The First Time Inside the second-story living room of a modern row house, the room bright and leisurely fitted with a bamboo floor, potted ficus, and large computer monitors in the corner, the action is really going Charles' way. The parents have social stuff to do. Bree is over, is on the couch beside him, and he's about to show off, big time. He's wearing his varsity football jersey; the clean smell of the polyester mesh makes him confident. Bree is 15. She's awesome. Tall, athletic, wearing running shorts and a tight T-shirt that says "Hostile Takeover." On the large-screen TV, Diamond Knot, CEO, is driving Justice Warrior back with spinning and side kicks, doing serious damage to his power level, but Charles is smiling as Bree works her console with a gloating grin. "Oh, yeah?" he yells, jumping Justice Warrior onto a ledge behind him and grabbing the Suit of Dominion. "It was a trap!" He jumps back to the fighting plane and levels blows of unstoppable power, Bree's figure ducking and backflipping out of the way in her pinstripe slingshot bikini. Justice Warrior combos a kick-punch series that comes within a whisker of hammering Diamond Knot's heart. But misses. Diamond Knot turns, locks onto his arm, and throws him over her hip into a brick wall, the impact slowing his reaction. She knifes a front snap kick into his middle, and when the warrior bends, grabs his arm and hurls him over her shoulder into the floor, large cracks expanding where his body lies embedded in concrete. She raises a knee high in the air and slams her white office-wear stiletto into the floor, causing it to buckle and collapse, dumping them both into a large aquarium. "What?" Charles exclaims. "How'd you know to ... ?" "Figured that water was there for some reason," Bree replies. "Bet that suit's not much good in there." Diamond Knot clutches the side of the tank and swings her outlandishly muscled legs around the warrior's neck, performing her signature figure-4, wresting his helmet off with a twist of her hips and a nasty "Hiyah!" The suit fills with water, immediately sinking, Charles' power meter falling into the blue, forcing him to abandon it. By the time he swims back to the top, Diamond Knot has flipped over the edge of the tank and landed at the base. Two slashes of her diamond heel cut a large V that rapidly drains the water. She watches him sink to the bottom, hands on hips, then shoots a side kick that blasts the tank apart, glass panels collapsing on top of him. Justice Warrior's' strength plummets, and Charles can do little but watch in dismay as Diamond Knot levels him with a spinning roundhouse, then pulls him up by the hair and smashes him to the ground repeatedly with throws and pile-drivers, her voice triumphant. "Hiyah! Hey!" Justice Warrior lands with wet, squishy sounds, water squirting everywhere. Finally, Diamond Knot's leg whips in an arc and flattens his prone body with an ax kick, her white leather shoe atop the back of his head, drowning his face in a puddle. A heavy bass note sounds and she brushes dark bangs from her face. "Acquisition Complete!" flashes on a stock exchange ticker behind her. "Ready to work for me?" she says in a husky voice, bending with hands on hips, shoving his face deeper into the water. Charles feels a cloud of shame descend. Bree is two years younger, and it's his console. But lately, she's been beating him at every game. "I've never seen that screen before," he says weakly. "You don't play with girls much, do you?" says Bree. "Girls like to drown things. We think about drowning guys all the time." She stares ahead and continues flipping the control. Diamond Knot puts on the Suit of Dominion and breezily chops a platoon of soldiers to kindling in the main laboratory as she steals a "3x Strength" bottle, kicks down a steel door, and hops in a black convertible, the camera shooting up from her magnificent legs on the pedals to her hair blowing against blue sky. She shoves a cell phone to her ear and with a predatory smirk says, "What's next on the agenda?" A menu pops above her head: "Hard-nosed Dick," "Captain Crusader," "Cowboy Cop ," "Agent TrueBlue," "Regulatory Warrior." Charles is glad when Bree hits the pause button. He's happiest when with her, but she has so little time for him anymore. She's becoming a star athlete and works out all the time, plays soccer, basketball, dominates swim meets. Compared to her, he's nothing at school, but he can draw funny fantasy stories, and plays football as best he can with his average build. Sometimes he'd show her some of his comics, and when she liked them she'd tackle him to the floor and kiss him so hard stars would explode behind his eyes, gushing, "My little comic dreamer, my gorgeous animal spirit. Running around out there all by yourself in the universe!" Now Bree says, "I mean, not so we can kill all of you. Just so we can make you pay attention, tell you exactly what we want you to do for us." "But you'd have to be really strong to do that," Charles says. "It's just fantasy, like the game." "Proficiency at video games indicates good eye/hand coordination, strong motor skills, and awesome super powers, dork. The research shows." "Whatever, Diamond Knot." She leans and rests her elbow on the sofa back, cupping her chin in her hand. "That's my Halloween costume," she says. "Mmm, sling bikini and all. Lots of tape stuck to me." She kicks her summer-tanned leg out in the air and reaches behind her in a big stretch. And just like that, the paralyzing warmth blew across Charles' thighs, heat billowing in his crotch. He realized he was turning embarrassedly away from her, the thought of her leonine body in that costume ... Dammit. But it was worse than that. His mind fought a subtle panic, a buzzing in his ears. They'd been friends for years, but of course he was in love with her, and more and more afraid as she grew bigger and beautiful, knowing she was too hot for him to hold onto, already having adventures he couldn't be part of. Bree stares at him, smiling. She knows he adores her. And he really is the sweetest thing ever, her favorite. But she's had no qualms conditioning him to look at her when she wants, come when she calls, make her laugh when she's ready to slip into a warm, devilish mood. She's already nearly as tall as his 5'8", and her perpetually tan legs have