Primal Scream (Box Set #1, Taboo Sex + AFF) (35 page)

Chantal got out of Aisyah’s room, a little hastily, and started making her way home, which was about fifteen minutes’ walk away.

She didn’t have to wait long to get an email alert on her cell phone:

Hey, saw your pix on kinkstersFB.net. Nice. We’ll be visiting HIGH tomorrow. Hope to see you two around. P.S. we ain’t drama kings either.

She Googled and Facebooked the incoming email address, but the searches came up blank.
Holy shit,
she thought. It hadn’t even been two hours since she’d seen KinkstersFB, and she was already becoming a stalker.

Just one more check.
She searched for the profile on KinkstersFB.net using the incoming email address—[email protected]—but KinkstersFB.net didn’t allow to search for members using their email address. Besides, the person could have used another email address to sign up for an account at KinkstersFB.

Chantal forwarded the email to Aisyah, when another email came in.

This time, it was from one of the catechists at Chantal’s church:

REMINDER: Fully Alive Retreat
—brought to you by the Catholic Youth Ministry of Our Lady of Angels Parish! A weekend retreat that encourages high-school aged teenage men and women to know Christ and embrace the life of the Catholic Church. As Catholics we know that being a follower of Jesus Christ; imitating Him, doing His work in the world, and being transformed by Him through the sacramental life of the Church, we become “Fully Alive!”. . .

She scanned through the rest of the text. The retreat was in two weeks’ time, and the weekend program cost $100. The program was also open to high-schoolers who attended other Catholic churches, not just Our Lady of Angels Parish.

She’d fallen asleep at past retreats. She wondered if this year’s would be any different.

Aisyah’s reply came in:

Ooh, exciting! Wonder if we’re erm “recognizable” in the pix. See u tomorrow – I haven’t ironed my blazer yet…

Chantal felt half-empty, like not going “all the way” with Aisyah was kind of symbolic of Chantal being stuck halfway with everything in life. It was neither just an ordinary friendship, nor a “relationship” that she had with Aisyah. Chantal was sexual, but she hadn’t really “had sex” yet. She didn’t know if she liked guys or girls more. She was curious, but reserved, at the same time. When would she ever get ahead in life?

After the usual dinner, showering, and completion of homework routine, it was just past midnight when Chantal dragged herself off to sleep.

All the orgies and “initiations” she had missed over the years seemed to appear as images on the ceiling, as she lay on her bed. How to love cock…how deep the throat would go, practicing with a banana. She knew she was a slut at heart, but not one controlled by society or a stereotype.

She thought of the two axioms that every girl from HIGH kept close to the heart:

(1) Boys touch like property…girls are softer and more capable.

(2) Girls rule, boys drool.

Chantal couldn’t help but keep thinking of Aisyah—them, topless, rolling around in pure ecstasy. It was kind of anti-climactic that they hadn’t gotten topless while kissing each other, that they’d never done so in the past. It was as if the sparks between them were either make-belief, or constantly in flux.

She thought of the email she’d received earlier. “Drama kings” suggested the senders of the email were guys.
Guy
s
.
How many?

It would be like betraying Aisyah, if she went off with a guy, whether or not that happened the next day or month or year or whatever.

But she and Aisyah weren’t ever an official couple or anything, were they?

But friends always came first. When this golden rule was forgotten, the friendship and sisterly bonds shared between girl friends could be broken down. A fling would end and six months later, no one, not even the girl involved, would remember it, but her friends would still be there, until the day she died.

Random Bible passages came up in Chantal’s mind, as she tossed and turned, trying to get some shut eye:

If you have faith like a grain of mustard seed. . .nothing will be impossible for you.

-- (Luke 17:16)

You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.

-- (Matthew 7:7)

Do to others whatever you would like them to do to you.

-- (Matthew 7:12)

Even fools are thought wise when they keep silent; with their mouths shut, they seem intelligent. -- (Proverbs 17:28)

Sometimes your own intuition can tell you more than seven watchmen on a high tower. -- (Sirach 37:14)

Judge not, lest ye be judged. -- (Matthew 7:1-5)

Planning and thought lie behind everything that is done. -- (Sirach 37:16)

She’d read the Bible countless times, hoping for some guidance. But it only made her more confused.

“
Judge not, lest ye be judged”—certainly not something her own mother subscribed to, when it came to lesbian butches and gays. Chantal thought it might be a way of rebelling, to “be a lesbian,” never mind how much one’s heart was really into it.

“
You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.”

Who was the speaker? What if the speaker was Chantal’s sexual being? That would mean she’d have to follow her gut, wherever it led her to. And since her “own intuition” could sometimes tell her “more than seven watchmen on a high tower,” it meant that any girl-on-girl behavior would not be wrong—she’d just be following her intuition.

“
Do to others whatever you would like them to do to you.”

This made perfect sense, even—or especially—when it came to sexual behavior. Not in the sense of actual positions or sexual acts, that one could force a person to partake in. But to treat another person kindly, openly, genuinely, with consideration—to be pleasured, by pleasing another, to be satisfied, by seeing to another’s satisfaction…

* * *

Chapter 3

“
He’s just the type I like…”

Chantal was dressed in her school uniform, but with an ultra micro-mini version of her plaid skirt, and nothing on under a thin white blouse.

