Real Randy Rose

By Rose Maru

An unfortunate snippy comment and I find myself facing several days reading about a past I apparently never knew about: my husband's. Damn - and I thought I was messed up.
Facing my Hypoactive Sexual Desire Syndrome / Disorder (HSDS/HSDD), I've trampled upon new ground in my first tentative steps in Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) meets Sensate Focus (FUBAR) after face-planting my "Happy Go Lucky" author interview with far too many, "Gosh! Good question! Uh, I don't know." Which yielded my, "Well, if you think it's so flaming easy, *you* answer the questions, Randal!"
Seeing someone else's past laying bare upon my feet, remarkably enough, I was far less pissed than I expected. I found myself struggling to grasp some of the details (mostly raunchy crap - like, "OMG! You dated someone with a child?!" - or worse, "You did *what* during school hours? Holy f*ck!") and I took pen-to-paper (or electrons-to-screen) to work things out: in story form.
So I grabbed his... wait, poor choice of words...
So I dropped myself into the role opposite his words and tales, to see what it might've been like living through the women in his life. Then, while I was on a roll, I kicked in a couple tales of my own, since I finished rounding out his journey from first kiss to married old guy (I might point out, married old guy hitched to quite a wonderful gal... just sayin' (you have got to be kidding - I had to keep deleting additional adjectives my suck-up husband kept inserting into my work file... so I didn't sound conceited; but a-hole kept putting in, "... hitched to a beautiful, warm, and wonderful gal" - fine, his sounded better, but, dammit, I'm writing this, so it would sound sort of humble-brag-like, sweetie - sorry).)
Dang it, now he has me all flustered (or as I got used to saying in one of the roles, "You're getting me all hot and bothered, dammit!" - which leaves me wondering if I really want a neck that sensitive or not). What was I doing? Oh, yes, description...
This collection runs the entire cross-country gambit, from playground kiss to impending wedded bliss:

Hide and Go Kiss (First Kiss - you'll like it... Or else.)
HS TA TA (Second base? During school hours?!)
Dance Crash and Burn (Beware your best friend's butt)
Freshman Fail (Boobs 'n Booze - a bad combination)
Daddy Dearest (Sometimes life just gets in the way)
Fair Thee Well (The dance that never was)
Cougar (Before Cougars were cool)
You Can Sleep With Me (Proof he deserves me)
Winner (Welcome to Rosie's World)
Victory Lap (Hello, World! I have to go pee again.)

*Warning: This collective batch of "Based Upon True Stories" is not intended for those under the age of consent (18 years in the USA). And a bigger warning: this isn't one of my explicit collections of fiction. So if you're looking for one-handed reads and explicit prose, check out almost any of my other books, because this one isn't it!
Although if you're looking for a raw, open, and completely honest appraisal of being in the boots whose toes are touching your future significant other, it does make for some pretty interesting reading.
Important Note: Oh, hey, I just realized this could potentially be your first time reading anything written by me. Hi! I'm Rose. That picture you see on the cover of my book? That's me - like all the others - taken by my husband of many moons, Randal. Get it? I mean, the title. It's all real stories from Randy's past, but I, Rose, am the one reliving them opposite my hubby. Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I hope you enjoy the trip through his, my, and our past together as much as I did. In honor of all those hours in class: "Any material not adequately covered during lecture will more than adequately be covered on the test." (Or in my case, in the Truth and Consequences section of the book - which in this collection, occasionally got pretty extensive.)
(Yeah, I know - those last t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rose Maru
• Release date: Jan 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370083855