a look, a shape, the thighs full and round, seemingly with baby fat, but cut like glaciers down the sides, bunching over her knees. At her height she should have been thin and lanky, but she was perfectly proportioned. Her friends' f athers were beginning to linger a little longer when she visited, shaking their heads as they left the room, imperceptibly bunching their fingers in their palms. She typically wore her auburn hair pulled back from her stubborn, thoughtful face, but when she let it fly it was like a shampoo commercial, her smile cocky and wide. Today her deep-socketed eyes are lightly made up, outlined like a baby puma's. And every time she thrusts her breasts through a tight shirt, like now, Charles feels incredibly small. "No way. Your parents will never let you," he says, trying to sound blas'. "Can I tell you something sort of secret?" He shrugs. But no way would he miss this. "Karla Kensington, who's in the grade above me, tall, Euro haircut, soccer team, kind of buff ... ?" "Yeah, I guess." Every teenage boy in the school district knew who Karla Kensington was. "Well, she was leaving her house one night in this super tight velvet skirt with a zipper right up her ass crack, going to an s&m party or something. And her dad says "absolutely not," but she keeps right on going until he caught up with her in the driveway." "She was going to drive? She had the ... ?" "Wait for me to add the coffee, Prejaculator." "Okay, okay." "So she grabs him around the head like this ... " And Bree stood, laid a forearm behind Charles' neck, and lassoed him into her chest, making it hard for him to breathe. But the sight of her tiny white socks stomping around on the wood floor to control him was strangely sublime. "And she pushed him backward onto the hood of his car, whispering how much he meant to her, how she didn't want to fight, she'd do whatever he thought best. Then she ... Wait - lie down!" "Huh?" said Charles, as Bree pushed firmly on his shoulders with a squirmy smile and planted her shin behind his knee, buckling it, forcing him to kneel. "Lie down," she said again, shoving him with her fingertips. "I'll show you. You won't understand because you're a dumb boy. Do you know what a grapevine is?" "The candy Europeans eat at movies?" Charles was lying on his back, nervously watching as she slithered her tomboy body forward on hands and knees until her face was directly above his. "Ha. No. When a girl does this." And she wound her legs inside his and spread them apart, pushing out until she saw the discomfort register on his face. "Ow ... hey!" He realized he couldn't slide out of her grip. The pain was mounting and she seemed to have plenty of flex left in her hips. Worse, he felt the air heating under his shorts, his luftballoon rising. God, no. Oh my god, no ... "Like this! Can you believe it? And she's saying, 'Daddy, it's perfectly your right to ground me, and I'll stay home and spend quality time with you if you think that's the right thing. I think it would be good for our relationship, actually.' "And meanwhile these cars are slowing down and honking, Karla's big booty on full display in that ridiculous skirt. She's turning around and waving ... " "Jeez, she must be grounded until college." Bree's green eyes landed on him with contemptuous disbelief. "Stupid, stupid, boy!" she growled, kicking her legs out with each syllable. Charles sucked wind. "Bree ... " he pleaded, trying to not sound like he was pleading. She relented, and slapped him playfully across the cheek. "You deserve it, Rocket Boy," she said, rolling off with a dagger of a smirk. Charles' face lit up like a blast furnace. He stared at the lofted wood ceiling, paralyzed. WhatamIgoingtodo. WhatamIgoingtosay. WhatamIgoingto ... But thankfully, praise Jesus, Bree was still invested in her story. "Not only is Karla not grounded, Pup Tent," she continued, "she drove her dad's car to the party that night." "Huh?" An eerie sensation smacked him, like a cue ball had landed on his gut and the energy was racing in a blind panic right out his shaft. He rolled over, trying to hide his flustered face, his raging ... "But, but she doesn't even have a licen ... .!" he sputtered. "Karla would make her father's life a living hell if he grounded her. That was her gentle reminder. What's he going to do? Call the cops? Send her to juvi, send her to boarding school? That's way too rich for his blood, especially considering he already pays child support. It's not like his girlfriend can help, and Karla's mom thinks he's a schmuck and wouldn't cut him an inch of slack." "Wait - he's her dad. A grown man," said Charles, steeling himself to face her, consoled that the conversation was now at least about his lack of rocket science. "Do you know how strong Karla Kensington is?" exclaimed Bree, it evident in her tone that she was about to proudly exaggerate on behalf of all girls. "Doesn't matter," said Charles, rolling his eyes. "Doesn't matter ... ?!" shouted Bree, her jaw dropping with hilarity, falling back on the couch and crossing her deer-like legs, preparing to instruct him. He felt so uncomfortable. She obviously knew more than he did but he'd taken a dismissive posture and was now stuck arguing - with nothing. "The girl lifts weights every day. She can squat nearly 300 pounds, curl 80 pounds for reps. She hurts the boys in jiu-jitsu. Moms have complained. Remember when Coach Nelson missed that day at football practice last week?" "So?" "She made him tap out. I mean, he wouldn't, so she put him in that sling." "When?" "In the locker room, after the pep rally. She said she was going to try out and he started to demonstrate how a linestacker, or whatever, would just knock her down and before he knew it she had him on the floor with his arm all out like this and the guys were yelling 'come on, coach,' so he wouldn't give and she popped his shoulder out, I think." "First I've heard." "Well, of course, dummy, 'cause Blondike threatened to run you all up bleachers for a week if word ever got back to him." "I guess I must have just left," Charles muttered. In fact, he had seen the fearsome girl strutting in skin-tight capri pants and wiry blue flip-flops past the bleachers toward the locker room door. That moog Larsen had been right behind her, tracing with his finger the tattoo sprawling along