You bite your lower lip as you slump against the wall. You should have known. All Curt Wolde cared about was how big he could get his muscles, and how many holes he could wedge that 14" equine monster cock into. And you fell for it hook, line and sinker. Gosh, even Dad liked him, the two exchanging workout tips in the living room while you finished your hair, and Dad never likes any guys around you.
You grimly watch the happy couples dancing on the floor. So what was it, did Curt just have a thing, for big, well-built girls, or was he just curious to see if you could take all those inches? Gods, the more you think about it, the more your stomach churns. That makes you sound so trampy, that most women struggle to take that thing, and he was able to ease it into you down to the hilt, like you take one-eyed beasts like that all the time.
Your legs go a bit weak as you press into the wall. What Curt did was bad, and you felt awful emotionally. But physically, that size, and that skill, was fantastic. You heard he had deflowered half the cheerleading squad, and with his stunning looks and with a performance like that, you could understand why they let him.
Ugh, now you feel worse. While you are proud, independent young woman with some class, you also know that if he whipped it out even now, you'd pull him to the nearest closet for an encore show.
"Are you okay?" Asks a high-pitched, twangy voice. You snap out of your impure thoughts and look right. And down, since the speaker is only chin height to your 6'4". "Oh, uh, it's Conner, right?"
"Um, yeah," says the skinny gator with his pastel suit and bowtie. "Deanna-Juliet Shaw?"
"DJ," you correct. You know this guy, kinda. He goes to the same church and you guys share some honors classes, but otherwise you guys don't run in the same circles. You're a lady athlete, he's the geeky type who's probably never lifted a weight for ten reps in his life.
"You're someone's backup too?" Conner asks. "Tam Toovey was afraid her date wouldn't show up, so I came just in case...but, he's here, and she looks like she's having a good time." Indeed, the bovine was locked in arm with an exotic-looking steer. Well, at least this night worked out for somebody.
"Yeah..." you say idly. Time to admit it now so it hurts less later. Curt never loved you. You were just a fun time.
The music cuts as Principal DuBois and the senior class president (Georgia Maddox, Virginia Maddox, you forget exactly) take the stage to announce prom king and queen. Prom king is...Tristan Seouk, no surprise. Prom queen is...Tara Thompson the gym bunny. As they go up to receive their plastic crowns, you have to admit they look like a cute couple.
What's not cute is that, as they do a polite, slightly awkward dance under the spotlights, you see Curt's big shadow on the edge of the circle, trying to straighten his bowtie and tux, popping a mint... Oh, let's guess...nailing the prom queen is another one of his fantasies? You know, you're about done here.
You turn away with a grimace. Gosh, you just wanna go, but how are you gonna get home? Ty's going to "Tristan's afterparty", aka he's buttbusting Tommy McAvoy in a motel room tonight. Tristan and Andy are busy, you don't want to take the fun away from any seniors, and...well, maybe Conner Greene? It couldn't hurt, he's too nice to try anything fresh, and if he did you could beat him to a pulp.
"Conner, my brother's going to a party, can you give me a ride home?" The gator looks iffy. Aw, c'mon.
"Well, uh, sure, but I was planning on meeting at 11 with my friends for Dungeons and Dragons," the waifish reptile says sheepishly. You smile. "Sheriff Atticus doesn't think it's the devil or something?"
"Aw, DJ, we're not that crazy," Conner says. "Dad knows it's a game."
"Okay, I kid, I kid," you concede. "I've played too, at summer camp. Got to know a lot about it. Can't all be sports and girl stuff."
The gator's eyes light up. "Oh, uh, okay! You're welcome to um, uh, sit in and watch and hang out," Conner says, thumbs twiddling. "It's just over at Wayne Brewster's house."
You snort. That weedy green dragon from honors chemistry? With a little care and a lot of muscle, he could have been a real hottie like his blue-scaled brother. As he is...well, Wayne is a sweet guy, if kinda immature. "Who else do you play with?"
