Such Haste
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Act In Haste free porn video
Originally Hasty Act, picked up from StorySite, edited and corrected a
bit.
Act in Haste
by Ann O'Nonymous
"Ahh," sighed Joe Harper. He had spent most of the school day observing
Monica Grant, one of the prettiest girls at school. She had softly
curling black hair falling to her shoulders, faultless emerald-green
eyes, a cute upturned pert nose, and a 34-24-34 well-tanned body with a
pair of legs any model would be proud of. In fact, he already spent most
of his school year doing that, having one hell of a crush on her. "Boy,
I would love to meet her," he thought, but the chances of that happening
were nada, zed, zilch.
At fourteen, nearly fifteen, Joe still looked like a grade school
dropout, even though he was a high school freshman taking several
advanced classes. For him, school was mostly a pain in the ass, what
with bullies, teachers who, because of his long hair, thought he was a
girl and, because he was fairly intelligent, the incessant repetition of
ideas he got the first time made school b-o-r-i-n-g.
"What's with the 'ahhh.' Nail your history again," asked Carolyn, his
sister, rhetorically.
She was two years older, a very popular blue-eyed blonde with a variable
disposition. She had just entered the room with her schoolbooks. Placing
her books on a table, she asked, "So how was your day? I've got a ton of
homework from old lady Baker, and an assignment in history I have to
finish in two weeks.
It's five sheets, both sides, on the Home Front during the Second World
War. You know, war workers, rationing and such. Think you could help
me?"
Joe looked at Carolyn for a moment. "Sure, but I'm not going to write
the whole damn thing like I did the last time."
"Write! You used your computer. I didn't see you writing anything on
paper."
"Oh God, why do I even try. I put everything down for you. All you had
to do was give the teacher your paper. Carol, do you know Monica Grant?"
"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. Why?"
"Well, I was just thinking, maybe I could do that assignment for you
if..."
"If what?"
"Well, if you could introduce me to her, I might see my way clear to,
umm, do that work for you."
Carolyn thought about the idea for a few minutes before replying, "I
don't know.
I could try for you, but I can't make any promises." She knew Monica
quite well, but didn't know how to approach her concerning Joe. Monica
had had several boyfriends that she dropped as soon as they became
overly macho; she liked quieter boys, but they were afraid to come near
her because of the jocks constantly buzzing around like she was a queen
bee.
"Please, try for me?"
Carolyn knew he had a crush on some girl and now she was certain who it
was. "Okay, I'll try. I can't promise anything."
"I'll do anything reasonable, Carolyn. I just want a fair shot at
meeting her."
"Okay, you got it!"
It was at that time that their parents entered the house, with a "We
stopped at a Chinese takeout. There's Shrimp Fried Rice, Egg Rolls, and
other goodies!"
Both of them loved Chinese food, and soon were gorging themselves.
"Hey, Fortune Cookies!" Joe grabbed one, pulled it apart, and read his
fortune: "When you think with your feet, forget your heart!" A second
cookie yielded: "Black and white can make many shades of gray."
"Interesting," said his mother. She opened one, and read: "Don't count
your eggs before they are omelets!"
"Or scrambled," father added. His read: "Fortune can come slow, but
leave fast."
After dinner, the parents settled down to watching television, the
children to their homework. At about ten-thirty, they all hit the sack.
At school the next day, Joe got the usual hard time from the jocks, the
bullies, and their assorted hangers-on. He was, as usual, the butt of
their dumb jokes and asinine pranks. Again, school was a bore, and he
watched Monica; still, he was able to answer any teacher's questions
with ease, having heard the same thing for the umpteenth time.
This went on for several days, and Joe had given up all hope of ever
meeting
Monica. "Oh well," he mused, "I guess it was never meant to be. I
should've known a girl like Monica wouldn't want to be around a nobody
like me. Never should've thought of it in the first place."
It was about two weeks later (well after Joe finished Carolyn's WWII
essay), after school, on a Thursday, when his sister came into the room
where he was reading a book (Greek Theater, of all things), and
announced, "I think I can get Monica to see you, but there is a catch!
You have to follow the instructions she gave me, implicitly. I've got
them on a paper. If you don't agree, then forget about seeing her.
She'll meet you, but under her terms."
"Okay, I'm willing. When can I meet her?"
"Well, her parents will be out of town this weekend, and mom and dad
have a two-day work seminar to attend, so I guess Saturday. Okay?"
"Okay, what should I wear, something casual, maybe?"
"Leave that up to me. I have special instructions regarding that little
item."
"What special instructions? Where is this leading," Joe worried, "Oh
well, at least I get a chance. I hope she likes me a little. She does
seem to be very nice."
"So, do you want me to call her, or, do you want to forget the whole
thing.
You could always try Maggie Thomas."
