Stephanie's Scheme

Alamo Preacher

  

Part Eight

Our Dad had left a list of chores for us. When he'd handed them over, Stephanie had bristled a little, since she did a lot of the work around the house day-to-day anyway without any instruction from Dad. But she'd relented. "Let him pretend he's in charge, just while he's away" She'd said to me.

Referring to his list, I saw that, hat day, I was supposed to have cut the lawns around the house. I'd left it a bit too late to get it all done today, but I reckoned I could at least get the rear of the house cut and raked. I put my girl's clothes on my bed and changed into a pair of old jeans and sneakers. I threw on a sweater and went into the bathroom. I washed off my makeup. My male face looked strange to me in the mirror. I sighed, my hands in the soapy water, discoloured with traces of makeup. What was I doing to myself? Would I end up regretting this? I loved being feminine with Ellen and Steph. I loved to be loved. I realised that in the years since Mom had left I had been getting lonelier and lonelier, more inward-looking, and introspective. It hadn't been healthy. Now, I felt great, but I was very confused. Could I go back and behave fully like a man, or even a teenage boy? Whatever I did, I knew I wanted Ellen, and I would do whatever it took to keep her happy. And Stephanie. I closed my eyes. I had to trust her, and trust that she knew what she was doing. I pulled the plug and went downstairs.

Steph was still in the shower. I put on a pot of coffee and went into the garage to check on the lawnmower. It was okay, and started first time. I turned it off, opened the garage doors and went back inside to have a mug of coffee before starting the mowing. Steph was standing in the kitchen in her dressing gown, her wet hair over over her shoulders. As soon as she saw me her mouth twisted into a hard line. She walked straight over to me and slapped me full in the face with her open hand. It hurt like hell.

"What the fuck?" I screamed as the pain rushed to my cheek, burning and throbbing horribly.

"You dickhead!" Shouted Steph. "What the fuck did I tell you this morning? You are visible from the gate when you are in the garage!"

She was referring to my hair, still blond and in a feminine style. I hadn't bothered to put my wig back on. It was uncomfortable and too hot. I had reasoned that no-one would see me at the rear of the house and I would be able to get away with not wearing it. I tried to explain some of this to Steph but she wouldn't let me get a word out. She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to the floor-length mirror in the hallway. She forced me to look at myself in the mirror.

"What do you see? What do you see?" She demanded, through gritted teeth.

I looked at myself. I was angry. My hair, while softly feminine close-up like this, could easily be taken for a modern men's style from a distance. I was about to point this out when I realised what she meant.

"Yes. You idiot. Your eyebrows give you away. Even from a distance you look like a girl with a man's body. You can't take chances with this Ken. With the lawnmower engine running you would not be able to hear someone approaching. A neighbour, Uncle Ken, anyone might call, hear the mower, and walk around the house to find you. They would be on top of you before you heard them and there would be nowhere to hide. What happened to your eyebrows Ken? What have you done to your hair?"

I hung my head. She was right. It could have happened. I could argue that I'd only started the mower, and that I was going to return to the house and fix my hair, but it would be pointless to lie. I was taking chances with my hair and I'd totally forgotten about the eyebrows.

"I'm sorry Steph. I'll try to concentrate... but.."

"But what?" She demanded angrily.

"I'm, I'm." I stopped. "I'm just sorry. I will do better. I won't take chances."

Steph grew kinder. She gave me a little smile in the mirror. "I know you will. Look, Ken, this is for your own good. I don't want you to be bullied, teased or worse, for people to think you're mixed up. You need to be careful."

"I will be." I said firmly, and went back upstairs.

Half an hour later, wig and eyebrows in place, I was working up a sweat behind the mower. We had a large rear garden, with nearly a third of an acre behind a high stone wall, mostly lawn. Grass-cutting was a constant Summer chore. I had put on the grass hopper and had to stop every three minutes to empty it in the compost heap. Soon, I discarded my sweater, leaving just a white tee. The sun was still warm, even as the afternoon began to fade into early evening. As I paused the growling machine I thought of Ellen. She was wonderful. I wondered if we could stay together when we returned to school at the end of the Summer. Would she want people to know that she was going out with someone as geeky and socially inept as me? I didn't really care what anyone else thought, but I didn't want anyone to think less of her. I wondered what I might do to make myself a better boyfriend. Get new clothes for one thing. I supposed. Maybe Steph could help?

I was so deep in thought about this that I was surprised to suddenly notice that Steph and Ellen had emerged and were setting up deckchairs on the rear patio. I hadn't seen them come out of the house as I'd been at the compost heap. They waved to me. They'd put on swimsuits and seemed to be intending to sunbathe a little. They both had put on straw hats and sunglasses. Ellen unfolded a little table and Steph returned to the house, reemerging with a tray with glasses and iced tea.

I grinned at them. This was like old times when they had played together in the garden as young girls. They lay out on the deckchairs, angling themselves at the sun, now past it's peak but still warm. I resolved to finish the grass cutting before joining them.

As I mowed, I cast glances at their lovely forms, gleaming with oil, motionless and elegant. Ellen had borrowed an old one-piece of Steph's that I remembered from years before. It was black, shiny, nylon material, with white piping along the bust line and down the seams. It had featured in fantasies of mine before. It fitted her perfectly, framing her perfectly proportioned body and accentuating her soft curves. I imagined what she would feel like, pressed against me while wearing it. I was so distracted. I almost ran over my toes with the mower.

Concentrate Ken! I thought to myself. I tried to stop glancing at the sunbathing beauties and finish the job. An hour later, as the sun's colour was changing to a deep orange I pushed the mower with the the final load of clippings to the compost heap at the rear of the garden. I left it running and fetched a garden fork to spread the grass cuttings evenly so they would rot down more quickly. It was hard work, but I wanted to do the job properly and it was satisfying to get it finished. As I stepped back to admire my work I realised Ellen had come up behind me. I started. I hadn't heard her approach over the noise from the mower.

She grinned at me. "Mmm. Sweaty man." She said and ran her hands over my tee shirt. She reached around my neck with her warm, bare arms and stood on tiptoes to kiss me. Her tongue probed into my mouth and I put my arms around her, pressing against the small of her back, feeling the smooth fabric of the swimsuit against her warm body.

"Aaaah. It's like having two lovers in one." She whispered as she broke the kiss. "A sweet blond girlfriend and a beautiful boy toy too."

Her tongue explored my mouth again and I felt her fingers snake down to my crotch. She felt me flinch.

"Don't worry baby. Steph's gone back inside and we're hidden here." She said.

It was true, the raspberry canes on one side and the pear trees on another screened us from the rest of the garden, even if anyone else had been there to see us.

"I wanted to give you a taste of what's in store when I really get a chance to say thank-you for this afternoon, lover." Said Ellen with a grin, and suddenly, incredibly, this unspeakably beautiful girl went down on her knees in the soft grass in front of me and - as if this kind of thing happened every day, she was unzipping my fly to release my unfolding, startled, erection from it's denim prison. In one smooth movement her pink lips had swallowed my cock and she was coating me with her saliva in preparation for a blow job.

"Oh Ellen no." I groaned.

She released me. She frowned. "No? Why 'No'?" She asked, puzzled. "It seemed like you didn't want me to the other day too. Don't you like it?"

I didn't know how to explain. I knew what it was that unsettled me but this wasn't the time or place to explain. But Ellen was still kneeling in front of me, my cock in her hand, the beginnings of a hurt expression beginning to coalesce around her frown.

I hunkered down in front of her. She was surprised, but didn't let go of my erection. She wasn't about to give up.

"I'm sorry Ellen. I love you. I love what you did for me the other day. It's just that kneeling there, it's like you're serving me, and I don't want that. In my head, I know you want to, but my heart says that you're being subservient, that it's somehow disrespectful for me to let you."

I was making no sense. Now that I heard my own confused thought processes, I wasn't sure I knew what I meant at all myself. I tried to continue explaining but still didn't make much sense.

Ellen just gazed at me pityingly. When I stopped babbling she put one hand on my cheek.

"Poor Ken. You need to learn something, but it's hard for you. Believe me when I tell you that this is something you need to change in yourself. You're right, it is subservient. This is something that I give to you, and it is your duty and your privilege to accept it. The only disrespectful thing you do is to try to refuse the gift that I'm giving you. Now stand back up there and concentrate on enjoying this thing that I am going to do for you. Don't you dare break eye contact with me while I suck you off. You need to understand and learn how to accept a gift from your lover."

She paused and waited. I stood up. I didn't dare argue with her. She gave me a little reassuring smile, and then, as if it was the most natural, everyday thing in the world, this impossibly beautiful girl opened her perfect lips and sucked my cock into her mouth. She coated me with her saliva and then, staring up at me with her beautiful brown eyes, slid her soft, warm mouth down over my cock, squeezing the tip between her tongue and lips at the top of her stroke and then diving down again to swallow me into her throat.

My heart pounded in my chest like a car suddenly given far too much throttle. My breath contracted in my ribcage and every nerve in my body suddenly seemed to do a double-take as my whole being suddenly was consumed by the overwhelming signals of overloading pleasure pouring from my cock like a wall of solid noise. 'Hello!' the signals said, with every knob turned up beyond full volume. 'Ellen Purdue is sucking your cock! Again!' I was beyond blown away. Looking down, I could see past her face, to the tops of the soft mounds of her breasts, shaped and accented by the underwired swimsuit. As a distraction from the terrible wall of pleasure engulfing me, Ellen's breasts left a lot to be desired, but at least they were a distraction. Damn! I was not supposed to break eye contact. I looked back into her eyes just as Ellen released me from her mouth and smiled up at me, pumping my now slippery cock with one hand.

