SRU Unreally Real
- 2 years ago
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My First Real ValentineChapter 3 free porn video
We hadn’t had a chance to talk about what she’d walked in on in my bedroom. As it turned out, we initially dealt with that issue by not talking about it at all. And I mean it was not mentioned in any way, shape, or form. We didn’t agree not to discuss it. I suppose neither of us was bold enough to be the one to bring it up. But things were strained. I wanted to go over, but, suddenly, I couldn’t think of anything to suggest that we should do. All the things we’d done in the past seemed like little kid stuff. Maybe she felt the same way, because she didn’t come over or call and suggest anything either. In fact, the only way I even knew she’d gotten her license too was that I saw her driving their car past my house. She waved and grinned, but that was it.
Then school started again. It was our sophomore year, and I’d have loved to drive to school, but we couldn’t afford a car just for me, and the two cars we did have were both in use by my parents, both of whom worked. So it was still the bus for me.
Valerie’s parents seemed to have more money, but they didn’t get Valerie a car either. So it was still the bus for her too.
I was late, and ran up to the bus after Valerie was already on. Maybe it was habit, but she was sitting where we always sat. And she was scooted up next to the window.
So I sat down next to her. I guess that was habit too.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” I responded.
“Long time no see,” she commented.
“Yeah,” I said.
The bus started off. We had a new driver this year, a woman who looked like she was at least fifty.
“Why is that?” said Valerie.
“What do you mean?”
“Why is it that I haven’t seen you for so long?”
“What are you talking about? I was at your birthday party.”
“Yeah, a month ago.” She sounded grumpy.
I was thinking, “Because you probably didn’t want some pervert hanging around,” but I didn’t say that.
“I don’t know,” I said instead.
“Are you mad at me?”
I looked at her.
“Of course not,” I said. “Why would I be mad at you?”
“Because...” She stopped. She looked uncomfortable.
“Because why?” I prompted.
She looked out the window, and then at the back of the bus driver, who was three seats in front of us. Finally she turned her face towards me. She had always been intelligent, and well spoken. Suddenly, not so much.
“Because I ... uh ... you know ... uh ... intruded on your ... um ... privacy.”
I knew instantly what she was talking about. I was embarrassed instantly too, but not because of what she’d caught me doing. I was embarrassed because the way she said it made it obvious she wasn’t horrified about it, as I had assumed her to be. And that was astonishing in a way that electrified me. Her approval (or at least lack of censure), was one of the most significant things in my young life, and the fact that she hadn’t actually withdrawn it, like I thought she had, was so important that I suddenly felt like crying. I had to look away, so I could blink away tears of ... I don’t know ... happiness?
“I’m sorry!” she moaned. “I didn’t know.”
Of course she didn’t know. How could she have known? Then again, she knew I was a pervert, so maybe she did know. Just not when I pursued my perversion.
This was driving me crazy.
“I’m really sorry, Bobby,” she said.
Some sanity entered my mind and I realized she probably thought I was looking away from her because I was disgusted that she’d violated my privacy. I looked back at her.
“It’s okay,” I said.
That didn’t sound good enough, so I did what most boys do in that situation. I perceived there was a chance I could restore my relatively good reputation in her eyes, so I blundered on.
“That was the first time I’d ever done that. I don’t know why it happened then. It just sort of came over me. Maybe my hormones had just kicked in or something.”I looked at her, hopefully. She stared back at me. The bus stopped and the doors opened. A gaggle of kids started getting on.
“You are so full of it,” said Valerie.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.
“I apologize to you, and all you do is feed me a line of BS about that being your first time.”
“Oh.” I didn’t even think about trying to salvage something. I knew she knew me too well. I was a little amazed that I’d even tried to snow her. That’s how long it had been since we’d talked like this about anything of substance.
“But the important thing is that you’re not mad at me,” she said.
I decided to replace BS with economy. “Nope. Not mad,” I said.
“Okay, good.”
I had decided not to say anything else. It was pretty obvious that she hadn’t been freaked out by catching me doing that, but something deep inside me demanded more.
“So ... you weren’t weirded out?” I asked.
There was a pause, as she actually thought about it.
“I wouldn’t quite put it that way,” she said.
“But you didn’t hate me,” I suggested, somewhat artlessly.
“Of course not,” she said. “You’re a guy. Guys do that. Everybody knows that.”
“Oh.” I felt a little let down that I’d been classified as just any old generic guy.
“We can’t talk about this anymore right now,” she said. “There are too many kids around.”
“Right,” I said.
Apparently we couldn’t talk about anything, because she didn’t say another word until we got to school.
Oddly enough, that short, little conversation was enough to release some of the tension that had entered our relationship. It wasn’t like the good old days, by any stretch, but at least we were talking to each other again. And when we started getting homework, it just seemed normal to help each other out like we’d done in the past. She was better at math than I was, and I was a science geek. We both did pretty well in other subjects, partly because we checked each other’s work.
So as fall waned and winter showed up, we were comfortable around each other again. We still didn’t spend as much time together as we had in the past, but that was because of extracurricular activities, rather than because things were strained between us.
And then, one Friday morning on the bus, she casually mentioned that she was going on a date that night.
“With who?” I asked.
“Chris Brown,” she said.
“Really?” Chris Brown was on the football team, and he was a senior.
“He asked me out Tuesday.”
“And you’re just telling me about it today?”
“What? You keep my social register all of a sudden?”
“No,” I said. “It just seems strange, that’s all.”
“I don’t tell you everything that goes on in my life, you know,” she said.
“Oh, I’m fully aware of that.” I couldn’t keep the anger out of my voice.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you have private stuff, that I’m not allowed to know.”
“Everybody has private stuff in their lives,” she said.
“Yeah, well I used to,” I shot back.
We both knew what I was talking about. I saw her eyes widen. Then she grinned, of all things.
“Yeah,” she said, still grinning. “I guess I do know all about your private thing.”
She was teasing me! I couldn’t believe it. She knew I’d been embarrassed about that and she was teasing me! It made me bold, somehow.
“You weren’t there long enough to find out all about it,” I said.
“Only because you jumped up like you’d seen a ghost and ran out of there like a scared little rabbit,” she said, just as boldly as that.
“Maybe I’ll invite you over to watch the whole show sometime,” I said, as insanity replaced boldness.
“In your dreams,” she laughed.
And then the bus stopped and we had to get off and go to class.
She had astronomy club after school that day. Saturday I slept in, and by the time I got up and got around, I decided not to go over to her house. I didn’t want to know how her date went. Thinking about her holding hands with Chris Brown, or worse, made my stomach hurt. I didn’t think of it as jealousy; more that he was poaching in my territory or something. I didn’t see her Sunday either, and on Monday morning, on the bus, she didn’t bring it up, and I didn’t either. That night I had Chess Club and by the next day it had been too long and I felt like it would seem like I was prying if I asked her about it.
So, once again, the thing that was so intimate, and had affected our relationship on such a deep level, was relegated to history. I really didn’t expect it to come up again.
Except it came up every night in my mind, in my bed, as I stroked my boner until it spat. I didn’t need the computer any more. I just thought about Valerie.
Our seventeenth year seemed to add bricks to that wall. By that, I mean we had started taking AP classes in school, which required a lot more time to do homework, which wasn’t the kind we could help each other with anymore. We were involved in separate extracurricular activities. She was on a softball team that was sponsored by a local furniture company, and spent a lot of time at practices and games. I went to a few, but watching her ignore me wasn’t much fun.
Valerie went on more dates. She never told me about them until they were imminent, and we never talked about what she did on those dates ... or what was done to her.
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