the back of her bare shoulders, trying desperately to impress her. She was glancing back at him with carefree blue eyes set off in heavy eyeliner, face half-shrouded in French bangs. Charles had marched right past the locker room and gone home, repelled by the scene of panting dudes she was about to stir up. He knew he himself couldn't talk to her in a million years. "But that doesn't seem likely, unless he was really clowning around." "Huh!" she said with a deep voice, crossing her arms. Suddenly Charles remembered why they'd gotten on the topic in the first place. Finally - he could get back on the high horse. "Oh, so you're thinking you'll put on that Diamond Knot costume and when your dad says no you'll just ... you'll just choke him out or whatever." Uff. Why was it like one of those light-bulb changers reaching through his fly and tugging, just to say it? "Oh, I'd never do that to sweet Daddikins," Bree said. Right. Back to reality ... "I'd just wear a coat over it," she said. "What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Literally, I guess," she giggled. "You're ridiculous," he said dryly. Ohmyffnjesusicannotmove ... "Men are ridiculous," she replied. Men? "Oh, my god, I didn't tell you ..." Bree said, then stopped. "Why didn't I tell you? I kind of forgot, somehow. Huh ..." "Well, anyway," she regrouped. "I'm hanging out at the Blancard court yesterday shooting around, and Karla's at the other end. She wants to play one-on-one." "Wait. You've talked to Karla? She told you all this herself?" Charles was dumbfounded. "We talk, sometimes," said Bree, coyly looking away with a grin of total false modesty. "Anyway, she isn't on the team but she's really tough. We had to go two out of three." "Uh-huh. So?" "We got really tired and sat down against the fence. And this older perv who's been watching us the whole time comes over." "Just because he's been watching you he's a ..." "Yes, idiot. Girls know immediately, if they're not stupid and pathetic." "Ok." "Get this. He says, 'You two are really good. How about we go two against one?' He's slouching in this hoodie, trying to be cool. And just like that Karla goes, 'Basketball, you mean?' She'd already taken off her shoes and was rolling a sock down her leg. 'Sorry, stud, I'm not dressed for it.' "And she holds the sock up with two fingers, holds it away from her and drops it on the ground. Then just stares at him, letting her knees fall open and her feet turn up on the edges, like this." And Bree slid off the couch and leaned against it, legs butterflied in front, feet spread. She put on a mock sultry face, lips hanging open, tongue on her lower lip. Fortunately, Charles found her so funny it brought some relief. "You're so making this up. With that expression and everything. Right." "I'm telling you, she is fearless, as you're about to find out, Prince of Innocence." "This makes no sense." "You should have seen him squirm!" Bree squealed. Oh. My. God. He tries to say something and just kind of chokes. His face is all tight and it looks like he can't breath. He keeps trying to smile at her but his eyes keep going to her shoes and socks, with this begging look." "He wanted to steal her ... ?" "Aaauuhhhgg!" Bree yelled, grabbing a sofa pillow and throwing it with a powerful overhand that was not at all girl-like. Charles couldn't protect himself before it crunched his nuts with a low whump. He sat slowly on the sofa. "Ow," he said calmly, smiling helplessly at her, taking short breaths. "He was a fetish freak! Salivating to sniff those smelly shoes, not steal them! She'd totally pegged him, right off the bat, was already torturing him with it. I'm not sure he even knew he was a freak until then." "So, he ran off, or ... " "Oh, she wasn't finished with him yet. She stood and leaned forward against the fence, bent her knees and stuck her muscled ass out. She's got on nylon shorts, those blue fluorescent ones that barely cover ... " "Right, whatever." "And she's got those thighs --- mmppfff!" Bree snorted, suddenly squeezing her own and rolling her eyes heavenward, a snarl on her lips. That's very strange, and frightening ... or something ... Charles realized getting his balloon popped with that pillow was probably the best thing that could have happened. "'Bree,' Karla says. 'Hey, take a picture.' And she bends all the way over and tosses me the phone from her purse. I'm watching the perv. I swear he's drooling. She looks over her shoulder at him and says, 'Bring the shoes, studly.'" "What!?" "Yeah, and he grabs them alright. And by that time Karla's got one foot off the ground, toes pointed down, not even looking at him, like he's supposed to know what to do. I'm getting really nervous. I don't want this guy coming over ... " "How big was he?" "I don't know, just dude-sized. Same size as your dad, maybe. A few years younger. With a dumb fu manchu, of course. Now he's getting all mouth-breathy, kneeling with the shoe. "'Yeah, momma, alright,' he says. 'Did you know you can tell all about a woman just by feeling of her feet?' It's all he can do not to grab hold of her, I can tell. He looks at me and smiles, like he wants me to be impressed. He's such a douche. "Then Karla says, not even raising her voice, 'Did you know you can tell all about a man by the stupid shit that comes out of his mouth? Put the shoe on, Dogwood. I thought you wanted to play ball.'" "Whoa," Charles said. Now he was actually frightened on Bree's behalf. "What the hell?" "I know. I'm saying, 'Note to self, don't ever hang out with Karla Kensington again.' You can see him stiffen, his eyes blaze. But he slides the shoe on, never even touching that luscious calf. She lifts her other foot and he does the same. When it's on, she, she ... this is kind of wild, Charles." "What?" "I've had it, and am about to start screaming for this creep to go away, but she hikes her leg straight up in the air and does a ... Full. Vertical. Split. Right against the fence." "I've ... is that even ... why!?" "She turns her head and whistles. Whistles at him! Like a dog! Purses her lips, makes little chucking noises. 