"Pheromone Pharmacopia"

by Brandy Dewinter

(c 2001, All rights reserved)

 

Chapter 17 - "Misquoted"

After we broke up, the idea of a little exercise *did* sound good, and there wasn’t really any better place to get it than jogging by the ducks at Lakeview park. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. I wasn’t really expecting to see anyone there. And I was only wearing a jogbra and shorts because, well, because it was hot.

I didn’t see Sean anyway. So there. I pushed it pretty hard for a couple of miles and was having a private argument with myself on whether I should stop to feed the ducks when I heard the sound of heavier footsteps echoing mine.

It was Kit Carson, though, not his cousin. "Hey, Jaymi," he said quietly as he caught up.

"Kit," I said, trying not to gasp too obviously.

"I hear you’re coming to the party," he said. I just nodded. Then he said, "Would you mind if Natalie and I joined you and Sean for dinner beforehand?"

By this time I had caught my breath a little. "Not at all. I suppose you should ask Sean, though. I don’t even know where we’re going."

"Oh, I can figure that out," he said, grinning. "I want to surprise Sean. It’ll pay him back for . . . well, for things when we were growing up."

"Have you two always lived in this area?"

"Nah. I moved here at the start of my freshman year. Sean was already a junior by then."

The path lifted onto an inclined section and neither of us spoke for a couple of minutes. I noticed Kit was frowning, but I put it down to coping with the hill. His frown didn’t go away when the path leveled out, though.

"Jaymi?" he said tentatively.

"Yes?"

"Um, look, Sean is my cousin and all, but . . . um, don’t be intimidated by him."

"Intimidated?"

"Yeah. I mean, he’s a big football hero, and he’s always had girls hanging around. Sometimes he . . . assumes things that you might not intend."

"What are you trying to say, Kit?"

"Nothing. Not really. Just . . . don’t be afraid of him. He’s really a nice guy, just . . . confident."

Like that helped. I tried to think of some way to get Kit to be a bit clearer, but nothing came to me. All that was clear was that he didn’t want to say anything more anyway. We ran along in silence for a few more minutes, but it was time for me to slow down and Kit still wanted to run, so we waved and I watched him as he lengthened a lead on me.

"I wonder what that was all about?" I asked myself. Myself didn’t have any good answers. Neither did the ducks, for all that they were happy to offer opinions on any number of subjects.

The next day was the last of the school year, only a half day in fact. Finals were over, but our presence was still required for a big assembly where the principal made a speech and various awards were handed out. None of that had any real relevance to me, but I joined with the other girls in applauding the jocks and laughing at the geeks. Unfair, of course, since once upon a time I was definitely in the geek category, but that’s the way it is. One thing about that interminable assembly was that it guaranteed that *none* of the students wanted to hang around campus after we were finally released. The thunderclap of air rushing to fill the resulting vacuum rattled the windows. Or maybe that was just the sound of all the cars racing each other to get away, away, anywhere but there.

It turned out to be a very good thing that I had let myself be talked into going to a salon that afternoon. I had learned several good looks for the evening, but none of them would have been as perfectly high school as the one I ended up with, complete with a huge mass of sausage curls that danced with bouncing energy while still making my neck look long and slender. My makeup was a bit more . . . flamboyant than I would have selected, too. I had never worn silver eyeshadow before, nor quite so much eyeliner. But that was what the other girls were getting so I went along. It had the effect of making me look very teen angel, and I had to admit I liked it. It was also a good thing we had all afternoon off, because by the time we had hair, face, nails and legs done, I was feeling the rush of time in a big way.

Time became even more of an issue when I finally got back to my room. I seriously considered changing my choice of dress for the evening after I saw the total package. I was definitely not as innocent looking as the glitzy teen angel makeup implied. Actually, it was and it wasn’t. When I stood still, it almost looked okay, not too short, not too low in the neckline.

But it was tight enough that breathing was going to be a spectator sport, not the least of which was because I was wearing my most . . . effective corset. It was smallest in the waist - after all, I had started the corset fad in our group and I wasn’t going to be outdone by anyone else - but what really made it ‘work’ was the half-cups in the bra. That, and the fact the lace of the dress was backed up by sheer silk that allowed my nipples to show if you looked really carefully. I had a feeling that people *were* going to look that closely, too.