"Concentrate now. No holding back. When you start to come, just enjoy it, let it come without trying to stop yourself. Just spurt all your come into my mouth and down my throat." And all too quickly she slipped me back into her mouth, renewing her sucking and bobbing with even more vigour. I would last another five seconds precisely. I steeled myself. Five. I gazed into her eyes as she looked up at me. Four. She pursed her lips as had together as she could as she drew them over the end on her upward motion and then, rasped her tongue hard on the underside of my cock, just at the tip. Three and Two went past simultaneously. Then she dove down again, and my orgasm began. One. Churning upwards from somewhere inside me just as she raised her head again and, pulling her mouth to the top of my cock, took the first blast of my come into her mouth. Zero. And then, bringing up both hands, she pumped me into her mouth, once, twice, three times, four. Each wrenching spasm sending my seed into her mouth. A fifth and final wrench finished me, and she tilted back her head, to show me her throat bob as she swallowed down my come.

She grinned at me, still kneeling on the grass. She was incredibly pretty, the swimsuit showed off her young body like a model's on a magazine cover, and somehow, she made this most slutty of poses seem like that of an angel. She had the same inner grace as Steph, but she expressed it differently. With a shock of realisation it was suddenly clear to me just how powerful a grip she had on my heart. This wasn't a silly infatuation. If she ever cast me aside I would be utterly broken. I was in love. Totally.

"Don't you just love me?" Beamed Ellen. I could only nod. Ellen stood and we kissed. I tasted the faint musty flavour of my own come from her lips, but, true to her word she'd swallowed it all down.

"I love you too." She whispered. "But I've got to go soon. I have chores of my own and I don't want my Mom on my case."

"Actually, she was asking about you." She added with a smile. "She likes you. She thinks you're the right sort of boy for me to go out with, rather than those nasty jocks I used to bring home."

This last bit was added with a teasing smile. I didn't know what to make of this. Ellen's Mom was old enough to be my Mom, but very glamorous, and very likely wank-fantasy material. I fought that thought away, but I knew it would be back.

"I'll be back tomorrow for another lesson. Don't get lonely now." She said, and after a quick peck on my cheek she turned and returned to the house, leaving me to get myself together in the garden.

By the time I'd cleared up and gone back inside, Ellen was gone. I had a shower, folded and put away my clothes and brought down the laundry basket. Steph had been shopping and was putting things away in the kitchen.

"Ah good." She said when she saw what I was carrying. "Put a load of delicates on and take out the stuff that needs handwashing. I'm going to make us something to eat."

I dragged the basket into the laundry room and got busy. Despite everything, handling Steph's underwear as I separated the soft panties out, could still give me a thrill.

Later, we ate in a friendly silence. I was tired, and Steph seemed to be considering something. She had a particular way of pursing her lips when she was turning something over in her mind. I didn't disturb her, but as I was clearing the dishes away she suddenly broke her silence.

"What do you think caused Mom and Dad to split up?" She asked.

I was going to shrug and make some sort of "Dunno." type answer, but something about Steph's tone made me pause. She had warned me that I needed to 'Shape up.' and 'Concentrate'. Was this some sort of a test?

I thought. I found it hard. It was easier to let things just happen, rather than trying to analyse them all the time. That's what Steph did, and that's why she found herself arguing with everybody - in conflict with people all the time. Still, she wanted me to consider things more and she had done so much for me recently. I wanted to please her, make her proud of me.

I thought hard. I thought of how it had been when we were very little. The good times. Then the beginnings of realisation that things could be bad between Mom and Dad. Then the very bad times. Then the end.

I knew the obvious, trite things that people say. 'Growing apart.' 'Wanting different things.' 'Needing time apart.' In the end though, Mom had left. The different thing she'd wanted was James Hughes, who she'd had an affair with, run off with, and eventually married.

"I think, really, at the end of it, Mom just didn't love Dad. That she never really did, and that she just wanted someone else."

Steph turned to me, still sitting in her kitchen chair. I was drying dishes near the sink..

"Is that what you really think?"

She was simply asking, her voice neutral, not betraying how she felt about my answer, whether she agreed or disagreed. It struck me that we'd never talked about this.

"I suppose so. I know things were bad beforehand, but I think she was actually having the affair even when things were pretty good. I think it was actually going on for quite a while."

Steph nodded, and raised hery eyebrows at the same time. She seemed to agree with that anyway. She spoke.

"Actually. It wasn't that the affair had been going on longer than is generally accepted, chêz Carter, but that there were other affairs. The only difference about the one with Jim Hughes was that it was the last one. Mom was actually seeing lots of different men, and for as long as she was married to Dad."

This was an astonishing thing for Steph to say. My first reaction was disbelief. This just couldn't have been the case, and even if it were, how would Steph know this? No. I shook my head.

"Yes, Ken." Said Steph, her lips pressed together. She betrayed no emotion about what she was saying.

"Yes. Mom had a series of affairs with other men before Jim. Some just a couple of times, some for six months or more." She said, in a deliberate tone. I was still shaking my head. Steph seemed to have been prepared for this resistance. She spoke again.

"Her Dancing Partners."

It was true. It struck me like cold water dousing my body. Time stopped as I recalled.

I had forgotten the Dancing Partners.

Mom was a keen ballroom dancer. More than keen, she was semi-professional. She attended competitions all over the country and practiced twice a week. She had a collection of fabulous ballgowns and outfits. She attended every big event. It was her life.

Dad didn't dance. He never danced. He didn't go to the competitions. He was just quietly supportive, from the background.

So, Mom danced with dancing partners. She'd never had a particular one, but they came and went in series, some lasting longer than others. They would call for her in their tuxedoes and she'd sweep down the stairs in some glittering outfit, revealing a lot of leg, and after giving Dad a chaste peck on the cheek, her chisel-jawed partner would whirl her out of the door and off into the night, leaving only a trace of her perfume behind. Often, the competitions would be late in the evening, in a town across the country, necessitating an overnight hotel stay.

"All of them?" I asked.

"Of course. You don't think she was really interested in them as actual dancing partners do you?"

Steph sighed. "She wasn't even that good a dancer, and lots of the men she went out with were absolutely terrible. I wonder that she had the nerve to keep on entering competitions. No, they were chosen for different skills. Didn't you ever wonder about the fact that she only ever went to competitions where she would have to stay overnight? Or that she never seemed to win any prizes? "

I was stunned,, but still, it made sense. It fitted. I knew that she was right. I remembered all the events, all those rock-jawed men. All those dresses. But wait!

"But hang on a second Steph." I said, suddenly pouncing on a flaw. "If that were true then Dad must have known. There's no way he could have not realised if it was going on all the time, right under his nose."

I trailed off. Steph was just nodding. Her mouth a thin line.

"That's right Ken. He must have known."

I looked at her in astonishment. There was no answer to that. My world -had it not been turned upside down already - would have been now. As it was, it was knocked sideways. Steph stood, and took the dish and cloth from my hands.

"You go upstairs and change into your clothes." She said. "Then come back down here, and I'll give you another makeup lesson and I'll tell you what you need to do when you start your job."

I paused. I was going to say something, but I couldn't imagine what that might be. I went upstairs.

All that evening, I sat downstairs at the kitchen table as Steph showed me again, and in detail, how to apply my makeup. She explained how to blend the colours, how to alter the tone of my skin and how to hide blemishes and imperfections. I wore a tissue bib to save my navy blouse and my cream skirt over tan pantyhose. I loved my clothes. I loved the feel of the skirt lining moving over my nylon-covered thighs as I shifted in my chair to get a better view of my face in the mirror, as I practiced with the foundation, powder and pencils. Steph's calm voice soothed me, relaxed me. I could understand why women paid so much attention to their appearance. The act of making oneself beautiful was therapeutic in itself, just as important but separate to the end itself.

We didn't talk about what she'd told me about my Mom and Dad, but as I took my turn to apply the makeup, she told me what she wanted me to do at the Davies Offices.

It seemed that a dozen or more independent lawyers shared an office there. Simon Field was one of those. In the shared office were two receptionists, a senior office assistant and one office junior. I was to be the junior. I would have duties like coffee-making, some typing, filing, that kind of thing. I would not have much contact with the lawyers or their customers. However, I would have access to their offices. I was to somehow get a copy of any details of his clients. Names and addresses, case histories, whatever. I was not to take risks. I would be there only a few days so I would have to take my opportunities as they arose.

I didn't ask what the ultimate purpose of all this was, or how Steph knew about this lawyer or anything else. I just listened, letting my sister take charge as she helped me to transform myself from the boy I used to be, into the secret woman that I was becoming.

  

Part Nine

During these hectic days I'd hardly thought about what Stephanie was proposing that I do. Everything was hurtling along, and while nothing was being forced on me, I had no chance to come to terms with what had just happened before some new experience was presented. Only a few days ago I was a relatively normal, if introverted, sulky and unhappy teenager. Then suddenly I find myself masturbating in front of my sister. From then on I'd been whirled between her and Ellen, dressed up and presented with new temptations, new experiences, new knowledge, not all of it welcome or easy but all of it ultimately wonderful and rewarding.

I knew a few things for certain. I loved dressing in beautiful clothes. I loved to feel feminine and pretty. I loved Ellen Purdue. I loved Stephanie. Everything else was open to debate. Only one thing really worried me. What was Stephanie going to do when Dad and Chérie returned? I hadn't forgotten the glimpse of her rage and hatred of Chérie that I'd seen on the night of their wedding. My sister was preparing something. She had some sort of plan in mind, and it had to do with Chérie, and I was part of it too. Whatever happened wasn't going to be good for Chérie, or perhaps, and this is what I feared most, it would backfire and Steph would come off badly, or my Dad. I worried about us, our family. I wished that things could just be normal, or even just a little bit unusual. I wanted Ellen, and I wanted to be her girlfriend as well as her boy, but I wished that Steph and Chérie would just get on together. Could it be like Dad said? That it was just the natural order of things for Chérie and Steph to challenge each other for the alpha female position in the house? He seemed to think that this would just play itself out, and I supposed that he imagined that Chérie would supplant Steph as top cat in the Carter household simply by being his wife. I suppose he thought that Stephanie would just accept this after some initial resistance. If that was what he thought then I wasn't sure that that's how it would work out at all. Steph was formidable.