'Go on, get it, boy,' she taunts." Charles was reeling. She has a death wish. Or she's on drugs. How sick was she? "Now I'm too shocked to remember I'm scared. She might as well have called him Dickless Wonder right in front of his parents." "What did he ... do?" Bree was silent for a second. He saw her face begin to contort, little tears at the corners of her eyes. Then she sniffed and spasmed with sobs, trying to continue. Charles knew he should put his arm around her or something, but he refrained. He wished for a second that he was a ... girl, not another ... male. "I don't why it's just hitting me," sniffed Bree, "I blocked it out. It happened so fast." "But you're both okay, now?" Charles offered, feeling hopelessly lost. Suddenly Bree's voice shot up. She was almost screaming as she gushed, "He growled and said, 'Fuck you, fucking cocktease! You little slut. I'm going to ... I'm going to ... (sob) ... "fuck you against this wire until you bleed. You feel me?! Huh?!' "And he grabbed her by the hair and slammed her face into the fence!" Bree wailed. "And ... and ..." her voice quietened. "Karla turned, looked at me, and said softly, 'Picture, Bree.'" "I'd forgotten that I was holding it. It was the same phone as mine, easy to use. He was clawing at her shorts, but she was holding onto his arm. I clicked once, twice ... clicked, clicked, clicked. And she wasn't watching me directly, more out of the corner of her eye as she stared upward with this look, her eyelids almost shut, her tongue against the wire as she breathed, 'Got it?' she asked. "And then everything froze. I mean dead. He heard her. He got it. He was fucked! Fucked once and for ... !" "Bree!" Charles exclaimed. "What?" He didn't know why he blurted it. "You think I can't say ... ?!" "Ok, ok," he said quietly. "Fucked over for good! So fucked! OOOHH! "But then I jumped up, realizing the danger as he glared at me, ready to run, or kick him, I didn't know. "'Give it to me, bitch!'" Bree yelled, remembering. "And I'd shoved the phone in my pocket and decided to just punch him, bite him, whatever. I hated him so much." "Holy shit, Bree." Should he call someone? Did her parents know? Strangely, Bree stopped. "Bree?" The voice that came next was low, almost disembodied, like a voiceover. "She grabbed him. From behind. Hooked him with her arm, around his throat, swung him somehow. He landed on the ground with her on top of him. She rose to her knees, took his hair, ground his face into loose gravel on the pavement." "Well, thank god. I mean ... I guess the jiu jitsu saved ..." "She stood up, fists lightly clenched, saying something to him, taunting ... " Bree's voice was eerily monotone. 'Why are you letting him up?' I said, maybe to her, maybe to myself. She's standing there, in her unlaced high-tops, that Brazilian tattoo down the side of her thigh. God, her legs are big. Her biceps are balled up, like a prizefighter. He's not hurt very much and pops back up. "I hear the kick more than I see it. She spins, it's so fast, buries her heel in his stomach. I've never heard a man make a sound like that. Shock mixed with a whimper. She doesn't even put the foot down. Puts the sole of her shoe right in his face and just kind of shoves, hard, enough to knock him over, on his shoulder. She's walking in a circle - I don't remember anything she says. Wait, she's calling me over, something about two-on-one. Strangely I'm getting closer to him even as he's standing up. I should be afraid. He's trying to gather himself, hands out like he's going to rush her, but she spins and his legs go out so fast he lands like a bag of dropped groceries. On his back. I'm right next to her now and she puts her arm around my shoulders and lays her steaming forehead against the side of my head, like she's got a secret to tell, but she doesn't say anything, just whimpers in a high pitch, like it's the funniest inside joke. "She walks back toward him, swinging that unbelievable ass. I want that ass so much." Charles grimaced, gestured impatiently. "And then, it's hilarious." But Bree's voice was still monotonous. "He flips his feet over his head and somersaults up, like he's summoning his inner karate child. He shouts and comes at her kicking, frothing at the mouth, tongue hanging out. For a second I'm afraid, but then ... wow." Charles had been hanging on every word, but part of him didn't want to hear the rest. Karla was 16 years old. A girl, a hot girl, a girl that could get most anything she wanted just by fixing a guy with a stare, flirting with those lips, rolling that tongue. Or so he imagined. What Bree was telling him just couldn't be. She couldn't have that much ... ... power. He felt shriveled inside. What would he have done? Bree quieted, and Charles thought maybe she wasn't going to tell the end. She put her arms behind her and hauled herself up, standing in front of the sofa, her lips twitching imperceptibly. The hem of her T-shirt rose just above her belly button as she breathed deeply, the round, vertigo-inducing breasts heaving the stenciled letters upward, her flat tummy swelling, ridging. She was staring at him, but not really. He wasn't sure where she was. "It was like ... " she hissed. "Yes?" "Like, like ... whabam!" Bree exhaled loudly, breath whistling with adrenaline. Charles was so transfixed by her puma face viciously torquing that he almost failed to notice that her instep had shot up and smacked him with force in the side of the neck. Then the lights flickered, and for a second he didn't know where he was. "Ow. Crap. Ok," he said, rubbing. "Kick at me." "What?" "Come on, pussy." "Bree, I can't ... " "You'd better!" And she slid toward him, jabbing at his crotch with her foot. Charles instinctively threw up his right leg to keep her away. As soon as he did, she snapped her foot into his shinbone, causing him to cry out. Then snapped the same foot into his chest, heel thumping his sternum, knocking the wind from him. "Stop, I ... I," he heaved. . "Hiiiyahh!" she yelled, throwing an elbow at his temple as she leaped forward, mercifully pulling back this time. The two stood toe-to-toe. She opened her mouth in a euphoric smile, panting a little. Then she put the elbow up against his head and shoved, strong enough to knock him on the sofa. He looked up. The expression on her face was gentle, but dark. "And then, Charles," she said, "then ... " The remote, emotionless voice was back, but breathier. "Next thing I know, Karla is stepping over him." Charles had begun to stand, heart whirring, instinctively craving her