The Blameless Bystander Ch. 04

"I was at my math tutor's office. I went in for help with my homework."

"Not likely!" roared the Reverend. "The teachers are all gone by that time."

"Not Mr. O'Toole!" Becky shot back. "He said that he would wait in the Math office until after Cheerleader practice. He's nice like that."

"And who is this 'Mr. O'Toole'. I've never heard of him." the Reverend's voice dripped with mistrust.

Becky rolled her eyes and answered. "He's my Math teacher. You signed my slip for tutoring. Don't you remember?"

"Don't use that tone with me, Becky, and don't look at the ceiling when I ask you a question!" the Reverend raised his voice again. Becky ran to the table where she had left her books. She returned with an opened spiral notebook. "Look, here's my homework. He even corrected it already. That's what we were doing!" She thrust the notebook into her father's hands and he examined it with the marks in red pencil.

"This proves nothing. It could have been earlier." he insisted, but his voice had mellowed. "I've never heard of this Mr. O'Toole."

"He's new this year. He's better than the other teachers." Becky sensed that she had won this round.

"Well, whatever's true, it's clear that you're doing your homework. I'm glad to see it. Keep it up." he tried to close the conversation with a conciliatory remark.

"Everything I said is true!" the frustrated girl shouted, protecting her winnings. She grabbed the notebook from her father and stomped up the stairs.

"And wash off that lipstick before you come down for dinner!" he yelled after her.

"Ohhh!" she screamed at the top of the stairs and then slammed her door behind her.

The Reverend slowly shook his head, wondering why he couldn't understand his daughter. In the near stalemate, the daughter had narrowly won on points because she had brought her homework notebook home with her.

**********

Becky was subdued at dinner; she had wiped away her lipstick. "I have to go to school tonight," she announced as the dinner concluded. "We're having a meeting of the Homecoming Committee."

Her father glared at her, perhaps trying to intimidate, maybe to fathom something.

"My homework is all done," she blurted.

"Help your mother with the dishes first," her father ordered.

"Of course! Thank you, father," she said, suddenly cheerful. She jumped up, taking plates to the kitchen with her.

"Be home by nine," The Reverend called out as she was half-way out the door.

"The meeting won't be over until nine," she protested. "The girls talked about maybe getting a milkshake afterward."

"Alright—ten—but no later!" conceded her father. He thought he might atone for his heavy-handedness before dinner.

"Thank you, I will!" she yelled, slamming the door behind her.

Several minutes later two teens strolled hand-in-hand down the Main Street of the Village. They stopped in front of the First Baptist Church.

"Becky, are you sure that we won't get caught?" the youth whispered.

"Stop whispering, Brad," she chided. "I told you. They had to lay off the night custodian to save money. Nothing is scheduled for tonight. Now just walk up the steps like you belong here and no one will notice."

They walked up the stone steps to the heavy front door. Becky took a key out of her jeans pocket and turned the lock.

"Where did you get the key?" the youth asked.

"I stole it from my father's desk this morning."

They slipped inside the heavy oak door and Becky locked it behind them. "We can't turn on any lights until we get downstairs." she warned. Brad stopped to look into the darkened sanctuary. "Not in there!" she scolded. "Follow me!"

The two descended the stairs to the basement, feeling their way in the darkness. They passed a number of doors in silence. Finally, Becky opened one and entered a room and turned on the lights.

"This is a room that brides use to get ready and wait until it's time to start the wedding." Becky explained. It was a comfortable room with carpeting and furniture. There was a dressing table with a mirror. Against the wall was a sofa.

"We can be alone in here," Becky smiled at her quarterback-boyfriend. "My father thinks that I'm at the Homecoming Committee meeting. I have to be home by ten."

Brad's face widened to a grin. "This is real nice. Why didn't you get us in here before?"

"I just found out where he keeps the spare key—and he made me so mad when I came home from school this afternoon."