Rose Maru

Born a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... no, wait, that wasn't me, but sometimes it certainly seems like it.Before getting into all the fun details, I want to clear the air of a rather large aspect of my writing because it has a huge impact on my work: I have HSDS (Hypoactive Sexual Desire Syndrome). In fact, if it weren't for my HSDS, I wouldn't be here and you wouldn't be there reading this - my previously unpublished writings were explorations into kick-starting my, ahem, 'motor.' I tried to explore anything that might cause a little tingle below, even ideas and concepts my thinking brain refused to hear. Creating an alter-ego in my stories allowed me to safely penetrate the veil of non-existence - I was forced to think about sexy thoughts and situations.I wrote for years covering a wide range of topics, my husband providing a large number of seedlings from which to grow my stories (HSDS... what do you expect? Much to my dismay, what I learned to expect was very raunchy pillow-talk. Much to his dismay, he learned to expect me to leap from bed saying, "Oh! That is so good, I've got to write it down!"). It turns out, writing romantic erotica usually wasn't doing it for me. I gave up on it for a period of time - in essence, I gave up trying to help myself, as well.Then my significant's bright idea: if it didn't help me, maybe it would help someone else. I was back to writing again, or more correctly, preparing my work for release unto an unsuspecting public (I have now officially absolved myself from any evil that befalls you after reading my books - it's all his fault). So I dredged up my folder of rough and unpolished stories - damn, I wrote this much? No wonder I wasn't having sex, I was busy writing about it. (Fib alert: so not true it's not funny. Not the 'not having sex' part, but the lack of bedroom action wasn't really due to my writing.)An odd thing happened, though, as I was rereading my material and editing it. I felt a little something that I hadn't experienced in a long time. I actually felt a little tingle from down below. That soft little call, while editing some stories, started to get a little louder - still very quiet, but it was most certainly there where it hadn't been for decades. I gave in to the siren call almost immediately - surprised the hell out of my husband (thank goodness it wasn't the UPS guy at the door during those moments). Complete, spontaneous, due-to-my-doing rumpy-bumpy. Holy humper, Batman, I'm fixed!I wish. It disappeared again, just as easily slipping back into my 'normal abnormal' routine of never thinking about it within hours. Back to editing. Being the patient sort, I allowed myself to edit a whole three paragraphs before anguish sets in, "It's not working! Ah! I'm broken forever!" Luckily, I have a never say die attitude (Fib alert: ... no, wait, this isn't my stories where I have to include a 'truth' section - let me have my freaking moment), and said, "Piss on it, I'm still going to release my work. I've come this far."And so it went - although much to my joy (and my hubby's) - every so often, I'd find myself showing such obvious responses to passages, it was apparent to even an HSDS girl - and we'd make joy (sometimes several times) to the situation. I wasn't fixed, but at least I had a crutch.Which leaves me editing my old material, exploring new, and tormenting you with it - where I hope it does you some good, too. If it can't make you happy that way, I hope it'll at least provide you a little laugh the other way - especially since I do provide a 'Truth and Consequences' side to all my stories at the end of each book where I detail the nitty-gritty and harsh reality of every piece. This allows everyone's inner voyeur to be released because my HSDS does a great job of preventing me from grasping 'TMI,' so I tend to spill my guts back there in my books.As for my bio (side note: doesn't that make it an 'auto-bio?'), I'm a cute, twenty-one year-old (Fib Alert! Oh my Lord! If you're writing fantasy-fiction, at least make it believable!) - crap, okay, fine, I'm old enough to probably be your sister - from a second marriage - so we're not blood related, which means you don't have to get all weirded out about reading sex stuff about me) - and I live in the Pacific Northwest where I am still happily married to my first husband (very funny - he edits my other fibs so I have to tell the truth, but leaves the happily married one)... at least until he reads the final published product where I changed the truth section in every book back to being brutally honest contrary to his corrections.And, yes, that is me on the cover of all my books, but I'm not spilling the beans here, you have to read the book.

Book preview

Real Randy Rose

by Rose Maru

(Based Upon A True Story)

Copyright 2017 Rose C. Maru

First Edition - January 2017

Cover and Photos Copyright 2017 Randal Maru

Warning: This collection of stories is not intended for those humans under the age of eighteen (18) or dogs under the age of two (2) years (Sorry - it's not 1:7 like you've been told. It's an exponential first few years, then a more gentle curve, until finally, almost a straight line 1:2 or 1:3 - so much for believing those television dog food commercials). The material contained within this book may be offensive to multiple demographics, sexually repressed individuals, and has been shown to be harmful if ingested with toxic substances - so, please, don't read it if you're easily offended, a minor and under-age of consent for your species, or religiously or socially restricted from doing so.