incandescent warmth, even if she was presently beyond comprehension. He didn't even care if his pocket bellows fired up. . But she whipped her right leg up like a snake out of a can, impossibly high and flexible, the thigh catching him around the neck as she twisted her hips. God, it was heavy. It would not take no for an answer. He had to give. He buckled, falling. She collapsed with him, her hamstring powering him down like a baton. The joystick she'd tossed aside missed his throat by an inch as his head slammed on the coffeetable. "Uh!" Bree snorted. "He's trying to rise, doesn't even know she's behind him. Her legs are on each side of his neck. She kicks one foot behind the other and ... and squeezes, Charles." He felt her flexing him harder into the wood. "Just starts pressing his neck between her thighs until his face turns red and he's making these pathetic gagging sounds." Charles stayed quite, suddenly thankful for the oxygen in his own lungs. Finally he said, "I guess he went unconscious. She knocked him ... out?" "No," she breathed. "Oh." "I did." He felt a cello string pluck at the point on his neck where her leg pinned him and vibrate with ticklish malice all the way to his toes. It strummed and heated the air in his crotch. He shivered. Her very body, the one crushing him right now. He imagined the man's eyes closing as consciousness left him, Bree's face focused and serene above him, arms extended..The universe exploded in his skull. "You don't know how, Bree," he said, almost whimpering. "Do you?" He felt her leg lift, freeing him. She stood up. He pushed himself off the table and sank back against the couch, hyperventilating. "She made a game of it. Said, 'I just pissed him off a little, Bree. I can't hold him any longer. When I let go, you get him. Bash his nose in. Hard. You see where? You ready? Don't close your eyes!' "And she suddenly stepped away, still holding his hair. I think. I don't know. I stepped forward ... fast... I thought he'd leap up, but he didn't. He was nothing but a fish in a barrel. I kicked ... really hard. The sound was like out of a dream. "Then Karla let him go, or pushed him down, or something. Anyway, he just fell, face-first, without catching himself at all. Have you ever seen a face hit pavement that way? Like a car hood falling? "Well, in football, we're always hitting the ..." "Oh, big deal. You fall on your helmets, on each other. Not helplessly, so that the bones just flatten against the ... " "Jesus, Bree!" Silence. "Whew," Bree sighed. "Whew? 'Whew?!!' Bree, that's all insane. You had me going. You really had me, but enough of this. God, how do you think of such things? Why would you?" He realized his voice was desperate. Even though he knew it was fiction, it had, she had ... kicked his ass, so hard. It was like someone had taken a tire iron to his insides. "Not so insane," she said calmly. "Not as insane as what came next." "Stop!" "Okay, I'll stop if you want." Charles looked at her, eyes gaping, heart still pounding. He tilted his eyes to the ceiling and let out a long breath. "Fine, go ahead." "The police came. Someone called them, I guess." "T.J. Hooker and that other guy, I'm sure." "Mmm, Shat," said Bree. "I'd like to pull his badge and feed him a 'Grapevine'." "God, I don't even know who you are right now." Bree giggled. "Anyway, I wouldn't know, because we didn't stick around." "Chic pudda-puh. Puddachic, Puddapuh, Puddachic, Puddapuh," mouthed Charles, laughing. "Great, great, some riveting cop action. "Hold it right there, miss. Freeze. Freeze! Pww! Pww! Peeeow!" "I really want to hear how this turns out." "Oh, you're hilarious," said Bree, "but this is better than even you could make up. "Karla had pulled the guy's phone out and got his number. Then she texted the photos to it and dropped it by his head, the text screen the first thing anyone would see. You couldn't really see her face in it. We picked up our stuff and were standing over him, our backs to the gate. Karla wadded her socks into balls, and gave me one. We laughed as we bounced them off his head. But we didn't hear the cruiser pull up. "We heard steps, turned, saw them, and Karla grabbed my arm. We ran. Thank god the gate at the other end was unlocked. We heard them yelling." "And you just left them in the dust, huh?" "Well, ja!" said Bree, and let her mouth hang open, arching her lip. She had her feet on the coffeetable, legs folded. Charles wasn't sure if it was consciously or unconsciously that she ran her fingertips up the sides of her calves, across her knees, down the tops of her thighs. "We're athletes, Charlie boy," she said, matter-of-factly. Charles decided to say nothing. Pure nonsense, but he was breathing it in like the air. "We split up. 'Meet me at the car!' Karla whispered as she took off, winking. Which was ridiculous, because I didn't drive and had no idea where her car was ..." "She was freaked out, obviously. Not thinking." Why the hell was he even .. "Boody boody boop boop. Buh boody boop boop," Bree sang in a high tone. "Just listen to that eager little coffeepot start to ... " "Oh, shut up!" "She was not freaked out. I suddenly got it. But it was so ... crazy!" I couldn't believe I was doing it, turning left, then left again, running around the block." Charles looked at her, stupified. "Around ... the block." "And sure enough, here came Karla from the other direction." "I ... what?" "The doofuses had left the keys in it, right in the ignition!" Bree was starting to squeal and squeeze her fists, bouncing up and down on the cushion. Charles heart stopped. He swallowed a lump. No, it's just fantasy, just fantasy ... Bree got hold of some weed, she's, she's ... "Karla got there first, jumped in the driver's seat. I ran to the passenger door. Out of my mind. I must have screamed my head off. 'No, Karla, no, no ... ohmygod!' "And she stared at me as she turned the ignition and revved the engine. She puckered her lips, blew me a little kiss. Oh. My. Gaawwwwd, it was so hot! "'It's got a camera, it's got a transpond thing!' I'm screaming as I close the door and she punches it. "'One ... ' Karla says. And she grabs hold of the camera and wrenches it off the roof, or windshield, wherever. 'Two ... ' she says, and throws it out the window. 