Three boys from the co-ed school in HIGH’s district had sent Chantal the email message. One of them, the ring leader, was the Speedos boy in his school uniform, rocking bright hot pink hair.

“
All girls dream…” the Speedos boy said, eyeing Chantal with a calm but lascivious gaze, “…of having not one, but TWO good-looking guys fall for them, and you are no exception. You can’t make up your mind on which one you want. You can’t help yourself and want them both—and you haven’t got the strength of character to make a choice. You’re a shallow, self-absorbed teen, just like every frivolous heroine in a standard teenage paranormal romance! You’re a high school girl, free to do whatever you want with no responsibilities, and you now have THREE gorgeous guys fighting over you, and as long as you don’t make a choice, you get to string us all along. Do we have a deal?”

Chantal batted her eyelids, twirled her hair the way Kylie Minogue (one of her all-time favorite popstars, who just happened to have bisexual tendencies) did, and struck her best come hither pose.

She turned when she heard what sounded like the beating of wings, by the side of her room, at the window.

“
She’s mine, asswipe!” the figure said to the Speedos boy. “Back off, bitch.”

The figure was a succubus, a demon in female form with an impressive pair of draconic wings behind her back. She turned back to stare at Chantal with eyes that blazed through her like fire in the dark.

“
Aisyah!”

* * *

The digital alarm rang as it always did for Chantal, at 6.30am. Chantal spent a few moments submerged in a state in between deep sleep and consciousness, when she woke up. “Speedos,” was the first word she slurred, followed by, “Aisyah!” when she recalled Aisyah’s image as a succubus in the dream she’d just had.

Wow, she looked good,
Chantal recalled, with the dark violet eyes and glossy raven-black hair Aisyah had in real life. Chantal’s dreams were sometimes so vivid, they left her drained and in a little bit of a stupor for the first few hours of the day. In the dream, Aisyah’s breasts had been on display, squished up by a tight black leather corset with red lace. A handful of dried roses had also adorned her hair.

Chantal recalled a Bible passage on dreams…

For dreams have deceived many, and they have failed that put their trust in them.

-- (Ecclesiasticus 34:7)

…
while simultaneously humming the tune of the oldies song, “Dreams are my reality,” on her way to school.

Some of the visiting guests had already arrived, by the time Chantal reached HIGH. They were taking their seats in front of the circular foyer, to the side of the open courtyard in the center of the school building.

Aisyah was on gate duty—Chantal saw her from the back first, noticing how well the small slit up the back perfectly accentuated the formal blazer.

“
Pretty hot…” Aisyah whispered to Chantal, eyeing the plaid skirt. They exchanged a quick look, like what they had been up to the day before was their little secret.

“
Classy,” Chantal replied, before one of the teachers whisked her away to help get some chairs from the hall on the second level.

Aisyah was pretty knockout and tempting, and elegantly stylish in the tailored blazer. Chantal was still dreaming of Aisyah as the succubus, when she reached the hall a couple of minutes later. The hall was the perfect place for some secret rendezvousing—she had to drag Aisyah here later. They could hide out in so many spots. Behind the thick curtains on the stage, somewhere around the balconies on the next level, the roof access, et cetera et cetera…

Back on the first level, one could feel the simmering blitz of hormones permeating the air—boys around their age were a rare sight on their school grounds. Even a not-so-dashing young man would end up looking suave, due to the scarcity of bodies carrying a Y-chromosome. So the sea of uniform-clad girls in their innocent white blouses and tailored plaid skirts was almost transfixed with their visiting associates—blazers and long pants, formal wear for school events and functions—the cleaner/neater/more put-together they looked, in their smart, masculine attire, the more they stimulated the deprived girls’ desires to violate or be violated. Their uniforms were common symbols of conformity, suppression, and (supposed) obedience, but at the same time, a huge turn-on, because they from the Catholic schools were all in it together.

Brett Lowe and Marc Anthony Knowles were two of the visiting guest prefects from the all-boys school in the region. The two guys knew who they were looking out for. Brett and Marc’s targets had no idea they were being zeroed in on.

“
The girl with the alien hair,” Marc said in a low voice to Brett, after Aisyah had given them a smile, before greeting some of the other students coming in.

Aisyah was the one they recognized first, due to her more exotic looks and short, slightly spiky pixie cut. The boys hoped they wouldn’t have to wait long more to spot the other girl in the picture. Brett was looking out for someone with a black tie—he’d recognized the prefect tie on Chantal in the picture the girls had uploaded onto KinkstersFB.

Brett was well aware of the invisible sexual charge that ran like an undercurrent throughout HIGH, as he calmly sat by the side of the courtyard, next to his friend, Marc, and a few other representatives from St. Dom’s Academy.

Being from St. Dominic’s had always resonated with Brett, even as a young boy, before he started getting in touch with his inner sexual being. He sometimes identified himself as a “dominant saint,” one who exerted some kind of force upon others…but in a way that his subordinates or minions (as he liked to call it, in private) would relish. He was both a saint and sinner—which was how he liked it best.

Chantal was now at the center back row of the courtyard, arranging the chairs she had carried down from the hall for the teachers to sit. The physical work had gotten her to perspire a little, and given her cheeks a slight pink flush. She saw Aisyah coming towards her down the corridor—Aisyah had to pass a quick message to one of the teachers.