Bigger Warning: If you're expecting porn, smut, or extreme titillation, you're going to be extremely disappointed with this collection. Some of my other work? Have at it and enjoy the one handed reads... but this book? Eh, not so much... heck - that's a lie... not at all for this book. The most you'll get is a weird tale about growing up - and unfortunate for you, I'll be the one telling it... wah wah wah. See? Sometimes, statistics can be your friend - you should've taken door number two when it was offered. But if you're here for the pig and don't mind wading through a lot of crap, I hope everyone else will discover something to enjoy, laugh at, or at the very least, find comfort in the knowledge, Ha! At least that's not me!

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only - but if your enjoyment needs cleaning up, please don't e-mail me pictures of it. This series of electrons may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share the love and this e-book with another being, please purchase an additional copy for each sentient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your individual use only, then please feel super guilty and return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your very own copy. Thank you for respecting Rose's hard work.

(They said I wasn't allowed to threaten to go ape-bitch on your ass if you rip-off my book - something about the legal statutes don't have a proper definition of 'ape-bitch' for precedence.)

:Table of Contents:

Introduction and Epilogue - The Real Randy Rose

Extended Introduction

Hide and Go Kiss

HS TA TA

Dance Crash and Burn

Freshman Fail

Daddy Dearest

Fair Thee Well

Cougar

You Can Sleep with Me

The Winner

Victory Lap(s)

Conclusion and Prologue

Truth and Consequences

- Master Index -

-Other Works-

Raindrops on Roses:

- Art Director

- Hypoactive Sexual Desire Syndrome (HSDS/HSDD)

Rose by Any Other Name:

- Bath Time

- Braless is Better

Dozen Roses:

- Bigfoot

- Vulva-Vagina Veracity

Coming Up Roses:

- Bigger Brother Cover Shoot

- Q&A with Rose

Rose Garden: My Life with HSDS:

- Introduction to HSDS

- HSDS 2014 Redoubt (From Raindrops on Roses)

- "Treatment" Trial

- Q&A #2 with Rose (HSDS Topics)

Rose Wood At Home:

- RA Rose

- Q&A with Rose, Session 3

Wars of Roses:

- Road Master

- Q&A with Rose, Session 4

Rose Art - The Infamous Banned Book

Soul Service, Inc. (Excerpt)

Parade of Roses (the grand master index of Rose kink)

- - - -

About Rose C. Maru

Contact Information

- - - -

Introduction and Epilogue

Why the back of the story before I even get to the first story? Because I needed to warn you this isn't really my story, but it is real. Plus, I'm not going to give it to you in chronological order, necessarily; and if you watch closely, you'll see I'm telling it in the first person, yet I seem to go all schizophrenic on you - not just in age, but even morals, and hopefully, if I do this right, the way my character talks and thinks.

What started out as an interview of me, spiraled out of control when I asked if Randy, my husband, would be willing to take the same interview. Where I had answered, I don't know, to piles of questions over the course of an hour, he spent several days trying to accurately answer each and every one of them. When he was done, it was a massive pile of, ahem, "work" (because I'm polite, not just because I'm married to him).

How was I to know he'd answer the interview questions so thoroughly, that just glancing through, I quickly recognized I held his entire life. Often times I could almost picture myself there... but a weird thing happened on the way back in time: I realized that I was there standing across from him, not being him.

So through interview, research, and a little creative license with filling in the cracks as accurately as I could determine, we saw an interesting opportunity for me to possibly experience pieces of life I've never had or long since forgotten.

In doing so, I found I wasn't jealous about his previous experiences with other women (even the ex): I'd become his previous women, one at a time, in the comfort of my here-and-now.

(And when needed, I could punch him in the arm, grab him by the earlobe, or, much to my dismay, wrap him in the biggest darn hug possible... plus, maybe - just maybe - he got lucky a time or two... so don't feel too sorry for him.)