"Call. I guess I can try meeting on her terms," said Joe, "Okay, I
agree." He remembered what they called Maggie -- the biggest slut in
school! He felt so sorry for her; she once was an alcoholic, her parents
went through a nasty divorce that was in most of the local papers, and
someone was spreading a rumor throughout the school about her sexual
proclivities. Joe was one of her few friends, and that, in itself, made
him an outcast.
Joe watched as his sister went to the phone and dialed a number. After a
few seconds, he heard his sister say, "Hi, Monica. Joe agrees to the
terms, and wants to try this weekend." She listened for a moment before
replying, "So, about nine-thirty to ten Saturday morning. I can get him
ready, and have him there about, oh, nine-forty-five. Is that okay with
you," she asked. Carolyn smiled a Cheshire grin, and said, "We're set
for this weekend!" With that, she hung up the phone, and both youngsters
started in on their homework.
That night, Joe had a hard time sleeping, just thinking about meeting
Monica.
"Just don't make a fool out of yourself, don't do anything stupid," he
kept thinking. "This is your chance. Don't screw it up!"
The Friday school routine was a blur, all he could think of was Monica.
He couldn't think of anything else. At home, after school, he watched
his sister bring in two bags from her car, and take them upstairs to her
room.
"Whatcha got, sis?"
"Oh, nothing you want to know about, right now!"
"Oh, okay," Joe said, and returned to the book (Roman Mosaics) he was
reading.
A half-hour later, there was dinner with their parents. After dinner,
the parents gave them their instructions: "Carolyn, you are in charge.
We will be back Sunday night, late, and I don't want you waiting up! The
number where we can be reached is on a paper right by the telephone. Any
emergencies, go to either Ms. Taylor's or Mr. Carlisle's house. They
both know where we can be called. I expect both of you to behave like
adults!"
With that said, the parents received a kiss from each child, and a
promise to be good and not make any trouble. A few minutes later, there
was the sound of a car pulling out of the driveway. Both of them went to
the door, out onto the porch where they waved good-bye to their parents
as they passed by.
"Well, they're gone for the weekend. You got any homework?" Carolyn
asked Joe.
"Nope! Mine's been done since study hall. You?"
"Lucked out! Okay, you want to watch the boob tube, or . . ."
"For awhile, what's good?"
The two sat down and watched a game show, switched channels and watched
a travel program, a sitcom, then a police drama!
"I'm getting tired! Tomorrow I get to see Monica, don't I?"
"Oh, that's right! I got some things for you to do tonight," Carolyn
said with a grin. "I'll go up and get the things you'll need. You want
to check the lights, front and back doors locked, and I should have what
I need in about, oh, ten minutes . . . okay?"
"Sure," answered a puzzled Joe. He wondered what he was getting into!
Ten minutes later, Joe entered his room to find a bottle of hair
conditioner, hair shampoo, skin lotion and something called "Nair."
His sister entered and said, "After you wash, put the 'Nair' on your
arms, legs, chest . . . oh, just follow the directions. After that, use
the lotion.
Then, wash your hair, thoroughly, use the shampoo and conditioner I've
left for you. You are to wear the things I'll put out for you. Just
remember the agreement."
"Yeah, yeah! I do," Joe said. After his shower, Joe dried off, read the
directions and used the Nair. It sure wasn't the most pleasant odor in
the world, but he was most shocked when he washed off and saw the hair
going down the drain. He remembered to use the lotion and was surprised
by the fragrance.
"Oh, there's some dusting powder in there, don't forget to use that,"
his sister said from outside the bathroom door.
"I will," Joe replied, as he started to shampoo his hair. He used the
conditioner on his hair, waiting the necessary time, and washed it out.
Next, he powdered himself. "Now to bed, and tomorrow, Monica!"
As he entered his bedroom, he was in shock! "Carolyn, what's going on!
What are your things doing on my bed?"
Carolyn walked in, said, "No, you wear them tonight!"
Joe looked at the nightgown. "Oh, well. If I have to, I have to! Get out
of here, and let me get dressed for bed," he stated. First, he dropped
the towel, and put on the pale blue satin panties. Next came a
teenager's bra, also pale blue, with a bow on the front. "Carolyn, I
can't reach the back of this thing. Can you help!"
Carolyn returned, placed two pads in the front and fastened the hooks in
the back of the bra. She stayed to watch him put on a baby blue nylon
nightgown. She also placed a pink chenille robe on a chair beside the
bed, and a pair of pink mules under the bed. "These are for when you get
up in the morning," she said, indicating the robe and slippers, "I'll be
getting you up pretty early."
At about seven in the morning, Carolyn woke him with, "Rise and shine,
sleepyhead. Breakfast is almost ready!"
