Chapter 25: Home Run

November 28, 1981

Angie and I put up the tree in the morning. Even though we weren’t going to be home for Christmas, the tree was a must. We might have rushed through it a bit, maybe, but it was set up.

After that, Jasmine and I had most of the day together — a complete luxury with the schedules we both kept. I wasn’t even blowing off something I ought to be doing.

Given what was on both our minds, we started things off surprisingly innocently. We reprised part of my day yesterday — going to the mall, window-shopping, hanging out. Holding hands. Pointing out things each other might like.

Then Jasmine surprised me with a question. “So, Candice called? How’s she doing?”

“Really well, I think. And yes, I know you want to know. I talked to her about it. She wants to get together sometime when we all can, probably explain stuff at least some. Maybe just after New Year’s?”

“Oh! That’d be cool. You know I’m now imagining some big mysterious secret.”

“Of course you are.”

“And, you’re not telling me it’s not.”

“I’m not telling you it is, either; like I said, she wants to explain. So, if I explain, that would be rude.”

“You have a point there, of course. I’ll try not to pry. I’m just not good at being frustrated!”

“Hmm. I could make that a mission. Help Jasmine practice being frustrated.”

“No! That’s a bad mission!” she laughed, swatting my arm playfully. “Bad boyfriend!”

I gave her a hangdog look. “I sowwy, Miss Jasmine.”

She giggled and kissed me. “Forgiven. Now don’t do it again!”

“I’ll try not to.”

“You do that. So. Totally different topic. Suppose you got your pick. Based just on looks and nothing else, which girl in Drama do you pick? I’m going to assume you aren’t picking a guy.”

“Um ... well. I can’t do that very well since I know a bunch of them. But...”

“Let me narrow it down, I didn’t even mean what I said. Based solely on looks, which sophomore girl do you pick? No fair picking seniors or something. Or the innocent little freshmen.”

“Or the juniors?”

“I don’t want to go up against Debra Kwan!”

I pulled her into a hug. “Hey, I’m with you because you’re smart, fun, funny, and cute, not because you’re Asian. Debra is fine, but of the two of you, you. Physically.”

She made boob-shapes with her hands on her chest.

“OK, fine, her boobs are an asset. Big deal.”

“Big. Right.”

I laughed. “Seriously. You’re prettier, no question. You said ‘based on looks’; based on looks, you, of the two of you. But I don’t think you wanted me giving you as an answer. You’re fishing for other names.”

“Yeah. How’d we get on the subject of Debra, anyway?”

“You brought her up.”

“Bad Jasmine! Bad!”

I laughed. “OK, just the sophomores. Just looks. Sara...”

“Really?”

“You didn’t let me finish. Sara would be the last choice. And that’s not to slight her, she’s cute. But...” I made boob-shapes too.

She laughed. “It’s silly when guys do it!”

“Still. Physically only, Sara last. Then ... Carole.”

“But she looks a lot like Candice!”

“You said looks. Looking like Candice is a bit of a drawback, because she’s not Candice. And, I wasn’t with Candice because of her looks.”

“OK, fine. Then?”

“Lexi.”

“Lexi?” she exclaimed. “I did not see that coming!”

“Look, Lexi’s great looks-wise. But I already have an amazing blonde in my life and that’s enough for now.”

“Awww. That is incredibly sweet, put that way. Also, it reminds me that Angie is really hot!” she grinned, licking her lips.

“That she is.”

“Hey! She’s your sister! You’re not supposed to be thinking about her that way!”

I laughed. “We’ve been over that.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go on.”

“Paige. We’re getting to really close decisions. She’s cute and sexy and something about how she carries herself says ‘naughty,’ too. But I’ll give Sheila the nod, because of the red hair and green eyes.”

Jasmine made boob-shapes.

“In Sheila’s case, the red hair and green eyes tip the scales. Sheila down a bra size or two would be my real preference.”

“I wonder what I’d look like with red hair.”

I stopped, thinking.

“What?”

“Well, first, not that Vietnamese and Japanese are the same — obviously not — but the hair is similar, and some Japanese girls dye their hair. Maybe Vietnamese girls do, too. I don’t know. Looking at how they look would give you an example with a similar hair type.”

“Good point. I think half the school thinks there’s no difference.”

“Stupid them. It’s not like I can tell 100%, but Japanese, Vietnamese, Chinese, and Korean are at least all often fairly different. I mean, physically, looks-wise. Culturally, duh. Of course. Not to mention, say, your cultural differences.”

