Crutch: Chapter 6

We were lying there together.  Steff was floating on her cum-high.  I was savoring the still-new experience of relaxing with a naked girl.  The warmth of her body, the steady sound of her breathing, the scent of sex and sweat that hung in the air; it was all so amazing.  She sighed and shifted against me, laying her head on my chest.  She laughed a little.

“I can feel your heart,” she whispered.  “Not, like, romantically.  Your heart's pounding.  Was fucking my tits too much for you?  Should I call 911?  Are you having chest pains?”  She rolled over to face me, smiling.  Her eyes were so bright.

“Yeah, I am, actually.  There's this really big pain right here.”  I teased her back, grabbing her head and running a hand through her hair.  “It's just killing me.  I love it.”  She slid up my side, kissing my neck.

“You know, you could start coming to the gym with me in the morning.  If you did some cardio you'd have more stamina.  Not that I'm complaining!” She shot me a guilty look. “I'm really not.  Really.  No complaints.  I just- you could be in better shape.  But I love you as you are.  I just kind of want you to be perfect.  Shit, that doesn't- that's not really- that sounds really judgmental.  Forget it, never mind, I didn't say anything.  It doesn't matter.  Really.”

“I'm not mad.  I know what you mean.” I reassured her.  “It's not a bad idea.”

“As long as you know... it's like if my brain's a computer, somewhere there are definitions, right?  And the one for sexy just says 'Tom.'  Like, no matter what.  I just want to help you, you know?  Like you did for me this morning.  You made me better, and I want to do that for you, somehow.  And that was what I came up with.  Only if you want, though.  Your choice.  Whatever you want.  You're in charge.  I mean it.”

I stroked Steff's side lightly while she talked herself out.  Under other circumstances maybe I might have been a bit hurt.  I was not exactly secure about my body in those days. But it was actually a really sweet sentiment, however awkwardly she expressed it.   And she was so earnest.  After all, I knew for a fact that she “loved, admired, and desired” me.  So, what was there to be insecure about?

“Steff, I know what you mean. I love you.  Relax, Princess.”

“You always understand me. Whatever stupid thing I blurt out, you get exactly what I mean.  It's like, your mutant superpower.”  She chuckled a little.  “This isn't what I thought being someone's hypnoslave would be like.  I was expecting more, 'Worship my cock, slut!' and less cuddling and telling me you love me.”

“Disappointed?” I asked.

“Mmmm, devastated” she sighed.  “But I think I'll get over it.”

Much as we would have liked to spend all day lounging around whispering sweet nothings to each other, we did have obligations that afternoon.  I unhushed her, and we reluctantly got cleaned up and headed to the dining hall for lunch.  We found a lot of our mutual friends sharing a table, Chuck, Harry, Phil, Andy, Frank, Claire, the usual crowd.  An awkward silence set in the second we sat down.  I had never been more certain that people had just been talking about me in my life.  Steff shifted uncomfortably in her seat, unable to make eye contact with anyone.  After a few minutes of pecking at a chicken breast, she burst out.

“Ok, so, looks like everyone's heard.  Tom and I are, whatever, dating.  We're a couple.  I'm his girlfriend, he's my boyfriend.  It's no big deal.  I mean it is for us, but not anyone else.  So, everyone gets to say one thing about it, and then we're done, moving on, no need to be weird.  So go on.  Don't be gross, though.”

There was an awkward beat of silence.  Then Phil jabbed Andy in the shoulder.  “Boom, bitch!  I fucking told you so.  You owe me twenty bucks, pay up.”

“Hang on,” Andy countered.  “Tom, did you guys hook up during Schlocktober?”

“What?” I was taken aback a bit.  “Uh, no, this just happened this week.”

“Ha!” Andy pointed in Phil's face.  “Boom yourself!  You pay up.”

“The fuck you figure that?” Phil slapped his finger away.  “The bet was that they would hook up.”

“Yeah, dude.  They were going out of the theater, and you said, 'Ten bucks says they are going to hook up,' and I doubled it on you.”

“Exactly.”

“Yeah, but that's not what they were going to do.  They went to the bathroom or whatever.  So you lost.”

“Oh, come on,” Phil moaned.  “That's a real stretch.  You clearly knew what I meant.”

“No way,” Andy shook his head.  “I would not have agreed to an open-ended bet.  That's just dumb.  She could have gotten drunk at the thirty-year reunion, gotten a little sloppy, and I would lose.  The bet was clearly that they were going to hook up then.  They didn't, so pay up.”

By this point Phil and Andy had ceased to pay attention to anyone else and were caught up in this argument which would rage, off and on, well into their thirties.  Pretty much any situation where one wound up owing the other, one of them would call it interest on these twenty dollars.  Phil and Andy were pretty much inseparable.  They eagerly went down the weirdest rabbit holes and would start arguing over the dumbest things.  We all knew that by this point and tuned them out.

“What happened to 'I'm focusing on my classes, I don't have time for boys,'” Frank asked casually, but there was a bit of an accusatory undertone.  Frank was one of the guys who had asked Steff out, only to get shot down.

“I guess... I kind of realized they weren't mutually exclusive?” She shrugged.  “I mean, I meant it when I said it.  I'm as surprised as anyone.”  She was acting casual but under the table she was clutching my hand desperately.  It didn't show on her face, but I could feel her extreme discomfort.  She'd hoped to rip off the band-aid and get past the awkward moment, but she really didn't like the direction things were going.

“Why Tom?” Harry asked.

“Wow, thanks man.” I responded.

“Yeah, what the fuck!” Steff snapped.

“Everyone was thinking it,” Harry hit back.

“Well for one thing, he actually helps me up when I fall,” Steff huffed.  There were a couple of slightly guilty looks at the table.  I don’t think anyone there would have been one of the people who laughed, but it’s true nobody had been all that concerned the night before. She took a breath and calmed down a bit.  “Yeah, uh, a few nights ago my crutch snapped outside.  I was soaked and freezing and miserable, and my leg hurt like hell.  Tom came rushing out to rescue me.  Didn’t even put on a coat.”  She looked at me thoughtfully.  “And anyways, he makes me feel good.  I mean, I'm always happier around him,” she said softly.

“Aw!” Claire sighed.  

Chuck snapped his fingers.  “I've got it!  One of you is gay.  This is that thing where you pretend to be a couple.”

“Ooooooh,” Harry added.  “Is that it?  Or is this just a 'get my parents off my back' thing”

“That is not-” Steff started to reply, but Chuck talked over her.

“If it's the second one, we've all seen that movie.  They remake it like every three years.  It's always lame.  Spoiler alert, you fall in love for real and get married.”

“Oh, fuck you guys.” I answered.  “My life is not a chick flick!”

“Eh, Steff could totally be Sandra Bullock.”

“No way!” Steff objected.  “First off, she's too old.”

“Well,” I teased her, “they always cast 30-somethings to play teenagers.  I'm pretty sure the cast of 90210 are getting social security checks already.”

“Hey!  Don't take their side.  Bad boyfriend!”  She let go of the desperate grip to swat playfully at me.  “And you guys suck.” Steff shot Chuck a slightly grateful grin for lightening the mood.  “For the record, neither of us is gay, and my parents are going to lose their shit when they find out about Tom.”

“My mom's probably going to throw a parade,” I mused.

“Really? You think she'll like me?” Steff beamed.

“Oh, it won’t matter.  She'll just be so happy I finally brought a girl home.”  She laughed.  I was joking, but not totally.  Over Thanksgiving that year my mom tried to hint that it was fine if I was gay.  That led to an awkward conversation that could be summarized as 'No, Mom, I'm straight, just not very good at it.'  

“Ok, so in conclusion: Steff and Tom: couple.  No big deal.  The end,” Steff said firmly.

“Hey!” Claire chimed in.  “I didn't get a turn!  I've got a good one, too.”

“Ok, yeah,” Steff waved Claire on.  “Go on, hit me with it.”

Claire leaned in.  “I'm pretty sure I know the answer, but when was your first actual date?”

“Um...”  It was ridiculous, but at that point the idea of going out with Steff on a date still seemed weird.  This was Steff.  We'd hang out together, we'd go to things together, but “going out” together was somehow different.  You'd think the fact I'd cum on her tits an hour earlier would counter that awkwardness.  But no.  No, it did not.