I hope you enjoy our trip back through time.

Based upon true stories...

and a nearly unbelievable individual -

Thank you, Sweetie, for letting me share your private life.

Names and locations left unchanged to better shame the guilty. Unless I had to change them because they have a lawyer in the immediate family, or they're a better shot than I am.

(For those of you looking for a theme song to play throughout this extended introduction and credits, might I suggest Rodney Crowell's My Past Is Present - with the wonderful line: ... in an hourglass dress. Actually not the whole song, but I love that part, and it popped to mind while doing this intro.)

- - - -

Truth - Table of Contents

- - - -

Extended Introduction

(Written after the book was completed and in the Editing Department)

(... because my husband is such a wuss sometimes)

Randy has been getting all wigged out because he's afraid some of the women in this collection may, at some point in their lives, read it or catch a version of it by random chance (as if it would ever be made into a movie... not that I'm not willing to entertain offers, mind you... so if you're a producer just itching to make me famous - I'm waiting). Which means these women may recognize themselves in said particular situation with him. He's not wigged out that said women are portrayed as beautiful, sexy beasts (he, and, sadly, I, know you truly are sexy and beautiful... (and, far prettier than I wanted to believe you to be, dammit!)), but he's concerned I didn't make it obvious enough: I'm putting myself into a pair of shoes that were originally someone else's.

Which is a long way to say, I'm having to guess at how these highly educated, attractive, confident women (and one bitch) may have been dealing with a situation, thinking, or feeling at the moment - based upon a fucked up boy's interpretation of the event as he saw it. Because, yes, these are Randy's sexploits... I mean, exploits - and he fears he most likely misinterpreted what was said, meant, or implied.

That being said, and because his panties are in a bunch, I wanted to make this official disclaimer, yet again:

The stories and events in this book are based upon true events as a dumb boy remembered them. Which means names have been changed (except when they haven't) to protect the guilty. There are also aspects of each situation where said dumb boy had no clue or ability to know exactly what these wonderful women (and one bitch) were feeling or thinking at any given moment. I had to take poetic license in those moments, use my interpretation of the events, previous actions, and/or personal knowledge of you (the guilty), to fill in the missing pieces.

(Editor's Note: Uh, sweetie? Not exactly how I had it worded - but I guess the essence is there. Thank you?)

If it matters, I did this in honor of all these bright, beautiful women (and one bitch) so that I could possibly regain something I've lost. And, with my tail between my legs, admit I have to live this early sexual life vicariously, through you, because when I admitted my 'number' - I wasn't fibbing: I wore white on my wedding day because I never have, with anyone, except my husband... who in the past happened to be your friend (and one bastard-asshole... sorry, fair is fair, although I can't put the entire litany of words she supposedly uses to describe my husband, so I used shorthand. Give me a break, bitch - I tried).

And while I don't often wonder about what might have been concerning my limited exposure to the male (and female) species in this way, I sometimes do wonder what it was like to be and live out these different type scenarios. So when given the opportunity, to live them against someone I'm comfortable with - well, I'm sure you'll rue the day you ever hung around Randal... I know, sometimes I might regret it, too. So I hope you can suffer with me living it through your eyes (and occasionally other parts).

Thank you for providing wonderful fodder.

Disclaimer: The events contained within are true, although the names and locations have been changed to protect the guilty... Except when they haven't in an effort to more properly shame those so well deserving.

Although my husband, whose memories were used to help me live your lives vicariously, is by definition, one of those: a dumb boy. Which means all us women understand there's an awfully good chance he probably misinterpreted at least one of these situations and interactions.

Let it also be known, when he wasn't directly present or had no way to know what these brilliant, wonderful, beautiful women (and one bitch) were thinking, I used my best interpretation of past actions (and sometimes future) to help construct how I lived your part in all this mess.

And to all these cool gals (and one bitch), I would like to honestly say, thank you - for making my husband the man he is today (Yes, I would even like to thank the bitch).