“All of you white people look the same, though.” She giggled. “Kidding!”

“Anyway, that was half my thought. The other half was, you know the school rules. ‘No unnatural hair colors’. But they don’t explain it. Red’s a natural hair color, but not for Vietnamese people. Could you dye your hair red and get away with it? Now I’m really curious.”

She stopped, bit her lip. “You know, that’s a really interesting question, because, well, ‘Brigadoon’. Not that all Scots are redheads, not even close, but it’s more common there than just about anywhere. Just imagine a red-headed Vietnamese girl with a Scottish accent. Aye, laddie?”

I laughed. “If Steffie approved it, you’d have to go with it, now, wouldn’t you?”

“I could wear a wig, though. And,” she clapped and bounced on her heels, “you’re calling her Steffie!”

“It’s ... well, it’s similar to Meg. I’m applying similar rules, anyway. Meg says ‘call me Meg’. If you’re just doing it because she said that, OK, it’s polite, but you missed the whole point. And if you’re doing it to ingratiate yourself, you’re an idiot. But if you’re doing it because you want to be part of the team, that’s different. And at least through ‘Brigadoon’, I’m on the team, and I mean, neither Angie nor I would say we’d do it if we weren’t really doing it.”

She looked around and grinned. “We’re not really doing it in the mall.”

“Fine.” I stuck out my tongue; she quickly licked it. And giggled. “We wouldn’t say we’re going to be in the show if we didn’t really mean we’d work at it and act just like anyone else who had a role, or at least a similar role. I imagine the leads put in a ton of time that we won’t need to.”

“Yeah, they will. And I knew that’s what you meant, but you said doing it, and that might be a trifle on my mind, so, yeah, there you go.”

“A trifle on mine, too, so, yeah.”

She laughed and squeezed my hand. “So, Sheila over Paige, but it’s close?”

“Sheila over Paige and close sounds really hot.”

She swatted my arm, then giggled. “OK, fine, you completely have a point there.”

“Of course, you just said physically. I’ve been told by someone I trust that I’m, quote, ‘not ready for her,’ unquote.”

“That would be Angie, and she was probably right when she said it but is wrong now, but that’s fine because the reason she’s wrong is holding your hand.”

“Oookay. Explain.”

She laughed. “Paige is, if anything, less monogamous than I am. Something you probably haven’t failed to notice. She also has less, um ... decorum than I do. There’s nothing really bad there, and I don’t want to overly gossip about her escapades, but I’ll be happy to share as much as you want to know. Angie knows, and if she tells you, well, not gossiping, because everyone knows you two are connected that way.”

I nodded. “Yeah. We had one falling out but managed it. Other than that, we’re about as close as can be.”

“Falling out? Over?”

“I’d rather not talk about it, though it’s not a giant secret. The part I can share without gossiping would give the wrong impression; to correct that I’d have to get into gossip. Cammie certainly knows a lot of it, and I’ll ask Angie if I can share. Or you can ask her.”

“Got it. I love that about you. Believe me, girls worry a lot about whether some guy is going to start trashing their reputation and writing their numbers on bathroom stalls. Except ... no, that’s totally not fair, and I shouldn’t have thought it.”

“What?”

“I was going to say, except Theresa Beckett, but she’s completely changed. I mean, if she ever was, you know, what they said. I know you don’t like the word.”

“Someone I know said, about her, and I quote, ‘I wouldn’t call her easy. But she’s easy.’”

Jasmine giggled. “OK, that’s funny, and exactly right.”

“I suspect that maybe it was a ploy to get attention and, luckily for her, a quality guy happened to pick up on it and pick up on her. Which means it worked for her, which means, hey, more power to her.”

“Yeah, I see that. Hrm. I don’t even know if anyone’s handed out her former title to anyone else yet. Which is weird.”

“Back to your point. I think a lot of guys who do that don’t even have the benefit of the experience they’re claiming. But some do, and that, to me, is just despicable.”

“Definitely. It really screws up some girls’ lives.”

“I wouldn’t be friends with any guy who’d do that. Period. I could manage to get along with them if we had to do a project or whatever together, but I couldn’t respect them. Wait. One exception.”

“There’s an exception? What could that be?”

“If the girl agrees to it, for whatever reason.”