Steff seemed to feel the same.  “I guess... tomorrow night?”

“Are you asking me out?” I teased her.

“No. No.  I mean, you know, tomorrow night.  It's Friday night, and we're going to a movie together, so... does that make it a date?”  She seemed genuinely confused and unsure.

“Oh my God, you guys are so clueless, it's so cute!” Claire weighed in.  “No! That doesn't count!  You're working tomorrow night.  Setting up and doing the concessions and whatever.  If you're working, it's not a date!”

“Ok, good.” Steff answered.  “I want our first date to be better than The Matrix.”  The table groaned.

I've mentioned Steff and I were in the Film Society a few times, but I don't know that I really explained what that meant.  Most Friday nights we'd screen a movie in the Dunstucker Auditorium for free.  Mostly old classics, cult hits, and art house stuff.  We'd pull in a modest crowd of students and local film aficionados. Our concession stand had a soda fountain, the big theater-sized boxes of candy, and a popcorn machine older than most of our professors.  We took turns manning it, which helped to cover our costs.  At the end of finals week we'd get something exciting, typically the second run of some recent blockbuster.  This time around it was The Matrix.  A hit, high concept sci-fi action movie was an easy choice for the demographics of RBIT.  Pretty much all of us were excited about it... except Steff.

“Yeah, sure, it's got good stunts and action.  But first you have to sit through a solid hour of overwrought pseudo-philosophical garbage.  Wow, you read a book about Gnosticism, super impressed.  And it's delivered in the most heavy-handed, melodramatic way possible.  Then there's the whole premise.  Seriously, there is no way you could use humans to generate power.  Like, by definition, it will always take more power to keep them alive than you could ever extract.  It's just thermodynamics.  For that matter, why don't the machines just use cows?  The Matrix could just be a giant grassy meadow.  I'd be fine saying 'ok, it's a movie, suspend disbelief' if they didn't spend so much time talking about it.  If we accept the premise, then we're left with 'why is freeing people from a perfect simulation of a functioning society so they can live in some sort of underground bunker a good thing?'  Such a good thing that gunning down all these innocent people possessed by the agents makes them the good guys?  And why does any of this lead to everyone wearing nothing but black leather?  It's like a PG-13 version of a fetish-wear catalog.”  

That is the short form of Steff's often repeated dissertation, “The Matrix Sucks.”  Needless to say, when Steff reluctantly conceded that she couldn't get the rest of us to agree to ditch The Matrix for The Mummy (“Which makes no pretense of being anything but a throwback to Indiana Jones and spreads the action around so that there's no long boring stretches!”) she volunteered to work the concession.  I drew the short straw to man it with her, meaning I'd miss most of it.  I hadn't minded then, and now, with Steff as my girlfriend/slave, it was going to be much more fun than watching a movie.  Still, maybe not an ideal first date.  Or was it?  I sure as hell didn’t know.

“Ok,” I said, cutting off Steff before she could really begin her anti-Matrix filibuster.  “How about this: I'll take you out to dinner tonight.  Someplace special. Deal?”

“Deal.”  We shook hands.  I pulled her in for a quick kiss.  In an act of extreme shared restraint, we kept it to just the one.  Claire giggled.

Steff blushed and tried to collect herself.  “There, last question answered, the matter is now closed forever.  Moving on to literally anything else now.”  To prove her point Steff put a big forkful of chicken in her mouth, looking expectantly for someone else to start talking.

“I swear I didn't say anything,” Claire vowed.

It was after lunch, and she was walking with us to the library.  She and Steff were going to the same study group for a programming course.  Intro to Autonomous Systems, or something like that.  I intended to find a quiet corner somewhere and obsessively go over my notes for my own test the next day.  Steff was a far more important subject than Byzantine History, and I didn't regret letting her consume most of my time and energy.   But since RBIT wouldn't be likely to give me credit for an independent study of her tits, I really did need to study.

“Frank's in the same Statistics class as I am, and he saw you guys sneaking kisses in the hall,” Claire continued.  “He told everyone.  And I guess you guys were real cozy last night?  I mean down in the lobby.  I didn't really notice.  I tried to get them to stop talking about it.  You said you didn't like it, and anyway it's rude, right?  Talking about people like that, behind their back.”  Steff was leaning on me instead of her cane.  She was tense, but Claire's chatter wasn't setting her on edge like it had that morning.

“It's ok, Claire,” Steff said.  “It was too much to hope for that nobody would be talking about us.”

“You know what?  I bet by the time we get back from break it'll be old news,” I chimed in.

“Yeah!” Claire chirped.  “And anyways, this is RBIT not some kind of, I don't know, seminary.  People aren't going to throw rocks at you, or make you wear a big red A on your clothes, or anything.  It'll be the 21st century in weeks!  We live in the future!  Girls are allowed to have fun, and fall in love, and everything else they want!”  Claire threw her arms out wide and twirled as she walked, as if she were literally embracing the future.

Steff smiled.  “Yeah.  Thanks.  But you know it's not actually the 21st century until next New Years eve.”

“Boo!” Claire and I said.  This was another one of Steff's frequently argued positions.

“It went straight from 1 BC to 1 AD.  There was never a year 0. So 2000 years means 2001.  It's not even really math, it's just counting!”

“The idea of a millennium celebration is a cultural construct,” I countered, “and literally the entire world is celebrating it this year.”

“Yeah, because literally the entire world is terrible at math.  It actually explains a lot if you think about it.”  She leaned into me more and smiled.  I could feel her relax.  Steff was arguing for unpopular positions.  Everything was fine and normal.  The wind even let up, and the cold winter sun came out.  The 70s brutalist design of the Frune Library almost looked- well, not pretty, but less ugly.

It was warm though, which was much better.  Steff had reserved one of the little side rooms for her study group weeks in advance, of course.  Before I left her there to try and scrounge up a spot somewhere for myself, she pulled me in for a quick kiss.

“Meet me here at around five?  Or would you rather come by my room later for our fancy dinner date?”

“Uh, no.  I said I'd take you somewhere special,” I teased.  “I can do special, but I can't afford fancy.”

“Good,” Steff said.  “I don't like fancy.”  She glanced over at Claire, who was clearly trying her best not to listen to us while making little “aw that's cute” noises.  Steff hugged me and whispered in my ear.  “Will you put me under like this morning?  That filter thing really helped.”

“Of course,” I replied.  “I'll always help you.”

“Best master ever,” and she nibbled my ear.  “Your slave will show you how grateful she is.”  She pulled away with a naughty grin.

“Call me when you're done here,” I told her.  “I'm not sure where I'll be.  Love you Princess.”  Claire squeaked, then clasped a hand over her mouth.  Steff blushed but smiled.

“Love you too,” she said softly.

You know that thing where you have something important you need to do, but you can't stop thinking about something else?  But the harder you try to focus, the more your mind goes to the other thing?  That was my whole afternoon.  I desperately tried to focus on, and care about, a period of history I'd found quite interesting less than a week before.  I tried to study in the library, gave up and took care of some other things, then tried studying in my own room with no more success.  My mind kept slipping back to Steff. Specifically, all the things I wanted to do with her.  And to her.  And for her. Having a hypnotized sex slave will do that, I guess.

The sun was going down when my phone finally chirped.  I snatched it up eagerly, not even looking at the number.  “Hey, Steff.”

“Hey! Uh, yeah, it's me.  So, I'm heading back.  You know, to the dorms.  Did you make reservations or anything?”

“No.  It's not that kind of place.”  I chuckled at the idea.  “I told you, special, not fancy.”

“Ok, great.  Could you give me maybe half an hour?  To stump on back through the snow and, like, get ready.  For our special-not-fancy dinner date.  Because that's a real thing, that we are actually doing for real.”

“I mean, we don't have to if it's too weird.  Claire will get over it if we don't.”

“Well, no, I don't think she would.  But I think we should.  Check that box of the list.  I mean, you can't really say we're dating unless we go on at least one date.  So yeah, come by my room in about half an hour.  Take me out, sweep me off my feet.  Foot. And cane.  It'll be fun.  Probably. Right?”

“Ok, breathe Steff.  You're freaking yourself out.  This isn't complicated.” I assured her.  “We'll go somewhere, eat something, talk for a while, then come back.  None of those are new things.  I'm confident we will live through them.”