'Three ... ' She shoves the seat back, pulls her foot off the gas for a second, rears back, and, and ... blam!" Kicks in the computer monitor. Kicks down on the laptop with her heel, caving it in. 'That's the transponder,' she says. 'Where do you live?' And she hits the gas again and pins me in the seat. "And I don't know! I can't remember! 'Sumpter!' I finally yell. "'Good enough,' she smiles, and the entrance to 99 is only a few blocks away, so she gets on it, floorboarding around the other cars on the onramp. Puts the lights on. Wow, those cop engines really roar!" "Bree," said Charles, unable to take another word. "New Metro isn't that big a place. I didn't hear any news about a cop car. But you are hilarious, I'll give you that." "That's because she's smart, dummy. We're only on 99 for like, 5 minutes, then she barrels down an exit and into that tony neighborhood near mine. Where of course - there are no cop cars! We roll around slowly on those beautiful streets, blast the A/C, punch a lot of buttons, laugh, and laugh, and laugh ... ! We're at a stop sign, and there's some yoga mom pushing her precious thing in the crosswalk, and Karla suddenly kicks up her bare legs and wraps them around the steering wheel, grabs me - I've found a spare cop hat in the back - and pulls me down in her lap, then holds me back up, does it again. She grunts, loud, like a porn star. The car is starting to bounce. I turn my head, and ... and ... " Bree was bent double, laughing hysterically. She puts her hand on Charles' shoulder. "She's let go of the stroller, it's rolling ... rolls until it runs into the curb, it tips ... ha ha ha ha ... but it doesn't, it doesn't. I know, that's mean, but ... " She couldn't stop. She shuddered, her head on her forearm, braced against him, snot streaking her face. Then it hit him. Part of her story was probably true. The attack. It was plausible. She was traumatized, concocting a story that made it better. But what about Karla? Had Bree been hurt? Bree finally recovered enough to say, "So, obviously, ride's over. We've been made. Karla pulls into an alley so we can abandon ship." Charles let out his breath, relieved. What? Bree's hair had started to get loose. She wiped stray bangs off her beaming face, sniffled, blinked her wet eyes. "But then Karla giggled through her pursed lips and said, 'Get back in the car, Bree.' "I looked, and straight ahead was a fire hydrant, across the street." "Always comforting to see something familiar in the midst of a hallucination." Bree stopped and looked at him. That squirmy smile again. He didn't see that her wrist was cocked, just above his lap. "Tell me what happened next, writer-boy," she taunted, and flicked her fingers into his crotch, hard. Charles' face contorted, images of The Scream spinning in a circle behind his eyes. "Aaagh! Oh, god. Bree, I'm going to ..." And he reached as if to return the blow but she grabbed his wrist and held it. He tried with the other but she caught that one, too, then quick as a cat hiked her leg up and mashed the sole of her foot right into his sac. Charles froze, eyes wide, imploring. Bree exhaled with a satisfied chortle, rolling her tongue inside her mouth. A wicked pucker formed on her lips. She calmly recited the line again: "What happened next, writer boy?" Charles just shook his head, helpless. "Okay," she said. "Karla put that cop car in neutral." And Bree pressed down a tiny bit, until she saw his eyes move. "And she put her foot on the gas and began to rev. So loud, with the buildings all around us. I felt the vibration in my hamstrings. Mm." Her eyelids dropped. Charles' pleasure center began to recover as the pain faded, her foot starting to feel very ... Not good. Not good ... Bree's eyes sprang open and beamed. She pressed harder with her toes, lowering her voice. "She pressed her toes to the floor, and she slammed it in gear! The gravel was pinging off garage doors like gunshots! My god, if a car had been coming ... but there wasn't ... and we flew across the street and there was a big ripping 'bang!' And then the spew of water, gushing everywhere, hard, right under our feet!" Bree was bouncing her foot excitedly, Charles' chest beginning to heave. But then she suddenly mashed down viciously, and pulled away. "Owowowow!" cried Charles. "Oh ... shit ... gaaaaw!" Was he sobbing? He couldn't move. "We fell out of the car, laughing. We couldn't even stand. But we had to run fast because the water ... I don't know how far we ran, just went full tilt for like, 10 minutes, finally stopped and leaned against a fence. "We had to get home. 'Bree,' Karla said, before she took off. 'That was awesome. Here, take these.' And she was pulling a packet from the little pocket on her basketball tank top. 'You earned it.'" Charles was full of disparaging things to say, but didn't. He couldn't, anymore. "She said it was about a month's worth. Take one per day." "Of what?" "I don't know. She said 'You work out, right?' And of course I do. 'Put more weight on next time, see how it feels.' 'Okay,' I said. 'It's nerve-juice, hon. My sister brings it home from USC. Lots of girls in her sorority use it. And that's one wild place. She says the girls hardly go to class, but they talk business and chemistry all the time. Cash everywhere! Enough to buy the drugs. They have huge parties, put on these fundraisers that raise, like, a hundred thousand dollars! There's a couple different houses, one off-campus, kind of secret. Try them. Try them, Bree. They won't hurt you, I promise.' And she ran off." Charles' head was craned back on top of the sofa. "You are incredible," he gasped. "That's the most amazing display of self-medication I've ever seen." "What?" "Bree, you're making it all up. I don't blame you, after what you went through. It must have been terrible. Your parents know, right?" "Why do they need to know? I'm fine. I'm not going to get Karla in trouble, no way." Charles stared at the ceiling, out of words. Bree got up. He heard her purse rustling, then a small packet of blue pills hovered before his eyes. "What do you think they could be?" Bree asked quietly. Charles felt a little scared. When would she snap out of it? She took out a pill, looked at it, swallowed. "Bree, what did you just ... ! "I haven't taken one yet today." "Where, oh where, is Bree the Sane? Please Bree, listen to me. Whatever you grabbed up, don't take