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A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Some Things That Yumi Can Do With Her Mouth"  She's kissed Gary Chen once already, so you lean in to kiss Yumi now. She pulls back a little in surprise—you can feel it—then pushes in to take your mouth in hers. You don't linger—you just wanted to close down that awful conversation. "Where do you want to go? Do?" you ask when you break it off. She smiles. "I'm glad you're asking. I did have an idea." * * * * * It doesn't seem like such a great idea at first. She wants to go to Panera and get a couple of sandwiches, a salad, and some cookies and coffee to go; but your blood quickens when she says she wants to take it all out to the river. That's where people go to make out. It's a Sunday, and dusk is settling in, so there's not many people to see you and not much light to see you by as you prowl along the flat bank until you find a narrow spot closed in on either side by some willows. There, in the deepening shadows, you spread out a makeshift picnic by the right-front tire of the Jeep. It's chilly, so you eat quickly while slurping down the hot coffee. "Do you like to talk?" Yumi asks between heaping forkfuls of her salad. "My old—" She stumbles and stops. "My old friends," she resumes with a hard stammer. "Like, long-time-ago friends, they said I talked too much." "I don't mind talking," you mumble through a mouthful of sandwich. "When I got something to say." She rubs your thigh. "You feel better? Not so stressed out?" "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry I was—" "'Cos I'm kind of stressed out too. And I don't want to pile my stress on top of yours." "What've you got to be stressed out about?" you ask. Other than the fact that you got violently body-swapped with a girl you can't stand. She groans. "Stupid cheerleader stuff. You know I'm on the squad." "Oh yeah!" It's so dark now that when she gives you a quick glance you can't make out her expression. "Well," she says, "there's just so much stupid stuff on the squad." "Like what?" Anything she says, you figure, will interest the other guys, particularly Fairfax. "You don't mind listening?" You drop an arm around her shoulders and pull her close. "You tell me who you got problems with, and I'll kick their asses." You expect a squeal or a giggle, but Yumi says nothing. Instead, she says, "It's my friends, if you can believe it. My so-called friends." "Yeah?" "Well, you're not interested." "No, go on," you tell her, even though as Jenny Ashton you have probably heard it before. "Okay," she says, "but only 'cos you asked. And only 'cos I've got to get it off my chest. I promise I won't bother you with it ever again. But it's like I've got to get clear on it myself, you know, before I explain it to, well, other people." Like what other people? you wonder. She starts by telling you that she's had this problem with the head cheerleader forever, but she doesn't spend a lot of time complaining about Chelsea Cooper, or in detailing her crimes. No, it turns out that the real criminals are those "so-called friends" she mentioned. Cindy Vredenburg. Eva and Jessica Garner. Lin Pol. She's a little vague on what those crimes are, other than a lack of enthusiasm for actually doing anything about Chelsea. Cindy, she explains, is just using the others as pawns in a vicious game of persecution against Chelsea, and isn't at all interested in fielding a better squad or even in getting rid of Chelsea (because then she wouldn't have Chelsea to persecute anymore). Eva and Jessica are only on the squad because Kelsey Blankenship bullied them into trying out and then abandoned them when she quit at the start of the year. And she criticizes Lin for constantly bitching about the squad, but she never supports Yumi when Yumi tries getting the others to actually do anything about Chelsea. Instead, she's just interested in "slutting it up" (Yumi's own words) with guys on the Eastman basketball squad, which is totally disloyal to Westside. "Huh," you say when she's done, and drain the last of your coffee. "I'm sorry, like I said, I promise I won't bug you with it all again." "No, it's alright. I just don't know anything about these things. Doesn't surprise me about your friend Lin, though." "What do you mean?" "Oh ... Nothing." Gary, prodded by his mom, once asked Lin out. She more or less told him she'd rather dig maggots out of a corpse and eat them by the mouthful than go on a date with him. Yumi studies you for a long minute. Then she starts putting things away, still without speaking. You watch her a moment, then say, "You wanna go someplace else? It's getting kind of cold." "We're