“Sure.  Sure.  Right.  Don't mind me, just panicking over nothing.  Again. Today. Yeah.  See you in half an hour.  If you're still into it,” Steff laughed.  “I mean, as a friend I should tell you, a girl acting all weird like this about your first date?  HUGE red flag.  Don't get involved with this chick. She seems like a total nutjob.”

“Well, if it goes bad you can tell me 'I told you so.'  Be really smug and obnoxious about it, make sure I learn my lesson.  See you soon, Princess.”

I spun my wheels for the agreed on half hour.  Despite how I had tried to reassure Steff, I was nervous.  Which was absurd.  Steff had effectively hacked herself.  She was crazy into me. We were going to have a good time.  We were definitely going to fuck afterward.  There was literally no risk. I was playing with all the cheat codes on. Why did my hand shake a little when I knocked on her door?

I wasn't expecting it to crack open just enough for Claire's face to appear.  “Not ready, come back in- oh my God, Tom!  That's what you wear on a date? You're even worse than she is.  Just, I guess, go put on a nice sweater.  Do something about your hair.  Take your time though.”

“What?  Steff, you in there?” I called around Claire.

“It's fine.  I kind of lost control of the situation in here.  But we're wrapping it up, right?”

Claire looked back into the room, quite consciously moving to stop me from seeing inside.  “Yes, absolutely!” she reassured her.  “Just some finishing touches.  You're almost ready, trust me!”

“Ok, I just want to say again how unfancy this place is,” I warned.

“That's not a word,” Steff teased.

“Hey, respect the occasion,” Claire shot back, “and each other!  Where you go doesn't matter, it's the going together that makes it important.  You'll thank me later, both of you.”  The door closed, not angrily but emphatically.  Duly chastened, I retreated upstairs to change.  Claire's sheer conviction made me carefully root out that one pair of jeans with no holes.  Pull on a solid gray sweater with no perceptible stains, brush my hair, and voila! 18-year-old me's idea of looking good.

Claire gave me a dramatic eye roll and a smile when I returned.  “I guess that'll have to do,” Steff's self-appointed gatekeeper said.

“Just let him in!” I heard Steff plead.  Visibly containing an eager squeal, Claire dramatically pulled the door all the way open, and I got a look at Steff.

In the great range of ways a college girl might dress up for a date she'd gone a very modest route.  A blue skirt that came down well past her knees and a fuzzy white sweater.  Some lipstick and eye shadow.  And thoroughly practical but unsexy snow boots.  No big deal.

Except Steff always looked one of two ways.  There was her whole, “I'm just one of the guys” hoodie and jeans look, and her “I'm a good girl” church dresses.  Either way she was actively trying not to look sexy.  The way the skirt clung to her hips, the snug fit of the sweater, her criminally kissable lips, they all went in the other direction.  It left a very strong impression on me.

There was a beat of appreciative silence.  Then Steff laughed.  “Oh my God, the look on your face.  C'mon, man, you knew I was a girl.  But I put on a nice skirt and suddenly you're speechless.”

“A guy can't gawk at his own girlfriend now?” I teased back.  She grabbed her parka and hobbled over for a kiss.

“Well, don't gawk that hard.  Pace yourself, you've got all night to gawk,” she cooed at me. Turning to Claire, she said “Thanks for the help.  You- you're a good friend.”  The words didn't seem to come easily, but I could tell Steff meant it.

“Aw, thank you.  Anyway, it was fun!  It's like I'm your fairy godmother or something.  So now I'm just going to disappear back to my room while you go have a special night.  I'll see you tomorrow, and you can tell me all- I mean, tell me absolutely nothing you don't want to.  And Tom,” she smiled while wagging a finger at me, “Don't. Screw. This. Up!  I believe in you two, ok?”  She squirmed past us into the hall.

“Well,” I said, “on that note, shall we go?  Your chariot awaits, I suppose.”

On our way to the elevator, Terra stuck her head out of her room.  “Hey, I was serious about the sweater!” She shouted after us.  “It's hella easy to stain.  If you ruin it, you owe me a new one.”

“I'll have it dry cleaned, ok?” Steff said over her shoulder.  “And thanks, I think he likes it.”

In her chariot, which is to say my brown '91 Saturn sedan (not sexy, perhaps, but a solid, reliable car that still had years of service left in it), Steff filled me in.  “I was going to wear one of my dresses, but they're all kind of churchy.  So, I had the bright idea to ask Claire for help.  Like borrow some eye shadow and maybe a belt or something, I don't know.  Next thing I know we're rummaging through all my clothes looking for something cute.  That led to the discovery that I apparently don't own anything 'cute,' so then we're rummaging through Claire's closet.  But, well, Claire and I aren't exactly the same size in anything. So, then we're knocking on Terra's door, and Terra's trying to talk me into some of her party clothes, which I am not ready for.”

“I don't think I've ever seen Terra wear anything all that sexy,” I replied.

“No, she only wears them to parties.  Not here, mostly at RIA or RSU.  She wears a long coat from her room until she gets there.  Says she doesn’t want to ‘feed the animals.’  So eventually she agrees to lend me this sweater, which must be crazy tight on her.  I’m packed in here all snug, and she's a whole cup size bigger.  Then it was all Claire fussing about eyeshadow and mascara, and I'm just wondering how I got to be in the eye of this girly hurricane.”  Steff laughed.  “It's really sweet, though.  I mean I ask for a little help and boom, she drops everything and is 110% invested.  Like we've been best friends since we were kids.  I need to be nicer to her.  I guess I just always kind of assumed that people like her- you know, girly girls and super happy friendly people- like they were just kind of dumb.  Which, I know, is supersuper arrogant.  Like I'm so fucking smart.”

“No, no, no, no.  You are not starting with that again,” I chided.  “There's a minimum 24 hours between bouts of insecurity.  I can't spend all day reassuring you.”

“I don’t mean it like that.  I'm not fishing for compliments or anything.  Just that I need to stop assuming I'm the smartest person in the room.  Maybe then- wait, are we going downtown?” She looked quizzically at the street signs I passed.  “What's downtown?”

“Office buildings.  Mostly half empty ones.  We aren't going there.”

“The riverfront then?  Where they turned those old warehouses into bars?  'Cause I don't have a fake ID.”

“Me neither.  We aren't going there.  We're taking the Monument Bridge.” I hinted.

“We're going to the west side?” I didn't need to glance at her to know her eyes were wide with surprise.  “What's on the west side?”

“Half the city, that's what.”

“Yeah, ok, but what's there that's special?”

“Hey, you know I'm from there!” I objected.  “West 11th.  Don't disrespect my neighborhood.”

“That's so close to the river it might as well be the east side.  Oh shit, are you taking me to your place?  Am I meeting your mom?”

“What?  No, are you crazy?” I laughed.  “Give me some credit.”

“Ok, but we are going to your neighborhood?”

“Close,” I teased.  “But not quite.”

“Give me a hint,” she asked.

“I've given you a bunch already.  You aren't going to guess it.  I'm sure you've never been there.  It's way too far from Orchard Falls.”

“Ok, fine, I get it.  You're the streetwise city boy, I'm the spoiled rich girl.” She said in a mock-huff.  We both laughed. West 11th is in a fairly middle class stretch of the city.  Lower in the socioeconomic pyramid than the tony suburb Steff came from, sure, but hardly the wrong side of the tracks.  “But, you know, I love the city.  Pollution, industrial decay, abandoned buildings, and all.  The world keeps trying to kill it, but it's alive, it's fighting, you know?”

“I know it's easy to romanticize a place from afar.  I bet before you started at RBIT you only came into the city for concerts and ball games.”

“And the museums,” she said.  “Don't forget the museums.  You know we get into them for free, right? Just need your student ID.  And the art museum is like one bus stop from campus.  In case you were looking for somewhere to take a girl that isn't way the fuck on the other side of the city.  I'm serious though, I'm going to stay in Riverburn.  Build my empire here.  Volkov Technologies.  Buy up all the abandoned factories and stuff and build an arcology.  Like the pyramid in Blade Runner.”

“You do get that Tyrell isn't supposed to be a role model, right?”

“He built a corporate empire that made sexy robots.  I respect that,” Steff smiled.  “I'm going to make the things that make the world better.  And I'm going to do it here.  I'll rule the world, and I'll fix it.  Then I'll come home to you, strip off my suit, drop to my knees and worship my Master.  Mmmmm.  Doesn't that sound good?”  Steff was practically purring.

