Author’s Note: 4 things:

1. Because I’m not writing this as carefully as I’m writing Heart Lotion, I’m afraid the characters are falling flat. If you think so, please, don’t hesitate to call me out on it.

2. Much to my dismay, the rating… is going to have to move up to M soon.

3. I’m sorry this chapter is mostly dialogue. Can you feel my passionate hate for writing descriptions? Every time I come across having to write another description, I want to stop writing altogether. D: Forgive me.

4. Thank you to Cici for everything that you do for me. XD And to Mae. Because if it weren’t for her, this chapter would be littered with mistakes and consist of only of dialogue. Plus, she stayed up until 4:30am to beta this. S2.

A friendly reminder that this story is just for fun, and not to be taken too seriously. :)

-

slut – n.

1. a woman considered sexually promiscuous; a derogatory term
That white-trashed slut slept with my boyfriend.

2. a woman with the morals of a man

3. in some cases, used to refer to a woman who is wearing "skimpy" or tasteless clothing
“Wow, look at what a slut that woman is. I can see up her granny panties,” Joe said to his buddy.
“That’s my mom.”

CHAPTER TWO

-

“What is that?”

Deedee looked up from the opened book she held in her hands. It was wrapped in recycled Manila paper, like all of her textbooks, except it was the shape and size of a Harlequin romance novel.

“It’s a book,” she replied, giving Ben a cheeky grin. “You know, the love of your life.”

Ben sat down across from Deedee at the lunch table—the only table in the cafeteria that wasn’t dominated by the ‘popular people.’ Except unlike the rest of the IB students who had squished their way into sitting here, Ben was welcome at any table.

She had always wondered what it would feel like to be adored by everyone. Probably annoying.

Ben took a bite of his ravioli. “You don’t read. I haven’t seen you willingly pick up a book since Mrs. Buttrey chased you into a library corner. And that was fifth grade.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Steph’s blonde head bob up and down in agreement. One day, she would have to de-befriend that girl.

“Hey, I have respect for good literature, too. How else would I have gotten through IB English?” she countered, waving her half-eaten sandwich in the air for added emphasis.

Steph snickered from beside her as she peeled off the lid on a cup of pudding. “You have respect for SparkNotes.”

Ben gave her a look that said, “See?”

Deedee picked up her juice box and slurped with vigor, even though there was no more strawberry-kiwi punch inside. As if neither of them had ever crammed on SparkNotes the night before an English commentary. Well, Ben probably didn’t, but said best friend! Hypocrite!

Resisting the childish urge to gnaw on the straw, she said, “Just because I don’t sprout Shakespeare and poetry and Dickens and Atwood like you doesn’t mean I’m completely impartial to the arts world. And anyway, the twenty-first century needs scientists, not dead authors.”

“Atwood is alive,” Ben said, unfazed as he continued with his meal.

“Whatever.”

“The world isn’t a clear cut calculus equation, Deedee.”

“Now now, Ben, no need to hate on the numbers,” she said. He was right though, she was much more of a hard sciences type of girl. The answer to everything was logic—that was her motto.

Ben held out his hands in gesture of ‘okay, you win.’ “Fair enough. What are you reading?”

At that, Steph snorted into her chocolate pudding. “Yeah, show Ben what you’re reading.”

Traitor.

Deedee pressed the book into her chest. “Nothing you would like.”

“I assure you, I appreciate all forms of literature,” he said, putting down his fork and holding out a hand. “If you’ll allow me…”

Deedee shook her head, and jabbed Steph’s arm to stop her muffled sniggering.

The eyebrow Ben raised almost disappeared beneath his tousled crop of golden brown hair. “I feel that there is reason lurking in you somewhere, so we will patiently grope round for it.”

“Huh?” was her intelligent reply. Was it just her, or did that sound like Spanish?

“The Lost World,” he clarified upon seeing her ‘wtf’ expression.

“Huh?” she echoed again.

“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

Psh. He was quoting from some book again. Like she would know who or what that was. Thirteen years of schooling together, and he still hadn’t grasped the fact that she didn’t care what Mark Twain said five hundred years ago. Or whenever.