"Rohit Gupta and Fergus Watson," Conner adds. "Corey Seouk usually plays with us, but he's busying putting together his portfolio for architecture school."
You nod. Geeky, nerdy boys, all of them. Like, the complete opposite end of Curtis on the man spectrum. Speaking of which...you look over to the dance floor again. Curtis has taken her hand and is sweeping Tara off her feet. Andy McNeese is on the side, thrusting his hips as Tristan taps him on the head. "Ahem, let's not forget Ty's sister!"
"She never had a chance," Andy ribs, tapping Trist back. "Ugh, you know he's gonna...that striped jackass. I'd call him out, but he got the district to buy bigger weights for the school gym...that convenience paid off during rut, right Andy?"
"He slept with the coaches...'You like these 22" guns, Ms. Nosrati? Imagine how they'll feel at 24 inches'."
"Psh, you like it Andy." "Hell yeah! I was hoping the school would let him walk around shirtless."
Never. Had. A. Chance. Ouch. Your heart sinks somewhere into your stomach. Conner gently taps you on your meaty shoulder. "Are you ready to go, DJ?"
"Yeah," you say curtly. Oh, har har, that was a good one. Curt. Adjective, rudely brief. How appropriate.
***
You're careful not to wrinkle your dress as you climb into Conner's truck. You have to stifle a laugh when you see how small he looks in the driver's seat. A fairly beat-up 1985 Ford F-150 seems a bit incongruous for the small gator, but Conner's grandfather was a big-name farmer on the outskirts of the city back in the day. Now, with no one in the family willing to continue the tradition, half the fields have become housing subdivisions, and the other half are rented to the remaining farmers. He and Sheriff Atticus lived in a century-old farmhouse, maybe a mile from dad's comely bungalow in the village, itself being subsumed by encroaching suburbs.
"You sure your friends will be okay with an extra guest," you ask, not wanting any more awkward moments tonight.
"Aw, they're good guys, DJ," Conner says in comfort. You see his long snout crinkle as you both close the doors shut...oh geez, can he smell Curt on you? He probably doesn't even know what it is, and thinks it's perspiration from the dance floor.
"So how long have you guys been playing," you ask, in an attempt to make conversation.
"Oh, this is our final campaign, but we're planning on doing a new one for the summer," Conner replies. Okay, you have to admit, it's kinda cute when his eyes light up. "Normally I play as a lizardfolk cleric, but I decided to change it up this time and be a half-drow arcane fighter."
"Uh, okay," you say, trying to mentally get up to speed. It's been a while, and you may need to pop a glance at the ol' fifth edition manual while you're there. "I was normally a fighter with an archery specialty, I liked the contrast to the ragey, tank-y characters my brother Sandy liked."
"Oh yeah, that's right, you have two brothers, right? I see Ty around, but I don't remember the other one too well...he was a red wolf like Mr. Shaw?"
"Yeah, Lysander, Sandy for short. He's finishing up college now, wants to follow dad's steps into federal law enforcement and intelligence services."
"Heh, that's right! I thought my dad said your dad's a government spook," Conner quips. Yeah, let's hope he never says that in front of your dad, it wouldn't go over well.
"Well, we're here!" Conner pulls over to the curb in front of a modest two-story home. It looks like Wayne lives in a working-class neighborhood, surrounded by homes with faded paint and older vehicles, but they don't look unsafe or unwelcoming. Heh, Conner's truck makes this place look good.
You and Conner quietly walk around the house, open a weathered wood gate, and enter the back yard. There is a set of stone steps down to a basement. "This way, we don't wake up Wayne's parents," Conner divulges.
You hold your breath for a moment as you both descend, picking up a whiff of earth and musty air. At worst, this will be a boring, whiny bunch of nerds. At best, maybe it will be entertaining. Might as well sit in, have a can of pop, and go with it. Let's hope these guys can roll a good d20.
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