fine where we are," she says. "I wanted to come out here, remember?" "Aren't you cold?" "I'm fine." She finishes packing the empty boxes and papers into the carryout sack, then turns back to you. "Did you bring any condoms?" * * * * * You're trying very hard not to make any noise, trying very hard not to gulp and lap at the air as you gobble it down in great draughts, like a guppy. You grab at the darkness overhead, your fingers closing on and twisting at nothingness. The sinews of your thighs and calves and lower back strain and twitch. Because Yumi Saito has your cock inside her mouth. No, you didn't bring any condoms, you told her in a cracked voice. You didn't know you were supposed to. She explained that this was your third date—counting yesterday afternoon and yesterday evening as two distinct dates—and what was traditional on third dates? Well, it wasn't to be helped if you didn't have condoms. She put her palm on your crotch and said, We'll just take turns. She unzipped you and took out little Gary and nosed at him encouragingly until he'd shown enough of himself that she could start running a tongue up the underside of his shaft. She started with only the tip of her tongue, then worked up to using the full surface; she coiled and twisted it about your member, and when it was straining like a tethered rocket she slid her full mouth down around it. Unsure of the etiquette—because it turns out that Gary has only a little more experience with these things than Will Prescott does—you held back as best you could. But when she touches the side of your cock with one of her tonsils (it feels like) you almost rocket off the ground. "Uh, Yumi," you croak. She doesn't answer, but grabs hold of the back of your calves and grips hard. A silent scream, like an ultrasonic train whistle, bursts from your throat as something else bursts out lower down. You sag when it's over, but she keep sucking at it, like it's a straw and she's slurping out the dregs of a thick milkshake. Then she sits up, audibly swallows, and hops up to straddle your lap and put her face close to yours. "I'd kiss you," she says, "but it might gross you out." But you kiss her anyway, and you cuddle and pull each other tight to murmur and coo in each other's ears and mouths. When you've recovered a little of your depleted strength, she sits up against the Jeep, pulls her jeans down from off her hips, and lets you root around her bush with nose and tongue. Your phone dings a couple of times while you're so occupied, but of course you ignore it until after you're cuddled up close with her afterward, your arms around each other. You sniff and smooch at her hair while she presses her face into your neck. When you catch the glow of her cell phone from down near your crotch, though, you take advantage of her distraction to pull out your own phone to check texts. Two are from David Kirkham, Chen's best bud (and another lowlife thug) and a third is from Austin Dougherty, an email blast to everyone on the soccer team with a YouTube link. But a fourth is from Maria Vasquez. "Shit," you mutter, and shut off your phone before Yumi can look up to glimpse the screen. "Fuck." She raises her head. "What?" "Text from my mom," you improvise. "Do you have to go?" she asks in a small voice. "Pretty soon. My granddad's doing bad." You've already told her enough about the old cripple that she doesn't ask for details. Instead, she whispers a four-digit number in your ear. "What's that?" you ask. She repeats it, then gives you a little-girl smile. "It's my locker number," she squeaks. "So you can come find me between classes. I'll have a copy of my schedule for you tomorrow," she adds as she gets to her feet. "So you can walk me between classes." Oh, fuck, you cuss to yourself as your heart sinks. She really does want me for a boyfriend! * * * * * You walk her to the door when you drop her off, and give her a long, lingering look before going in for a chaste kiss, so she'll know that you want to give her more and harder. (And longer and deeper.) Afterward, in your Jeep, you toss off a quick reply to Maria, who wants to know what time you'll be by the storage complex to switch back: not tnite, you tell her. talk tmrow lots t say. To her follow-up ????? you give a stony silence. Meanwhile, Kirkham is asking if you want to spend the night at his place. It's a friendly gesture that he sometimes extends, as he too knows about the crippled, senile grandfather that dominates the Chen household. Beyond having a friendlier place to crash, a night at Kirkham's would give you a chance to gloat about Yumi. Next: "It's Like Marking Your Territory" |
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