But in that unguarded moment, Ben snatched away the book that lay in her slackened grip.

She was so shocked that she almost forgot to react. Almost. “Hey!” she exclaimed, while on the inside, she was screaming, “Nooooo!”

Ben barely read the first line on the page before laughing out loud. “Deedee!” he scolded in a theatrical manner.

“It’s not what you think it is,” she said in a moment of panic. Maybe she couldn’t smile with her eyes like they did on America’s Next Top Model, but she could sure as hell convey horror with them.

“It looks exactly like what I think it is,” Ben said, grinning like the spawn of Satan that he was.

“Ben,” she pleaded with arms outstretched, nearly bouncing in her seat. Damn her short arms! “Give it back.”

He was still laughing but conceded, putting the book back into her eager hands.

Even though she had known Ben since kindergarten, it was still embarrassing to be caught with something so naughty. For one thing, she liked him and had a lot of respect for him.

She looked at the book in her hands and the neat italicized font that ran at the top of each page—Dirty Words: A Literary Encyclopedia of Sex.

“So, tell me, what is Deedee the Great doing with a sex dictionary?” he asked, using the nickname she had given herself back in elementary.

“Stop smirking. It’s for references,” she said. It was the truth, too. Since she had to lose her virginity, she didn’t want to seem like an idiot during the course of the ‘deed.’ It was imperative that she knew all the dirty lingo, in order to sound like a pro, of course. She wanted to be a smart fuck, a sexpert!

Right?

Right.

Maybe she should have checked out Sex for Dummy’s instead. She didn’t want to be screaming out of pleasure if he was pokin’ around the wrong hole. After all, there were so many of them.

“Don’t tell me you’ve finally hit puberty,” Ben teased, clearly so entertained by all of this that he was even neglecting his lunch.

“Not yet,” she assured him. “I’m only five two. I still have a lot of growing ahead of me.”

“So, Ben,” Steph said, coming to her rescue. Finally. “How is Grease coming? I hear from Layla that rehearsals have been a gongshow.”

He took the bait, eyes lighting up like a child’s on Christmas morning—as they always did when he talked about anything drama-related. While most guys called their cars ‘baby,’ that was the pet name Ben used for the plays and musicals he directed.

“Yeah, a few more days of fine-tuning before the show opens next week. Have you guys bought tickets yet?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course,” Steph said. “You must be tired though, with student council, the Valedictorian election, and IB on top of everything.”

He smiled. “A little.”

Deedee came out of her me-centered world just then and realized that he did look exhausted. There were noticeable dark circles under his normally bright hazel eyes, and it was easy to tell that the quiet energy he usually possessed had been sucked right out of him today.

Whatever. Still good looking.

“All right, I’ve got a meeting to catch,” Ben said, rising from his seat. “I’ll see you girls later.”

Both she and Steph watched him saunter away. Dead beat or not, the guy still had a fine, fine backside.

When he was gone, Deedee turned around and smacked Steph on the arm. “Thanks, friend.”

Steph hit her back, only harder. “It’s Ben. He’s not going to go around telling people.”

Deedee rubbed her arm. “Still.”

She flipped open the page she was at before Ben came.

“Frotteurism: a fetish that involves rubbing up against an unsuspecting or unwilling person. Consensual rubbing is usually called frottage,” Steph read from beside her. “Sounds like cheese.”

“Yeah, I don’t think any of these terms are going to turn Brandon on,” Deedee mumbled, skimming the pages for something more usable.

“Oh, how about this one,” she said, nudging Steph. “Shrimp, or shrimping. Verb. Licking or sucking someone's toes during sex.”

Nasty. Foot fungus.

Steph mirrored the disgusted look on her own face and made a gagging motion.

Deedee concurred. Who really did stuff like this anyway? Whatever happened to good old Adam and Eve missionary sex?

The next one she landed on was ‘rainbow sex.’

“Rainbow sex,” she read. “Performing oral sex on a woman while she is menstruating.”

Man, even nastier than the previous one, by tenfold.

Steph ewwwww-ed. “What guy in his right mind would want to do that?”

Yeah. Exactly.

“Edward, perhaps?” She joked, poking fun at Steph’s Twilight-philia.