The skirt wasn’t really any better. At first, it didn’t appear too revealing; only a couple of inches above my knee which was quite long by Gaggle standards. However, there was this interesting little overlap slit that didn’t show much when I wasn’t moving, but went up and up and . . . up with every step. That dress was WAY too sophisticated for a high school party, but . . . Well, hell, the truth is I looked hot enough to melt titanium, and this was The Party, the one I couldn’t have bought my way into before.

An inch-wide band of matching lace to accent my throat, chandelier earrings to call attention to all that neck, rings to show off my glittering nails, spike heels that would have made Carol wince, and I was ready. Yeah, right. Any girl that says she was *ready* when her first ever real date showed up is a liar. I was so sure that I had forgotten something that I almost didn’t answer the door when I heard the knock. Grand entrance cliche be damned, I needed a mother to stall while I checked myself out again to decide what was wrong. And got my way too obvious breathing back under control, and . .

But I didn’t have a mother any more, so I made myself go to the door and open it. I guess nothing was really wrong. At least Sean didn’t think so.

"Wow!" he whispered.

"Thank you," I said, not quite stifling a giggle that demanded release.

After several heartbeats (mine was thudding loudly enough that I could certainly count every one), I realized he was even more flustered than I was. It was funny, and I had to tweak him a bit. "Blink, Sean, before your eyes dry out."

"Whu . . oh, sorry," he said, flushing around his dark beard.

"I’m not," I said airily. "A girl *does* like to be appreciated."

That helped him to recover a bit more, and he gallantly replied, "Well, I certainly do appreciate you."

"Thank you, kind sir," I said, dipping into a pretend curtsy that just happened to show a lot of leg through that devious little slit. I didn’t hold the pose for long, though. As a result, he didn’t need to be reminded to blink again, nor to breathe.

"Um, these are for you" he gulped, then handed me some flowers, red and white roses in a twirly little wrist corsage that was really quite sweet.

"Why, thank you, Sean. How sweet." So sue me. I never said I was subtle, especially not in that dress. He was a college boy. It wasn’t quite like shooting fish in a barrel.

I wrapped the flowers around my wrist and gathered up my purse. Sean was . . . watching the whole time, but he managed to stabilize his breathing in time to ask politely, "Ready to go?"

"I was born ready," I said, laughing lightly. We will politely ignore my panic of just a few minutes before.

Actually, that panic was really gone. Sean’s obvious appreciation of my appearance had helped, of course, but it was more than that. For all his roguishly good looks, he was . . . like a child. Innocent in just how nasty the world could be. I had been forged in a fire that he had never even imagined, and thank God most people never would.

It seems silly to talk about a guy who was only a couple of years younger than me - who looked several years older - as being childlike, but it’s true. And with that realization, my . . . odyssey into the world of ‘insider’ high school girls was complete. Ironically, now that I knew I *could* be that type of girl, I didn’t *need* to be that type of girl anymore. I didn’t have anything left to prove, not to myself anyway. At least, at that very moment I didn’t think I had anything left to prove.

Which didn’t mean I didn’t have fun. Sean was a perfect gentleman, opening doors for me, guiding me with a politely placed hand, snarling silently at the restaurant valet who looked a little too closely at my . . . dress.

"Ah, Mr. Adams," the hostess said as we approached. "Your party is waiting for you."

Sean had visibly swelled with pride at being recognized. Then his breath whuffed out in a burst when the girl said someone else was already there. He looked at me sharply for a second, but I had managed to put a blandly innocent look on my face just in time. I considered asking a teasing, ‘who else did you invite?’ but I just knew if I tried I’d dissolve into giggles.

It was Kit and Natalie, of course. I never did learn how they found out where we were going, though the presence of several other couples I knew from school indicated this was a pretty popular place for Party dates.

"Yo, Cuz," Kit said broadly as we walked up. "Glad you could join us."

I’ll give Sean credit for a quick recovery. He smiled ruefully and accepted the inevitable, pulling out my chair for me and sitting without comment.