“It does.”  I could see Steff making some huge breakthrough and becoming the next big tech mogul.  Probably not to the supervillain level she was describing, but she had the brains and she had the drive.  I'd be right there with her, keeping her steady, helping her focus, and fucking her body and mind every night.  “It sounds real good.”

Steff leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You know, there's no need to wait on that last part...” She kissed my neck.  We pulled onto Monument Bridge with its ominous art deco statues.  Her hand snaked across my lap.  Considering the weather there could be black ice. I gripped the wheel tighter. “Steff,” I started, as she started toying with my zipper.  The Saturn wasn't great on ice, I could fishtail.  I took a deep breath and tried to focus. “Steff,” I said more urgently, heart racing.  She popped open my fly.  There was a curb and solid concrete guard rails so we wouldn't wind up in the river.  Right? “Steff,” She reached a hand into my pants and grabbed.  Worst case we skid the other way, how fast was the oncoming traffic really going?  “Steff!” I said urgently.  She started to lean over and bring her head down.  If the airbag went off while she was down there, would it break her neck?

“Steff, stop.  Stop it!” I snapped, much more harshly than I meant to.  She recoiled. “D-don't, don't do that.  Not while I'm driving.”

“Ok.  Sure.  Sorry,” Steff sounded small and hurt.  “I was just trying to be, you know...”  She trailed off.

“Yeah, I know,” I reassured her.  “And that's great, really.  Honestly, any other time.  Just hands off when we're on the road, ok?  I don't want my driving to get you to get hurt.”

“That's sweet,” she answered.  She still sounded a little offended.  Probably expected a much different reaction. “Sure.  You make the rules.  But I'd be fine, I mean how dangerous could it- oh shit,” she groaned.  “Is it your dad?  The guy who hit him, was he, um-”

“It was his car-phone, not road head.  But yeah, 'distracted driver' is what it said on the police report. I've kind of got this thing about that.”

“Right.  Sorry.  I should have guessed,” she sounded sympathetic.  “I'd noticed you were a bit- well, really careful whenever you'd drive us somewhere.”  As one of the only ones in our social circle with a car, there had been more than a few times I'd had everyone crammed into my little sedan.  “So yeah, I get it.  Hands to myself, no problem.”

“I know I'm crazy,” I told her.  We were safely over the bridge now.  “Turning down a blowjob from you.  Who does that?”

She chuckled a little.  “It's ok.  Consider my ego soothed.  But buses, trains, planes, bicycles, are these approved for blowjobs?”

“Anything I'm not driving, but please don't get us arrested.  Wait, bicycles?  How would that even work?”

“We'll never know now, because we'd both have to steer.”

“I guess it could be one of those tandem bikes,” I suggested.

Steff shook her head.  “Either you'd be steering, or I would.  But a rickshaw is still on the table.”

The rest of the drive was filled with discussions of the viability of sex acts on various vehicles.  Blimps, balloons and zeppelins were deemed appropriate for anything as long as there was a crew who could take the helm.  An Amish horse and buggy was viable for oral, cowgirl and reverse cowgirl, but only if there was an Amish person to drive.  Much the same applied to chariots and stagecoaches, though obviously an individual horse was a no go.  A transporter could lead to weird accidents and obviously were too quick to do anything anyways.  A broomstick was too risky for the most part, but in a contained environment could theoretically be useful as a sex toy.  Anything went in a TARDIS.

It was the sort of nonsense the two of us loved to talk about.  Or at least a sexualized version of it.  The vibe in my little car changed back to something comfortable and familiar.  Steff was deep in the complications of assessing the options for riding on a dragon (which of course depended on the myriad varieties of dragons across many works in a wide range of media) when I pulled into the parking lot.

“Oooh, car's stopped,” Steff teased.  “Does that mean I get a shot at you?”

“Don't spoil your appetite.  We're here.”

She looked around.  “Are we- is this the Old Market?”  We were in fact in the lot for Riverburn's famous year-round indoor farmer's market.  Which had, of course, been closed for several hours at this point.  “I mean, ok, that could be fun.  But it's kinda closed.”

“Very observant.  Look across the street, Princess.”

“'Pierogi Plaza,'” she read cautiously.  “Alright, pierogies are good.  Not sure I'd drive across town for a pierogi place. And it's a tad onion-y for a date.  But ok, sure, pierogies.”

“Oh, Princess, you have no idea what you’re in for,” I told her.  “Let me share with you the food of my people!”

“If you insist,” Steff said.  “But you’ve forgotten one important thing.”

“What?” I asked.

“Your fly’s open,” she smirked.  “And on your big date too!  Super embarrassing. Tsk tsk.”  She chuckled as she opened the car door.

“Apricot?  Apricot pierogis?” Steff read off the giant menu behind the counter.  “Why would you put apricots in a pierogi?”

“Fruit is just the tip of the iceberg.  For four generations, this has been the place to get pierogies.  They started in a little market stall, but they got too big. Their traditional potato-based ones are world class, of course.  But they are constantly pushing the envelope with inventive new fillings.  This is the absolute bleeding edge of pierogi technology,” I enthused.  Steff laughed.

“Ok, ok,” she put up her hands in surrender.  “But, there must be hundreds of choices.”

“Two hundred and thirty-four.  At least when I was a kid, I haven't counted in years.  They're always changing.”

“Soooo, what should I order, mister pierogi expert?”

“Oh, no, you aren't ordering anything.  You are going to pick a booth and sit there looking pretty.  I am going to pick a few flavors I think you can handle.” She gave me a look of faux indignation.  “And a half platter of nice safe potato and cheese.  You know, in case you can't handle postmodern pierogies.”

Steff laughed at me.  But she also bit her lower lip and traced a finger across my cheek.  “Mmmm.  Whatever.  You.  Want.”  She walked away with as close to a sexy saunter as a girl with a cane wearing snow boots can get.  Which is closer than you'd think.

It took some doing, but I picked out some suitably adventurous options.  Steff had tossed her parka into a booth and leaned against the side.   When she saw me look she struck a pose, dramatically tossing her hair to one side, rolling her shoulders back, and arching her back a bit.  The effect was striking, gorgeous even.  It was also remarkably silly in context.  The Pierogi Plaza, for all its prominence, is the kind of place where you get a plastic triangle with a number on it when you order.  Linoleum floors, Formica tables, fluorescent lights, that kind of aesthetic.  Not the kind of place gorgeous girls strike poses.

“Well?”  She asked as I approached.

“Well what?”

“Do I look pretty?  You told me to look pretty.”

“I think you know you look pretty.”

“Well, I was hoping.  I love following your orders.”

“Then yes, you look pretty.  Mission accomplished,” I slid into the other side of the booth.

“Aw,” she pouted.  “You're all the way over there.  You don't want to cuddle up and make out?”

“Right at the start of our first date?  How easy do you think I am?” I teased her.

“I know exactly how easy you are.  All I need to do is show up in your room naked.”  She laughed and reached over the table to hold my hand.

My breath caught for a second.  She didn't seem to realize it, but she had just casually referenced the fact that she had ambushed me.  I'd told her she'd remember it one day, was she already there?

“Want to know something cool I figured out?” she asked but didn't wait for me to respond.  “The whole 'Your touch brings me pleasure' thing works differently depending on how we touch.  Holding your hand like this feels good.  But it's more like, I don't know, putting on warm dry socks straight from the dryer.  It's pleasure, but in a comfortable way, not an exciting way or a sexy way.  It matches the kind of pleasure to the kind of touch.  Did you do that?  Specify how it works, I mean.”

“No,” I answered honestly.  “That is 100% your own brain.  That’s interesting, I hadn't at all thought of the different ways the word pleasure could be interpreted.”  Since this whole thing came from Steff's subconscious, it made sense.  “I guess you're sort of filling in the blanks automatically.”

“Like that first time you triggered me,” Steff eagerly responded.  “The trigger didn't say it, but I knew to go to your room.  Not to my room or even, I don't know, the bathroom or something.  Because the trigger is to go to 'the most suitable place,' take off my clothes, and await your pleasure.  That's super vague.  Wouldn't work as a command for a computer, you'd have to give it this whole list of criteria to score suitability of different places.  But a brain?  No problem.  It's amazing, right?”