Such thoughts were very much at the back of my mind during the following days however. We fell into a pattern, or rather, Steph dictated a pattern to me and I obeyed her, while Ellen did whatever she liked. In the morning I would prepare breakfast for both of us. Steph - never a morning person -would look haggard and tired at the breakfast table. I think she was having trouble sleeping, but I gave her lots of room at breakfast and never asked any questions about what might be disturbing her.

I'd get dressed in my women's clothes and Ellen would come over and teach me deportment and elocution till lunchtime. Steph would do her chores in the morning and then prepare a light lunch for all three of us at midday. After lunch, Steph had prepared a set of secretarial exercises for me. Mostly typing, but she'd also bought a book on standard office and business practice which she expected me to study and understand by the end of the week. I hated this part of my training. It was almost like being in school. In fact, the book was a secretarial college textbook, aimed at teenage girls, training for office jobs. Steph said it was essential that I was competent, even though Williams would not expect me to be highly skilled, they would expect me to be at least smart enough not to be useless in a legal office. Steph had worked as an office junior for Williams during the previous Summer. She'd learned to type and use a modern switchboard in her spare time and at evening classes and had earned quite a bit of money temping at local firms, covering holidays and maternity leave for office girls and receptionists. She'd done a couple of weeks work already during the Summer and I imagined that she do a few more weeks again nearer the end of the holidays, presumably after Dad and Chérie returned. Anyway, I was expected to be able to understand filing and some simple bookkeeping and office procedure at the end of each of my afternoon's studies. During these afternoons, Ellen and Steph would go out together, usually shopping or maybe to an afternoon movie. Steph might see Gregg, and they had other girlfriends. They went driving or swimming or whatever, just as usual. On these occasions, when I was home alone, Steph, forced me to change into my own clothes, in case anyone might call round and ring the bell. I hated this, partly because it was a pain to have change clothes so many times during the day, but also because it necessitated the whole hair and make-up rigmarole each time.

"I thought the novelty of all that would wear off quickly." Remarked Steph when I chafed at all this. I tried not make myself more ridiculous by pouting, but failed. Sometimes Ellen would help me, and then the chore of hair, clothes, and makeup became a sensuous pleasure. Over those five or six days immediately after the wedding I fell ever more in love with her. When she kissed me, I felt myself drowning in her. When she looked into my eyes, my brain melted, leaving me hypnotized, lost and spellbound. Her laugh was like sugar sprinkled on strawberries, and her husky whispers in my ear, like the darkest, most sinful chocolate.

We spent each evening together, making love or eating or playing games. We enjoyed each others company, but it always seemed that she had to go home too early. It seemed that Ellen's Mom had forbidden her to stay over at our house anymore. This was ridiculous I thought, since she had seemed to spend every other night in our house during the previous Summer and all through the last school year. But Ellen's mom knew that she and I were an item now, and she had forbidden her daughter to stay over while I was here. I thought we could have found a way around this pretty easily but Steph forbade any deceit and refused to countenance any of the lies I suggested she could tell to convince Ellen's Mom it would be be okay for her to stay over. Without her help no plausible excuse could be concocted.

On Thursday evening I thought I had come up with a plan that could work without her help. I had been tested on my typing that afternoon after Ellen and Steph returned from an afternoon of bowling. I'd been okay, and Steph had even complimented me on my progress at walking in heels. Now she was preparing a supper for the three of us and Ellen and I were sitting alone together on the settee in the other room. Ellen's hands had snaked up my legs, under my short dress and she was slowly rubbing her hand between my nylon-encased thighs as she kissed and nibbled on my ears and neck. Often, she was like this, aggressive and needy. She liked to work both herself and me into a state of heightened arousal which she would sustain all evening, teasing and flirting, ever so slowly raising my desire for her and her own sexual longing until either she could take it no more or Steph would banish the pair of us up to my room claiming that our antics distracted her.

I squirmed under my lover's touch. Getting this excited this early was pointless, as we were going to be eating in twenty minutes anyway, but she would not be stopped. In any case I had something I wanted to discuss with her. I decided it would be best if I just let her have her way with me for the moment while I explained my plan.

"Ellen." I said, keeping my voice low. "I have an idea."

"So do I, honey, I want to get hold of your cock, shift up a little bit."

"Please Ellen, this is important. Oh, God, your nails are sharp. Careful."

"Sorry."

"What I want you to do is to tell your Mom that you and Steph are going to visit Gwynneth in Crewe in their cottage up the coast. You would be able to drive up, and stay over with her. They always go up there for a months at this time of year. You visited last year, not overnight but you could stay this time . - Oh please Ellen. - Listen."

Ellen had slightly pulled down the waistband of my pantyhose and had managed to get hold of my erection through my satin panties. She was terribly slowly rubbing her thumb over the tip through the soft material, while encouraging me to do much the same to her bullet-hard nipple through her bra fabric, having slipped the shoulder-strap of her own dress over one shoulder

"Mmmm. That's nice. Hard, but slow Ken. Why would I want to visit Gwynneth with Steph? I don't even like her that much."

"Oh please Ellen. Be serious. You won't visit her. The point is that they have no phone in that cottage. Your Mom can't check up on you. You'll really stay here with me. We won't tell Steph this story, but I'll tamper with the phone so that no-one can ring in or out so there's no way we'll be caught. Then, later you and Steph can actually go and visit her so that the story is less likely to be found out. Ahhh."

Now Ellen had managed somehow to get her hand inside my pantyhose, panties and underneath my ass, and was attempting to work one finger between my cheeks. She had long, sharp blood-red nails and I was attempting to clench my buttocks to prevent her getting any further."

"But Ken. Stop wriggling. But Ken, we'd be bound to be found out. My Mom is suspicious of all the time I spend here as it is. I lie all the time about your whereabouts and she's not convinced we're not alone together as it is. As for Steph. You know what she's like. I can hardly ever get away with lying to her and you never can. She'll have rumbled us in a minute. How will we prevent her from noticing I'm staying over?"

The finger had worked its careful way as far as it could go. I tried to concentrate on what I was saying whilst fighting down the arousal that was beginning to get out of control.

"You'll hide. You can pretend to leave and then...."

Suddenly Ellen stopped, withdrew her hand and moved away.

"No Ken, it just won't work. And anyway, look. I'm doing something tomorrow evening with Steph."

"What? What are you doing? All evening? Without me?"

Ellen looked slightly irritated and exasperated at this.

"I knew you'd be like this. Yes, all evening. We're just going to a party, it's not a big deal. You're not invited, it's kind-of an older crowd. People who've left school. So yes, without you."

She looked at me. The pain and hurt must have been written large all over my face but she didn't relent. She pressed her lips together like Steph did.

"Ken, don't start getting all jealous or all teary on me. I love you, but I have to have my own life too. I've been here every evening this week and I like being with you, I love you, but there's other things in my life too, and other people. I'd bring you but like I say, it's just not possible. You can amuse yourself for one evening can't you?"

I pressed my lips together. Inside, I was a huge ache, but I didn't want to upset her.

"I'll be fine." I said. "But what about my plan?"

Ellen moved close to me again and moved her hands back to me.

"Your plan stinks Ken." She whispered. "Leave it to me. We'll spend the night together soon, but on my terms, okay? Let me sort it out."

I nodded and let her do what she wanted. It was just so much easier that way.

On Friday afternoon, Ellen and Steph went shopping. I was in a bad mood. They were all excited about the party that night and were behaving like particularly immature and giggly schoolgirls. It wasn't really that big a deal. A few boys that had gone to college in London were having a party in one of their houses while their parents were on holiday. Doubtless, there would be booze available at the party, which would have made it more exciting for some kids in fifth or sixth form like Ellen and Steph but I couldn't see why they would get worked up over that. These college guys can't have been too fantastic anyway, or else why were they having party with a bunch of schoolgirls. If they were really mature and sophisticated then they would be hanging out with people their own age, in college.

These were the thoughts going round my head anyway, while Ellen and Steph giggled and planned their shopping trip over lunch. I knew I was sulking but didn't seem to be able to stop myself. I knew they weren't being deliberately cruel, but I was eaten up with jealousy. I wished they were gone. After lunch, when Ellen tried to give me a secretarial exercise to do while they were out, I flatly refused to do it.

"I don't fucking have to." I said.

"You're fucking right." She replied, not impressed with my tantrum in the slightest. "But you will have to fucking do it when you start your fucking job, and there'll be no fucking book to fucking help you then. So what will you be then? Huh?"

She gave me an exaggerated, quizzical look. I just scowled back.

"You'll be fucked. Won't you?" She tossed the Good Secretary's Guide to Office Procedure onto the sofa beside me and strode out of the room. I turned the TV up good and loud before they left, just to make the point that I wasn't doing the exercise, even more childishly and pathetically clear. As soon as I heard their cars pull out of the drive I turned the TV off and sighed. I lay on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling.

"Fucking, fucking party." I sighed.

I knew exactly what my problem was. What would happen at this party? Older boys? Drink? Skittish girls? Boyfriend not there? Sissy boyfriend not there?

"Fucking party." I said again with more conviction. Images of Ellen, writhing in ecstasy as some shithead college stud held her down and fucked her savagely, were arriving, raging into my mind despite my best efforts to block them out.

"Won't happen. You're a fucking idiot for even thinking it. She loves you. All she's doing is going to a party."

Saying it out loud should have made this more persuasive, but in the empty, echoing house, my words sounded pathetic and hollow.

"Going to a fucking party, without you. Will fucking happen." I whispered quietly to myself.

The whisper was far more convincing.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, Fuck, Fuck. FUCK!" I said as I got up from the sofa and went upstairs, trying to get way from the Dolby surround sound, digitally enhanced video of Ellen reaching a state of almost painful sexual nirvana as she was ruthlessly rodgered by her pornstar Adonis in student form, which was playing full blast in slow motion in my imagination.