Joe got up, put on the pink robe, the pink mules, and did the
necessities in the bathroom. Downstairs, Carolyn greeted him, "Scrambled
eggs, Bagel with cream cheese spread, sausages, hash browns, and toast.
All ready on the table. What kind of juice?"
"Orange. No coffee?"
"We're out! When you are finished, we'll do the dishes, and then I've
got to get you ready!"
The big day, at last! Monica, he had almost forgotten. "Okay," Joe
replied, "just what do I have to do?" He dug into the food and soon had
his belly full.
One thing Carolyn could do well was cook.
"Well, I hope you're not modest! I'll wait 'til the dishes are done,
then, well, you'll see!"
As soon as breakfast was over, the table was cleared, dishes washed and
put away.
Carolyn started up the stairs saying, "I'll want you upstairs in fifteen
minutes. I'm going to get dressed and get things ready for you."
Joe waited the specified time then went upstairs. He felt rather strange
wearing girl's clothing, but he had to admit he liked the feeling of
satin panties. Upon entering his room, he saw, on his bed, a rubber
sheet.
His sister entered the room and said, "Okay, strip off everything, get
on the bed and lay face down on the sheet.
"With you here? Can't you turn your back or somethin' for me?"
Carolyn obediently turned as Joe divested himself of the robe, slippers,
gown, bra and panties. Naked and hairless, at least on his body, Joe got
on the bed, laid face down and said, "You can turn around now." He felt
something poured on his backside and gently rubbed in. "What is that
stuff," Joe asked. Next sensation was of a powder being applied to him.
"Baby powder and oil. Okay, turn over!"
After turning over, Joe tried hiding his genital area.
"I've had sex education, Joe," Carolyn stated, "I know all about those
thingies." She held up a pair of pretty peach colored panties, asking,
"Okay, sweetie, legs up."
Joe obediently lifted his legs to let his sister slide on the satin
undies: a pair of rumba panties, the kind little girls would love to
wear.
"Now, can you stand up for mommy, sweetheart?" Carolyn was getting into
the spirit of things. Joe stood, and waited for the next indignation. A
training bra was next, then a petticoat-slip. Pointing to a chair, she
said, "Sit down,
I'll put shoes and socks on you."
Joe sat down and watched as Carolyn put a pair of knee-high socks and a
pair of Mary Janes (at least he thought that was what they were called)
on him, and fastened the straps. When told, he rather submissively stood
and waited. Sis then put the dress on him. It was a peach-colored little
girl's party dress with a lacy underskirt and buttons up the back. She
then took him to a mirror.
The reflection showed a ten- or eleven-year-old, and a girl to boot.
"Sis, I can't go out looking like this!"
"Shush, sweetheart, everything's going to be alright," his sister said,
giving him a kiss on the forehead. "Turn around so mommy can button up
the back."
Joe turned, angry with himself. He smelled something, and it sure wasn't
perfume.
Carolyn fastened the buttons, tied a large bow, then got up and walked
over to a dresser. She came back, put a charm bracelet on Joe's wrist
and a chain with a locket around Joe's neck. Two clip-on earrings were
added. She brushed and combed Joe's hair, pulled it back and up into a
typical girl's high ponytail with multicolored hair ribbon bow. This was
followed by a little foundation on the face, a little blusher and a
muted Coral lipstick. Without predictable thick masculine eyebrows, the
cosmetics made him look more feminine.
"You gonna' be much longer?"
"No. I've got a pocketbook downstairs for you." She took him over to a
mirror, and showed him how pretty he looked.
Jo looked in the mirror and saw a somewhat attractive preteen girl
looking back, reaffirming his previous thoughts, just about ready to
leave for a party.
"Come along, sweetheart. Your friends are waiting!" Carolyn took Jo
downstairs, gave him his pocketbook, put a girl's light jacket on him,
and said, "My little girl looks so pretty, I'm proud of you!"
At about quarter after nine, they left, Jo following Carolyn out to her
car, hoping none of the neighbors would see him. She opened the
passenger side door, and when he was settled, she fastened the seatbelt.
She then got in on the driver's side, fastened her belt. To get to
Monica's house was only a fifteen minute walk, but, because of one-way
streets, a bridge under repair, detours, it was a ten minute drive.
At Monica's, Jo noticed several bikes to one side of the house. He
wondered why they were there. Carolyn parked in the street in front, got
out and came around to Jo's side. "Well, here we are," she said, like he
didn't notice. She let him out, locked up the car, checked the doors,
then took Jo by the hand and led him to the house. Opening the door,
they walked inside. Entering the house, he saw several girls there,
including Monica and Maggie. They were all dressed in boy's shirts,
sneakers, and slacks or jeans, and when they saw him, it started.
Laughing, more laughing. He felt he was the butt of a really sick joke!