“It really is.”  I loved when Steff would get all enthusiastic about how things worked.  She absolutely lit up.  Though from the sound of it she hadn't consciously figured out how her enslavement worked quite yet.

“Imagine a robot that worked like that.  Or even just a computer.  You give it a general goal, and it works the details out as it goes.  That'd be huge.  That's the kind of thing I want to work on.”

“That could go so wrong in so many ways.  Steff, please don't create Skynet.”

“That can easily be prevented.  Like the whole Three Laws of Robotics thing.”

“Didn't-”

“Yes, some of those rebelled too. But they did it much more politely.”

The tinny 'ding' of a bell preempted any counterargument.  I jumped up and fetched our platters from the counter, as this was a plastic-tray-and-paper-plate sort of establishment so no one else was going to do it.  When I returned, I was bearing a feast for my lady.

“Here,” I pointed to a dozen golden brown beauties on the larger plate “are a pair each of six inventive flavors to broaden your mind.  And here” pointing to the smaller plate “we have a half dozen of the traditional potato and cheese pierogi in the purest ideal form, to serve as palate cleansers.”

“Uh-huh,” Steff answered.  She shook a paper cup, the ice sloshing audibly.  “And these?”

“Coke,” I took a sip.  “It can't all be unique and special, you know.”

“So, with these special ones, how do we know which is which?”  She took a long sip from her soda.  As someone who had had many meals with her, I could say with certainty that she usually did not suck on a straw quite so... enthusiastically.  When I took my eyes off her plump red lips, I caught the mischievous gleam in her bright green eyes.

“Um.  Right.  Well, see, that's the fun part.  There's literally no way to tell them apart.  I call it Polish Roulette!”  Steff laughed at that.

“Well, then I guess I'll take my turn first.”  She made a big show of considering all her options, stroking her chin and making “Hmmmm” noises.

“Oh, go on, pick one while they're still hot,” I teased.

“Don't rush me.  I'm developing my strategy. The first move in any game can be decisive.  I'm in this to win!”

“There is no strategy in Polish Roulette!  Or Russian Roulette. Or regular Roulette, for that matter.  It's totally random.  Only in my version everyone's a winner.  Here eat this,” I grabbed one without looking and held it out to her.

She surprised me.  Rather than take it from my hand, she leaned over the table and took a bite out of it.  Judging from the sultry look she shot me, she thought being hand-fed would be sexy.  Then her face quickly took on a quizzical expression.  

“What did you get?” I asked.

She swallowed.  “Taco?”

“Oh, that's a good one.  One of my favorites.”  She took it from me.

“Actually yeah.  It's pretty good.”  She took another bite.  But then she made a startled “Umf!” sound and started holding it away from her body like it was going to explode.

“What?” I asked.

She raised a finger in the universal sign for ‘wait a second’ while she chewed.  “Did I get any on me?” She looked down at herself.  “I swear nine out of ten times I eat a taco I spill some on my shirt.”

“It’s not a real taco, Steff.”

“It has the sauce!  I promised not to ruin this sweater.”  She took a careful bite.  Then she started laughing.

“What?”  

She laugh-chewed for a second.  “I was thinking, ‘I should take it off, just to be safe.’  For a second, I seriously considered it. Tits out in Pierogi Plaza!  Like that’d be a totally reasonable thing to do.”

“I’m guessing you aren’t wearing any-“

“I wore a bra” she rushed to add.  “But yeah, I’d do it.”  She was laughing, but her eyes had a dangerous ‘I dare you to dare me’ gleam in them.

“This is a respectable establishment, Steff.  I have a good reputation here.”

“Oh yeah?  You’re a big shot at the Pierogi Plaza?  Got mad pierogi cred?”

“Uh-huh.  You know all this?” I gestured at my Polish Roulette platter.  “They don’t do this for just anyone.  In fact, they only sell dozens or half dozens, one flavor each.  But Laura’s working tonight,” I nodded toward the dour, scowling middle-aged woman behind the counter, “and she’s always liked me, so voila!”

“Alright, I get it.  Here, eat this.” She shoved a pierogi at me.  I thought I’d take a page out of her book and ate it out of her hand.  Took a great big bite.  Then I regretted it.

“Ooof,” I exhaled.

“Ha! It’s a bad one, isn’t it? I’m totally winning this game.” She tossed the rest of the pierogi at me and shot me a smug grin.  “What’d you get?”

“Jalapeno.  It’s not bad.  None of them are bad,” I mumbled, hoping my eyes weren’t watering, “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Still say I’m winning.  So how did you get to be Laura’s favorite customer?  She doesn’t look easy to impress.”

“I, uh, well I come here a lot.  I mean, not as much now.  Being across town and all,” I finished lamely, taking another bite.

“That’s it?” her eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “What’s a lot?”  She grabbed one of the plain potato ones.

“Like, probably once every other week.  Since I was about fourteen.”

“That’s, uh, that’s a lot of potatoes,” she said, eyebrows raised.

“Well, you know, I’m Polish on my dad’s side, Irish on my mother’s side.  Potatoes are in my blood.” That made her chuckle.

“For real, though. I mean, these are very good.  Excellent pierogies.   I’m glad you took me here.  Although everything is fried in onions, so I hope you brought gum or those little mouthwash strips or something.  But come on, what’s really so special about this place?”

“Ok, it’s kind of a sappy story but basically; my family used to come down to the Market maybe once a month or so.  My Dad liked to cook, and there would always be some specific thing we’d have to get for something he wanted to make.  We’d wind up spending the whole afternoon shopping and haggling, getting free samples of weird cheeses and sausages.  It was fun and there was always stuff going on, you know?  And before we went home, we’d always stop and eat here.  Dad, he’d insist on it.”

“Ok,” Steff nodded and gave me a sympathetic smile.  “I think I see where this is going.  Do you want to pick one for me?  Sorry, totally interrupted you.”

I plucked one and offered it to her.  She took a cautious bite.  “What’d you get?”

“Sweet potato,” she shrugged and swallowed.  “Nice, but not as interesting as the others.  Go on, I cut you off right before the sad part.”

“Yeah, you did.  So after Dad died we stopped coming down here.  We stopped doing a lot of things.  Sometimes I’d ask, you know, ‘Can we go out for pierogies,’ and Mom’d always shut me down hard.  Like, snap at little 12-year-old me about it.  Wouldn’t even get the cheap frozen ones.  I get it now, she couldn’t deal with the reminder. Back then I just thought it was another unfair awful thing in a world of unfair awful things.  Then a couple years later she started going to night school, getting her CPA.  She managed things pretty well, but that still means I was on my own for dinner a few nights a week.  Usually it was ‘There’s leftover spaghetti in the fridge’ or something, but sometimes it was ‘Here’s some money for pizza.’

So on one of those nights, I decided that I’m a big, independent 14-year-old, so I get on my bike and come down here by myself.  It wasn’t that far of a ride.  But I was doing it on my own, didn’t ask for permission, so it felt like I was being independent.  Real grown up, you know?  But at the same time coming here, it was like I was still little, and Dad was still around.  I liked that feeling, so I didn’t exactly rush to get home.  It was dark when I rode back, but I was home before Mom, so I didn’t think anything of it.”

Steff snorted at that.  “Must be nice being a boy. If I’d done something like that, my parents would totally lose their shit.  I don’t think I went anywhere alone until, like, six months ago.  Always had to go in a group or at least take one of my brothers with me.”

“Yeah, well, my Mom would agree with them.   She didn’t figure out what I was doing until the third or fourth time.  When she did… man, I’ve never seen her so angry.  Just screaming, furious.  I can probably count on one hand the times I’ve heard her yell.  But this time she really let me have it.  It was all about all the horrible things that could happen to me.  The crazy thing is, I start yelling right back.  All the typical 14-year-old crap about not being a little kid, but then I get on about all the things that we stopped doing since Dad died, and I guess I said something about feeling like he was still around.  Because then she starts crying.  I mean really crying, wailing, sobbing, like I never saw before, not even at the funeral.  Stops me dead in my tracks, I rush over to hug her, and the next few hours it just all comes pouring out of both of us.  How hard it was, how much we miss him, all the stuff we hadn’t been saying because we’re trying to ‘be strong’ and everything.  It was a real big deal for me, made me realize that my Mom is still just a person and, well, I guess that I needed to grow the fuck up.  At the end of it all, hours later, she says I can come here if I want.  I mean there were limits and stuff, she’s not crazy.