I found myself in Steph's room. Scene of so many furtive panty thefts in the past. True to her word of a few weeks previously, Steph had had locks fitted to every wardrobe and drawer in her room. I looked under her bed. More out of curiosity than anything else. Not so much as a discarded sock under there. Besides some toiletries on the bedside table there wasn't a thing in the room that was accessible to the casual visitor.. Did she really distrust me so much? Did she think that I would continue to violate her privacy even after she'd given me all her nicest lingerie? She was right of course, I'd still have wanted to touch her clothes. I could admit that much to myself, but the almost military-level of security in her room was intimidating, unnerving. Was this necessary to keep me from her clothes?

Or maybe there was more than just clothes and the incidentals of a teenage girl's life hidden in these wardrobes and chests of drawers? What might a girl like Steph have to keep hidden? I had no idea, but I wouldn't put anything past my sister. She was capable of almost anything. If she turned out to have a hoard of assault rifles in her closet then I'd be surprised, but not that surprised.

I walked out of her room, and wandered into my Dads. My Dad's and Chérie's now, I thought. The wedding dress was still on the coverlet, carefully replaced by Steph. Chérie's dress. In a week she would return and hang it up in my Mom's wardrobes.

Chérie.

Not me.

Chérie.

The security in Steph's room was to keep Chérie out of Steph's personal stuff, not me. For a moment, it was as if my head cleared. It was as if I was asleep and came a little more awake. Only a couple of years ago, this had been Mom and Dad's room. Now it was to be Chérie and Dad's. The thought of this struck home as if it hadn't really been real before. She would be sleeping here next week. She would be there at breakfast. She would be there when we got home from school. Would she keep her job in school? Why didn't I know this? Would she be home all day? Would she be cooking? Cleaning? I tried to picture her playing 'Mom'. It didn't fit. She might not keep her job, in fact I suspected she would not, but she wasn't about to turn into a housewife I didn't think.

Why didn't it seem real? I looked around the room. She hadn't moved anything into our house. Not a single thing. Not yet anyway. Why not? The only thing of hers that was here was the dress and her used underwear. Doubly used since Steph had been in it too. I looked at the stockings, discarded in the corner of the room. Steph was as good as I at recreating the exact details of the lie and folds of casually discarded underthings. The dress too, looked exactly as I had found it on the night of the wedding, nearly a week ago.

I looked at the wardrobe where I had hidden on that night. On impulse I opened it. Mom's dresses. Several of her old dancing gowns hung there. I'd worn a couple of them before. Not recently. She'd taken most of them with her when she'd left, but not everything. She had taken what she'd wanted of her clothes and possessions and left the rest. Dad had never cleared the rest of the stuff out, which gave the impression that Mom had just gone on a very long holiday, for which she'd packed almost all her clothes, but not quite all.

"She's never coming back." I said, out loud.

The sight of her dresses was giving me the faintest stirrings of a the beginning of a feeling which might lead on to something else. I thought about suppressing this hint of a sensation.

I should turn around, go back downstairs and do something constructive. But I didn't. I didn't feel like it. I opened another wardrobe. Then another - having a random look at my Dad's stuff, and the detritus of my Mother's life with us. I pulled over a chair and stood on it to get at the very highest shelves at the back of the last upright wardrobe. I reached up. Yes. A pile of pornographic magazines. My Dad's ancient collection of Playboys and Penthouses. Not one dating from after his marriage. I pulled down the pile. I wondered at him. Why not throw them out? Wasn't he embarrassed that Chérie would find them once she moved in.

Pow! Chérie was on the cover of the top magazine. It was a 'Gent'. I'd never seen it before, nor ever heard of the magazine. It was on the top of the pile. It had not been there two months ago, which was the last time I'd borrowed one of Dad's magazines.

Yes. It was her. Glamorous. Skimpy outfit. "Charlene Contrelle shows why she's on top of the world!" Ran the line o the cover. False name , but no doubt about it. It was her.

Gent wasn't really a fully-fledged porn mag. It was a supposed men's-lifestyle magazine, but clearly it was from the more robust, explicit end of the spectrum. I flicked through the first few pages. Advert, advert, advert. Index. Thumbnail pictures for each photo spread. One of Chérie. She's the main feature, in the center spread. Small picture, breasts visible. Oh my God! Gorgeous Breasts!

I scanned the index blurb text for the article and spread.

"Rising Model Charlene has just won 'Lingerie model of the year.' At the prestigious 'New Fashion Awards' Show. Inside, full photographic feature on the show, the models and the sexier, than sexy outfits and Charlene herself talks exclusively to Gent reporter Carl Mertle and shows her fabulous, world-beating body to our top photo-man Brian Cant."

Jesus motherfucking Christ. This is what she did before arriving at our little school. For a moment I considered not opening the magazine. I could put it down, replace the magazines and walk away. I thought.

Who was I kidding? There was no way I could do that.

I flicked open to the center pages.

I grazed the text. The usual bullshit. I picked up a couple of facts. Only one year of modeling. Whirlwind success. Hints of more risqué material in her past. Wishes to move into mainstream movies. Pppfft! Who doesn't? First couple of pictures make hands go clammy. Dark pantyhose. Very short, asymmetrical dress, made of dark, clingy, heavy-looking synthetic material, shot-through with something shiny. Hair - moussed-up high and dyed a chocolately brown. Provocative, confident poses. Dress hem riding up over generous, softly curved, voluptuous thighs. How far will a magazine like this go? Even if it goes no further then it's still unspeakably good wank material, and I suspect it will go much further. Hints of more risqué material in the past? Thoughts about hunting down such magazines?, films?, flit across my mind. Calm. Focus. Breathe. Flick over the page when ready.

Jesus Motherfucking Christ on a Shitty Stick Fuck! Full two-page spread, edge to edge. Chérie on all fours, dress riding up over her perfectly formed behind, revealing softly stretched pantyless pantyhose over her unbelievably wonderful ass cheeks. One dress shoulder strap is caught in the act of falling off her shoulder, allowing one gently overflowing braless breast to fall free and visible from her chest, just revealing a long, brown, perfect nipple. Face, smiling lovingly, framed by the perfect waves of soft hair. I gave a silent prayer to the genius of Brian Cant, photographer after my own heart, and deliberately unbuttoned my jeans and pulled out my suddenly totally erect cock to show it the vision of beauty lying in the open magazine before us.

I stroked myself, once twice, gazing into Chérie's smiling, sultry face, and allowed my eyes to drink in the utter perfection of the photograph that so expertly captured the maximum-strength sexiness of her ripe young body.

I hardly dared to turn the page. Oh My Living God!

Two, one-page pictures. In the first Chérie kneels facing the camera. The dress has slipped down off both shoulders. She holds each breast in her hands, cupping them, offering them to the camera, to me. The nipples, no-nonsense erect, point straight out of the page, almost into my mouth. The dress falls around her waist. She is sitting on her feet, the dark nylon stretched over her knees, which point to the camera. Again, the sultry, playful smile.

The second picture is even better. The camera angles in from above, Chérie is sitting, her knees together, pulling the dress off over her head. Her hair, is just coming tumbling free of it. The focus of the shot is the hint of dark triangle of pubic hair, just visible through the pantyhose.

Over the page, is the final picture, clearly from a different shoot, and cropped. Chérie is taken from the waist up, but with her calves, ankles and feet also in shot. Her face, contorted in sexual pleasure. This was obviously a hard-core shot, from which her partner had been carefully sliced off. As I drank in the frank, sexual image, I reasoned that she must be being supported somehow to be in that position. She seemed to be lowering herself onto someone lying prone beneath her. Her eyes were hooded, her forehead beaded with perspiration. She was unspeakably sexy, a primal, raging object of desire and lust. I began to pump in earnest, drinking in the picture and then flicking back to reacquaint myself with her again, in the sensual, posed shots, and back again to the more chaste and formal cover.

As usual, when masturbating, a fantasy storyline formed in my head. In it, Chérie was here, in this bedroom. She was getting ready to go out, dressing herself in the outfit from the magazine. I sat on the bed behind her. Watching. Her manner was playful, teasing, as if something very fun, but also very naughty was going on between us.

"Mmmm. I love this dress." She said as she pulled it from the wardrobe in front of me. "Really, I need to wear dark pantyhose with something like this. What do you think Ken?"

Her voice is soft and husky, matter of fact, but with an edge of honey. Both sultry and confiding.

"Yes. These, brown ones. Thick and soft. You think so too don't you Ken? Here, hold my dress for me, while I pull off my skirt. Oh, don't be embarrassed Ken. It's okay. I'm your Mommy now. So it's okay for you to see. Just don't stare at my panties now."

She crosses to the vanity and pulls open a drawer.

(Soft panties of all styles and colours and fabrics are tossed everywhere, landing on the lampshade, at my feet, on my face. Oh! The scent of them!)

"Oh. I've no dark panties to go with these. I'll just have to wear them without any panties. What do you think Ken. Look."

She is standing in front of me, naked, pantyhose in hand. Her legs spread. I peek at her she smiles, lovingly.

"Oh Ken. Don't be embarrassed. It's just Mommy's lovely pussy. Do you think that the dress will cover far enough down Ken> Will people be able to tell that I'm not wearing any panties? Will they be able to see Mommy's pussy? Will they Ken? Can you see Mommy's pussy Ken? Does it make you excited Ken? Seeing Mommy's pussy?"

She laughs and runs her hands down over her belly, meeting at the dark, cropped vee of brown hair above the soft lips. She laughs again.

"Mmmmmm. Mummy's pussy." She purrs.

She slowly pulls on the pantyhose, standing in front of me. Her eyes never break contact with mine. Oh Christ she is so beautiful. So soft and curvaceous. So perfectly shaped, like brown sugar made flesh.

