Color me confused when she launched herself at me, and I found her legs wrapped around my waist as she mashed her lips against mine. The momentary confusion was all Mr. Happy needed to wrest control of the body away from the big brain. I would later wonder what the hell I’d been thinking, but it was apparent I wasn’t.
I staggered to the door of one of the practice rooms, carried her in, and got the door closed. She ground herself against my now hard member. I reached between us, pushed my hand under her t-shirt, and began to massage her small breast. In the fray, we both ended up bare-chested, and I leaned down and began to suck on her nipples.
I was contemplating what to do next when the big brain kicked back in. Mr. Happy made a mighty effort, but I won. I remembered that while I was up for new things, that didn’t mean I should take every opportunity that came my way, just because I could.
I had a dilemma. There was no way I would bring myself to have full-on sex with her, but I didn’t want her to feel I’d rejected her, either. I had enough experience to remember how I would’ve reacted if a girl had gotten me this worked up and then suddenly stopped. It would be worse if she told me I was too young for her, which was exactly what I was thinking at that moment.
That was when I decided on a compromise. If I were her, I would probably be okay if I at least got off. I ground myself against her sex through her jeans as I continued to play with her breasts. All the signs were there: her breathing began to get more urgent and ragged; her upper chest and neck became pink; her nipples were rock-hard; and there was the distinct aroma of an aroused teen girl.
I grinned when her eyes got big and she stiffened against me. I wondered if girls had the same issues guys did when they came in their pants. Probably not to the extent we did, I guessed. When she began to come down from her orgasmic bliss, she let her legs unwrap themselves from around my waist. It was clear she was embarrassed, having realized what we’d just done.
“We should probably head to class,” I suggested.
The poor girl got her top on and hurried out. I sat on the piano bench for a few minutes and thought about it.
This wasn’t me. I guess that was a lie because my raging hormones had just proven that I was capable of what almost occurred. I mentally slapped myself for letting it happen. That was when I realized I had my own problem trying to rip out of my jeans. I tried to push the length down my pant leg, but I knew it would be evident to everyone who saw me what my condition was.
What I did next reinforced just what a bad idea this had been: I took matters into my own hand. I’d barely gotten myself together when the bell rang.
◊◊◊
Zoe seemed to avoid me all afternoon. I sometimes wondered what was up with her. I figured I’d just be asking for trouble if I went searching for her.
Since I had a few minutes before practice, I called Bev Mass. I got lucky: she was in.
“I planned to call you later,” she said.
“If this isn’t a good time …”
“No, I actually have a few minutes,” she assured me. “I got a call to give me an update on our case.”
I noticed it was now ‘our’ case.
“They’ve been busy with the investigation. The detectives running the case interviewed all the members of the Final Club who are still at Harvard. Most of them agreed to give DNA to eliminate themselves as suspects.”
“That has to be the dumbest thing they could’ve done,” I said.
“If you wanted to prove you didn’t do it …”
“Sure, but now your DNA is in a national database. You have sex with someone, and they cry rape …” I reasoned.
Bev just laughed at me.
“I bet you have an attorney who could cut a deal to provide your DNA for the limited purpose of that one case.”
“They can do that?” I asked.
“We would rather get your DNA on file,” she said.
Every time I talked to her, I got more nervous. I imagined she might somehow be setting me up for something. I was glad I hadn’t done anything she was really interested in.
“Have they talked to Brandon yet?” I asked to refocus her on ‘our’ case.
“Not yet. They’re methodically following the evidence; you don’t want them to only focus on him. Something a good defense lawyer will ask is whether they followed all the leads or just focused on their client. Brandon’s dad is reputed to be an excellent lawyer. We don’t want to give him anything to get his son off with,” Bev explained.
“So how do they get there?” I asked.
“Once they’ve eliminated and interviewed the other people who were around when the rapes happened, they’ll start to build a case with fewer suspects. When they feel they have enough, they’ll interview Brandon.”
“I could punch him and let him bleed all over my shirt if that would help,” I suggested.
“No, that wouldn’t be such a good idea. The key to making it stick is the chain of custody. It would be better if the police gathered the evidence. They’re trained to make sure all the rules are followed,” Bev explained.
“How would they get DNA without tipping him off?” I asked.