Natalie didn’t make any comment either, at least, not with words. Her eyes were as wide as Sean’s had been, though, when she realized how revealing my dress was . . . almost was . . . might be.

I almost lost it in a private giggleburst again when her first word echoed what Sean had said, complete with the breathy whisper. "Wow!"

"Wow yourself," I countered. She had poured herself into a stretchy red-sequined mini that was so perfectly ‘party dress’ that it should have illustrated a dictionary. With her wearing it. She looked terrific, but it was so high school, and I knew I was at least a couple of notches more sophisticated. Meow, meow.

It’s a good thing that this was really my last day in town, because I was *so* bad. Poor Natalie didn’t really have a chance. She did everything right, but I did everything better.

"What would you like?" Kit asked her.

"I think, I’d like the chicken marsala," she answered softly.

"What would *you* like?" Sean asked me.

"Oh, Sean, whatever you think is best," I simpered demurely.

That bought me a smile of pride from Sean and a much sharper look from Natalie. I smiled at her, a challenge in my eyes that was unapologetic. She rose to the occasion in a way that earned even more of my respect. I’d underestimated her from the very first day, and she accepted my challenge with humor and skill. It wasn’t enough, but she hadn’t had the experiences that it took to put that extra depth into my eyes. God forbid she ever would.

After that, we were locked in a friendly battle to convince our dates they were the most wonderful men ever to breathe. They bought it of course, never realizing they were just filling in a blank spot in the game.

"Um, darling," Natalie said softly to Kit at one break in the conversation - the boys were talking about football and we were fascinated, of course, "would you mind if I, um, went to powder my nose?"

"Huh? Oh, sure, go ahead."

Sean had my chair moving so quickly I almost didn’t make it back up on my heels, but I smiled gratefully just the same. No one asked if I felt the need as well, not even me.

As soon as we were out of whispered earshot, Natalie said, "Ohmigod, Jaymi, that dress is sooo wicked. I could *never* wear something that . . bad."

"This?" I said dismissively. "Why, this is just something I found in the back of my closet." Then I broke the haughty tone by giggling.

Natalie snickered, too. "If I had a dress like that, I’d have to hide it deep in my closet or I’d be grounded until I was thirty!"

"Yeah, right. Kit can see your heartbeat through that rubber band you’re wearing. I know, because his own pulse is keeping time with every quiver - and his eyes haven’t been anywhere else all evening."

"Quiver is good," she laughed. "But he’s been looking at you WAY too much."

"Yeah, right," I repeated. "Let’s go back and ask him what color dress I’m wearing. Wanna bet he doesn’t know?"

"Hell, girl, it’s not your *dress* he’s been staring out, and I’ll bet he can tell you all about the color of what’s been winking through it all night."

"Ya think?" I asked, taking as deep a breath as my corset allowed.

"Show off," she sniffed. But I noticed when she came out of the stall that she had done something to the cups of her own body shaper. You couldn’t tell the color on her . . . assets, but you could definitely tell their shape.

"Well, so much for anyone looking at *me* tonight," I observed.

"Just fighting fire with fire," she claimed.

"Gonna start a pretty good blaze with *that* look," I predicted.

"Welcome to Party night," she said unrepentantly.

While we were standing at the mirror, Natalie’s voice took on a more serious tone. "Jaymi?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think Sean knows about what . . . happened to you?"

"I don’t know."

"Well, he may. I mean, I haven’t told him of course, but, well, word gets around, you know?"

I sighed. "I’m not surprised."

"What if, I mean, what if he . . . wants something?"

"Not gonna happen," I said flatly.

Natalie’s eyes showed sympathy, and concern of another sort. "He might, um, be disappointed."

"Yeah, well, life’s a bitch and then you die."

"That’s cold."

"Frigid, in fact," I said, shrugging.

"Oh, Jaymi, I, oh, I’m so sorry."

Damn. I didn’t want the whole evening to revolve around what had happened to me before. Trying to change the subject, or at least the tone, I deliberately misinterpreted her remark.

"Why? Have you already *had* ol’ tall, dark, and studly and don’t want it to go to waste? Wanna trade for the evening?"

"What? No!" she gasped, then laughed. "Okay, you got me on that one."