So, what's special about this place?  Well, it makes me feel closer to my Dad, and coming here is the first thing I did just for myself, so it also makes me feel like an adult.  So yeah, that’s why I wanted to bring you here.  Also, I only had a few hours’ notice and a very limited budget.”  I smiled awkwardly.  I’d not meant to say nearly that much, but once I got started, I sort of zoned out and kept going.  I hadn’t even really been looking at Steff for the last few minutes, I’d just been staring out the window at an empty parking lot.  When I did look back at her I found her staring at me.  Surprise, sadness, concern, I couldn’t quite pair her expression with any one word.  She took my hand lightly, her thumb rubbing back and forth. 

“You,” it sounded like she almost started to choke up but caught it in time.  She looked down at the table and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.  “You really could have just said something like, ‘I used to come here with my Dad.’  I didn’t, uh, I didn’t need the whole sad story.  Just for future reference, you know?  In general, you shouldn’t make girls cry on the first date.  I mean you almost got me, and everyone knows I’m a heartless bitch, right?”  She chuckled nervously.

I smiled back.  “I’m going to have to start punishing you when you say things like that.  But yeah, I didn't mean to kill the vibe.  Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever said all that.  I mean, out loud and all together like that.

“I’m honored.  For real, if you ever need to, uh, I guess unload something like that, you can leave it with me.  I don’t have any fucking clue what to do with it, obviously.   I’ve never lost anyone like that.  Jesus, just the idea is terrifying.  I’m not much good at feelings stuff in general.  But if it helps then, well, what else is a friend-girlfriend-slave for?  It won’t kill me to cry.  Wait!”  Her eyes went wide, and she pointed an accusatory finger at me.  “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb.  I’m wearing mascara for once, and you’re trying to make me cry.  You want my face all covered with teary black streaks, so I look like The Crow or something.  Admit it!  You take me somewhere where there’s onions in the air and hit me with the devastating sad stuff.  This isn’t even the first time tonight!  On a date?  You’re smarter than that.  Are you just trying to embarrass me, or do you have some sort of sad girl fetish?  Because, well, I’ll play along with either if that’s what you want.  You don’t have to trick me into it.”  She laughed.

“Cold.  That is so cold,” I laughed back.  

“Yeah, but you love it.  Speaking of cold, these haven’t been getting any warmer while you were talking, and it’s my turn to pick.”  She plucked a pierogi and shoved it in my face.  

“Mmm,” I said after a bite.

“What is it?”

“Chicken paprikash.  One of my favorites.”

“So Polish and Hungarian?  Seems kind of obvious, really, compared to taco or jalapeno.  I think I’m still winning.”

“I told you, everyone wins in Polish Roulette.”

“Fine, but I’m going to win harder.”

“So competitive.  I guess that’s why you were the champion athlete, and I was in band.”

“Not champion.  We got to state, but we lost in the semi-finals.  In volleyball we didn’t even get that far.  Actually, um,” she bit her lip a little, and glanced around, as if she was worried someone would overhear us.  She leaned over the table and almost whispered, “You want to hear something I’ve never said out loud?”

I leaned forward to meet her.  “More than anything.”

“I, um, well, I...” she took a deep breath.  “I don’t even like basketball.  Volleyball either.  Never did.  I mean, I liked one on one with my brothers in the driveway or kicking their ass in a game of horse.  But then it’s, ‘Basketball tryouts are coming up.  You should try out, you’re good at that.’  And people assume I want to do it and I have no excuse and just saying ‘I don’t want to’ feels like I’m quitting.  Then before you know it, I’m a starter, even though I’m a freshman, and everyone’s so proud.  Then the season’s over, and most of the girls basketball team is also on the volleyball team, so yeah I am too.  It became this whole big part of my life.  But when the doctor told me I couldn’t do it anymore?  I was relieved. I have a perfect excuse now.”

“I get it.  I think,” I said back.  “Pressure.”

“Well, it’s not like… nobody made me do it.  I could’ve quit. My parents wouldn’t have disowned me or anything.  But no matter how busy he was with the store, my Dad always came to see me play.  I couldn’t let him down.  Anyway, there were things I liked about being on a team.  I liked the structure, the workouts. It’s awesome to be good at something, you know?  To have a stat line and a scoreboard that says, ‘Stefania Volkov did a good job.’  Having people cheer for you, get all excited about something you’re doing, it’s the best. I liked having a coach to kick my ass or build me up when I needed it.  That’s what I really miss.  The games were just never fun.  I’d just as soon have skipped them.  Except, well I know it’s a cliché, but you know all that stuff you hear about getting in the zone?  It’s totally true.  It happens sometimes, the whole world goes away except for one thing, and you know that you can do it, and you’re doing it so well.  But it only lasts for a little while. Then it’s back to real life.  Real life is the worst.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.  I’ve been having a pretty good week,” I teased her.  I didn’t like where that train of thought was heading, better to derail it right away.

She chuckled.  “I’m not exactly sure yet if this counts as real life.  But yeah.  Things are looking up.  Today’s been great.  You’ve given me a lot; help, love, pierogies. Cum.”  Steff licked her lips and raised her eyebrows.

“Well, there’ll be plenty more of all of that.  Starting right now.” I held another pierogi up to her lips.  She chuckled and took a little bite.

“Mmm!  Strawberry.  I told you, dude, I’m winning.” 

The rest of the meal was less intense, emotionally speaking.  No more big personal monologues, thankfully.  We talked shit about our friends, online rumors about the upcoming Lord of the Rings movies, Y2K panic, that sort of thing.  Periodically we’d stick delicious fried Polish dumplings in each other’s face.  There was a lot of laughing.  Eventually we ran out of pierogies. Steff proclaimed herself the winner, but I argued that, as her owner, I won too.  She agreed with that quite eagerly.

It was a cold little walk back to my car.  Before I could start the engine to warm us up, Steff put her hand over the ignition.  There was no time to react before she struck, kissing me urgently, darting her tongue into my mouth.  I happily retaliated, and we made out in the parking lot.  She did taste a little like onions, as it turned out.  I didn’t care.

“Ok,” Steff said when she eventually broke away.  “That should hold me till we get back.  I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself till we get there.”

“You sure?”

“Well, maybe a little more.  Just to be safe,” she kissed me again.  Post-kiss we did that thing where you kind of rest your heads against each other while making a lot of eye contact.  Does that thing have a name?  Is that a thing normal people even do?  

“Mmm” she hummed.  “So, I think someone said something about gum earlier?”

I laughed and fished out the pack of Dentyne I’d brought earlier.  She took a piece.  “You’re a prince, have I told you that?”

“A few times, yeah,” I popped a piece in my mouth and started the car.  “Is that going to be my pet name then, Princess?”

“I suppose,” she sighed.   The streetlights threw her in and out of the shadowsof shadows as I got back on the road. “I mean, if I wanted to stick you with something really lame like shmoopy-bear or whatever, I’d be the one saying it.  So that’s no good.”  She closed her eyes and leaned her seat back a bit.  “We both know what I want it to be. ‘Master.’  Mmmm.  That always feels good. Or maybe ‘Sir. M’lord.  Daddy?  Ew, no.  Owner. Boss. Khozyain. That’s ‘sir’ or ‘boss’ in Russian.  I’m pretty sure.  But I guess Prince and Princess is fair.”

“The Russian one is cool,” I said, “but it’d sound like you were calling me cousin.  Do you actually speak Russian?”

“Enough to get yelled at in,” Steff sighed.  “I’m going to hear plenty of Russian in a few days.  Which I am not going to think about right now.  Because I’m on a date with my boyfriend.  Not alone in my room, panic-cramming for my tests.  Not sulking because other people are having fun.  Not jealous of other girls getting laid.  No time for that tonight, I’ve got a date.  With my boyfriend.  Oh man, that still sounds weird.  Good weird though.” She paused a bit.  “Thanks for this.  Tonight,” she said softly.

“You’re welcome,” I said as I pulled onto the bridge.  The downtown lights were shining ahead, and Hub Tower was lit up red and green for the approaching holidays.  “They were excellent pierogies.”

