TG Techie: Chapter 14: Secret Entrance

Secret Entrance

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Rachel on her knees. Sarah unbuckling a belt. What does Regular Dave’s dick taste like? What does Big Davey’s cock feel like?

Don’tmasturbatedon’tmasturbatedon’tmasturbate.

I had come home and put my new clothes way. Home to my room with its comfortable mess, and its desk, and its laptop. My mother had reminded me that my clothes hung in the closet now. I had put my new boots by my bed. And then I was lying there in my pajamas. My boy pajamas, with flannel stripes, trying desperately to keep my thoughts (and my fingers) away from my pussy.

Finally I got up, and got my laptop. I put it on the bed in front of me, and just stared at it for awhile. Together on the couch. Right next to each other.

I opened the screen. I found my earbuds, and connected the blutooth. Then fished around under my bed for the little mirror. It wasn’t shameful to an onlooker to have a mirror floating around, I reasoned, as I kept it stowed under the bed.

I always kept my browser opened, and unbidden I was moving the mouse to the bookmarks, finding the folder cleverly labeled ‘boring bookmarks’ and opening up redtube.com. And I was typing in blowjob, like I always did. And I was finding a familiar video. And I was skipping ahead. Past the interview. Right to where the girl started getting undressed.

I shed my pajama pants. And then my damp panties. I had always wondered what pussy smelled like. Now my pussy smelled like it. I tried not to be aroused by it, and couldn’t help it.

I put a leg on either side of the laptop, and again I set the mirror in front of me and looked at my own vagina. This time as I did so, I compared notes.

I had more hair than she did, but it was light fuzz. My lips were a little puffier. She spread herself wide for the camera, and I put a finger on either lip like she did, and spread myself open. Well. I guess this is my clitoris. With my other hand, I ran a fingertip over it slowly. Yep. I shuddered a little bit at the sensation. I tried it harder, and that really hurt!

Okay, that doesn’t work like I thought. I tried the way I had before, pushing that little hood down on top of it, and running it in circles. I felt my calves start to twitch as the feeling shot deep into my pelvis. Yeah, that’s the stuff. And while it was feeling good, I was nowhere close.

The girls got on her knees then, and I hit the buffer back again.

I couldn’t see her pee hole or mine. And her entrance seemed squished. She spread herself more (I’d missed that part) and I could see it get larger. I looked at my own. How can a dick even fit in there. I tried what I had done the first time, but more carefully. My finder felt good up to the first knuckle. After that it was all pain. Even the first knuckle thing wasn’t nearly as good a rubbing the clit the way I returned to doing.

This time when the guy came into view, and the girl got on her knees, I put the mirror aside. She unbuckled his pants, and then his zipper. I guess it wasn’t just porn stars who knew how to do that. It was a dumb thought, girls wore pants. Even it they didn’t, it hardly took a manual to know how to use them. The the thought was still surprising. I can do that too.

That’s when I noticed how deeply my thoughts had changed. Normally I would imagine myself being the guy, watching the head of my dick disappear into her mouth, and imagining what it felt like. Alarmed, I began to realize that, as I stroked my cunny, I was thinking about the way that dick would feel in my mouth. Did she like the taste? Did the skin feel the same way in her hands as my skin had in mine? Was it sweet? Salty?

My fingers were going faster and faster, and I skipped forward a few minutes. My head was all in my clit now, as the biggest sexual organ in the body (my brain, you perv) started down a trail it’d been contemplating all day. Everyone has that part of the scene that they want to cum for, and I knew what it was now.

I’ve never had a thing for money shots. Not really. It always seemed like an un-exciting conclusion. Like the porn didn’t have anywhere to go, so they just decide to end it somewhere. The industry just gets to the closest thing to a resolution, and throws some semen at it.

But that time, as the guy sprayed cum on the roof of her mouth, I thought about the way it hit her palate, and the way if felts, and my legs shuddered and jerked, my toes curled, and I came in tandem.