them!" "Been taking them. I feel fine. Oh, forgot to show you something." Charles put his hands over his eyes, groaned, forgot about her for a moment. His chest cavity ached, his neck was sore, his balls finally beginning to recede. Geez, did he get some serious growing up today. Wow, though. Just wow. The tap on his knuckles was so light he jerked, thinking a hardbodied insect of some sort was probing him. He peeked through his fingers, saw something black, a rod. It was rotating, slowly. Intrigued, he didn't even move his hands, just kept peeking at it. Gold letters appeared, rolled into focus, stopped, waited. His jaw lost all tension. "New Metro P.D." Somewhere, in an indefinable place, something in him collapsed. A buzzing web of electricity immobilized his head, shot down his spine. He couldn't move his face. But his hands parted, and he saw. It was two feet of hard, painted wood, an inch-and-a- half thick. A ribbed handle with a strap. And it smelled like ... air freshener. Bree didn't say a word. She took the baton in one hand and gently poked the tip right between his eyes. He just looked at her, hands up. She swirled the handle, pivoting the tip just above the bridge of his nose. It hurt. Her mouth hung open, eyelids brushing atop half-moon marbles of bright, bright green. She tapped fingers ever so lightly as she moved the handle in a circle. A line of sweat clung to her upper lip, her tongue red as a Tootsie Pop. "Bree?" he said. He slipped slowly down, out from under it. She let him go. He slumped on the cushions, rolled onto the floor, got up, his back to her. In the mirror by the door he saw her flushed, gorgeous face loom up behind him. The stick tapped him on the shoulder. He began to turn. It tapped him on the cheekbone. "Down, boy," she whispered, next to his ear. Silence. Charles didn't move. The rod slid down his back, crossed his hip, broke contact. He didn't need to look to know where she was held it. One smack, one tap, and ... He felt a trickle of sweat run under his hair, down the side of his face. He bent over slowly, putting out his hands for protection. She's crazy. The irony smacked his brain so hard he started, gasped. She isn't. Bree giggled. Or ... more like a whinny. She forced him down on all fours. He waited, trembling. One stockinged foot landed on his left. The silky skin of her inner thigh pressed against his neck, cool to the touch. The right thigh took its place on the other side. She pressed. Charles reflexively clutched her calves, the flight instinct taking hold. But she didn't squeeze. "Feel these muscles, Charles?" she said, her voice almost as deep as a woman's. Then the feet stepped forward, and in the mirror he saw her bending over, her breasts nearly touching the back of his neck as she slid an arm around and took hold with the other, flexing him into a headlock. Her bicep was surprisingly peaked, cutting in so deep he couldn't help but cough, choke. "Feel these? They're nothing compared to what they'll be in three years." She released the hold and stood. "Look," she said, tugging at his hair. In the mirror he saw her reach behind her shoulders, arms crossed, elbows pressed against her slender head. Then a swell of triceps, a slow, unfolding of the arms. Majestic as it was, Charles barely saw. His eye landed on two diagonal straps emerging as the shirt rose, hugging her flat belly tight as tape, crossing ... pinstriped. In the corner of his vision he saw her toss her hair out, fling the shirt. His senses awakened with a quiet scream. He opened his mouth but nothing came out, then a monstrous presence seemed to charge out of the bamboo floor and enter all four limbs simultaneously, sucking his insides, compressing, squeezing. His lips twitched uselessly. "Aah ... aah," he was trying to say, the moan rising in his throat. But before it came the nightstick went under his throat, Bree pulling, just enough to contain him. The slingshot straps disappeared into her cutoffs, the shorts dipped just low enough to let the bikini bottom peek through. "Charles," she panted, "I totally lied. Nothing like that happened." "I know." "Not yesterday." "What?" "A month ago." "No ... " "I took those pills. She gave me more." "Wh ... Why?" "I met Karla's sister. She told me things. That we work harder. That we're stronger. That's there's money in it. Freedom. "It's nothing to beat you, Charles, but I do need you. You're gonna help me." Charles rested his throat on the stick, almost peacefully. Then came a torrent, Bree's alto voice ringing . "Know what I'm going to do!? Start my own video company. Karla and I are going to take all kinds of boys - but not you, maybe - and throw you all around, kick your asses. We're going to rig sporting matches and beat you, beat you in front of lots of people, at every sport imaginable, basketball, soccer, wrestling ... football! We're going to steal your stuff, take your cars, grind your face in the dirt when you try to do something about it. All on camera. All real! We're going to make grown men pay us money not to destroy them, mostly assholes, but who knows? Then we'll get fitness modeling contracts. Make tens of thousands of dollars. Buy cartons and cartons of those pills! Work out ... for a living! Mmmpf! "Have a giant pool party, with a daiquiri machine. Play "truth or consequences" with the boys. We'll dunk them until they admit their most embarrassing or awful moments, and if our judges aren't satisfied, just keep dunking them, drowning them. All on camera. Youtube videos for miles. Oh my god, oh my god ... we'll lock the gates and not let anyone out until they play. Oh, the control ... the absolute, utter controol!" She'd dropped the stick. She was wringing his hair, fingernails digging into his scalp, pounding her crotch against his backside, sliding up and wrenching his neck between her legs, becoming more agitated, frustrated. Charles could feel the thunderous power in her, shaking him harder, seeming to search for something ... Then with a furious loud cry she let him go. He heard a zipper, felt the denim shorts bounce off his cheek. He saw her raise her sock, land it between his shoulders. Her weight dropped, smashing him to the floor. She was panting, tossing dripping hair out of her eyes. He'd forgotten about his own condition, but when his engorged pipe hit the wood he