He was experiencing pain at what he felt was his sister's duplicity;
they were laughing at him, the sissy. He heard them: "Oh, look how cute
he is," "Isn't he just so precious," "Oh, look at the darling little
girl!" To all of them, he was a joke. This was nothing but a cruel
trick. A set-up. How could he be so damnably stupid, to be so utterly
humiliated!
"Please, sis, I want to go home, please just take me home," he pleaded.
"No, you just got here!"
Jo had to get away from them. He couldn't take them laughing at him; at
school, now this! "PLEASE, I just want to go HOME! I'll never ask you to
do anything for me ever again, PLEASE just take me home!" he pleaded
with tearing eyes.
"No," Carolyn said, "You don't . . ."
She never finished! Jo pulled himself free of her hand and ran for the
door. One of the girls tried to stop him. He did something he normally
would never ever do -- he shoved her away, hard.
"Joe! Joe, please stop! Come back, please!"
He never heard her, or at least pretended not to. Once outside, Joe ran
as fast as he could, running to get away from the laughter, the hurt,
away from his tormenters! He started crying -- something he hadn't done
for eight years. His face was streaked with tears.
"How could she? My own sister! I should have known better. I thought I
could trust her, well, no more. I'm through at school. This will be all
over school, now I'll really get it!"
He didn't care anymore. "Let them see me like this," he thought as he
ran. All he wanted to do was go home. To his room, where he would be
protected, secure. Joe ran down streets, across lawns, across a bridge,
to his own street. Soon he would be safe. His heart was going a mile a
minute, his breathing came in short gasps. Falling several times, he got
up and continued like all the fiends of Hell were behind him!
Finally he made it -- his house. Security. Soon he would be in the
sanctuary of his room, where he would be safe. Opening the pocketbook,
he rummaged around for the door key.
"Was it there? Did she leave it out on purpose?" Joe thought. "That
would be like her."
At the bottom of the bag was a key, a door key! Turning, he saw
Carolyn's car coming up the street. Quickly, he put the key in the lock,
turned it and when the door opened, he rushed inside, and slammed the
door shut. He fled upstairs, up to the safety of his room. Once inside,
he locked the door, shoved a chair under the doorknob, his CD-player
went on full blast, Ravel's "Bolero." "Hah," he thought, "rather
appropriate!"
The clothing was the first thing to go! Using a pocketknife he cut,
ripped, tore off the distasteful articles, removing every thing in any
way he could. After he was naked, he redressed in his boy clothes. Now,
he felt a Hell of a lot better. The tattered and mutilated clothes wound
up as pieces of cloth scattered everywhere. Opening a window, the
abhorrent rags were soon tossed out. He found all the bottles of stuff
she left, and that followed. The yard was slowly starting to resemble a
trash dump. The locket, earrings and bracelet also went out the window.
He wanted no reminders of the worst day of his life. Next, he looked for
the noisiest, most violent PC game he could find, and loaded that,
turning the volume up as high as possible. Every kill was Carolyn,
Monica, Maggie, or another one of those bitches at that house.
"Joe, Joe, please open this door. I've got to talk to you. Please open
the door," Carolyn pleaded.
Joe ignored her. Blam -- that was Monica, the bitch! Blam -- that was
Carolyn, the traitor! Blam ? that was Maggie, the alcoholic. "Go away,
forever! I don't want anything to do with you, Monica, or any of your
friends. I was stupid to even trust you in the first place!"
"She'll get tired soon," Joe thought. He set his CD-player to repeat,
and he played the PC on and on, vowing he would not come out of his room
'til his parents came home and dragged him out.
"Joseph Samuel Harper, you open this damn door, NOW!" Carolyn
practically screamed, trying to be heard above the racket inside. She
started banging on the door to get his attention. "Come on, Joe, I just
want to talk." After a while, the banging was hurting her knuckles. She
tried a new tactic, "I'll call mom and dad. They won't be too happy
about this."
"Who cares! I sure don't," Joe thought. "Go ahead and call. Maybe they
would like to hear what you did to me." Joe had a trump to play, "maybe
they would also like to hear a few other things, too." He felt he no
longer owed her anything, certainly not his friendship, and he said, "in
fact, if you don't stop bothering me, I'm going to tell mom and pop all
when they get home."
Carolyn was crushed; she had confided in him every dark secret she had.
"Okay, you win!"
"Now just go away! I don't want to speak to you ever again." (That was
the last civil conversation between the two.)
Joe spent the rest of the day in his room, eating what candy bars he had
socked away. He listened to his CD-player and played the PC. Mostly, he
cried! All he was is a joke, something to be laughed at. (Not a man,
just a clown.) He felt that he faced a future of loneliness; that he
could accept, but not the laughter.
That night a lonely fourteen-year-old boy named Joe Harper cried himself
to a fitful sleep.
This is all, folks. Good-bye, Annie O
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