The orgasm lasted nearly 10 seconds, and I felt my whole body flush. When it was finally over I collapsed on the bed, suddenly feeling too relaxed to move. I managed to stay awake long enough to put my things away and crawl under the covers. Finally all the dirty thoughts were out of my head, and I could rest easy and think about the next school day.

Somehow my sheets were fluffier, and my pillow softer then, and I snuggled, really snuggled; like in the fabric softener commercials; into my bed and went to sleep.

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I rushed out the door thirty seconds before Bruce rolled to the curb. Autumn already had a cigarette lit, and we took off.

As we got on to Mississippi and headed for Englewood she cast me a side eye, “So,” she took a drag, “you rub one out last night?”

“What?” Yes. “No!”

Another side eye, “Well I did. Watching Rachel in action got me hot as hell. Trust me, she is very talented.”

Whoa.

“I think it’s because she plays the bassoon.” She caught my confusion, “It’s a double reed instrument, you know? It’s like lifting fucking weights with your tongue. Oh, you’ll like this,” she turned the radio up.

We stayed quiet as the song played. It was about building the robots in order to take over the world. After that was a song about a toy designer who was fired for his designs, then destroyed the toy factory in an act of revenge. The music was… fun. That was the best description. A little metal, a little rap, and something entirely different. It had an energy too it that was equal parts in-joke and rightous fury. Like some kind of mergence of hip hop and opera. Hip hopera, if you will.

“What is this?”

Doctor Steele 2: Electric Boogaloo.”

“That’s the name of the band?” That could be the name of a band.

“No, it’s Doctor Steele. He’s going to take over the world.” She turned onto Hampden, “At least he was. He retired in 2011 and took all his stuff offline. No one even knew his real identity. He always wore machinist goggles and deepened his voice in his shows and videos.” We turned into the parking lot, ten minutes early, and Bruce started the search for a parking space that would fit. “See he had a forum for his fans, who he called “The Toy Soldiers.” It was an in-joke, but from what I can figure things started getting a little out of hand.” She shut Bruce off and threw her second cigarette out the window. I got out and waited while she came around the car.

“Like plots for a school shooting or something?”

“Well remember Obama had been elected, and there were all those right wing crazies around? My guess is he got a visit from the secret service that chilled out his publicity a lot.”

“There are still a lot of right wing crazies around.”

“Yeah, but it was all new then.” She opened the door to the school for me, “I love your boots! Are they steel toe?”

It was hard, but I kept myself from getting shy, so I tried to just grin instead, “Yeah.”

“Nice, you’ll have to tell me where you got them. I’ll see you at lunch.”

So. That’s what having a friend is like. Okay. I found my way to history, took my chair, and waited for the teacher to be late.

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I got out of the class without falling asleep once. An hour and a half class could really wear on you, but I was looking forward to an extended drama class. With Regular Dave, whose dick—you can’t spend the whole class with erect nipples Ash.

I sat next to him anyway, then we all stood to play “machine” and then a couple other warm up exercises. Curtis got detention again.

The lesson to learn that day was just how long two minutes could be. Everyone pulled a topic out of a hat and then had to improvise on a hypothetical for two minutes.

Regular Dave got “The world has run out of cheese, what is your plan?” He had the class in stitches explaining what a simple matter it would be to go get cheese from the moon. The problem, he said, was that the moon, like Earth, was flat. A spaceship had to be careful landing on it, or it would flip on it’s axis and fling you out into space. He was getting into the logistics of harvesting moon cheese using hedge clippers when his time ran out.

There were a few people in between his turn and mine, and after watching the rest of the class I began to get really sick of the words, “Look…” “Okay, so…” and “What you have to do…”

Mine was “You were turned into a vampire a hundred years ago, how do you get a driver’s license?”

“What people don’t seem to understand about vampires, is just how advantageous mind control is,” I started. “Got pulled over by a police officer? Force wave him away. Need to get through customs? ‘These aren’t the imports you’re looking for.’ That’s not the real problem of course. The real problem is that the DMV is staffed exclusively by vampire hunters. That’s why it takes them so long to do anything. They’re in league with the cops as undercover agents. They keep tabs on anyone who doesn’t show up on camera (because some vampires are young, and stupid enough, to try to use an ID), and then they hunt the vampires down during their breaks. The parking lot of the DMV is littered with vampire ashes. They have street cleaners come in every night. DMV employees get to keep the trophies, any jewelry or money still on the vampire when they turn to dust. That’s why the lines move at a crawl, only one window open, despite the fact that there are twenty people in the office.”

I looked around the class, and could see the rebuttal on everyone’s face, “Some of you are thinking, ‘well vampires can’t go out in the daytime, and the DMV closes at five. Do any of you really believe that myth? Vampires burning in sunlight? Don’t make me laugh.”

The conclusion got guffaws from the class and after a round of applause I sat down, and took a fist bump from Regular Dave.

The only other monologue that sticks out in memory was from a girl who answered the hypothetical, “You are the coyote and the road runner is chasing you.” She did it without addressing the incredible philosophical underpinnings of Chuck Jones work, got riotous laughter, and pissed me off.

Regular Dave watched my expression, “She played the lead in Chicago last year. Let’s call her… difficult to manage.”

I gave him a heartfelt smile and felt better.

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“Phone number.” Regular Dave told me as we left Drama and headed toward the cafeteria.

“You first.” Are you flirting with him? How would you know if you are? If you are, stop it.

Regular Dave handed me his phone, and I made a contact and put in my number. “You spell your name wrong.”

“I spell it right. Everyone else spells it wrong. Why are you heading away from the cafeteria.”

We are going to the secret entrance.”

“Oh that’s good. Is it a secret entrance to somewhere, or is this a sexual euephamizm?

We came to the door to the pottery studio, he winked at me and held the door. The studio was empty, the damp lockers closed, and the wheels bare. Everything was as clean as a clean pottery studio can be, which means there was a thin to inch thick film of dried clay on everything. “If we had your number you would have gotten the text. There’s never anyone in here during lunch. Usually someone is using a lunch hour to throw, but a half hour is too short.” We went back into the kiln room, and to a door in the back with a warning sign to keep closed and locked at all times. Regular Dave unlocked it, and turned on the light inside.

“I appreciate the thought, but I’m gay, so I’m not playing ‘seven minutes in heaven.’” There you outed yourself. And you’re confused. Or a liar.

“Noted, but the principle use of this closet is not sex games, but the ladder inside.”

I looked past him to see a red painted ladder leading into the ceiling, “Oh.”

At that moment we heard the door to the studio open, and I rushed inside the closet, while Regular Dave quietly closed the door.

Oh! There was barely enough room in the closet for one of us. Regular Dave was chest to—no way around it—breast with me. I felt my nipples sproing to life, and cursed my gender and my psychology.

Regular Dave grunted an apology, he wouldn’t have understood why he needed one, but it was polite; and moved to the ladder. “Ring it once for on ladder,” he smacked the bars and the gave a little clanking ring, “Twice for off.” He started up.

I waited until I heard two clangs from the ceiling and came after him, feeling more sure on the ladder as the rungs caught the dip in my boots.

At the top I rung the ladder twice before being surprised to find myself on the grid. Regular Dave leaned on a rail and cocked a grin at me, “Secret entrance.”

Sarah, Wee David, and Bree were in the Loft already, Wee David on his phone. “Autumn and Big Davey can’t get in. Mister Berger is in the pottery studio showing someone around. They’re watching to tell us when it’s clear.”

“Sucks to be them,” Bree said, “Do we have time for a game?”

“Aisling has a sixth period. After that.”

Hey wait a second. “Why can’t I play a game?”

Bree looked at me, “What game do you want to play, hun?”

On the spot, I searched my mind for games I liked to play, “Lunch money was fun.”

“Big Davey has the deck, and he’s off fucking Autumn.”

I looked at Sarah, “I thought he was your boyfriend?”

“He’s everyone’s boyfriend,” she said, “why do you think we call him ‘Big Davey’?”