"Time's wasting," The impatient young man interrupted her as he pulled her to the sofa.

Becky lay down; Brad was soon alongside her. They started with kissing. Soon Brad's hands began roaming over her body. Becky felt Brad's erection and his heavy breathing told her of his growing excitement. She enjoyed the effect that she could have on him. She hadn't yet learned the art of raising or lowering it to suit her. Before long, he had her bra unfastened, and his hands fondled her breasts under her tee shirt. It was the limit of his previously earned allowance.

"Becky, take your shirt off so that I can see you." Brad urged, nearly a plea. Becky hesitated. Somehow, the removal of clothing seemed like a big step. "I have to see you, you're so beautiful!" he urged.

His words had the desired effect. Before she could change her mind she quickly sat up, raising the tee shirt over her head and casting it aside. Brad slid the straps of the unfastened bra down her arms. She was bare to the waist. Her not-quite-full breasts draped from her soft shoulders like unripe fruit. Her pink nipples hardened. With her pretty face and golden hair above, she was lovely.

She searched his expression, longing desperately for approval. Brad reached out a hand and cupped one carefully. He let a thumb pass over the nipple. She let out a soft sigh at the pleasure.

"Oh, my God, Becky!" he gasped.

"Was it worth the wait?" she asked, expectantly. She didn't wait for a reply; she read it in his expression. "You, too!" she whispered, and began to lift his shirt. Brad grasped it and threw it off, exposing his athlete's musculature. Becky embraced him, feeling her breast crush against him, warm skin to warm skin. She pulled him back down atop her.

They went back to kissing. The touch of skin was new and inflaming. It was intimacy never before shared. It was an act of trust in her baring that part of her body which many say measures the desirability of a woman. She had done so and found approval in his touch, his desire for her. It was heady; it was pleasure.

She sank into the intimacy and only gradually felt his hand on her Mound of Venus, caressing her through her jeans. He had done it before, but this was so much better because of the bare skin warming one another. She felt him unbuttoning her jeans. She didn't stop him. It was something new that she allowed him. He drew down the zipper and slipped his hand under her panties.

He was clumsy, at first. "Gently." she softly admonished him. He did as instructed and made his way through the curls in her triangle of pubic hair. It felt much better. She felt his erected manhood pressing at her thigh. She knew that it was she who had made it do that. She considered touching it, but didn't yet have the courage. His fingers sank lower, into her folds. A new pleasure introduced itself to her. Brad was becoming more excited, too.

Splashes of pleasure washed over her. Soon it wasn't enough. The encasement of her jeans was frustrating the process. Becky raised her hips and struggled to reach a hand down to the waistband. Brad took the hint and helped her push the jeans down to her knees. His hands were freed to do their task more properly. He pushed in a finger where nothing had ever been, save her monthly tampons. At first it was strange, then so good. She rose her hips up more, stretching her mound outward, intensifying the sensation. Something was approaching in the distance. She couldn't understand it completely, but knew that it was good. As she writhed under him, Brad took his cues and learned what pleased her. As his fingers probed her, Becky felt wetness spread to the outer edges of her sex and it made his fingers slide in and out with even more ease.

She remembered her promises to him. She had told him it would be soon. He had been so patient, accepting little steps of progress. She recalled her anger at her father's mistrust. All of her friends had been enjoying this pleasure, and more, all through the summer.

"Do you still have that condom in your wallet?" she whispered.

Brad did not answer. He quickly disengaged from her and pulled his wallet from his hip pocket. In another second the blue foil packet was in his hands.

Becky sat up and pushed her jeans over her feet. The panties quickly followed. She didn't bother with the sneakers. Brad was nude before she was. His engorged penis pointed straight at her. A little clear fluid was leaking from the slit at the tip. It bounced a little as he stood there, panting in anticipation. It had not seemed as large or angry when she felt it pressing her thigh through his jeans or when they slow-danced at the after-game dance.