“That is not okay. Not with anyone. Not even with Edward.”

Deedee laughed at the serious expression on Steph’s face. “Okay, okay, back to business. Do you have the goods?”

The corners of Steph’s mouth curled up in an I-am-the-Grinch-who-stole-Christmas grin. She held up her black TNA bag. “You know it.”

“Excellent. Did you get Brandon’s number?” Deedee asked, taking out her own cell phone.

Steph nodded. “Jacked it off of Christie’s phone in English.”

“Well done.”

They smiled at each other, in total agreement with one another’s scheming thoughts.

“All right,” Deedee said, slamming the sex dictionary closed. “Let’s get to work.”

-

After shooing away two freshmen, she and Steph sneaked inside the girls’ bathroom.

Steph bolted the heavy wooden door and turned to her. “Dial.”

Deedee held the phone in her hands. The ten-digit number glowed on the screen, beckoning her. Just as she was about to call, her thumb paused over the ‘send’ button. She had been so caught up in getting ready for this day that she hadn’t had time to think about what she was doing. Now that it was on the verge of happening, she was finally starting to feel jittery and anxious.

Leaning against the wall, she took a deep breath, resisting the urge in her legs to sit down. Perhaps this was too un-Deedee like?

“Deedee…” Steph said, sensing the change of mood.

She waited for the reassuring ‘you don’t have to do this’ from Steph. Instead, her best friend looked her in the eye, and said, “Do it.”

So she did.

Holding up the phone to her ear, she willed her hand to stop shaking. It was ringing… and ringing…

She pressed her other hand to her stomach. She felt like she had to pee, or sneeze, or throw up, or something.

Another ring.

Steph raised both brows at her. “Not picking up?” she mouthed.

Deedee shook her head.

Just as she was about to press the ‘end’ key, a clear “Hello?” made its way to her ears.

Damn that boy.

“Hello?” he said again, with the ruckus of the students in the cafeteria in the background.

Say something say something say something.

“Hi,” she said at last. It was an incredibly sexy ‘hi,’ too because she had so much phlegm in her throat. Very porn star.

Steph mouthed ‘speakerphone’ and then gave her two thumbs up and a cheesy smile.

“Who is this?”

Deedee turned on the speakerphone and tried to remember the script Steph had written for her last night.

“I—I’m not wearing any panties.”

Brandon didn’t speak, but she heard the noise in the background gradually disappear. He was probably walking to a quiet place.

“Who is this?” he asked again.

Now she really felt like she was about to keel over. Even knowing Brandon’s colorful track record, and his rumored promiscuity, it was hard to convince herself that this was an easy task.

She prayed that her nervous breathing would sound like panting through the phone. “I’m touching myself.”—Oh, was she ever. The hand on her stomach dug into her flesh through the thin t-shirt she had on. “Brandon.”

The phlegm thing was really working in her favor.

“Ca—can you hear me breathing? I… I want you so badly.” Deedee felt her entire face burning. She could hear his breathing quicken, in pace with hers.

Steph was pressing her face into her bag, trying not to laugh.

A few seconds of silence.

“Where are you?” he asked.

Progress!

Steph quickly looked up and mouthed, “Moan. Do it. Moan!”

Deedee attempted. “Oooh… I’m so—” She almost choked. “—wet for you.”

Resembling a constipated trombone player, Steph pressed her lips together, trying to repress the laughter that was nearly bulging from her face.

Deedee rushed on, “Meet me in the girls’ locker room at three-thirty. Last row. I’ll be waiting.”

And then she hung up, letting a loud woosh of air escape from her body. She was surprised her bladder and rectum were still holding up.

Meeting Steph’s relieved gaze, she stretched her cheeks wide into a grimace-smile. “Let’s get to class.”

-

It was three o’clock. Thirty minutes and counting…

They had just gotten out of class half an hour ago, and they were in the girls’ locker room, prepping for action.

There was no need for an extreme disguise, because Brandon Willis was the type of guy who didn’t remember a girl unless she was a part of his little clique. She’d known him five years, and she was sure beyond a doubt that he had no idea who she was.

