Chapter Two: Beth O

Oh Beth. I have to describe Beth as my first true experience with teenage lust. That's all it was. She was incredibly sexy with a sultry doe-eyed, round-featured face and all the right curves in all the right places. And believe me, they were not small curves. Which was amazing since this was the 7th grade. I used to follow her around school between classes watching her move in those low slung hip hugger bell bottoms, now back in style, not fully realizing what the attraction was at the time . Or, why I was walking in directions completely opposite to my intended direction...just to watch this girl walk! I'd find myself in areas of the school that where nowhere near where I was supposed to be at the time. Needless to say, I was late to a great many classes once I awoke from the trance this girl put me in.

I don't even remember how I met her. Maybe it was just in the hallway at school. We never went on a date. She never even really talked to me that I can remember other then one strange hallway occurrence. It was between classes and there was the usual hallway activity with kids running to class, talking, and visiting their lockers. Well, I must have been at my locker or walking by hers when I noticed her standing there and I just sort of looked at her with a budding lust still held back by nervous innocence. She looked up, saw me, and flashed her devious, sly, yet alluringly attractive smile surrounded by lips far fuller then a 7th grader should rightfully have. She looked right at me and asked me, "What do you want?" And without a hesitation or a conscious thought on my part, I replied, "I want you!"

Yes, that's exactly what I said. I remember it as clear is this current second. I don't know where I got the courage or rather the wanton rudeness to come up with this quick reply but those words sprang from my mouth with a strange sort of confidence that actually surprised me at the time. Of course, the second I heard those words spring from my mouth, I immediately retracted back into that little protective shy 7th grade shell that is a poor excuse for comfort in a situation like this. I honestly don't remember what happened after that.

We exchanged these glances with each other at various school events and later, when I was in 9th grade, I met her cousin Gary who was a good friend of mine throughout high school. For whatever reason, we ended up over at her house on the other side of town and he asks me, "Do you want to see her room?"

Now, two years later, I had a little more saavy and understanding about the opposite sex and figured I could show some restraint. Well. no. I quickly replied,. Yes!"

So up the stairs we go with my heart beginning to pound within my chest for no reason other then a strange curiosity. I mean she wasn't even in the house. What, exactly, would her room look like? What would any girls room look like for that matter? I certainly don't remember all the details but I do remember the utter fascination I had as I walked through the doorway into her room. It was not neat. She was not a neat person. She had a sort of hippy chic look to her though if she actually changed into a bikini, she would slide over into the hottie column for sure.

The room was dark. Pieces of colored sheer fabric were slung over the lamps giving it that proverbial opium den look. The shades were pulled to increase the effect. There were clothes all over the bed. Frilly female type stuff and there was a smell. The indescribable female scent that comes from a women whether or not she is wearing perfume. I stood there gazing with glory at actually being in this girls room. The room of the little girl which two years ago, I had made a complete fool of myself with my brash, middle school pick up line. Glancing around the room, the things I saw laid about told me she was, for sure, not a little girl anymore.

I wonder even today if women leave lingerie hanging around just to taunt us men or if they simply wear so much of it that it becomes part of their bedroom decor. Or maybe it's a reminder to them that they have that certain power over men that forces us to become blithering idiots when we see even a hint of a breast or a slice of Brittany-tummy.

So I stood there just inside of the doorway surveying the room. There were several pairs of pants laying on the bed and what looked like shorts over one of her pillows. There were two white bras hanging from the knobs of her dresser, maybe placed there to put away later or maybe to complement the hippy chic look she had created in this room. There were a few pairs of panties on the floor. Panties. Why do we have to use that word for female underwear. I mean it's underwear. It's just happens to look different then guys underwear. And, when you say the word "panties" it just immediately conjures up all these awkward and weird feelings. Maybe that's the whole purpose. I mean how sexy is, "Do you want to see me in my underwear?" versus, "Do you want to see me in my panties?"

Ok, whatever, I digress.

There were little trinkets all over the room. I don't even know what they were. Little shiny figurine type things. No idea what they were. There were even what by now seemed required in this room, tiny little nightgown pieces spread out on the floor. Flashes of light pink, white, and red. Which were the tops and which were the bottoms, I had no idea. I mean it's the panty/underwear, nightgown/pajama thing all over again.

I turned to my friend and he smiled asking. "Nice, huh?"

"Um, yea", I replied not really hearing him.

"We should go" I said as this sudden feeling of absolute fear raced up my back. What if she caught me here in her room? What if she found out later that I had been there? Worse, what if she found out and started telling her friends making me the school fool? I couldn't face that. I quickly turned and ran by my friend practically knocking him off his feet and raced down the stairs and out the front door. I needed to breath. I needed to get my center. The cool air outside made me start to feel better. I was out of her bedroom. Out of her house. I was safe. She wouldn't catch me. I wouldn't end up the laughing stock of the whole Highschool.

Oh, Beth O.


by Steve Hall    May-22-02    

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