happened?"
"His mum came home."
"So that's it? The sum total of your 'man handling' is half a hand job?"
"Fuckin' hell Jody, we need to get you a man."
She didn't say anything, but looked around the ring of highly excitable girls, eager for an answer or solution to getting her what she thought she so desperately needed.
"We'll do it," said Carmel. "We'll get Andy on the job. He's always up for a shag."
"Hang on," Suzanne jumped in. "I think she needs to walk before she runs."
"What do you mean?" asked Jody, slowing down for a moment and abruptly halting a potentially giddy state.
"Practice." said Suzanne.
"Blowjob first." said Maddy.
"We'll teach you how to do it properly." said Charlie.
"Dildo?" Carmel asked the other three.
"Dildo." said Suzanne. And she stood up, went to her walk in wardrobe and produced a not inconsiderate purple plastic penis, the likes of which Jody hadn't seen outside of the back pages in her Cosmopolitan magazines.
Jody's face was a picture. Part excited, part mesmerized, part confused and part concerned.
"Don't worry were not going to use it on you." said Suzanne sitting down again and holding it upright in front of her for all to get a good look.
"Unless you want us to." added Maddy.
"Err, no thanks."
"Lock the door, Charlie. You're nearest." instructed Suzanne. "Right, here you are. Let’s see what you've got." And she handed the phallic instrument over to Jody, who took it between finger and thumb as if it were an untrustworthy item of no known origin, or a thing of disgust.
In truth she'd wanted to get her hands on a vibrator or dildo for ages, for obvious reasons, but hadn't had the courage to buy one. It could have had something to do with her being under eighteen and not having the balls (I know, I know) to enter a sex shop. But it was really all down to not mixing with better-connected, more liberated people. And she didn't have an older sister either.
Guessing this was to be Jody's first fondle of such a toy, Suzanne began instructing her.
"Get a good look at it." It was life size, life like and quite a turn on
.
"Get a good feel of it." It was hard, yet soft and bendy at the same time.
"Give it a stroke." The veins stood out, as did the heart shaped glans at the head, and gave the whole thing some character and some interesting bits, highly likely to cause friction and pleasure.
"Caress it. Manhandle it. Rub it. Grab it. Grip it. Give it a squeeze."
It was starting to sound like a list of instructions from the guy with the megaphone in a porno film, but Jody was taking her directions well and warming to her role.
"Okay, now pretend it’s real, and give it a blowjob."
Jody stuck her tongue out and began running the purple pleasure stick over it. She licked it almost from afar with the very tip of her tongue, seemingly afraid to make any real contact.
"No, no, no, Jody" said Charlie. "You've got to stick it in, swallow it, and suck it. Let it glide in and out. Stroke it with your tongue. The 'tip of your tongue thing' is just that. It’s for the tip of his thing."
"Ooohh! Who's the fuckin' expert then?" said Maddy, who was only saying what they were all thinking. Which was actually, “She seems to be very well versed in this particular activity doesn't she?”
"Give it here, I'll show you." said Charlie getting a good grip on the dildo.
Without changing her encircling, baton-like grip she brought it up close to her face and stared at it longingly. She looked it up and down then gave the end a quick ice-cream lick. Then again. Then she re-gripped it by the base and gave it a full-length lick, all the way up the underside of the shaft.
"Dicks are sensitive all over, but there are certain parts that drive them crazy. Here, all around the base. All up the shaft on the underside, and all around the edge of the head. And the head itself of course." Charlie was in lecture mode, and it was pretty clear that she knew what she was talking about.
"You need to concentrate on these areas for maximum pleasure, unless he's going to shoot his load too early. But you also need to keep wanking him. Up and down, up and down. Otherwise he's not going to stay hard. And believe me, hard is what you want. You can corkscrew as well if you like. He's going to like it all anyway."