Deedee adjusted the blouse she had on. Steph provided her with a schoolgirl skirt that was so short, her butt cheeks felt like they were hanging out in the open. There were also black garters to go with. It was all very Britney Spears, except exponentially sluttier.

She appraised herself in the mirror. The Victoria’s Secret bra was really doing wonders for her cleavage. What a smart one, that Victoria.

“How is that lacy thong goin’ for ya?” Steph asked.

Deedee wiggled her butt. “Feels like a wedgie. Man, how do girls wear this all the time?”

Agh! She was so tempted to just pick the stupid string out of her crack. Her butt was getting goose bumps. Gross.

“Just be thankful it fits. I got that for your thirteenth birthday. I can’t believe you haven’t gained any weight since then.”

“If I was five eight with a twenty-four inch waist and D-cup breasts, I wouldn’t be complaining,” Deedee retorted. “And hmm, I wonder who I could possibly know with those measurements, Steph.”

Steph slapped one of her butt cheeks through the skirt. “Turn around. You’re mooning me.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Deedee said, not sure who she was addressing.

“Here,” Steph said, handing her a set of contacts. They were green.

She dutifully took them. Removing her current contacts, she popped the green ones in place. She blinked a couple of times until they were comfortably sitting on her eyeballs.

The only problem was that she would probably be a little blind. That was okay. Didn’t they say that love was blind? Then sex could be far-sighted. It might even be better if she couldn’t see clearly.

How ironic though. Sex should obviously be near-sighted. Ha!

Steph threw her an Estée Lauder makeup case. “Paint,” she ordered.

Deedee fumbled before catching it.

She stared at the pink pencil case-like bag—it was blurry.

Aw, crap.

She couldn’t put makeup on when she couldn’t see. Gah. “Steph, I just put the contacts in.”

Her friend came over to her and took the bag out of her hands. “Well, you wouldn’t have done a very good job of it anyway. Let me turn you into a ravishing whore.”

Steph was right. Deedee could count on two hands the number of times she had ever put makeup on. She barely had time to sleep and eat, much less draw her face on every morning.

The first thing Steph did was pile on the foundation. Deedee could literally feel the layers being cemented onto her cheeks, forehead, and other exposed skin areas.

“You know,” she said while trying not to move her lips. “You don’t have to attack my face. My skin tones aren’t that uneven, and I don’t have acne.”

“I’m trying to give you a tan that you’ll never have,” Steph said, bent over because she was so tall and Deedee was so short.

“Steph…”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think this is a bad idea?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re helping me anyway,” Deedee said. Even though they were two peas in a pod, she wondered how she would react if Steph suddenly had the urge to devirginize herself.

“You would have gone out and train wrecked whether I was there or not. Better that you do it looking hot than… well, not,” Steph said. “And you know what? It’s time you stopped thinking so much and just did something.” With the emphasis on the word ‘thinking’ came an emphasizing jab to her cheek with the foundation sponge.

Next came the eyeliner. “Close ‘em,” Steph commanded.

“Is this liquid eyeliner?” she asked.

“Yes. We’ll add pencil later for that smoky-eyed look you love so much.”

“You’re God’s gift to me.”

“I know. Okay, open. Look up,” Steph instructed.

Deedee’s eyes watered from trying to keep them open. “Hey, do you remember what section we had to do for chem? The test is on Monday, right? I hope Ms. Rothbart extends our history essa—Ow! Careful.”

“Stop thinking about school, or else I’ll stab you in the eye.”

They went through the mechanical process of pencil, then brush, then more pencil, then brush, then so much mascara that it was obstructing what little clear vision she had left.

“What color do you want?” Steph asked, holding up a palette of twelve different colors of lip stain.

“Uhh…”

“Red it is,” Steph answered for her. “Let’s see if you can pull off a Moulin Rouge.”

“Can I look now?” she asked when Steph was done with the lip stain.

“No. Unbutton your shirt.”

“Why?” she asked, flabbergasted. Her arm snaked up automatically over her chest.

Steph grinned. “I wanna contour your cleavage.”

Deedee did as she was told. “But the Victoria’s Secret Super Sexy Push-up Bra already brings me to a pretty full B-cup.”