sucked air, the rush uncontrollable. He got no time to enjoy it. "Roll over!" Bree growled between clenched teeth, her toes already kicking under his ribs, pushing. Her calf muscle flared like a cobra, her leg practically strong enough to do it herself, her instep flopping him over. He'd never seen her face like it was now, hair shrouding her eyes, cheeks flush, lips pouty and insatiable. She gazed at the huge bulge in his shorts and her lips twisted into a half smile. She swept the tangle of bangs off her eyes and held them back, honey-colored biceps popped and streaked with sweat. Then dropped her 15-year-old foot on him like a T-Rex pinning its prey. No delicacy, no massaging. Just firm, relentless ... pressure. It was enough. Rose-colored shards burst in the air as he threw back his head and soundlessly wailed. The warmth squirted all the way to his chest, with no belt to restrain it. He let his breath out with a long, pitiful groan, yards and yards of frustration and embarrassment unspooling, emanating. Next thing he was trying to roll over, get up, clean himself ... But she dropped on top of him, landing on her knees, her crotch in his face. She leaned her magnificent, ripe torso over him, pressing his fingertips against the bamboo with her moist palms, gently, non-negotiably. She breathed heavily, her eyes closed. Finally, from a place so, so far above him, he heard her voice faintly pipe "Lick? Her thighs trembled against his face. "Lick? Boy?" The spooky eyes dropped, staring, glowing in the shadows of her bangs. Her lips were moving, undulating. "Lick? Doofus? Dumbbell?" Charles lips gaped. His eyes bulged. Lick where? How? "Lick." The voice grew imperative, impatient. She thrust her hips forward and began to smother him, pelvic bone mashing his lips. "Lick it!" she screamed. "Lick it, you fucking idiot, you fucking fuckingstuff!" And she belted him in the mouth with the pinstriped bikini, bloodying his lip. He extended his tongue, helplessly, and as soon as she felt it she rammed forward and pinned it against his teeth, Charles gasping for air, his tongue slicing against the tooth edge. She was going to kill him. "Aaah!" she breathed noisily, cocking her hips back. She pounded forward again. Charles' head hit the sofa leg as she drove him across the floor. She pushed in harder, harder, with a loud wail. "O ... O ... O ... HH! GAH AH AH AHD!" She was snorting, phlegm blowing up her nose, hammering him uncontrollably, Charles' mind already drifting toward the afterlife. The smell was ... unbelievable ... awful ... he wasn't sure. "uuuuUUHH! ... uuh ... o ... "GAAAHHHDD! AAAUUUGHH! FuckOhGodFuckJeeesus! FuckOhGodFuckJesus ... oh oh oh ... oh ... oooh ... ... fuuuuuck," she moaned. She collapsed. Her arms hit the floor, her tight tummy turning everything dark as she fell on him. Her breathing became a sigh. Raspy, heavy, wet. He realized it was the first time since she walked in the door that she felt tender to him. Charles laid his hands on the small of her back and held her. He was glowing. She was beautiful beyond words. Bree began to giggle. "We've got to get up, Charles." Charles didn't want to move. He'd never felt so safe in his whole life, lying under her. She wiggled. He felt her breath as she nipped his ear, teeth lightly snapping. "Up." she whispered. "Why?" he asked. "Visitor," she said. "The parents won't be home for ... wait, what time is it?" He flailed an arm out, searching for a phone, afraid. "Visitor." "What? Who?" Bree giggled harder, her exhalations rising to a high pitch, sighs of amusement. Suddenly she popped up, slid down, and just before her face landed on his chest said, "Are you ready to write me some stories, Charles?" She pushed her head up again. "With funny boys, and big girls, and superheroes ... ?" "Uh, okay?" "Superheroes who aren't quite strong enough," she said, lowering her lips and breathing against his chest. "Who don't win." "That's not ... how ..." She flattened her lips on him. He squirmed. "Areyoureadytowritemesomestoriescharles? Areyoueadytowritemesomestories ... huh?" Charles howled, her raspberry making him twitch uncontrollably. "Aaah! Stop it!" He was laughing. He loved her so ... so ... She stopped suddenly. Cocked her head. "I'd know those pipes anywhere," she said. "Up, Soda Stream." "What are you talking about?" Then he heard it. A low, muted grumble. A car engine. It stopped. Bree smiled, a little shyly. She bent toward him, hovered for a second. "Do I have to carve her initials right here into your chest?" she said, tilting her head so that a corner of her incisor bit into him. She drug it down in a straight line, almost cutting through the jersey ... "Ow. Oww! Bree, you've got to fucking be ... no!" "She wants to meet you. Want her to see you like this?" Charles found his strength, threw her off him, scrambled to his feet. "Jesus! My dad's got expensive stuff in here. My parents hate drugs. What are you thinking?" "She's bringing beer." Charles just groaned. Tears were forming in his eyes. "Please, Bree. Don't let her in. Don't let her steal all our ..." Bree walked over, put her arms around his neck, brushed his lips with hers, kissed his nose. She held him close as she said, "Karla doesn't want your Daddy's stuff." "Good." "She wants your stuff." Charles stifled a sob. "Your computer. Your tablet. Your animation software ..." "What'll I tell my parents, Bree? What'll I ... " "Stupid boy," she said. "Me? It's you who ... " "The only kind that's good for anything," said Bree, hugging him tighter, pressing her cheek against his. He heard her sniffle. "I won't promise she won't hurt you," said Bree. "She wants to do some terrible things. You won't like it, at first. You'll have to do as you're told, earn her respect." "Do as I'm ... do what?" "Watch. Learn. Write it down. Make comics, animations." "That's all?" Bree shook, giggling, pressing her hands into his back. "Oh, Rocket Boy. You're about to go out into some deep, dark space." Down below, a wooden step creaked as it took the weight. A hard heel stomped. Then quick, low thumps. Charles stiffened, shook slightly. Bree let her fingers trail down his arms as she stepped away, grinning. "That's the spirit, Coffeepot," she said. "Boil your little heart out. It's morning. We'll grab you by the handle when we're ready." (end of part 1)