#WickedWednesday Prompt 208: Audience. The ravishing Rebel asks, Is there anything you want to do in front of an audience? Why or why not? Or have you been there, done that?
There’s a chance if the right (or, um, wrong) person reads this post, my secret identity will be uncovered. Alternatively, I may remember what happened so differently from others, no one will recognize themselves in this bit of revisionist history.
Ah, fuck it. I’m gonna tell you this story anyway, because it’s perfect for this week’s #WickedWednesday.
Let me take you back (way, waaaaay back), to a time when I was still in high school, a time when I was the older woman. Yes, that’s right, I – a junior – deigned to date a lowly sophomore.
Due to the arbitrary cut-off dates for starting first grade, I ended up one of the youngest in my class, and he, one of the oldest. Sophomore dude, junior chick…Yo, his homies said, you must be getting lucky. He, a nice guy, shrugged off the cat-calls. Refused to tell tall tales about our (decidedly innocent) make-out sessions. He even enjoyed going on dates with me and his mom.
Who, by the way, thought I was just the sweetest girl. She invited me over for milk and cookies even after the Big Break Up.
(Because yes, there was one. I instigated it, cruel, heartless hussy that I am.)
But I digress. This story isn’t about the end. It’s closer to the middle. Also, this isn’t going to be an erotic story, because I don’t do underage sex in erotica, even when I’m the underaged.
Nope, this isn’t that kind of story. Although there is some boob fondling.
My young man… Let’s call him Horatio. Anyway, Horatio had been working toward Eagle Scout for years. (Earning Eagle Scout is a big deal. Huge. I had no idea.) That summer, the summer of this story, the summer between my junior and senior year, he went away to Scout camp and finally got through all the hurdles to earn the title.
Scout camp, like most summer camps, held family weekends. Parents dragged reluctant younger siblings to camp to watch their darlings perform in talent contests and ooh and aah over spaghetti art and the ability to tread water for three minutes. Or whatever.
The camp arranged a huge party to celebrate Horatio making Eagle Scout. His mom invited me to go. I took the day off work, and we showed up in our Sunday finest to celebrate the big day.
Picture me. Sixteen, blond, big boobs. Short skirt and tight t-shirt. Shy. A bookworm.
Picture him. Big man on campus. Newly minted Eagle Scout. Revered leader to Boy Scouts striving for their first badges.
It’s obvious he’s been talking me up. Rambunctious Scout puppies fall all over themselves to shake my hand and say, “So nice to meet you” to my chest. The downward-fixated stare is an accomplishment in itself, since I’m several inches shorter than most of these boys.
I wonder if there’s a badge for boob-gazing?
After the ceremony, Horatio invites me to go on a tour of the camp, just the two of us. Everyone else is staying behind to enjoy punch and cake, chat with their families, show off their knot-tying.
We wander through the trees hand in hand. The campers are housed in cabins enclosed on three sides, no front wall, just an overhanging porch roof. We stop at his cabin, and Horatio wants to make out.
I’m not sure about it, because, I mean, there’s no wall. Anyone can see us. He reassures me we’re alone. I give in and we lie back on the bed, his hand immediately heading under the shirt. We kiss and kiss and kiss. And kiss some more. I keep moving his hand away from the bra catch. He keeps edging it back.
I’m thinking, “Maybe he deserves a bit of a reward for making Eagle Scout,” and am just about to give in to his next importunistic grope when a noise distracts me.
I shoot up off the bed. “What was that?”
“Nothing, probably just a deer.” He pulls me back down, squeezing and fondling with quiet desperation.
I knock his hand away. “It sounded like a sneeze.”
“Deer sneeze,” he assures me.
Smelling a rat – but not a deer – I wriggle away and stand up, tidying my clothes. A distinctly non-deer-like groan of disappointment drifts around the corner.
I’m off the porch and around the side of the cabin like a graceful gazelle.
A ragtag gaggle of Boy Scouts flit away in every direction. Racing pellmell, heedless of tree roots and duff, arms windmilling, legs pumping. Giggles float back on the breeze.
It takes about two seconds to realize I’ve been set up. My budding horror congeals into cold fury at the shamefaced smirk on Horatio’s face.
“You, you, you -,” I sputter. My face may melt from the heat of my blush.
“I’m sorry,” he offers.
“Sorry for what? That you told those boys you were going to grope me? That you then, actually, groped me where they could see? Or that you got caught?” Nobody does outraged hands-on-hips-heaving-bosom like a 16 year old girl.
He makes the mistake of taking a split second too long to pick the right answer.
“Ohhhh!” I yell. “I can’t believe you. Is this the Eagle Scout Way? I’m telling your mother.”
The joy of witnessing his instant transformation from grin to grovel.
“No, please don’t tell her,” he begs. “Please. I’ve been bragging what a beautiful girl you are, and none of them has a girlfriend, and I thought, I thought I’d show them how to kiss, and, and -.” He gets down on his knees and clasps his hands. “Please. I’m sorry.”
“Where’s an audience when you need one?” I ask. “Say it in front of those little turds, and I won’t say anything.”
“But, but -,” still on his knees, he sways back and forth, the outward sign of an internal battle.
I can read his mind:
Pros: his mom won’t learn about his dirty deed. His girlfriend may forgive him.
Con: He’ll look like a pussy to his Boy Scouts.
I refuse to back down. Eventually, he rounds up the munchkins – who haven’t gone far, apparently hoping he will lure me back into his arms – and apologizes. To me and to them. It is a full and graceful apology, full of words like honor and respect.
They listen with wide eyes, glancing sideways at me, terrified, wondering what black magic I’ve worked on their hero.
On the drive home, his mom asks, “Did you have a good time?”
“Absolutely. Thank you for bringing me. I learned so much.” I fiddle with my hair and lean back in the seat, closing my eyes and savoring the memory of all those boys staring at me like I’m a goddess.
Is this the Eagle Scout Way? © 2016 by Devi Ansevi
This story was written for Wicked Wednesday #208: Audience. Click to read other submissions, or submit your own! Tap the rainbow circle to learn all about the delicious wickedness of #WickedWednesday.
Feature image by Virginia State Parks staff (SH- Camping & Cabins Uploaded by AlbertHerring) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons