Bad Girls (19 page)

‘You were trying to be nice to me to assuage your own conscience, and you know it. You were embarrassed because you secretly hoped Jane had left me. It would have made you feel better about your own divorce. You thought it would have served me right. It would have given you a chance to rub salt in the wound you left when you rejected me. You'd have liked that, wouldn't you?'

I began spanking her again.

‘But then I told you about the cancer and suddenly you felt foolish. You'd really stepped in it, and you had to wonder if you're the kind of woman who would think such mean things. So, to make up for it, and so you didn't have to feel guilty, you fell back on your old stand-by. You would seduce me. You've always been able to make people like you by putting out, haven't you? Admittedly, not as many people have been lining up for it lately, but Brucie couldn't say no to you, could he? Not after how bad he had it for you in high school. You would throw him a bone, let him snack on everyone else's table scraps, and then you could feel good about yourself again. It's like how you and all your other Junior League friends donate all your used goods to charity so you can feel good about buying new. Well face the facts, Ashley, you're used goods now, and I wasn't about to accept your charity, not after how badly you'd hurt me.'

‘Stop it, Bruce. I didn't mean it that way. Please stop.'

Her tone of voice was sincere for once. I could tell she really hurt, and it wasn't just the spanking. The words were hitting home, too. No one had ever called her on her game before. I could hold up a mirror to her behavior and what she saw was almost as shameful as her reflection in the mirror on the wall. In both she was exposed – naked and unadorned. She was in no position to rehabilitate her image. For the first time the mirror where she primped and perfected her look showed her something that she hid from everyone, even herself. She had always surrounded herself with faithful followers, sycophants whose affection she bought with favors, sexual or otherwise, and who only told her what she wanted to hear. That way she heard only the positive, only the version spun in her favor. Her looks and actions had always been reflected back to her kindly; now, for the first time, she could see how everyone else saw her.

When I saw how much pain this was causing her I was surprised I didn't have the urge to let up, to comfort her, or to tell her everything was okay. Having worked myself up I wasn't in a forgiving mood. My life – so full of compromise and accommodating others – had lacked moments like this, moments when I could tell the truth without hedges or qualifications, without regard for hurting feelings. I thought it might be awkward. I worried that I'd feel more remorse or be overcome by an urge to comfort or reassure. Hell, normally I was the guy people came to for comfort or reassurance; I think they knew I didn't have the guts to do anything but give them what they wanted. Yet here I was doing quite the opposite, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. The harder I spanked her the more I felt I could never spank her hard enough. The more she cried out and begged – for by now she was doing both – the more I felt I hadn't even begun to give her what she deserved.

‘Please, Bruce, I'm so sorry. I am. I told you I was a bitch to you. I know I was wrong. I'm sorry. Really. I'll never do it again. I won't. I promise.' These were the sorts of things she said, jumbled and mumbled, between spanks. ‘Please, that's enough, Bruce. You've punished me enough. It hurts. You have to stop, Bruce. I can't take it anymore.'

The more she said, the more I spanked. Even when I stopped to give my aching hand a rest, I would poke around, spinning my fingers in the curly hair, tickling between her legs, wet with arousal and red from the occasional stray slap. She still struggled a bit, but mainly her body just stiffened and her breath stopped as she tried to will her way through the pain.

Finally her words ceased and she just began to cry, her excessive mascara staining her pillowcases and her sobs becoming longer and more agonized during the times when I was spanking the hardest. I didn't really know when it should end, but I knew a finale she wouldn't soon forget should precede the end. I began to hit her as hard as I could, many times in a row before changing cheeks. She shrieked and cried until every muscle in her body tensed, head to foot locked into a pose of extreme agony. Her fingers were outstretched, her buttocks hardened and rounded under my hand, her crack pressed together, concealing what was between. This was my last chance at Ashley's ass, for I was sure she would never see me again after this. This ass I was spanking was the one I had dreamt about for so long. I made it count.

Then, finally I stopped. Her crying continued while I collected myself. Ignoring her, I idly tucked in my shirt and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn't really know what to do next, but the truth was that Ashley didn't really interest me anymore. I had exorcised the ghost and now she was just a memory. I untied her hands and she just lay there. A tender urge passed over me, but then I remembered how she had never offered me any comfort or mercy and I thought I would follow her example.

‘Won't you even fuck me?' she said as I was leaving, but I just kept walking, picking up my pineapple from the kitchen counter on my way out the door.

Next was Rebecca. Having crossed the Rubicon and played the widow – and earning myself a special place in hell for it – I couldn't turn back now. The truth was, if I was going to sell my soul for anything, spanking Ashley and Rebecca would probably be it. There was no way I could have known that lies wouldn't even be necessary with Rebecca. It turned out that she was so ready for what I had to give that it would require no lies at all. Rebecca was different from Ashley. Ashley had been the ringleader; Rebecca played second fiddle. Rebecca wasn't the one everyone worshipped, but she did have the privileged position by Ashley's side. Basking in Ashley's glow Rebecca was never at a loss for dates or friends, but it was conditional love – she had to conform to the standards of behavior set by Ashley or be expelled to one of the outer orbits in Ashley's solar system.

Rebecca Sellers and I lived down the street from each other when we were kids and we went way back. All this combined to make her more approachable and more favorably inclined towards me. When we took the bus to school we would wait at the same bus stop, and when I got a car she would sometimes take me up on my standing offer to give her a lift. I never had that big of a crush on Rebecca, either, so it's not like she broke my heart like Ashley did. In fact, she only ever did one thing wrong, but it was such a sharp, deliberate and merciless betrayal that we were never really able to talk to each other afterwards.

It started out wonderfully. We had an unexpected day off school – a freak snowstorm or something – and no plans were made for the day. Our parents must have been talking because my mom told me that Rebecca had to stay home all day to take care of her baby sister; her half-sister from her dad's second marriage. After my parents left and I was alone, I figured Rebecca must be bored so I walked down to her house, too scared to knock on the door but hoping she might be outside with her little sister. I passed her house a couple of times without any luck, but the third time around the block I saw her out on her porch getting the mail from the mailbox next to her door.

‘Hi, Rebecca,' I shouted.

‘Hi, Bruce.'

‘What are you doing?'

‘What?'

‘How's it going?'

‘What?'

‘What's up?'

‘I can't hear you. Why don't you come here?'

I spent the rest of the day keeping her company, helping her with her sister and talking and watching TV whenever her sister would leave us alone. When her sister went down for her nap Rebecca and I were alone on the couch watching some movie on cable. It was verging on romantic, the kind of moment that clumsy teenagers all over the world do their best to turn into a first foray into sexual experimentation. It terrified me. I could see a million ways to screw it up and almost no way in the world to do it right. I was so scared – too scared to say any of the significant things on my mind – that I was stuck trying to find insignificant things to talk about.

‘I wonder if we're going to have school tomorrow.'

‘Me too.'

‘Hope not.'

‘Yeah.'

‘How's your mom?'

‘Okay. I only see her once a month or so since she was relocated.'

‘Do you like your step-mom?'

‘She's okay. It's not like she's wicked or anything, but it still doesn't feel quite right.'

‘What's it like having a baby sister?'

‘I don't know. Alright, I guess.'

‘Does she always take a nap?'

‘Yeah, pretty much.'

‘I wonder how old you are when you stop napping.'

‘I don't know. I remember taking naps on cots in preschool.'

‘Me too.' Actually I didn't remember anything of the sort, but I wanted to agree with her.

‘You want a beer?' she asked after a while. In retrospect, I can see that she was as desperate as I was to loosen things up a little, to free us from the ridiculous shackles of adolescent inhibition.

‘Sure.'

We drank two beers apiece and giggled at the movie on TV. We occasionally touched each other on the couch. I still couldn't be the brave one, though. She was the one who finally broke through.

‘Can I ask you a question, Bruce?'

‘Yeah.'
‘What would you be doing if you were home alone right now?'

‘I don't know. Probably the same thing we're doing. Watching TV and stuff.'

‘Is that all you do when you're home alone?'

She made it sound so lame.

‘I do other stuff, too.'

‘Like what?'

‘I don't know. I read and do homework. Sometimes I ride my bike around.'

‘Come on, Bruce. Don't you do anything else?'

She was smiling like she knew a secret, but she couldn't really mean that, could she?

‘I think about stuff.'

‘What do you think about?'

‘I think about school.'

‘Like math and English and history?' She was teasing me.

‘No, like the people there. My friends.'

‘Do you think about girls, Bruce?'

‘Yeah, I guess.'

‘What do you do when you think about girls?'

She was in my face, laughing. She had me against the ropes, but I wasn't going to let her break me that easily.

‘What about you, Rebecca?'

‘Do I think about girls?'

‘No. Do you think about guys?'

‘Yeah.'

‘What do you do when you think about guys?'

‘Hey, Bruce,' she said, like she was about to say something serious.

‘Yeah?'

‘Do your parents do anything weird?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You know, like…weird.'

‘You mean like calling each other stupid pet-names or dental flossing while watching TV?'

‘No. Come on, Bruce. Help me out here.'

‘Do your parents do anything weird?'

‘Come here.'

She took me by the hand and led me upstairs. Her hand was so warm and sweet in mine that I was in heaven. I didn't even pay any attention to where we were going. When she let my hand drop we were in her dad and step-mom's bedroom. She looked over her shoulder at me, smiling nervously, looking for my approval.

‘What?' I asked.

‘Can I show you something?'

‘Yeah.'

She opened the top drawer of the bed stand on her step-mom's side of the bed. It was full of dildos and vibrators. I had never seen them in real life. They were old-fashioned by today's standards: all made from cheap plastic and flesh-colored, the biggest one brown. Some were meant to look like cocks; others were just tapered cylinders.

We were both speechless. We could have joked, but that would break the spell. Joking would be a way to hide how interested we were. She took me by the hand again and led me around to her dad's side of the bed. She opened a drawer in his bed stand and there was something even more remarkable: a wooden paddle.

Finally she showed the courage that I lacked and turned around and hugged me. It was an inexperienced advance, but I couldn't have been more grateful. She squeezed me tightly. I could feel her breasts press against my chest, and I'm sure she could feel the hard-on I got when I saw the paddle. I thought I should try to kiss her, so I began kissing her neck and soon we were kissing for real. We fell onto the double bed and made out for what felt like a long time. I was out of breath, probably hyperventilating from excitement and nerves. I wasn't sure if it would be okay to rub my hard-on against her, so I didn't until I noticed how much she was grinding her crotch against me. When we paused for a minute I was feeling more daring.

‘Have you ever used any of them?'