She slips the dress over her head. In the fantasy it has become one of my Mother's old dancing outfits. Slim and also asymmetrical, with a very high slit, spangly and dazzling, leaving nothing to the imagination. As she steps into a pair of very high black sandals she speaks again.

"Will Ken be lonely while Mommy is out with her friends?"

She is closer now. I can smell her scent, the particular smell of the nylons from the drawer, her perfume, the special smell coming from her warm legs. She is more serious now. Her voice carries a hint of urgency, concern. Need.

"Does Ken need Mommy to stroke him before she goes out dancing with her friends? Had Ken got all excited watching Mummy get dressed? Has Kenny's little thingy got all hard and uncomfortable? Does Ken want to rub his thingy between Mommy's legs? Is that it? Rubbing your thingy between Mummy's thighs. Rubbing your thingy against my pantyhose. Stand up Kenny. Oh, Kenny's so short. His thingy just comes up between my legs. That's in Kenny. Push your thingy in between my legs. Is that what Kenny likes? Oh! Your thingy is so warm. And so hard. Fffft. Oh that's nice, isn't it? Rubbing your hard little thingy between my legs. Oh Ken likes that. Ken likes that. Ken likes that. Up and down between Mommy's legs. Almost up to Mommy's pussy. That's it. Press your thingy hard against Mommy's pantyhose. Hard against her legs. Up and up. Ken can't get into Mommy's pussy. No, no, no. Up and down. Up and down. Rub your thingy between my lovely legs. How does it feel Kenny. Do you love Mommy? Do you love Mommy's legs. Mmmmm. Soft legs. Ffftt. Fffft. Fffft. Ken's thingy loves it between Mommy's legs. Oh. Ken's face is almost brushing Mommy's breasties. Mmmm. Ken's nose just touches between Mommy's breasties Does Ken like that too? Mommy's breasties nice too. Lovely soft breasties. Will Ken do his business between Mommy's legs if Mommy lets him touch her breasties? Ha ha ha. Ken loves Mommy's breasties. Here they are. Here they are. Out of Mommy's dress. Breasties for Ken. Mmmmm. Press your face between them Kenny. Here, Mommy press them together. Push your face into Mommy's breasties. Oh! Ken's sucking on Mommy's breasties. Mmmmmmm. That's soooo nice. Now the other one. Mmmm. And stroke your thingy between Mommy's Legs. Up and down. Mommy presses her legs together. Mommy presses her legs together. Kenny's thingy so hard between Mommy's legs. Up and down and Kenny's hands on Mommy's breasties. And thingy trapped in Mommy's legs! Oh! Up ad Down! Oh! Legs! Between! Mommy's! Legs! Now Ken! Oooooooh. Hard! Against Mommy's Breasties! Mmmmmm. Oooooh! Ken! Aaaaah! Push! Between! MY LEGS! PUSH! NOW! HARD! AGAINST! MOMMY! LEGS AND BREASTS AND MOMMY LOVES KEN! MOMMY LOVES KEN! MOMMY'S LEGS! BREASTS! LEGS! BREASTS! PUSH HARD! NOW! NOW! MOMMMYYYY! KEN LOVES MOMMY! KEN Loves Mommy! Mommy! .... Mommmy! .... Mommy! ......Oh Legs .... Oh Mommy!"

I had the presence of mind to catch my jetting, gushing slice of come in my hand, preventing it from spraying the room and the magazine. As I gasped to a shuddering, heaving spasming halt I realised that I had bitten my lip so hard it was sore and that I had been making tiny whining noises to myself as I had worked myself to my orgasm. I looked down at the smiling, pouting face of my Stepmom, unmoved and unsurprised in her glossy centerfold world. She loved me. I loved her.

I looked up. Somehow, it came as no surprise to see Ellen standing in the doorway.

I only caught a moment of Ellen's horrified, shocked expression, before she covered her face with her hands and ran from the room.

  

Part Ten :

My first reaction was to try to run after Ellen. I heard her run down the corridor away from my parent's bedroom and then hammer down the stairs. It took me a moment to realise that I wasn't following. My hands were covered in my own semen. My trousers were wound around my ankles, I couldn't run after her like this. But that wasn't the reason. I was overcome by shame and self-loathing. How could I talk to her? How could I face her? What had she seen? I had to chase after her. I couldn't lose her. What the fuck was I doing? I stood and awkwardly stepped into my parent's bathroom, my trousers still around my ankles. I cleaned my hands on some toilet roll, the realisation of what had happened beginning to become clearer in my mind as the aftershock of my orgasm receded. What the hell had I been thinking? How did I not hear them return? Was I going deaf? What were they doing, back so soon anyway? As soon as managed to clean off my hands I pulled up my jeans and buckled them. There was a step outside the bathroom. Steph appeared around the doorway. She peered at me. She had the magazine in her hands, open to the centerfold. She raised an eyebrow?

"Were you?" She asked. "She caught you? In the act?"

Outside the bathroom window I could hear Ellen's car suddenly start up, the engine revved up wildly and then she tore off down our drive. I winced. Steph. spoke again.

"She ran past me. What happened? Did she really catch you wanking over your pictures of your new Stepmother?"

I groaned and looked at the floor. I couldn't answer.

Steph laughed. I looked up, horrified.

"Oh I'm sorry Ken." She tried to force back her laughter. "You're just so fucking stupid." She laughed again. I stared at her. I desperately needed her help. She would know what I should do, but all she could do was laugh at me. I was horrified. I noticed her knuckles. Where they gripped the magazine they were white. She held it so tightly it looked like she was hurting herself. I didn't know what was happening. Her laughter became harsher, turning from mirth to angry growls.

"So fucking, fucking Stupid!" She shouted. She waved the glossy magazine in my face, holding it open to shove Chérie's naked body at me, causing me to step backwards, almost stumbling over the toilet.

"Did you race up here to wank over her?" She screamed. "Could you not fucking wait till tonight when we'd be gone for longer?"

Her voice broke with her rage and and disbelief.

"Could you not have at least done it in your own room or locked the fucking door?"

I was shaking my head, trying to get some words of protest out. I had to get through to her. Something was wrong.

"What is it about her? What the fuck is it?" She screamed, waving the Magazine even more wildly.

"Steph, Steph, no. I didn't race up here. I was just looking around. I didn't even know this magazine was here. I came .. eh, I stumbled across it."

She stopped for a moment. Tears had formed in her eyes but had not yet fallen. She regarded me for a moment.

"Are you trying to say you didn't know where Dad kept his porn magazines?"

"No, no. But I never saw this before, it wasn't here a couple of months ago."

"You didn't know about this? About her past?" She seemed almost incredulous, surprised.

"No, no. I haven't been in here in ages."

"But, but Ken. Everyone in school knows." She gave me a look that seemed to imply that she was having difficulty believing that even I would not know about this.

I looked at the floor.

"Not me."

She gave me a pitying look.

"So, Ken, is she your heart's desire too? The glossy, plastic Chérie? She must be, you've given Ellen up for her."

"No! No!" I stepped forward and grabbed hold of her hands. I think I hadn't laid hands on Steph in ten years.

"No! Steph, please. You've got to help me. I can't lose her!"

I locked eyes with my sister. I had to make her understand that I was deadly serious.

"Please." I said, searching her eyes for some compassion. She shook her head from side to side, more sadly than angrily. She looked down at my hands, gripping her hands. I suddenly let her go, as if shocked. She glanced up at me, surprised at my reaction.

"Sorry Steph." I mumbled.

Suddenly, and to my complete surprise, she stepped forward and, putting her arms around me, hugged me tight to her.

"Ken, Ken." She whispered into my ear. "You have just no idea, do you?" Her arms were wound tightly around me, so tightly that my own were pinned to my sides. I wouldn't have known what to do with them anyway, I was so confused. Stephanie was still whispering into my ear.

"You just bumble along, with no idea what is going on. Life is going to be so cruel to you."

I had no idea what she meant, but at least she seemed to be taking pity on me. Maybe she might help me a little.

"Ken, Ken, Ken." She sighed again. She pulled back. "You want me to help you, do you?"

I nodded as vigorously as I could. I looked into her eyes. Were they damp?

"Ken. Have I ever refused to help you? Have I ever done anything spiteful to you?"

Despite everything, this was just so untrue! She always teased and scolded and forbade and cajoled. I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped myself. Was she ever spiteful? I couldn't think of anything spiteful per-se. I had to admit. She could be brusque, impatient maybe. Cruel? Not really.

Stephanie was searching my eyes now. Her arms were still locked around me. A truth emerged in my searching, churning mind. She loved me. Sometimes, it seemed that she was cruel, but only to help me.

'Don't wear that smelly pullover Ken, do you want people to call you Stinky?'

'Please don't say that Ken. If you say that, people will realise what a geek you are.'

'Jesus Ken. Don't be such a sissy. If you have to be, don't let people see.'

My life was pretty shit, but how much worse would it be without Steph? How much better would it have been - would be - if I listened to her more? She never tried to change me, just make me happy. I remembered what Steph had been like when she was my age. She was the ultimate unhappy teenager. The divorce was going on around then, and she seemed to be miserable all the time, but it wasn't just home life. At one time she was teased and bullied mercilessly at school. She used to come and lock herself in her room for hours on end, crying. Did she just want to help me to avoid the worst of that?

She was still waiting for an answer.

"Steph, I, I love you Steph. I know I'm an idiot sometimes but I know you love me, or at least, I think I've just realised it, just now, or maybe over the last few weeks. I know you want to help me, and I appreciate it, I really do. You're the only person who really gives a shit about me, but now, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to upset Ellen, and I'm so sorry, but I love her so much and I don't want to lose, her, can you help me...?"

I trailed off..