“Who would ... oh. Wait. Duh. I know girls who agree to that!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I told you, some of the guys in Drama are into you, not me. A few girls have offered up their reputations as cover, outside Drama. At least one of them would be in deep trouble at home if it came out.”

“That’s a good reason for it, yeah. If the girl agrees, hey, it’s her reputation. She can do with it what she wants.”

She squeezed my hand. “I think it completely sucks that people can’t just live and let live. And sucks even more that parents can legally be absolutely barbaric to their kids if they want.”

“Me, too. Some things shouldn’t be legal unless the kid truly wants to be there. If a gay kid wants to try some scheme, fine. But if they don’t, that’s the end.”

“Selfishly, I’m pretty glad you’re on the team you’re on,” she grinned.

“Selfishly, I’m glad you’re on the team you’re on, too.”

She giggled. “But I’m on both.”

“I have no problem with that.” I wiggled my eyebrows. “Selfishly, I mean.”

“Pig!”

“Oink!”

“Eh. I’m a pig, too. I’d watch; why should I care if you do? So, me and Sheila or me and Paige?”

“Paige.”

“Wait. You had Sheila before. Why is it different?”

“Snap decision. Similarities between you, maybe. But I’d put Lexi above either of them, with you, on a looks basis.”

“Which ... means you’d ... probably ... list Angie even higher.”

“Not saying no.”

“She needs to get Gene to agree it’s not cheating. She really does!”

I laughed. “We’ll see.”

“Yeah, well, you want to see!”

“Oink.”

She giggled. “Want to know something?”

“Wanting to know things is pretty much my life.”

She giggled. “I’ve been able to have this conversation with exactly zero other boyfriends.”

“Really?” I blinked, confused. “No one else was interested in other girls? Now I feel weird.”

“No! Nono! Not that!”

“Oh, well, good.”

“No, it’s that they didn’t say what they thought. They said what they thought I wanted to hear.”

“Ahhh. I figured that if you wanted me to tell you what you wanted to hear, you’d have told me what to think.”

She giggled and grinned. “Sometimes that’ll happen. I mean, you telling me what you think I want to hear. Relationships are precious and a little white lying is important. But too much and you’re not respecting the relationship.”

“Like ‘Do these jeans make my butt look fat?’. That has a complicated set of answers.”

“Oh? I mean, it does, but what’s your take on it?”

“‘No’, if they don’t, or if it’s fat anyway, which yours most definitely is not.” She grinned and wiggled it a bit. “Or, if she really likes them so much that it’d be OK to put up with a slightly big-looking butt. ‘Yes’, if there’s a styling issue some other jeans don’t have. And under no circumstances blame anything but the jeans. Which means saying things like ‘yours most definitely is not’ a lot beforehand.”

She giggled. “Fair enough. Mine might not be fat enough. I have a boy butt.”

“Um ... no. I don’t find boy butts at all attractive, where yours is super-cute.”

“Flatterer!”

“In this case, the complete truth.”

“You’re still a flatterer.”

We laughed and shopped a bit more, enjoying the day. That lasted until maybe 2:30pm. Seemingly at random — maybe it was — we’d wound up near the parking lot. Jasmine tugged in the direction of the car. I wasn’t going to disagree, so off we went. I helped her in.

“Where to?”

She grinned. “My house. I was hoping, anyway.”

“Happy to. Oink!”

She swatted my arm. “Drive on, Mr. Pig!”

I navigated to her house, holding hands the whole way. Fifteen minutes later found us entering her bedroom, kissing. Her parents and brothers were at least not in sight, and there were no telltale cars, so perhaps we had the house to ourselves. I tugged her t-shirt off, she tugged mine off. Her bra followed a few seconds later, then we fumbled at each other’s pants. And underwear.

She shoved me onto the bed. “I want you to last!” Her mouth found my cock, licking, nuzzling, sucking. This part was purely a race; she wanted me to cum, and I wanted to cum just as much. I stroked her hair as she bobbed her head. No throating, just warm sucking, lips, tongue pressing.

With a few minutes, I’d reached the “Jasmine! Soon!” stage. She grinned and sped up. “UnnNNNNNGH!”

“MMmmmmm!” She grinned, sucking, swallowing, eyes twinkling. She didn’t let up until it’d reached the slightly-too-much level, then she wriggled her way up and kissed me. I kissed right back, caressing her back, giving her ass a squeeze. She wiggled it. I experimentally gave it a light ‘pop!’.