“That’s nothing,” Steph said, sweeping the brush between her breasts.

It tickled.

“Okay. Now am I done?”

“Patience!” Steph barked. “Do not interrupt the master. Beauty comes with pain, suffering, patience, and more suffering.”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

Deedee sighed and let Steph work her magic. She couldn’t believe that she was actually doing this. Today, she would lose her virginity to Brandon Willis. Brandon Willis!

He did have nice muscles though…

But Brandon Willis! Her virginity! Her mother would slice her with the steak knife if she found out. Or throw her out of the house. Either one seemed plausible. She could hear her mother now.

“I am so disappointed. You are not the daughter that I raised!”

“You’ve just ruined your life, your entire future!”

“I can’t believe how irresponsible you are!”

“And to think that I trusted you!”

And on, and on, and on…

It would be so like her to just… chicken out. She could do it. No one would have to know.

“Having second thoughts?” Steph asked, attention still on artificially sculpting her boobs. “If you bail out now, we can pretend like this never happened.”

“But I have to,” she reasoned.

“Why? Why do you have to?”

“Because…” Deedee thought hard. “Because I just do.”

“Don’t make me play the devil’s advocate.”

“Please don’t.”

Steph didn’t say anything else. Instead, she took out a bottle of perfume.

“What is that?” Deedee asked.

“Juicy Couture. He’ll love it.” Steph dabbed some behind Deedee’s ears, on her wrists, in her cleavage, and then handed the bottle to her. “Just a little bit on your inner thighs. I ain’t gonna venture that far, so you do it.”

“Thanks.” It did smell nice—mild, but intoxicating.

When everything was done, Steph stood up straight and made circles around Deedee.

“Girl, you are so hot, I wanna do you myself.”

“Really?” she asked, spirits lifting by a fraction. Too bad there wasn’t a mirror around. She’d never gotten trashed up before. Secretly, she had always wanted to, but there was just never the opportunity or time.

“Really.” Steph smiled. “It’s time for me to make my exit. As not to be a creeper, I’ll wait for you in my car.”

Then, Steph came over to her and gave her a tight hug. At a loss for any more words herself, she squeezed her arms around Steph’s body as hard as she could.

This was it.

She watched Steph pack everything up, and then walk away. With each step that she took, Deedee felt her pulse and breathing elevate. A deep sense of dread was chewing away at her, and it was making her feel light-headed. Before Steph disappeared through the doors, she turned off all of the locker room lights but one and gave Deedee a big thumb’s up that said, “You can do it.”

And then she was gone.

Deedee slumped against the side of a locker. This was it.

She had checked to make sure there were no afternoon practices of any kind. No one should walk in on them… She had also double checked that there were no games, rehearsals, or meetings today. She had checked to make sure she had all of her textbooks in Steph’s car. She had checked her phone and put it on vibrate. She checked her thong, her hair, her breath, and her watch.

3:32pm

Her heart was hammering so aggressively that her ribcage was starting to hurt. She closed her eyes and did the one thing that had always been able to calm her down since kindergarten—she recited the multiplication tables.

One times one is one.

Two times one is two.

Two times two is four.

Three times one is three. Three times two is six. Three times three is nine. Four times one is four. Four times two is eight four times three-is-twelve-four-times-four-is-sixteen.

A deep breath.

Five times one is five.

Five times two is ten.

Five times three is fifteen. Five times four is twenty. Five times five is twenty-five six times one is six six-times-two-is-twelve-six-times-three-is-eighteen-six-times-fou—

She heard footsteps.

Suddenly, all of the vocabulary she had studied so hard to learn wreaked havoc on her mind. Fellatios? Analingus? Priapism?

She was blanking out!

Six times five is thirty six times-six-is-thirty-six-seventimesoneissevenseventimes—

The footsteps ceased, followed by the slow, familiar creak of the locker room door opening.

Deedee stopped breathing. Somewhere inside of her, a little voice whispered, “This is it.”

-

What did you think? Yes, I know, it went by quickly. Now back to those ANs, you.

A big thanks to all of you who have been reading and reviewing thus far. Your kind comments really make a difference when I’m writing. :) Better than caffeine, I say.