Stephanie smiled sadly and reached forward to me. Her lips were brushing mine before I realised that she was going to kiss me. I was shocked for a moment, and might have pulled back, but before I could do anything her sweet mouth was gently pressed against mine and I could taste her lips as her tongue swirled lovingly into my my mouth and I found myself helpless as I pressed back against her. We melted together for a moment, eyes closed, sliding our lips and tongues wetly against each other. She broke away. My head swam.

"Yes, I will help you, but you have to be prepared for some pain. Don't get any ideas now Ken. I love you, yes, but just as a sister. I love Ellen too. I'm kind of unsure about the two of you together but I will help you." She looked into my eyes again.

"You do realise that it's up to you. I can only help you?"

I nodded. My heart thumped in my chest. Steph had kissed me! She was going to help me. She released me.

"Now clean yourself up, put that magazine back exactly where you found it and come into my room."

She turned and was gone.

I counted to three to try and get hold of myself. I cursed myself over and over as I cleaned myself up and put everything back together again. After ten minutes I was back outside my sister's bedroom door. I took a deep breath, resolved to try and shape up and went in to her room. s soon as I stepped in to the room I froze. Steph was facing away from me, pulling on a gold coloured dress with a snakeskin print. She must have bought it recently, as I'd never seen it before. She wore no bra, and I caught a glimpse of her right breast as she turned to me. To my relief she smiled warmly at me.

"Come in. Zip me up." She said. I walked over and pulled up her zip. I could see matching shoes in a box by her feet.

"First things first." Said Steph. briskly. "You need to call Ellen and apologise." She won't want to talk to you but you've got to do it anyway. Why?"

I gulped at the unexpected question.

"Ehhhh. Because otherwise she might think I don't care." I guessed.

"Close enough. It's to show that you do care. Well done. Next, you need to explain to her why you were doing what you were doing."

"But Steph. if she won't listen to an apology she's hardly going to........"

Steph held up her hand.

"Not now, stupid. Tomorrow, when you ring to apologise again. Now. What will you say."

I looked blank. I felt my mind empty. I stared at her. "Why was I .......?"

"Wanking." Said Steph, firmly, and impatiently."

Despite all that we had shared, I blushed. Steph regarded me impassively.

I cast about for any kind of reasons. I thought about what had happened that evening.

"I, eh, I suppose, I was angry with her, with both of you for leaving me behind. I just wandered about the house. I went into Dad's bedroom. I opened up his wardrobe, I saw the magazine. I was surprised. I suppose I was kind of......"

I caught Steph's gaze. She was looking at me very intently. She had yet to put on her shoes and, standing in just her pantyhose, we were almost at eye level. I could read no suspicion, nor any help in her deep blue eyes. I longed to be able to make something up that would satisfy her, but I really didn't know what she wanted top hear. I don't even know that I knew what the truthful answer was myself.

".....kind of surprised and, eh, turned on, by the pictures of Chérie. It was strange and kind of exciting to see them, so I just....naturally...started to....have........a.......wank."

Stephanie betrayed no reaction.

"You said - Why couldn't I have waited, or gone into my room, but I really thought you guys were gone for the night, or else I would have. I mean, actually, no, obviously, I wouldn't have if you were here. If Ellen was here."

"But later?" Asked Steph.

I knew what she meant. Would I have stashed it, waited for an opportunity and then had a wank over the pictures later. Of course I would. I nodded.

"Then that isn't really the answer then is it Ken?" Said Steph.

Shit. No it wasn't. But if it wasn't, what was?

"Because she's sexy." I said, almost surprising myself.

"Sexier that Ellen?" She countered, instantly. Clearly she'd been expecting me to say that, or maybe her brain just worked faster than mine.

"No. No." I said, "But different."

"How different Ken." Said Steph, taking a step forward. "Think."

It all came out in a rush "She's slutty but in a harsh way. She knows she's gorgeous and she plays up to it. She sneers. I suppose that makes her sexier."

"Does it? Do you think that she's a bad girl? Ken?"

She was very close now.

"She's not a bad girl. She's a woman. A bad woman I suppose."

"A slut? A cheat?" Asked Steph, her voice dripping with venom.

"I suppose so. Yes, a, a, " I stumbled.

"Say it Ken."

"A whore."

"Like Mom."

"Yes, like Mom." I felt myself give in, and I realised what terrible tension crackled between us.

"And you want that more than Ellen?"

"Noooooo" I cried.

"Then why the wanking. What sort of fantasy was going on in your mind in our parent's bedroom Ken?"

I realised that tears were welling up in my eyes.

"That's not fair Steph. It's not. I just happened to be there. You don't know what was going on in my mind."

"Don't I?"

"No. No you don't. If you did then, you would see how much.... how much I love her." I felt myself break a little and tried to hold them back, but the tears were coming hard now."

"Love who Ken."

"Ellen, Ellen, Ellen!" I cried, in rage and sorrow, not caring much now that I was blubbering. On one level of my mind, I could detect a change in Steph's tone - was she weakening? I despised myself for wriggling out of this by simply bursting into tears.

"Okay, okay Ken." She said and stepped forward and held me in her arms until my crying slowed and then stopped.

"Now you go downstairs and phone Ellen. She'll have reached her house by now. If she asks tell her I'll call over soon."

I dreaded phoning, but I dreaded further questioning even more so I went. Before I dialed I fetched myself a glass of water and tried to calm myself. I counted, focussed on what I would say and walked to the phone.

Ellen picked up after a few rings. "Hello?"

"It's Ken." I said. She was silent.

"I know you probably hate me now Ellen, but please believe when I say I love you and I'm very sorry that I hurt you."

"Okay." She said quietly.

This surprised me. I'd expected theatrics, shouting. At least some sort of reaction. I wasn't sure what to say.

"Are you still going to go to the party?" I asked, more for something to say than anything else.

"I don't know. Is Stephanie going?" She asked, in the same quiet voice.

"I think so. She's changing. She said she'd be over soon."

"Right."

"Ellen I love you."

"You said." She replied. And then. "Thanks for phoning."

She hung up. I cringed. I had hurt her. Badly. I hated myself for it.

Stephanie was coming down the stairs. Her snake-print dress was long, and slit to mid-thigh. Her hair was down and loose over her bare shoulders. I was struck by how much she resembled Mom, regally descending the stairs, ready for one of her dates.

"Well?" She asked.

I wasn't sure if she was asking how she looked, or how it had gone with Ellen. I played it safe.

"Wasn't as bad as I thought. She sounds hurt. I said I was sorry. She's expecting you."

Steph paused at the foot of the stairs. "Come into the lounge for a moment." She said, and strode ahead of me.

I followed, head hanging in anticipation of another grilling. Instead, Steph walked over to the drinks cabinet and took down two glasses. She poured herself a generous measure of whiskey and then a smaller glass for me. She handed it to me and raised her glass in anticipation.

"Cheers." I said, without any relish and we clinked our glasses together.

"Sit down for a minute." She said, and we sat, facing each other.

She took a long sip. "Tell me what you think about adultery, Ken."

I might have thought that I could no longer be surprised at what she said, but I would be wrong.

"What about it?" I asked.

"Well." She mused. "Do you think it's right or wrong?"

I was unsure about this. "Well, wrong obviously. Cheating is always wrong?"

"Ah. Cheating. That covers more than just adultery."

She took another sip.

"So, if Cheating is wrong. What counts as cheating?"

"Well, being unfaithful, with someone else."

Steph raised an eyebrow. "With someone else? That seems unnecessary Ken. Why add it? Are you specifically ruling out your solo games with Chérie."

This was unfair. I was stung. Then it occurred to me that Steph was testing me. She wanted to spar with me. She wanted me to argue with her. To defend myself - put forward a point of view.

"That is different." I said. "That may be wrong, and I'm not entirely sure it is, but it's wrong in a different way. Cheating has to be with another person, or else, how are you being unfaithful?"

"A good question. But here's another. Can you be unfaithful in your own mind? Without ever being with another person?" She leaned forward in her chair, waiting for my answer.

"I closed my eyes, concentrating.

"Sort of."

She sat back, and I hurried to explain.

"I mean, it's more complex than that. You could fall in love with another person, and without ever cheating, you would hurt someone who loves you, but that's not quite the same. You could obsess about someone without loving them, and that too would be hurtful, but neither are cheating. In a way, just cheating would be the least hurtful of those, since it wouldn't matter beyond a physical way."

I looked to Steph for some reaction. There was none. If she was impressed or not with my thoughts it didn't show. She seemed nonplused with my half-baked ideas of love but very intense nonetheless. Without seeming to prepare her thoughts she spoke.

"When I was twelve, I realised that Mom cheated on Dad. I hated her. I hated her contempt for him, her cruel means of belittling him, the obviousness of it. I loved Dad. When you're twelve, your Dad id your whole world. Your ideal man. Most twelve year old girls with any brains begin to hate their mums at that age. Its a kind of Oedipal thing. Anyway, he seemed to me the most tortured, romantic thing ever, and she the most heartless bitch. I never said anything to them of course, but I let her know I knew in many little ways. She used to look at me sadly, as if I could never understand. Or at least that was how it seemed to me."

She sat back in her chair again and took another sip of whiskey.

"Then, it slowly, very slowly dawned on me, that if I knew, then he must know too. He had to. It didn't make sense. I would lie awake at night, wondering what was wrong with him, Why didn't he stop her. Why didn't her throw her out. How could he go on tolerating her."

"He loved her."

Steph sat bolt upright again, almost spilling her drink.

"Did he? Do you think so?"

I thought.

"I would have been nine years old. I don't know if I would have been able to tell.......On an intellectual level I mean. But I think that I would have noticed if they didn't love each other."

I wasn't really sure of this at all. I looked to Steph to see if she agreed. Her eyes were round and staring. She'd never looked at me like that before.

"You know, I've never thought of that. That you would have noticed. You're very probably right. You never seemed unhappy then. If they'd hated each other you would have seen it. Been upset. But they didn't. They hugged, they kissed. They smiled at each other all the time. He could make her laugh. She could make him glow with pride."

