%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
A high school student finds a grimoire that shows how to make magical disguises. |
Previously: "Clothes Make the Woman"  Cathy Schell isn't a gym rat—far from it—but she does have a membership at the Steel 24-Hour gym up by the other high school. She goes three times a week, every Saturday, Monday and Wednesday. So there's almost no chance of running into her there, even if you didn't already know her Friday night plans. So the gym seems like a great place to try her face and body out in a very physical way without getting caught. First, you text your mom, telling her you've made afternoon/evening plans with Caleb and Keith, and not to expect you back before your curfew. Then you drive onto the Keyserling campus, to one of the parking garages, and slide into a space in a dark corner on the third floor. There are no other cars around, and no foot traffic of any kind, when you pull from your bag the mask that you've been lugging around all day. You strip off everything but your boxers, then again wedge yourself in the foot well so you won't be seen. But now it's the mask that you press to your face. * * * * * Deja vu. For a few seconds it's a replay of earlier as you wake in a confused muddle. Where am I what the fuck how did I—? But the confusion passes almost immediately. You heave yourself out of your hiding hole and fall back onto your truck bench. Your skin prickles. Your thighs prickle. Your boobs and your nipples prickle. Oh my God. The breasts are back. They are round and firm, with tips that point just slightly upward, as though nosing at the air. You gently cradle them. It's an unusual feeling, for Will Prescott hasn't got boobs like this to cradle, and Cathy Schell doesn't cradle them this way either. Oh, she examines them often, but in a clinical way, for asymmetries and blemishes, not for the erotic thrill. And a parking garage is not the place for an erotic thrill either. It is dark and empty, and more threatening. Cathy's memories warn you that this is this a bad place for a young, naked woman only a few years out of college to be. With an involuntary chill of fear, you push off your boxers and snatch up the panties. Despite your vulnerability, little ripples of delight run all over you as you pull the tight panties up your legs and snap them onto your hips. Then the shorts. You wrinkle your nose: So disgusting going to the gym in a pair of dirty shorts. Thomas can get away with it—you clench your back molars as you think of his hot breath on your neck—because he's a guy, and hot, sweaty guys are a turn-on. (You clench your teeth harder.) But you like to be fresh. No, Will, focus! Cathy Schell likes to be fresh! Except that you're becoming more and more like Cathy as you snap her bra on and pull the t-shirt over your head. Your instincts now rebel against the wardrobe choices you made: You need to be in a sports bra, and in something less sloppy than this t-shirt, which is more of a lounge-around-the-house or doing-some-cleaning kind of wear. You'll have to content yourself with a light, non-strenuous workout this afternoon. Which is probably wise, as you can still feel some of the tightness from the workout she gave herself yesterday. A workout with Thomas. It's not just in the bedroom that they get physical. Dammit, stop thinking about him! you tell yourself as you pull on the socks. But telling yourself not to think about it is just another way of reminding yourself that Cathy's semi-addicted to Thomas Luna and his cock. So your brain burns with irritation as you look around for the shoes. Where the heck did you—? A groan bursts from your chest. You didn't bring any shoes! How could you have forgotten? Well, it's too late now to chance a return to Cathy's house, so you slide on your old sneakers. They are too large, and even after pulling the laces tight you feel like you've donned a pair of clown shoes. But they'll have to do. You slide over behind the wheel, take a deep breath, and try to calm yourself. You brush your hair back—dammit, you should have snatched up a hair tie—and take several more calming breaths. You close your eyes and let your chin droop to your chest. Your sorority sisters always said you got too excitable, and Felicia taught you this calming routine so you wouldn't spaz out before tests. She taught Cathy Schell that trick, you remind yourself. But of course you're about to go out in public as Cathy Schell. Embrace it, you tell yourself. If you're going to do this thing, do it right. You've got Cathy Schell's body, now put yourself in her brain, and put yourself in her place. You cover your face with your hands and take your deepest breath yet. When you let it out, it's like expelling a ghost. The shoes still flop about on your feet, and the clothes are all wrong for a