It was rhetorical, but I answered, curious, “I thought it was ironic. He is quite small.”

Sarah and Bree laughed, “Oh no kiddo,” Sarah told me, “he’s very big.”

“What—oh.” In the red light no one could see me flush. “That’s cruel to Wee David.”

“Oh Wee David is fun, but in,” and she rubbed his crotch and looked at him like a coquoette, “other ways.”

Thank god my tits stayed flat at the news. Then I shifted and felt the tiny wet spot on my panties. Goddamn it!

Bree got back to the thing I said, “It was a figure of speech, hun. If she says they’re watching out for us, they’re watching out for us.” She shuffled the cards, “Prolly making out though. Games.”

“I have Exploding Kittens,” Wee David said. “We can play ‘daisy chain’.”

“Oooooh, second,” Sarah raised her hand.

Regular Dave (I was both disappointed and relieved at his nickname for reasons that would go unexplored) cleared his throat, “Let’s let Aisling learn to walk before she runs.”

Thank you. Wait what does that mean? How am I in this deep?

Sarah put her hand down, and lay her head in her chin, “Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.” But she gave me a smile.

“‘Go fish or dare’?” Bree said.

I could figure out what that meant, and made an educated guess, “How ‘bout ‘truth or go fish’.”

“Second,” Regular Dave raised his hand.

“Lets do it then,” Sarah got off the couch, “We barely have time as it is.”

Bree shuffled a last time and started dealing, “Seven cards, or eight?”

“Eight,” Wee David said.

“I thought ‘go fish’ was with five cards,” I said.

“We deal more so that people don’t have to ‘go fish’ as much,” he replied.

I found my place in the circle, between Sarah and Regular Dave, and picked up my cards as I got them. Trips 8s and trips Jacks. I put the pairs down in front of me and waited for Regular Dave to go.

“Sarah,” he went, “Do you have any sixes?”

She threw him a card, and then put her head on her fist. Regular Dave thought about it for a long moment. “Well?”

“I’m trying to think of something I don’t know about you. When was the last time you masturbated?”

She thought, “About two days ago, I guess. Hard to say.”

That made me next, “Bree, fives?”

“Go fish.”

“Aisling,” Sarah asked me, head still on hand, “Do you have… any fives?”

I handed her my card, heart in my throat.

“How often do you buff your muffin?”

Okay. Time to lie. They clearly wouldn’t accept ‘never.’ How often do girls masturbate? Remember how I can’t admit my ignorance? Well it makes me a fantastic liar. “Every week. Sunday afternoons.”

“‘You gotta get those numbers up,’” Bree said, “‘Those are rookie numbers.’”

I gave her a ‘fuck you’ smile.

And so we went around in a circle. Bree had never done any drug harder than pot. Regular Dave had walked in on his parents most recently last month. Wee David had never given a foot job. And as I took a seven from Bree, “What kind of porn do you watch?”

“Lesbian-anal-strapons.”

Come on tits, that was arousing, right? Wait, no. They couldn’t get any harder if they tried.

At this time everyone but me got a text. “Mister Berger is gone, and you have five minutes to clear out.”

Wee David and I threw down our cards, and Sarah kissed Bree, and the Wee David and I were on the ladder and I was heading off to math, with him beside me. “What do you have?” I asked him.

“Algebra two.”

“Algebra one,” I said. “How do you play ‘daisy chain’ with Exploding Kittens?” A perverse sense of curiosity was compelling me to ask questions that were going to get me horny.

“It’s one of the only ones we can. First one to explode has to go down on the second one, and so forth.” He brushed his hair out of his eyes, “I play to lose.” We got to the math section and he opened the door when I came to my room. I really can open my own doors, guys. “Hey,” I turned in the door and then had to step aside for other enterying students, “I’ll see you after school.”

“Where?”

“We all hang out outside the auditorium after school. That’s kind of our place.”

“Sure. See ya.”

He nodded his head and ducked toward his own classroom.

I took my seat and tried not to imagine I was sitting in a puddle.

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We miss you, Doctor. Wherever you are.



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