Because without your training, input, and work to make him better, I know I wouldn't be as happy as I am today. Thank you (and to all of you who had the misfortune to live The Winner situation with me, I'm so sorry! I honestly wasn't bragging, I just didn't know anything different at the time).

- - - -

Truth - Table of Contents

- - - -

Hide and Go-Kiss

Ah, to be young again. The age of innocence, free love and "Hands off, bitch! He's mine!"

Of course, at six years of age, I really wasn't capable of saying it quite like that... but I nearly wrote it - in cursive - just the same. I was a precocious, sweet, little thing.

The typical Southern belle: sweetness and full of laughter. And I had my eye on this boy - he was in my class. I was sure I loved him. And he loved me. He just didn't know it yet. He'd come around. I knew it. Or I'd give him a black eye.

On the playground I'd follow him around - and when the time was just right (he wasn't looking) - I'd sneak up and kiss him! Right on the lips! Giggle and run away.

Yup - he was my boyfriend. No doubt about it.

I even gave him a picture of me from Christmas morning. The day I got my first big pair of pom-poms. I told you I was the perfect Southern girl! I was going to college and be a cheer leader. Then on to the Cowboy's sidelines or more. I had my whole life mapped out. I was in ballet, dance, tumbling - I knew it was all needed to be the best. And only the best became the Dallas Cowboy cheer squad.

I doubted he'd ever amount to a serious football player, but that's okay. The chances he'd get on the same team as I was assigned was only one out of, what, twenty or more? So that wouldn't do. He'd have to get a job outside of football. I told you I was smart for my age. He said he thought he liked medicine - it had a lot to do with science and stuff. He was smart.

And if he's smart enough to know what's good for him, he better stop talking to that other girl.

I'm not above a little competition - just so long as everyone knows I'm the rightful girlfriend and she's something called a hussy, muscling in on my man. Well, one day he'll be a man. Mine, just the same, but boy right now.

I make sure she's near him the next time we're out on the playground - I sidle right up next to him - Surprise! I grab him in a hug - he's taller than me - that's good - that's what he needs to be - and plant another great big kiss on him. Right on the lips! I laugh and run away - he's wiping his mouth.

I turn a few steps away - what? What is she doing?

She kissed him! No, that is not the way this works, sweetheart! He's mine - I kissed him first. And long before you ever got the bright idea to...

See? See?! He's running away from you... well, and me. It's a little warm out here in the sun - I'll just wait over here in the shade... by the door we all have to go back inside through. He'll be back. Just as soon as the bell rings. Didn't I mention, I'm a smart little girl?

Him? He's sort of dumb, in some things, really. I'm so much more cute than she is. She doesn't even know what a cheer squad is. She's not in tumbling, she's not in dance, she doesn't even have a cheer skirt.

Unfortunately, she has something I don't: a house only a few blocks away from his.

I figure mom's right, boys are pretty dumb. So I write out very specific instructions to him in my neatest, prettiest cursive script:

I like you, but I don't like and I draw a wonderful rendition of her ugly face. I put a great big red heart on the front of it and fold it over.

I sneak my note into his hand - holding it for just a moment too long - he's my boyfriend: I'm supposed to hold his hand. I look for her, but she's not around. Darn - she won't see. I scurry off before we're caught, and I return to my seat, pencil sharp as can be.

I watch him closely unfold the paper. He scrunches up his brow. He pulls the paper very close to his nose. Good - he's studying it. Read well, my little dumpling! I want to yell at him.

Wait - what in tarnation is dumbbell doing? Even I can see he's holding the note the wrong way! And I wrote it in my best cursive. I dotted the i's with hearts, even! Well, at least the first one - the second 'like' I didn't want any confusion, so made it into a frowny face. I love cursive.

He's now turned it completely upside down! Boys! Mom is sooo right. How can she put up with dad, I'll never know. No wonder they invented divorce.

If he's not careful, I'll have to divorce him. That's so sad. I'll be the only divorced first-grader in our school. I'm starting to tear up just thinking about it.