"I’ll take care of myself," I promised her. "Let’s just have a good time tonight."

"Deal," she said.

We made our way back to our table to find our dates waiting with building impatience.

"We didn’t figure you girls wanted dessert," Sean explained. "None of you ever do, and with your figures, well, I’m not going to try and talk you into changing."

"Nice of you to notice, Sean," I purred while winking at Natalie.

She slid her arm around Kit and cooed, "I’m willing to go if you are, Kit."

God, we were bad. It didn’t get any better after we got to The Party. In the face of all those cruising carnivores, our dates got hugely protective. That’s what it was, of course, just being protective. That’s why Sean’s hands never left my arm, or my waist, or my hip, or . . .

"Watch it, Sean," I warned, pinching the web of his thumb in my nails. I was trying to decide if that was working. I didn’t think any hand I’d warned like that had roamed again. Of course, since he clearly had at least 27 hands, I might have lost track of which ones I’d pinched.

"Jaymi!" I heard a high-pitched call.

Turning, I saw an angelic Ashley breaking trail toward me, a grinning blond hottie in tow.

"Jaymi, this is Bobby Watson," she shouted.

"Pleased to meet you," I yelled back.

He nodded, still grinning.

Leaning close to Ashley’s ear, I spoke in a more normal tone of voice, which qualified as a whisper in there, "You’re late."

"We had . . . something to do first," she said.

I looked into her face for something a little more specific, but couldn’t find a clear answer to my question.

"Are you happy?" I asked, finally.

"Yes," she said simply, but she grabbed her guy’s hand and pulled it around her own waist.

"Good for you," I said, smiling.

That wasn’t enough, though. I mean, in some ways it was, but . . . I wanted details.

I grabbed her with one hand and yelled at Sean, "Powder break!"

He nodded, letting go of my hand and I towed Ashley to our table so I could get my purse. When we reached the relative quiet of the powder room I turned to her.

Before I could get my question out, she said, "No. We talked about it, but we’re going to wait. Bobby is satisfied with that. Well, and with . . . something else."

"Sounds like you two were made for each other," I said, smiling a benediction that I had no right to bestow.

"Oh, Jaymi, I hope so," she gushed. Then she laughed and said, "Though if I hadn’t already made . . . an arrangement with him, I’d worry about you and that dress. It is soo bad!"

"Ha!" I countered. "Listen, my angelic one, he is the first guy here tonight who hasn’t even looked at me. I’m hurt!"

She giggled and said, "I noticed."

"Braggart! And you said *I* was bad!"

She ducked her head and blushed, but that look of quiet pride was stronger than ever. Good for her.

Sean had hit the punch bowl when we returned. More than once, apparently. But he was a big boy and it didn’t impede his energy - nor his hands - at all. It was flattering, but after a while it got sort of tiresome, too. The same problem as before resurrected itself. The whole ‘outlaw’ Party thing was so . . . high school. What had been forbidden before was now so . . . available - at least in my real life - that it didn’t mean anything.

At a break in the music, Sean asked, "Would you like some air?"

I nodded, grabbing my purse again out of reflex more than a clear sense of need. We walked out through the grounds of the hotel complex, enjoying the quiet, holding hands.

"You’re very pretty tonight, Jaymi."

"Thank you, Sean."

We passed under a little trellised archway woven with climbing roses, and Sean stopped. He pulled me into his arms, not at all roughly, but with a casual strength that made any resistance irrelevant. Not that I particularly remember resisting.

It was the first time that I ever kissed anyone with a mustache. Strange sensation. Distracting. That was it. That’s why I didn’t resist when he did it again.

He bent me over a bit, molding our bodies together so my smaller arc nested inside his greater one. That’s why I ran out of breath. My corset was too tight. After a while, anyway.

I might have been past high school in a lot of ways, but I had never felt so . . . deliciously helpless, so weak and protected all at the same time. Part of that was Sean. He was a . . . masterful kisser, strong without being abusive, confident while paying attention to my own needs.

Speaking of needs. Sean whispered into my ear, "I have a room."

Uh, oh. "I don’t think that would be a good idea, Sean."

"I could convince you otherwise," he promised.