trip to the gym. Your hair is a mess when you look in the rearview mirror as you adjust it. But Cathy Schell looks back at you. For now it's Cathy Schell who is looking into the mirror. * * * * * And who is Cathy Schell? In this calmer frame of mind, with a short, dull drive ahead of you, you've time to soak in her memories and personality. You're twenty-four years old, which is young enough to have fun and ripe enough for the means to pay for it. In other words, Cathy Schell has a good job with good prospects that can pay for the drinking and dancing and sex she enjoys on the weekends. Saratoga Falls—to your own personal amazement—agrees with her. It's a big city relative to Martinvale (pop. 3000), the little burg thirty-five miles away where she grew up and went to high school, but not as overwhelming as Boston. No, Saratoga Falls is small enough that she can't get lost in it, but is big enough that she can have the sort of fun she craves. She came to Saratoga Falls to attend Keyserling College, where she majored in English and Sports Education. The latter was originally something she took only because she was taking lots of P.E. classes anyway—Cathy has always been an exuberant, outdoorsy girl—but when the job at Diadem Educational Publishing in Boston didn't work out, she fell back on sports when she heard about the coaching opening at Westside High. As the most junior member of the staff, she's stuck teaching volleyball and the freshman and sophomore P.E. classes. But it pays the bills, keeps her busy, and keeps her in contact with high school girls. And high school boys. They weren't this cute when she was in high school, were they? If so, why didn't she notice? During the drive you toy with her memories of Martinvale, with its stone courthouse and stone bank and Galen's Popular Dry Goods. The little pink house where Cathy grew up, and the middle/high school—ancient even when her mother attended it—with its faint smell of turpentine in every classroom. Pajama-clad sleepovers in the church recreation hall, and the wet kisses and grinding embraces caught outside in dark corners of the church parking lot with football players who'd snuck over. That kind of memory leads inexorably to memories of Thomas Luna. He is much on Cathy Schell's mind since he joined the Westside tutorial staff at the beginning of the year. She was instantly smitten by his dark charms, and the glint in her eye must have kindled something in his, for he was quick to ask her out the day that she stopped in the tutorial offices to ask for some change for the Coke machine. He was new to town, so she introduced him to the gym—he too has a background in Physical Education—and to the rest of the school staff and to the better restaurants. And to her bedroom. You've warmed to Cathy's body and clothes as you stride toward the gym doors, and thinking of Thomas warms you even more. Now you don't even clench your teeth as you think of him. You don't have ID, a purse, or even a gym bag as you enter Steel. But Evan at the front desk knows you, and you and he just exchange a wave as you stride through the lobby. You've no clothes to change, so you make a circuit through the various rooms to make sure the coast is clear, then find yourself a StairMaster. That will probably give you the best workout that will let you feel this body. And yes, within the first five minutes you're giving yourself a wonderful burn, all the way up your legs from your strong calves to your tight ass. You grimace as you pick up the tempo, but it's a grimace of pleasure. So this is what it's like to be in shape! But it's not long after that that you sense eyes upon you. At first you ignore them—it's not unusual for a woman like Cathy to get stares—but finally you look around. He's on the StairMaster behind you. He's cute, with short, dark hair and olive skin, with a fringe of beard down his jaw to his chin. There's something Italianate about his looks. Maybe it's his coloring; maybe it's his nose, which is very strong without being a honker. He looks like he's in college. Hell, he looks like a football player. Cathy's always liked football players. He smiles at you. "First time here?" he says. You hesitate. "First time on a Friday afternoon," you reply. "Yeah, I haven't seen you here before. You usually here other times?" "I had a free spot in my schedule," you say. The gasp in your reply is less from the workout than the exertion of coming up with a reply. "My names's Anton," he says. He puts out his hand, but withdraws it when he sees how awkward it would be for you to reach over and take it. "I'm usually at the college gym. You know." He shrugs. "I'm trying this place out." You could shut him down by mentioning you've got a boyfriend. Next: "False Faces, False Pretences" |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