She seemed reflective. Lost in memories of a happier time.

"But at the time I hated them both. I thought this was all a sham."

She looked at me. "An act. To fool me."

Another sip.

"Of course, it didn't add up. Over time, I began to realise that it was complex. She cheated, but he didn't mind. He must have known, but not only did he not stop it, he seemed to enjoy it. It wasn't just that he wasn't possessive. He encouraged her."

She leaned forward again.

"Encouraged her." She emphasised."He enjoyed it. He wanted her to be a slut, a whore, an adulteress. He liked it."

He voice was bitter now, she chewed on the words like lemon pips. As if to say them soured her mouth. I was going to speak, but she silenced me with a wave of her glass.

"And then I hated them both. Her, for cheating, him for the perverse pleasure he took in it. The realisation turned him from wounded hero to sad pervert in an instant."

She drained her glass, and stalked over to the cabinet to get a refill. She splashed whiskey into her glass and then cocked the bottle at me. I shook my head. I'd hardly touched mine.

"So, there I was. Sixteen. Mixed up. Hating my weird parents, unsure about myself, nobody to turn to except an idiot younger brother." She glanced at me. "....who seemed to want nothing but to steal my panties."

I cringed.

"And along comes Ellen Purdue. Or, at least, she'd always been there, but then she seemed to be the only person who I could talk to. She had some understanding of what I was going through...."

She paused again, lost in thought.

"But anyway, that's not the point." She sat down again. I wondered about how she was going to get to the party.

"The point is this. He started to become unfaithful to her."

I frowned.

"How?" I asked.

"Aha!" Said Steph. almost pleased with herself. "It's complex. As you say yourself."

She took another drink. "She started to lose her looks. She was no longer the vision in satin she'd been ten or even five years before. She wasn't the vamp she'd been. He lost interest, because they lost interest. He began to go sour on her. They love that they had, faded away. She eventually found some happiness with that Jim Hughes and they drifted apart, got divorced. But it was him, don't you see. He was the one who became unfaithful. He wanted the whore, and when she couldn't perform any more, he lost interest."

She knocked back her drink in triumph at having expounded her theory and stood.

"Now, phone me a taxi." She said.

I considered trying to explain where I thought she was wrong. Steph's version of the ending of my parent's marriage seemed a little off-kilter I believed that my father had probably only wanted my Mom to be happy. He did love her. He was sad after she left. I suspected that he may have enjoyed her behavior too, but perhaps it was possible that they both could have been happy that way. It can't have been purely one or the other. Their lifestyle could have suited them both. But probably not for long. I suspected that Mom and Mr. Hughes had simply fallen in love, that a short affair had turned into something more and that, diffident as ever, my Dad had stepped aside. Stephanie clearly had decided on her own theory though and now was not the time to debate it with her. I phoned her taxi, and while we waited, Steph explained that she would persuade Ellen to go to the party. She'd stay over at Ellen's place that night and that I should phone in the morning.

"Be good now." She said as we heard the taxi crunch up the gravel drive outside. She pulled on a gold coloured wrap.

"So, do you wander what Ellen will get up to when she's at this party?" She asked as she crossed to the door.

She knew me too well, but I was beginning to understand what was important, both to Stephanie and myself.

"I do. But I love her all the same." I said levelly.

"You are your father's son." Said Steph with a wry smile and, with a whirl of perfume, she was gone.

"And you are your mother's daughter." I said to the door, as the taxi crunched away again.

  

Part Eleven : .

Of course, I'd like to be able to say that I didn't return to thinking about Chérie that evening but it wouldn't be true. Once Steph had left, I returned to my Dad's bedroom and fetched the magazine. I carefully copied out all the details of Chérie I could find in the text and then replaced it. It occurred to me that Chérie probably wasn't her real name either- who on earth was actually called Chérie?

I was determined to try and find out more about her myself. I suspected that Steph knew more than she revealed but she wasn't the only one who could play detective. I would spend some time on the internet café the next day and find out some more myself.

As I readied myself for bed I tried not to think what was going on with Ellen. My earlier fantasies of her with some other guy came back more vividly than ever, amplified by all that Stephanie had said earlier. Could I understand my Dad or my Mum? Was I like him? I had to admit that thinking of Ellen with another man was arousing in a very strange way. I tried not to think about it, but strange and disturbing thoughts flickered across my vision as I tried to find relief in sleep. In particular, I could not help but wonder about Steph's ideas about our Dad and Chérie. She clearly thought that they were about to embark on a new relationship like he had had with my Mom. She couldn't stand the thought of that, of him being cuckolded again, even with his own agreement, even his wish. Her fierce pride would not allow Chérie to use him in the same way. Did she believe that the same thing would happen again, that they would end up breaking up? That she would leave him as Mom had? But she also thought that Dad had been complicit in losing Mom. She believed that he had grown tired of her as she grew older. It was all very confusing, and I suspected that even Steph did not have the whole story correct.

I'm not sure at what point I managed to fall asleep, but eventually I did, finally waking to an empty house late in the morning.

 

As soon as I opened my eyes I wondered where Ellen was. Was she with someone? How was she? I decided to call her immediately. I'd padded my way downstairs to the phone in the hallway before realising that I was wearing a white nylon babydoll nightie that Steph had given me. It had been too small for her, and though delicous, looked utterly ridiculous on me.

I glanced about. It was almost ten o clock in the morning. Theoretically, I was forbidden to prance about the house like this. Steph had warned me repeatedly. However, I reasoned that the chances of being caught so early in the morning were remote - she was most likely at Ellen's. Steph slept in late often, and after a party she might sleep in till noon or even later.

I picked up the phone. Would Ellen be at her house. What if she wasn't there? What if she'd stayed over at the house of these college boys? That wouldn't necessarily mean anything. Would it? Would a girl like her really stay over at a college party and not end up getting laid?

I cursed myself. "A girl like her."? Who did I think I was. This was my darling Ellen I was thinking about. But what about what she'd seen. Her boyfriend, masturbating over pictures of his stepmother. What might she do in anger and frustration?

I grabbed the phone. There was only one way to find out. I dialed. The phone purred and clicked in my ear. I listened to it ring. Most likely scenario - Ellen's Mom picks up - no problem - "Can I speak to Ellen please? Oh she's not back - okay just tell her I called." Second scenario - Steph pick's up. "How was the party - can I talk to Ellen." Third scenario - Ellen picks up, "Hi Ellen........"

Suddenly, the phone clicks and a male voice says

"Hello?"

"Eh, Hi, who'd this?"

"Never mind who this is - who's calling?" The voice is young, suspicious, forceful. Familiar?

"Ehh, this is Ken Carter. I'm, eh, looking for Ellen Purdue."

Sudden recognition. "Oh right. Carter. She's still in bed, Ken. Can I take a message?" The voice drips knowing mockery. Who the fuck is this guy? Do I know him from school? A senior? Already left? One of the college guys? What's he doing there in her house? Can he take a message to Ellen....In bed!?" "Well, Ken? What's the matter? Do you want to talk to her or not? Do you know who this is Carter?"

I fumed, my mind racing.

"No." I said, shortly, failing to keep the pathetic, jealous angry tone from my voice. Suddenly I was very aware of what I was wearing, what the real world was really like, what boys like me could really expect from girls like Ellen and shitheads like....

"Kurt Andrews. You know me? I'm Ellen's boyfriend. So what do you have to say to Ellen, Carter? I'll give her your message when I wake her up."

The voice now carried a hint of menace, threat, possession. I was being warned off. Whatever he knew about me, he wasn't worried. Kurt had left school the previous year. He hadn't been mentioned by Ellen or Steph as a possible party- attendee. He had beer, or still was, Ellen's main boyfriend for the past year or so. Their on-off-on relationship had been the central and most exciting part of the ongoing school dating soap opera that dominated the lives of the school's bold and beautiful. Out of my league. In a way, the crushing reality of the end of my fantasy with mixed-up, cruel Ellen Purdue made dealing with Kurt easier.

"That's okay Kurt. Is my sister there?"

He actually laughed at my capitulation.

"Ha! No, your screwy sister left an hour ago. Anything else?" His voice now conveyed sickeningly ironic affability. He was a real charmer.

An hour? Jesus! She could be here now! Where was she?

She was behind me. I turned and saw her, my heart sinking into my guts as I caught the full rage-filled expression on her face. "Thanks Kurt." I said, and slowly replaced the handset.

"What the fuck did I tell you?" Said Steph, her face freezing with anger and barely controlled fury. "What the fuck did I tell you?"

I said nothing. I was broken, I didn't care what she said, what she did to me. Inside my heart broke. What I really needed now was comfort but there was little chance of that. I'd been warned. She'd been through it with me. I'd waved away her endless reminders not to get careless with wearing girls clothes. We'd joked about her obsession, with her endless nagging. Now, here I was, caught red handed in one of her girliest nighties, in broad daylight in the middle of the morning. She could just as easily have been uncle Ken, who could have let himself in with his key and found me here.

All this was unstated of course. There was no need. She knew it. I knew it. All that remained was the evidence of my total stupidity and failure.

She stepped closer.

"What?"

She expected an answer.

"That I wasn't to wear girls clothes around the house unless it was safe. "Not that!" She screamed and smacked me full in the face. Her blow was so strong that I fell to one side, almost going down on one knee. I felt no pain from my cheek for a second and then suddenly it pulsed and my face was on fire with the pain of it.

"Not that you moron! What did I say I would do?" I stared at her in shock.

"No Steph. Please." I said. She couldn't mean it.

She leapt forward and grabbed the nightie, trying to pull it from me. I knew what she was going to do and jumped back, grabbing at it to prevent her. She had said she would take away all my clothes, all that she'd given me, all that she'd bought me and dressed me in. That she'd destroy the lot before she'd let me be exposed. I fought her. She pulled at the nightie, I pulled it back, losing my balance, as I tried to keep it on. She was so angry she seemed not to know her own strength. She pulled at it, forcing the thin nylon into hard creases that ripped at my bare flesh.