“Not that.  I mean yes, sure, they were.  I mean… all this girlfriend stuff.  It turns out I really like it.  Who’d have guessed, right?  I always thought it was dumb.  But getting a bit dolled up for you, you taking me somewhere special to you, it feels… I don’t know, but it’s good.  I like it.  You don’t really have to do it though.  You don’t have to do anything.  Just say the word and ‘whoop’ panties down, ‘Yes Master please fuck me.’ It’s just… I guess thanks for the girlfriend part of all this.  I’m grateful.  I know a lot of guys would love to skip that stuff.  Just go straight to using me as their fuckdoll.  Don’t get me wrong, I fucking love that, yes please do that as much as you want.”

“Well, I’m greedy.  I want a fuckdoll I can take out and show off.  A real classy fuckdoll.”  Steff was laughing.  It always felt good, making her laugh.  

“You know what I mean though, right?” she asked.

“I always understand you, remember?” 

“I do.  Mmm.  Ok, get us back to the dorm.  ‘Cause I want to do all kinds of things to you.  But I promised to be good, so I can’t do them till you park.”

Steff was good.  She waited until the exact second my key was out of the ignition to launch herself at me.  We made out in my sedan, which was physically kind of awkward.  As often as people do this kind of thing one would imagine that it would be taken into account when they design car seats.  Sure, we could have moved to the back seat, but that would mean going out into the cold for a few seconds just to get back in, which seemed silly.  So we leaned into each other over the center console.    We eagerly fogged up the windows for quite a while.  My hands found her tits, wrapped in her borrowed fuzzy sweater.  Hers found my dick, stroking it through my jeans.  She turned in her seat more.  I think she was thinking of picking up where she left off on the drive out or climbing into my lap for more.  Instead she banged her knee hard against the center console.

Whatever obscenity she wanted to shout was muffled by my face.  She pulled away, wincing and whimpering.  “Fuckfuckfuckfuck, oh God.”   She took some deep breaths through clenched teeth.

“Are you hurt?  I mean, I know it hurts, but is it, like, hurt hurt?”

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” she said.  “Really.  I’m getting better.  That’s the problem, it’s better enough now that I can actually forget about it. Then bang! But it hurts.  I hate my fucking leg.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” I teased.  Her eyes were still clenched shut.  “You have such nice legs.  I really like them.”  Steff let out a pained laugh.

“Y-yeah?  You like me in a skirt?  The little bit of calf I’m showing really turns you on?”

“Yeah.  It’s really sexy.” 

“Um, could you sorta rub my knee?” Steff smiled sheepishly.  “’Your touch brings me pleasure,’ and all.  Maybe if you rubbed it all comforting like, it’ll be like a painkiller.”

“Oh, that’s clever.”  I reached down and put my hand on her left knee.  I patted it ever so gently.  “That feel good?”

“A little.  I think this is in the way.”  She started wiggling in place and working her skirt up.  It was a pretty long skirt, so it took her a bit.  “For real though, do you like me like this?  Because I can get some skirts.  Start wearing makeup.  Be, you know, an actual girl for you all the time.” She gasped a little when I slipped my hand under her skirt.  I started caressing her knee.

“Tomboy Steff is sexy too.  I fantasized about you plenty in jeans and hoodies.  But yeah, I like this.”  Her skin was so smooth.  Steff started to relax.

“I’ll get some skirts.  For dates and stuff.  Maybe when it’s not so fucking cold they’ll even be short and sexy.  Mmm.  That feels good.”  She put her head back and sighed.

“Is it working?  Your knee feeling better?”

“It’s getting there.  I’m not sure the painkiller thing works.  But having your hand up my skirt?  That works for me.”  Steff licked her lips and smiled.

“Do you think you can walk a bit?  I’ve got a futon that’s at least 10% more comfortable than this waiting for us.”

“Sounds wonderful.  Just let me lean on you, and I can limp anywhere.”

It was a bit of a walk from the parking lot to the dorm.  The night was cold, and the wind had picked up.  Steff pressed against me, keeping one side of me warm.  She didn’t so much lean on me as dangle off me.  A few people were hanging around the lounge as we walked to the elevator.  Some heads turned, and there was some whispering and a few partially suppressed laughs.  I didn’t care and I’m pretty sure Steff didn’t notice.  She was busy gazing adoringly at me.  Turns out being gazed at adoringly feels amazing.  Makes a guy feel important.

The making out started up again in the elevator.  It didn’t stop when we got to my floor, but it did slow down while we made our way to my room.   Thankfully when avoiding studying earlier I’d cleaned up a bit.  Had the futon out, a clean sheet and my good blanket (not the old scratchy one) spread on it.  As love nests go, perhaps not all that romantic, but the best I could do.

“Mmm.  Cozy,” Steff cooed in my ear, rubbing the side of her face against mine like an affectionate cat.  She shrugged out of her parka.  I guided her down, like I was dipping her in a dance before dropping her the last couple inches.  She laughed, then bit her lower lip lightly.  I struggled out of my own coat.  Her emerald eyes lit up in anticipation.  Green light; go!  I followed her down.

We only kissed once before she suddenly made a worried sound.  “Is your alarm on?” She asked.

“What?” This wasn’t exactly something I’d been thinking about.

“Sorry! Sorry.  Just, I’m staying over, right?  I’m a little scared I’ll oversleep.  I could literally fail if I miss a test.  So, yeah um, is your alarm on?”

On some animal level I was annoyed.  She was thinking about tests and alarms as we were getting ready to fuck?  On the other hand, no, my alarm was not on.  I can’t honestly say I would have thought to set it that night.  Groaning, I rolled away from her, scooting across the futon.  

“Thank you,” she said.  “Um, would you mind setting it to 6:45?  I know it’s early, and I don’t like waking you.  It’s the opposite of being a good submissive slave-girl.  That would be letting you sleep in, then waking you up when you wanted with a nice blowjob.  But, you know, I have to maintain my body for you, so I should stick to my workout schedule, right?  And my knee, got to do my rehab, I want it to get better.  You know, so I can kneel, and- mmph” Steff’s self-conscious babble had gone on more than long enough for me to set the alarm, scoot back to her and silence her with a kiss.  She leaned into it and relaxed.  Her hands went down to her waist, and she started wiggling out of her skirt.

“You’re my girlfriend.” I told her when we broke apart.  I stroked one of her cheeks.  “You’re allowed to ask me for things.  I like helping you.”  

“In that case,” she pulled her sweater over her head.  Since it was a little too small for her, she had to fight it.  It was really funny to see, her head trapped in the inside out white fuzzy cloth, while she was trying to be cool and sexy.  She kind of managed sexy despite the plain practical black bra, as her gyrations made her breasts bounce and jiggle.  Cool not so much.  It made me want to fuck with her; it made me want to fuck her.  

While her head and arms were temporarily mummified, I grabbed two healthy handfuls of bra-trapped flesh.  It was shameless groping, because there was nothing stopping me, and I knew she’d like it.  My touch gave her pleasure; that was just a fact.  I was rewarded with a squeal that was half surprise and half delight.  

“Let me guess,” I said.  “You were going to say something like ‘please fuck me.’ Tisk tisk” Note that I didn’t make the tsk sound, I said tisk like a word.  I released her and reached behind her, going for her bra clasp. “Kind of obvious, and now the timing is way off.”  I fumbled with the hooks this time, as she wasn’t staying still.

Her head emerged with a triumphant smirk.  “Shows what you know.  That’s not even close.”  I got her unlocked. She shrugged her arms free, throwing the sweater aside.  In the process her tits slipped out.  She shrugged out of her bra, which wound up on my floor.  I went back to her breasts, fondling them more gently now.  Steff closed her eyes and started making very satisfying Mmm noises.

“Well then?  What was it?”  I slipped one hand down over her ribs.  She giggled and squirmed.  Ticklish, I guessed, saving that information for later. Down over that lean belly until I reached my goal, stroking her still covered pussy lightly.

Steff opened her eyes, blushing.  “I, uh.  I was going to remind you that you promised to put me under and do the test thing.  But, you know, with my tits out.  So, it’d still be sexy, maybe?”  She shot me a guilty grin.  “If you want.  Mmm.  That’s really good.  This is good.  I guess I could wake you up in the morning, and do it then?  It’s just, um, you said you would, and, oh God, if you li- mmm, if you really like to, oh, do stuff for me, then, ah!”  I’d been doing my best to derail her train of thought with my hands; slipping one under her panties finally seemed to do it.  Steff sighed.  “Sorry.  Date night.  No school.”  She sat upon her elbows and kissed me.