"I don’t think so," I repeated.

"Look, Jaymi, no one who looks as hot as you, who kisses as passionately as you can really be afraid of sex."

"So I’m asking for it, is that it?" I said, stepping back.

"That’s not what I said," Sean replied, his arms tightening with gentle force, slow but inexorable.

His lips found mine before I had a chance to say anything else, and the feeling of helplessness returned - part of which was my own desire for the protection that came with it. I didn’t want him to stop kissing me, but I wouldn’t let it, *couldn’t* let it go any further.

"Jaymi," he whispered in my ear. "I know what happened to you, but you don’t need to worry. I’ll be gentle."

"I’m not worried," I replied, struggling a little to push back where I could breathe, where I could think. "I just don’t . . . want to."

"Why not?" Sean asked. "I’m told I’m pretty good in bed, and you are so sensuous it makes my blood burn. And it’s not like you have to protect your virtue or anything."

*That* was not a good line to take with me. I may have been raped, but that hadn’t really touched my soul. I wouldn’t let it touch my soul. Not at the time, not in any time to come. My body might have been violated, but by God my soul had some virtue left.

And then it hit me, with an impact that was all the worse because I never should have forgotten, not even for an instant. I was not really a high school girl. I was a con artist. Lying about everything. What sort of virtue was there in that? Sean was a lot closer to right in his assumption than I had been in my automatic denial.

Which didn’t help at all. I squirmed to be let free, demanding it this time. "Sean, please take me home."

"Oh, no, Jaymi, don’t be that way. Look, let’s just go back into the party. When you calm down, we’ll . . . talk again."

"Sean, please take me home. Now."

He reached out to put his arm around me again, sliding it over the taut globes of my fanny on its way to my waist.

I over-reacted, more from shame than because of anything he had really done. He truly had been a gentleman all evening, really. Close enough, anyway, for a scene with the reputation of The Party. It was me that was wrong to take so much offense. I knew that even as I reached for his hand with something that El Supremo never taught me. In a lot less time than it takes to tell it, it was over.

Sean looked up at me from where he lay on the path, trying not to add any pressure to the strain in his shoulder.

"Good night, Sean," I said flatly, then let him go. I turned back up the path to the front of the hotel.

"Jaymi, wait! I’m sorry."

Not as sorry as I was, but things had gone too far to turn back now.

To his credit, he hadn’t tried to follow me. He had stood up, but he waited where we had been standing under that little arbor. It wasn’t fear that held him, not some worry that I would do something to him again. I knew that, somehow. It was honest respect for my feelings.

That hurt even worse, because I had been the one who had been treating everyone else without respect, with my lie, with my fraud. I owed him at least something.

"I’m sorry, Sean," I said, turning back to look at him. "This was a mistake - my mistake - not your fault."

"Please, Jaymi, come back inside," he said.

"I can’t," said softly.

"Then wait here," he suggested. "I’ll go get Natalie, or Ashley.

Talk with them. Just don’t go away like this."

I owed them at least as much, had taken advantage of their friendship at least as terribly as I had taken advantage of Sean’s interest. Running away like a coward wasn’t right; I needed to face the music. So I nodded, not meeting Sean’s eyes.

I heard him move away and turned to look up at the moon shining through the branches of the little garden spot. Everything was as perfect as things could be. The weather was warm, the sky was clear, the people I had met had been open and accepting. God had I screwed up!

"Jaymi?" Natalie’s voice reached out tentatively.

"Hi, Natalie," I replied softly.

"What’s wrong?"

"Nothing. Everything. Me."

By this time she had reached me and wrapped her arms around me. Like that helped. It did, of course, but what it also did was break my last strands of self-control and I was instantly sobbing helplessly. I felt more than saw Ashley join us, and someone’s gentle pressure led us to a seat under a gazebo.

"Tell us what happened," whispered Natalie. "Tell us what Sean did."

"Nothing. He didn’t do anything, except . . . be nice. It wasn’t him."

They sat in silence for a long moment. Later, I would remember the next thing that Natalie did and give her even higher marks for brains and sensitivity than she had earned before. At the time, I was shocked.

What she did was make a joke. "Gee, if we go inside and tell everyone that you were upset because Sean was too nice, they’re not going to believe it."