"Give it to me you fucking tit!" She screamed, her usual flair for insult deserting her in her rage. I pulled harder against her, even as I realised what would happen. The cloth parted, seemingly all at once, shredding into rags and strips and she pulled the ruined nightie, leaving me naked, exposed.

I fell against the hall, door, gasping. Steph stepped back, too. I realised that she was crying, tears flowing down her cheeks. She ripped and pulled at the remains of flimsy material, reducing it to confetti, as great tears rained down, and a low keening escaped from her lovely lips.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid." She sobbed as she tore, not looking at me. I watched her, worried at how much anger she had inside her. She continued to rip it into smaller and smaller pieces, crying all the while. Strangely, my encounter with Kurt had left me stronger mentally than I'd have expected. Maybe I was so drained of emotion by the sudden shock of it that I could see past the shocking violence of Steph's tantrum. I stepped forward and reached out to her. Something inside me, some sort of instinct made me speak.

"Steph. I'm here, the nightie didn't do anything. It's me you should vent yourself at."

She looked up at me, her moist eyes looking like red coals in the midst of her smudged, blackened make-up.

"But I can't tear you apart can I?" She hissed. "You're still going to be you, doing whatever you feel like, disregarding everyone else, just doing whatever you want, no matter what I do. Even if I beat you, you don't do anything different."

I stepped, nearer again, warily, feeling like I was approaching a big cat in the jungle.

"You can, Steph. I know I screw up, have screwed up. But I will do things different, I'll listen to you. I do listen, and I do try. I forget or I'm careless but I do mean to do what you say. Please be patient with me. I just need another chance."

Suddenly she seemed all defeated by my words. She looked down at the flimsy rag in her hands.

"I suppose if I burned all your clothes you'd just find a way to get more." She said.

I was going to reply, but she continued.

"That's what he used to do." She said quietly. She looked at me. "You don't know that either do you?" She said.

I did now. She must have been referring to Dad. We looked at each other for a moment. In the midst of everything, she smiled, her tearstained cheeks creasing. She shook her head.

"It's so stupid talking to you in the hallway, stark naked. I was going to say, to go an put some clothes on but you'd just go and put more girls clothes on, wouldn't you?"

She laughed.

Actually, I probably wouldn't have. I would have felt nervous around Steph. I still did, unless I was completely dressed and made-up. Still, that wasn't the point was it. I was relieved to see her smile.

"Lets have a shower, get dressed and come back down for breakfast" She said. I nodded, and she preceded me up the stairs.

I tried to blank all thought from my mind as I showered. I nearly succeeded. I dressed myself in my own clothes, jeans and sweatshirt. As I did do, I wondered if I might try and get some better men's clothes for myself. Everything I had was kind of mismatched and ill-fitting. It came home to me that this was probably some sort of reaction to my own appearance. Before exploring how I felt as a girl I'd unconsciously subverted my appearance as a boy. Or maybe I was just a teenage slob. I shrugged. In any case I picked out my newest and nicest clothes combed my hair, put on my eyebrows and went downstairs. Steph was already there, preparing toast at the kitchen counter. She'd changed too. She was wearing another new dress, very businesslike - black, short sleeved with a pleated skirt.

"You like?" She asked with a smile as I walked in to the kitchen. She turned to show it off, a nervous gesture, quite unlike her. I smiled. Suddenly she ran over to me from the other side of the table. She put her arms around me and hugged me close.

"I'm so sorry Ken. I didn't mean to hurt you. I would never hurt you. I'm so sorry I lost my temper. It'll never happen again." She snuffled into my shoulder. She held me very tight for a minute. I tried to reassure her, that she hadn't hurt me, that I'd been an idiot. That I didn't blame her, that I loved her. I loved her.

"Let's forget it." I said, eventually, almost as surprised by the intensity of her remorse as her anger. She kissed me on the cheek and we sat down to breakfast. This seemed like a good time to get some answers from Stephanie, so I decided to try some questions.

"Steph. Does Dad know what you know about, well, about him and Mom and all.."

She rolled her eyes. Then frowned.

"I suppose it's a good question." She took a bite of toast.

"Yes, he does, though we've never explicitly talked about it. Before Chérie, we never talked about it at all, but at the time of the breakup, there were, you-know, glances. We knew each other knew if you know what I mean. Mom knew I knew too of course, so I think they must have discussed it - me knowing I mean."

"And now, with Chérie?" I asked, before she could strange her sentences any more. I thought knew what she meant anyway, and suspected that each really wondered what the other knew, rather than being certain.

Steph misunderstood what I meant.

"Have they done stuff?" I suppose they must. He's stayed over at her place all the time, as you know, and I can imagine what they get up to. He's totally under her spell. I suppose you could imagine it's all innocent but there's such clear giveaways." She ticked off on her fingers.

"One, she has never stayed over here, not one night. Suspicious. Two, she's going out with him- a man twice her age- in the first place. Three, the way they met."

She paused. I took the hint.

"How did they meet? Wasn't it at the PTA?"

She smiled. "No, the PTA was just an excuse. They had already been in touch with other. She contacted him."

I shrugged. I was lost.

Steph waved her hands. "It's not important. The point is that somehow she knows about Dad, what he's like. She has sought him out and for a good reason. He just can't see that. He's besotted, thinks he's found a replacement for Mom, a younger replacement to boot."

She frowned at me, and waved her hands again.

"I know, I know, it all sounds so horribly Freudian, don't think I don't realise that. Daughter acme's absent Mother's position, then challenges newcomer to the pack, but believe me, I am right. There's more to Chérie Taylor than meets the eye. It's not even her real name for Christ's sake."

She stopped talking, and ate her toast. I wanted more, but I was wary of pushing her too far. She'd been reluctant before to let me know her suspicions and I realised that the best thing to do was to win her confidence, let her explain it to me in her own time. For a split second I considered talking to Ellen about all this, but then felt an instant of cringing, agonising pain as I remembered.

Suddenly Steph, stood, not noticing the look of sadness that must have passed across my face. She dusted the toast crumbs from her hands.

"Right." She said, all businesslike. "I am off to the Williams agency myself. I need to get a job too if I'm going to have any money when I start college. You can clean up here, Hoover and tidy downstairs, and finish the secretarial exercises that you felt too smart to do yesterday. If Ellen calls over no messing about. I'll be back at five, and I'll expect to test you on all the stuff in that book. This is the last chance you have to get this stuff off pat."

She smiled at me and swept out the back door.

For a moment,I considered running after her. If Ellen comes over? She'd said it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And yet, Kurt had been at Ellen's while she was there, she must have known he'd spent the night. She knew that I knew he was there, how could she just pretend nothing had happened? Did she think I was a total idiot? Could there be an innocent explanation? No. No there couldn't, that was just wildly wishful thinking. I shook my head to clear it of he potentially panful hopeful feelings before they could take root and bloom into full-blown fantasies where Ellen and I stayed together and looked back and laughed at this silly misunderstanding about Kurt. How could I possibly have imagined that Ellen would prefer a big strapping, confident sports star like Kurt when she had a pathetic panty-sniffing sissy like me?

I cursed aloud and started to clear up the breakfast things.

I managed not to think too much about Ellen during most of the morning. I cleaned up in the kitchen and then began to vacuum downstairs. I started dusting and tidying in the lounge and soon found myself on a real cleaning buzz- driving all thought from my mind as I did an extensive and almost overly-thorough job.

The lounge had a large sideboard of the kind popular in the mid eighties. Magazines, videos, records, everything was piled on it's shelves and behind veneer wooden doors. Once I began tidying I found myself drawn into sorting arranging and rearranging everything on it. By midday I was nearly finished, and I was thinking that I might make myself a sandwich for lunch as soon as I had sorted out the video cassettes. I took all of them out onto the floor, retrieved others from the TV stand and other shelves in the room. Then I put each into it's correct cover, and sorted them between mine, Dad's and Steph's Mom had a couple too. I put the one's she'd used to tape ballroom dancing from the TV into the 'blank' pile for reuse and then then put them all back into the cupboard part of the sideboard. Irritatingly, they didn't quite stack as neatly as I'd hoed at the back. I couldn't see why, but it seemed as though something was blocking them at the back. I got down on my hands and knees. At the back of the cupboard was a gap where the rear panel cam down. A video was wedged into the gap, preventing the others from filling the space. Even as I reached for it, I realised that it must have been put there like this deliberately. It had been hidden. I pulled it out. It was a short tape - just half an hour, and it had no writing on it. I put it aside, wondering what might be on it.

Once I had everything all tidied away I felt a sense of real satisfaction. I thought of my sandwiched and then looked down at the tape. Of course, I suspected it was Dad's and that it was porn. Why else hide it? I slipped into the video, glancing nervously over my shoulder as I did so.

I pressed play. The tape started jerkily, as if twisted. The screen flickered violently and a bad-sounding crackle filled the room. I grabbed the remote and lowered the volume to an acceptable level. The tape seemed to be on it's last legs. I was about to eject it when the static cleared to a more normal-looking black screen. Was the sound right? I raised the volume. Was that voices? They seemed very muffled? I pressed up on the volume control again, gingerly raising it. It was a video recording okay, indoors, I could hear something, voices, very far away. I raised it a little more, straining to hear. Suddenly the picture whirled and I was staring at my Mom, very close up.

"HELLO!" She boomed out of the speaker, right up close to the microphone and with the volume control at the top of the range. I almost exploded. I jammed my finger onto the down control, as she continued to burst out of the speaker.

"I know you've always wanted to see this but you didn't think I'd do it. Well, here it is, little man. Now you can join in." She laughed. She moved back from the camera, which appeared to have been placed on a dresser in a hotel bedroom. As she backed away I realised there was a man on the bed behind her. I pressed stop.

   

  

  

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