The teacher comes up and gives me a hug and asks what's wrong. I try to tell her, it's because boys can be so stupid! She wants to know which boy is making me cry and what he's done.

I'm crying so hard now, she has no hope of understanding me. But the hug is nice. Too bad she's not a man - then maybe my boyfriend could be jealous - then he'd know he has to straighten up or he's going to lose me. I'm too good for him. I've heard my mom say that phrase a lot. We're related, so it must apply to me too.

I start again the next day on recess: he lets me catch him a little easier. He's afraid I'm going to tell on him. Silly boy! I wouldn't tattle on my boyfriend... unless I hear you've been over playing with her again.

What? A For Sale sign? Oh! Pity! In front of her house! Sigh. I'll miss you! Kissy-kissy! Bye-bye! Ta! And good riddance! Don't let the door hit your butt on the way out! Tee-hee!

Now, where were we? Oh, yes, you were going to tell me how much you like me, how wonderful I am, how good I dance, how...

(Admit it! You loved every minute of it! Well, except when you were running too fast and I had to trip you to tackle you before kissing you. But it's okay. Real men have scars. I'll still love you! And I did, without fail, my love for you never wavering! It never will. Well, until they had to build that new stupid school after second grade... and you went to the new one... but I had to stay at the old one. I hope you know, I was heartbroken for, like, days. You know, you never get over your first... Oh, hi! What's your name? Hey, you're sort of cute. Because you're new to my school, I'll help you out: I'm the prettiest girl in your new class, just so you know. Want to be my new boyfriend?)

- - - -

Truth - Table of Contents -

HS TA TA

(High School Teaching Assistant T&A)

Yes, of course I've been kissed before! Get off my case. Him on the other hand? I doubt it.

We were set up by a mutual friend of ours: my best friend. Yes, I get a little pissed because I've known her a lot longer, but they spend more time together. And she's a known flirt. A big flirt. A big flirt with a rack that she's all too quick to show off, or at the very least, helpfully point out to anyone who's missed it. The two of them keep getting put together in Advanced Biology way too often. I'd be lying if I didn't sort of admit - shh! Quiet - it's a bit of a secret - "I'm fucking jealous!"

It seems odd, my first date with him seems to follow a long line of what certainly seem like dates... but between the two of them: he and she! I don't know which fucker to hate more, sometimes. It's not my fault I have an overly protective and strict dad. Shit!

Although, I guess I shouldn't be too pissed. I'm the one that's officially dating him. He's mine. Fuck her, I guess they can hang out, even though I can't. At least her boyfriend seems as tweaked about it as me. As long as she'll keep her tits in a normal bra and out of those tight clothes, we'll be fine.

Speaking of which, I've noticed I've taken to wearing my button up shirts with an extra button popped loose - even lower than before. At least when I get to school. At home? Oh, Hell, no! - buttoned up to my chin! Fury? Yeah, I know it - it was the one and only day I forgot to button them the hell back up before I got home. I swore he was going to beat the shit out of me; instead I just had to endure half the house destroyed and ringing ears over several hours of rampage. Dad - gotta love him. If not, he'll beat the shit out of you until you do.

I don't necessarily have a lot of chest, but what I have is good. Perky. Then again, I am comparing myself to her - which, hell, most of the adult female population don't have her ta-ta's.

Since I can't go on any more real dates out with him after our first one (thanks, dad!), I'm relegated to dating during school hours. What the hell, not like I have to worry about much - I mean, senior year in high school with community college calling my name. Not like I have to earn a scholarship or even gain admittance to a big name university... because he won't let me. Thanks, again, dad.

I do my best to make sure my dad pays. He'd just shit his pants if he could see me now on my first big date during school hours.

I've been grading papers in the empty classroom where I'm a teaching assistant (TA) for one of my old instructors... while my boyfriend rubs my shoulders, up and down my neck, down my arms, back up, down my arms... I lean back, neck arched, eyes closed. Our lips lock in a tight, wonderful embrace, my arms sliding up his own. A furtive little tongue sneaks out into his mouth, almost answered by his - almost! - just before he flies back from me like I electrocuted him.

