A Well Lived Life Book 3 PiaChapter 2 Saying Goodbye
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Having sex together didn't change us, not really. Meeting at lunchtime was still the highlight of our day, until she came through my back door each evening and we were together again. Nothing changed, not the way we looked at each other and not the way we felt.
Nothing changed. Becky was still possessive. She asked my opinion about everything and offered her own without my asking for it. Our sex improved but everything else remained the same, the way her hand sought mine in the dark, the way her ass bumped mine in a crowd and the way her eyes held mine, nothing changed.
Our routine became routine. We were together as much as possible, except Sundays when her mother forced us apart. We met for lunch five days a week and studied together Monday through Thursday in the evening. We spent Friday night alone and Saturday night with Greg and Trisha. We were together so much that we didn't have time to think why we were together so much, except Sundays.
Writing letters to Alice at Becky's request made me think about what Becky meant to me but it didn't make me think why we were so suited for one another. On Sundays, when we were apart, I had time to think about it.
What made Becky look at me the same way, like I was her Prince Charming? What made me look at her like she was my Princess? Were we really suited for each other?
We were not that much alike, not really. Becky was super-intelligent; I was not. She came from a loving home; I did not. Her wardrobe was very limited; mine was not. Becky was attractive; I was not, well, she said I was.
The thing that drew us together and kept us together was that we needed each other, at least I needed her. I never did understand what attracted me to her. Becky was everything I was missing at home. She was my advisor, my conscience, my confidant and my lover. I guess she needed me to satisfy her motherly instincts.
"I've been meaning to talk to you about something," she said one night. It was the middle of February and the air in the room was getting chilly because we had kicked the covers off of the bed.
"Talk away," I said, wondering why she sounded so tentative.
"It's a question, really," she said, rising up so she could see if my eyes were closed or I was really listening.
"Ask away," I said, thinking, this better be good. Our time in bed was limited because we I still had a paper to work on. Becky was ahead with all her homework, only there to be with me.
"Have you heard about the play the Guild is going to put on?" Her hesitance told me there was more to it than what the Actor's Guild was going to do. Becky was a member of the theatrical club but had been missing their meetings since we began sleeping together.
"Yes, I've heard all about it," I said, sarcastically.
"There's a part that you should try out for. You would be perfect for it," she said and quickly ducked her head so I could not see her eyes.
"When is it?" I asked. Now I was the one who was being tentative.
"Tomorrow, after school," she said, meekly. I felt her nipples graze my chest, remembering all the times I had put myself to sleep thinking about her bare breasts that day at the pond.
"No, not when is the meeting, when is the play?"
Becky was up again, supporting herself on her elbows, excitedly peering down at me. "March the 19th and 20th. You'll be performing on your birthday. Practice is Monday and Thursday nights for the next four weeks. We'll miss having sex a total of eight nights but we'll make up for it, Honey, I promise we'll make up for it. Will you do it?"
'Honey, ' was new to Becky's vocabulary and had become like a red flag between us. 'Honey, ' was her code word to me. I was just becoming familiar with its various meanings. Used in public, 'Honey, ' engendered a 'trained monkey, ' response from me that made it impossible for me to disagree with her. The word, uttered from Becky's lips, defined possession, I was hers and she was mine. When we were alone, 'Honey, ' had a calming affect that rendered me helpless to defend my manhood. Becky knew the power she held over me and, although she usually yielded to my demands, we both knew it was a façade that would crumble with one word, 'Honey.'
I pulled her down so I wouldn't have to look into her eyes, knowing that it would be impossible to deny her anything as long as her eyes were upon me.
I objected on the grounds that I was not a member of the Guild. Becky defused that argument by saying she had already spoken to Miss Davenport about me being right for the part and there was no problem with me joining the group. I cited my lack of experience, never having been on stage in my life. Becky's response was that I would be perfect for the part and that she would help me learn it. I complained that I could not miss eight nights of study and still maintain my grades. Becky said that since it was a bit part I could study while waiting for my turn to perform. I finally told her what was really bothering me. She lifted herself and stared down at me in amazement.
"I said we would make up for it, didn't I, Honey? I'll wear you out on Tuesday and Wednesday nights, I promise."
Eventually, I found out what prompted her to launch me into my short acting career. Becky had been approached by Miss Davenport to serve as script-girl for the production. Not wanting to be separated from me, she negotiated a small part for me in the play that would require that I attend the eight evenings of practice.
I knew that I was being hoodwinked as soon as I saw the script. My part was on a single sheet of paper, giving me cues as to when I was to appear in each act. It was not hard to tell why I was uniquely suited for the part. Miss Davenport explained that the play was a comedy. I was to walk on my hands across the back of the stage, wearing a hat with a propeller on top.
"It was to be a speaking part," Becky challenged Miss Davenport when she saw my list of cues; it was not a script at all.
"We'll write in some lines as we see how it plays, Dear," Miss Davenport consoled her.
Becky fumed. "You're going to have some lines, Honey," she said at lunch the next day.