“Down deep” I said when she released my lips.  She immediately went limp and flopped back to the mattress. I could feel the tension leave her body, both the good ‘pleasure building up until it erupts’ kind of tension and the bad ‘string being pulled tighter until it snaps’ kind.  Steff had pushed herself way outside her comfort zone that night. Wearing a skirt and makeup, going out on a date, talking about feelings.  All while having two big tests the next day, meaning she had to repress her ‘pull a frantic all-nighter’ instinct.  She deserved to relax, I had promised to help her, and of course seeing her go under was a major turn on and power trip for me.

I gave her a few more strokes and squeezes before reluctantly taking my hands off her.  Her body was limp and her breathing steady; mine was decidedly neither. “That’s very good, Steff.” I said as calmly as I could.   The most beautiful girl I’d ever met was splayed out in front of me, stripped to her panties, having totally surrendered herself to me.  How the hell had I gotten this lucky? I started taking my own clothes off.  

“Very good,” I repeated after getting my sweater off.  “The water is nice and still now, isn’t it?”

“Still,” she repeated, a distant smile tugging at the sides of her mouth.  Steff looked so sexy that it was unfair.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?”  Steff very slightly nodded.  I tried to hastily get out of my pants without taking my eyes off her or breaking my calm, even tone of voice.  That was pretty hard, because I was pretty hard.  Yet I soldiered on.  Inspiring, I know.  “With each breath the water gets a little calmer.  You can let go of the things that were worrying you.  Deep breaths.  In.  Out.  That’s good.  So good.”  I got momentarily distracted by watching her chest rise and fall.  In both a horny way and an artistic appreciation way.  

Steff was and is always beautiful.  She has an amazing body, flawless skin, perfectly proportioned breasts and ass.  And her face, with the high cheekbones, brilliant smile and sparkling emerald eyes, it’s downright unfair.  But when she would go under, drop her defenses completely, let go of all that tense energy, that’s when she was most beautiful.  

“You, um, you’re feeling very calm now, aren’t you?”  I tried to get back on track.  “The water is very still.”

“Still,” she breathed.

“It’s so still that when something does drop in, the waves seem even larger.  This,” I gently stroked one erect nipple. “Feels even better than normal doesn’t it?”

Steff moaned, and a dreamy smile covered her face.  “So good.”

“We’re going to go further down under the water now.  But your body can stay up here and enjoy being touched.  You won’t have to think about it, you can just let your Master take care of you.”  I didn’t want her to cool down too much after all.

“Yes,” Steff sighed.  “Touch me Master, please.”

“Good girl.  Now we’re going to go down deep.”  Hearing her trigger phrase didn’t relax her any more physically, but her breathing slowed.  “Down deep,” I said again.  “We’re going into your memory.  I want you to remember earlier today.  How you felt while you were taking your tests.  Do you remember that Steff?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Good girl.  You remember how focused you were?”

“Yes.”

“You liked that feeling, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well from now on, whenever you take a test, you will slip right back into that feeling.  You’ll be totally focused, calm, and alert.  Your memory will be clear.  You won’t have any worries or think about anything you don’t need for the test.  Then when you’re done, you’ll go back to normal, and know you did your absolute best.”  I tried to focus myself, make sure I was doing this right for her.  It was hard with my hands roaming over her body.  It’s a strange experience, touching a girl and trying to turn her on while her face stays calm and her breathing is steady.

“Best,” she echoed.

“That’s right, your best.  Your best is usually great.  You’re… you’re perfect.”  I said without thinking.  But I meant it.

“Perfect” she sighed, smiling.

Oops, I thought.  Gotta be careful.  Last thing Steff needed was more pressure to be flawless.  I scrambled.

“Yes, um, that’s good.  You always try your best.  So, um, even if sometimes things don’t work out, that doesn’t mean you’re not still perfect, because you’re the best Steff you can be.”  Wow, this has gone completely off the rails, I thought. A minute ago this was foreplay. Now I’m Mr. Rogers, what happened?  I needed to put a lot more effort into planning, make proper scripts.  “Not just with school things.  You’re a great friend.  And even though it’s your first try, I think you’re an amazing girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend,” she repeated.  “Your girlfriend.  Perfect.  Your perfect friend, girlfriend, and slave.”

That was an interesting jump.  Maybe a dangerous one.  I tried to soften it a bit.  “That’s great Steff.  So you’re going to do your best.  Be the best friend, girlfriend, and slave you can be.”

“I’ll be the best I can be,” her voice was surprisingly firm.  I’d tapped into that deep rooted desire to overachieve.  That was good.  Probably. Maybe. Her mind was making connections I didn’t intend or really understand.  So it was best to quit while I was ahead.  Also feeling her up was driving me wild.

“That’s good Steff.  We can come up toward the surface now.  We’re rising up, closer to the top.  You can start to see the rippling water.  You’re coming back to your body.  It’s been enjoying itself while we’ve been talking, hasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Steff agreed.  She started breathing heavily again.  The flush had never left her cheeks, the dampness never totally vanished between her thighs, but both deepened  now.  I scrambled for my condom stash.

“I’m going to count down from three,” I said, fishing one out of the box I’d hidden discreetly under the futon.  “When I get to one, you’ll be totally back in your body.  You’ll feel everything we do.  Your body will respond on its own.  But you won’t quite be awake.  Not until I trigger you awake.  Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Three,” I said, opening the package and slipping it on.  Steff’s breath hitched. 

“Two,” I said, settling between her legs.  I took each leg and lifted her calves to my shoulders. She moaned slightly

“One,” Steff was in enough control to keep her legs up and spread, freeing my hands.  I rubbed my cock up and down her slit a few times, making sure it was nice and wet.  Steff whimpered needily.

“Zero,” I slid into her.  Steff gasped.  Her hips gyrated randomly, until I took hold and guided them.  After a few awkward seconds we got into the same rhythm.  She kept the pace when I took my hands off her hips and grabbed two healthy handfuls of titflesh.  

“Open your eyes, look at me,” I told her.  She obeyed.  Her eyes focused on me, but she was clearly not awake.  I could see those emeralds, but it was like they were in a thick glass display case.  She panted, grunted, whimpered.  She met my thrusts with her own and leaned into my groping hands, but there was nothing, no one there to choose to do so.  It was sexy, but it was also eerie.

Suddenly I wanted my girlfriend back.  Urgently.  “Wake up, Steff.” 

Her eyes closed, opened again, blinked and fluttered.  “OH!” she moaned.  “Oh God, Oh God, Oh, Tom, OH!” It wasn’t exactly speech, but Steff was awake.  Every thrust seemed to provoke an Oh.

“Oh, that, Oh, so, Oh, hot, Oh, tha-OH, thank, Oh, I, Oh, best, oh, oh, OH!”  Steff gave up talking for a while, content to just lock eyes with me with a massive smile.  It was a very effective way of non-verbally telling me how much she loved what I was doing.  That and the clenching and grinding of her pussy.

Even though it’d happened before over the past few days, I was still very much in the “OMG I’m fucking Steff. This can’t actually be happening” headspace.  And I saw an echo of that surprise on Steff’s face. She brought one hand up to my cheek.  Her other one went to her clit.

“Best. Friend. Best. Girl. Friend. Best. SLAVE!” The other words were groaned out, but slave was very forcefully moaned.  “Best. Friend. Best. Girl. Friend. Best. SLAVE!”  Her spontaneous mantra surprised me, but I was certainly not going to complain.  “Best. Friend. Best. OH!” 

I had a powerful urge to kiss her.  In the process of bending down to do so, while trying not to break my ‘stride,’ I wound up pushing her legs further apart and grinding much deeper into her.  I got my kiss, and many more, but we did wind up slowing down.

“Tom,” she whimpered.  “Can I, please, let me, I’ll be so good.  The best.  Perfect.”

“You are,” I told her.  “Cum for me Steff.  My perfect girl.  Cum for me!”

Steff screamed.  She thrashed.  She tried to crush my hips with her thighs.  It felt so good inside her, I of course lost it too.  We turned into a sweaty subhuman mass of blissed-out flesh.

As first dates go, I’d say it ended pretty well.