I'm sorry! I better... his eyes are wide, his lips still slightly red from my lipstick.

Yeah, you better, uh, go... I stammer. Shit. I wasn't supposed to be flustered too. Damn.

A few classes later, we have Advanced Bio together.

I expected awkward - I'm not disappointed. She's running interference for him...

You didn't really?! she blurts at me in a quiet whisper before I can even touch my chair.

Maybe...

She stares at me in disbelief. I resist asking her how she knows - but I already know. They're closer than I want to admit. Which means I need to quickly mark my territory from her flirty little fingers. I don't care if she has a steady boyfriend, she's a freaking nympho.

... oh, come off it! It was only a little tongue, I stab her through the heart hopefully.

I can't believe he was right! Your first fucking kiss and you stick your tongue...

His hands were almost down my shirt! A little tongue? You're worried about tongue?

That's more than I need to know. But be sure you tell me the rest after class, she's all breathy.

Damn, girl, you better get yourself laid, you sound sortta desperate! I try hard to ignore the fact she'll be driving my boyfriend home again after school.

I hope I don't have anything to worry about. It doesn't keep me from worrying, but at least we have a standing date.

Good thing I have my TA class while the teacher has his break hour... and he likes to smoke... meaning I have the room to myself. Damn. I couldn't have arranged our schedules any better! Boyfriend's lunch period, my TA time. Looks like our standing date could run the entire trimester.

He doesn't disappoint me. Slinking in after me, room lights off. He quietly clicks the door lock over.

We talk about our first kiss. I explain to him I'm sorry about the tongue... It was, you know, sort of natural. It's how I learned to kiss.

I'm all too happy to make him a little jealous, too, naming names, locations, and explaining it's why my dad keeps such close tabs on me now - and why I'll never be able to go out with him on a second date or see him outside of school. Which sort of shocks him. I'm not sure which part, but he's got a lot to chew on.

But we kiss a few more times for good measure.

I notice he's gotten over the tongue thing and is actively exploring right back.

I stop wearing lipstick, only lip gloss now - no sense in making it too obvious.

And speaking of obvious, it's not long before his neck and shoulder rubs create a bit more stir in me as he's noticed the extra button being undone, so the back rub goes a lot further down my front than I would've imagined.

Speaking of imagined, it doesn't take any imagination to know what my tits look like, because he's got them out, my bra tucked and folded neatly under each one, in turn, out through the top of my shirt. All right, fine - I'm going to admit it - this feels really nice. And getting any papers graded at all has become quite the challenge.

Especially when the shoulder rubs get more and more brief, just an excuse for us to kiss a few times, before I have him down on his knees, partly under the desk, my shirt practically unbuttoned down to my navel - and he's stopped fighting with the bra, instead just unhooking it as needed during the quick shoulder rub.

We're always careful to make sure to get me put all back away and hooked back up proper, although it's getting hard to find enough time to do everything.

Our mutual friend? She's as stunned as I am that I not only let this go on, but seem to have promoted it all - in the middle of school hours. In a room where we could be caught, because each room door has a window in it. She finally convinces me I'm playing with fire.

She invites me to come over to her house after school to work on homework. We've managed to get all three of us working together on the same project now. Because until then, I wasn't willing to lie to my dad. But now? Now I have a reason to go to her place, and it's the truth. I know he'll be checking up on me throughout - hell, I don't put binoculars and phone bugs beyond him.

So the first afternoon, it's she and I only. The second afternoon, just the same. After each night dad wants to see what we've accomplished on the project.

My boyfriend is so devious, before we started, he's recommended she and I show very little progress, instead emphasizing the notes taken - surreptitiously done during the day while at the library - and just telling him about the project, not dwelling on the writing. It seems to work, because my dad quickly loses interest each night when I'm shuffling the stack of notes below the few lines I have on top - but it's obvious he's counting pages down there. Funny - emphasize what I don't want him to see, how little I'm doing, and he's