Ashley gasped, worried that I would find Natalie’s remark cruel and taunting. Maybe I should have, if I were still playing that game. But I was the wrongdoer here, and the idea of Sean being embarrassed for merely kissing a pretty girl - after all one might imagine he had done with other girls - was too silly for words.

It stopped me in my tracks, or in my tears. I wasn’t quite to the point where I could laugh, but somehow I wasn’t crying anymore, either. And I found myself defending him. Or my claim that he was nice, or something.

"All he did was kiss me," I said.

"Good kisser?" asked Natalie with deceptive casualness.

I didn’t answer, at least not with words, but I felt my face soften with the memory.

"I think we can take that as a yes," Natalie judiciously informed Ashley.

"Definitely," Ashley replied, beginning to get into the swing of things.

"So, your problem is that all he did was kiss you. Is that what you’re saying?" Natalie continued.

"I can see why that would be disappointing," Ashley said before I could respond. "But there’s other boys out there. Surely *someone* will find you attractive enough to . . . do more than kiss you."

"Oh, you," I said, finally smiling.

"So, what really happened?" asked Natalie, picking up on my changed mood.

"Well," I sighed, "all he really did was kiss me. But he, um, offered to do more, and when I said no, he . . . oh, God, he was probably trying to be ‘understanding’ by saying it doesn’t matter what . . . happened to me before. Like bringing that up helped anything."

"Men," the other two sniffed in such perfect unison it had to be rehearsed.

At that I did laugh, at least a little, but it also brought my mind back to the real issue. I sighed again, but straightened.

"Look, guys, I haven’t been honest with you," I began, searching for a lie that was as close to the truth as I could get. "This was all a sort of . . test for me, to see if I’m, um, ready to, um, fit in, as a normal girl. I think the answer is no. I have to deal with that, with what happened to me, with boys and what that means, with a lot of things. I thought I was ready, but . . . I’m obviously not."

"It’s not Sean’s fault, not at all," I said forcefully. "It’s me, but . . . I think I need to . . . go away again. I mean, go back to Montana and some, um, friends I have there."

"Oh, no, Jaymi, don’t say that!" Ashley cried.

"It’s for the best," I said calmly. I really was calm about it. I mean, there was always going to come a time when I had to leave. In fact, the next day. I never expected to get so emotionally involved - no lie there - but I knew I was going to have to go. This was as good an excuse as any, and better than just disappearing. That whole line of reasoning was finally sinking into my thick head. This was an opportunity, not a problem. At least for me.

I stood up. "Look, I really do have to go. I have some friends I can, um, talk with about this. They’ve helped me before. It’s for the best."

They had stood up with me. I wrapped my arms around Ashley, resolute, but quiet. She was crying now, but she saw my determination. I hugged Natalie next. She wasn’t crying. She had the wisdom, and the respect for me, that she accepted my decision.

"When will you leave?" she asked quietly.

"As soon as possible. Maybe tonight. If not, then early in the morning."

She looked at me, directly and intensely, then looked away. Unfortunately for her, if she wanted to hide her eyes she looked in the wrong direction and I saw a definite shine that she was trying to control.

"Tell Sean that . . . I’m sorry," I said quietly. Natalie nodded.

"Natalie . . . " I paused, trying to find the words. "And you, too, Ashley. I promise you that I’ll be okay. And . . . I swear to you that I have NEVER had such special girlfriends, such wonderful friends in my life. I’ll never ever forget you."

 

Sandy jerked, suddenly recovering from the world of her memories to look around the dark parking garage. A guilty look came into her eyes as she looked at her team-mates. She shrugged sheepishly, then said, "At the time, I thought I was telling the truth. But really, you guys are my best friends ever - the whole team. And I wouldn’t have it any other way."

There was an awkward moment, as they tried to deal with the intensity of the emotions that had been pouring out of Sandy. Surprisingly, it was Vanna who found a way to relieve the moment.

"So, Sandy, just what IS it like to kiss a guy with a mustache?"

 

(continued in next part)

 

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SMITE 2 - Pheromone Pharmacopia © 2001 by Brandy Dewinter. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.