It didn't matter to me if I had lines or not. Just being able to sit in the back of the theater with a textbook and my girlfriend in view, perched at one corner of the stage with the script in her lap, was reward enough. It wasn't the same as being alone with her in my kitchen or in my bed but seeing the contentment that showed on her face made my small sacrifice painless.
Becky knew the actor's lines before they did. Watching her work gave me new insight as to how she was able to maneuver me into doing what she wanted me to. She didn't just prompt the actors when they needed help. She recited the line with the inflection in her voice that she wanted them to project. Miss Davenport must have heard it too but she never objected about Becky leading the actor in the way she thought they should project. She must have known that Becky, if she would have been old enough, was capable of directing the play on her own.
By the fifth practice it was evident that Becky was inserting her influence. As I made my first appearance in the first act one of the actresses was to say, "That's Harold, he thinks he's an airplane."
"His name is Sammy. Everyone knows him as Sammy or Apple. Can't it be, 'That's Apple, he thinks he's an airplane?"
All eyes were drawn to the small girl at the corner of the stage. Becky, sounding bold and defiant, rose to her feet and pleaded her case to Miss Davenport, who concurred.
"And he should say something," Becky said. "How about, 'I'm taxiing for takeoff?'"
Unable to stay on my hands indefinitely, I rose to my feet and watched as Becky consulted with Miss Davenport.
"Can you remember that? 'I'm taxiing for takeoff, ' Sammy?" Miss Davenport asked me, having agreed to the line that Becky suggested.
"Yes, Ma'am," I said.
"Apple, it's Apple," Becky said to the older woman and Miss Davenport nodded her approval that I would be known as Apple in the play.
Becky was ecstatic on our walk home. "You actors are so temperamental. You wanted a line; I got you a line. It's not too taxing for you, is it, Honey?"
"I'll be able to remember it," I said, dryly.
"I'll see to it that you know the line backwards and forwards. Tomorrow night we'll practice. I want you to 'taxi' all over me and then I'll teach you how I want you to say the line."
"Does 'taxi' involve clothes?" I asked.
"No, it won't be a dress rehearsal," she answered, demurely.
Becky's involvement with the play became so intense that she seldom wanted to talk about anything else. The one exception was me. She was very possessive and protective of our relationship. Sometimes I wondered if she trusted me to be away from her and I was sure that was the reason she had engineered my participation in the play. I loved the attention she gave me and would go out of my way to assure her that she had nothing to worry about.
It was common knowledge that we were together and most kids probably assumed that we were involved sexually. But that didn't mean everyone respected our monogamous relationship.
Bev, Gina's friend, bumped into me between classes one day. She was a senior and I wondered what would bring her to our wing where only freshman and sophomore classes were conducted. The first time it happened she just smiled and said, 'Hi, ' but a few days later she was back and the 'bump' was full contact.
"Hi, Sammy, I hear Becky isn't allowed to see you on Sundays," she said as I untangled myself from her breasts.
"Hi, Bev, that's right, Sunday is our day of separation but we talk on the phone," I said, supplying more information than she needed to know.
I told Becky about my encounter with Bev. There was no good reason for sharing that part of my day with Becky; it was just something that we had become accustomed to doing, telling the other something that happened when we were apart. It didn't occur to me to tell her that it was the second time I had seen Bev in our wing or that I had found it difficult to ignore her tits. We were on our way to her house after play practice.
"Did she tell you that she's free Sundays?" Becky asked.
"No," I answered, wondering why Becky would ask such a thing. Everyone knew Bev and Kenneth were together.
"She will," Becky said, thoughtfully. Having regular sex seemed to agree with her. Hell, it agreed with me. We were even-tempered, relaxed and always happy to be together.
"She will?" I asked, unsure why I didn't believe her.
"She will say that she's free and has her mom's car. But you'll tell her you're a one woman man, won't you, Honey?"
"I'll tell her whatever you tell me to say," I said, sarcastically.
"You know what you need?" She asked, changing the subject from Bev to, I was sure, the play.
"No, what do I need?"
"You need another line and I'm going to get it for you," she boasted.
New scripts were distributed at the next practice. In addition to my line in act one; I was assigned lines in act two and three. In act two I was to say, "Tower, tower, am I cleared for takeoff?" And in act three, "Tower, this is Apple-niner, still waiting for clearance to take off."
The new lines were met with mixed reviews from the cast. I was sure they thought I was the token-boyfriend, given special privileges to keep the script girl happy. I saw nothing humorous about the lines, either, but I learned them, knowing that Becky would expect for me to repeat them until I met her expectations.
"Tower, tower, am I cleared for takeoff?" I asked the following night as we practiced my lines.
"Apple-niner, you're cleared for takeoff," she said.
"Tower, tower, am I cleared for takeoff?" I asked again, teasing the outer lips of her pussy with my cock. She rearranged her ass, attempting to capture my cock without success. I was too quick for her.
"Apple-niner, you're cleared for takeoff," she said once again, a hint of frustration in her voice.
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