Brad fingered the foil packet with indelicate fingers. It wasn't as shiny and crisp-looking as when he had shown it to her as they lay in the grove of trees on that late-August afternoon. It was wrinkled and beaten up after weeks of rough traveling.

"Are you sure that thing is still OK?" she demanded.

"Sure! Sure, it is Becky. Look—touch it if you want to." He ripped the packet open, pulling out the white circle of latex. Becky did touch it. It felt greasy. She rubbed two fingers together.

"It's lubricated," he explained, demonstrating the expert knowledge that he perceived in himself. He placed the circle of latex over the head of his penis and tried to roll down the sleeve. He realized that he had started it backwards. He reversed the condom and rolled it all the way down.

"Turn out the light," she murmured. She searched for that approaching feeling that Brad's fingers had been bringing to her. She couldn't find it anymore. She only thought about the huge penis about to plunge into her, rammed home by the massive body of her boyfriend. The foil packet was less reassuring in its worn condition. She wondered if it would have been better if she had just let Brad's fingers continue to pleasure her and save this last step for another night.

She had promised him so many times. When she gave him a tie tack on his eighteenth birthday a few weeks earlier she had sensed his disappointment. Her friends were already far more experienced than she was. They were both nude, the condom was installed. If it wasn't going to be that night it would be soon, anyway. It was too late to stop.

"They say that it hurts a little the first time, Becky," Brad said softly to her as the light went out.

She had heard that, too. But, she knew Brad loved her and he would be gentle. As she felt him sink a knee onto the sofa cushion, she spread her legs apart to make a space for him. She raised her arms to embrace him. He climbed atop her, between her legs. She felt him probing with his penis at the juncture of her legs, not quite finding her opening.

"Would you kiss me first?" she pleaded as she took hold of the latex-covered shaft. It was the first time she ever touched him there. She expected a gentle, loving kiss, but he was hungry and impatient. She guided the shaft to her opening. He must have sensed the wetness and the yielding flesh. He immediately thrust forward. She felt herself break; the pain made her gasp. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. She felt his invasion deep inside her. She thought that he would split her in two. She was about to ask him to stay still for a minute, but he was already moving in and out inside her. As the jolt of sudden pain subsided she hoped to start feeling the good part. As she thought that she might feel it starting she felt him jerk. Another spasm followed and a few more of less intensity. She noticed that he was gasping. He rested on top of her, and he slowly calmed back to normal. He withdrew from her, leaving the condom behind, hanging from her opening. She felt it there and quickly pulled it out.

Brad stood up and turned on the lights. He immediately started putting on his clothes. Becky sat nude on the sofa, holding the condom in her fingers. It hung straight down, the receptacle heavy with Brad's semen.

Put this on the dressing table while I get dressed. We'll dispose of it in the bathroom on the way out." She handed it to him. Brad took it gingerly in his fingers, as though it was foreign to him. Becky quickly dressed.

When she was finished she glanced down at the sofa cushion where she had been laying. Her eyes widened in horror at the wet spot with the pinkish fluid in the center. There was no mistake as to what it was.

"Quick, give me those paper towels on the shelf." She ordered. She blotted at the spot as best she could.

"Don't worry. It will dry by morning." Brad tried to soothe her.

"It's blood. It will stain." she barked back. "It's right in the middle. Everyone will know what it is." She kept blotting, then rubbing. She ran down the hallway to the bathroom to wet one of the towels. She came back and rubbed some more. The spot widened, but she hoped that in time it would dry without a trace. She could not be sure.

"Help me turn the cushions over." she said, but before he could she already had done it.

"They'll never know." Brad reassured her.

Becky glanced around the room to make sure that all was in order. She wrapped the spent condom in the used paper towels and turned out the lights. They groped in the darkness until they reached the bathroom. Becky paused.

"I can't put in the toilet," she deducted. "What if it plugs it up? We'll get rid of it somewhere else."

The two inched their way up the dark stairway and felt their way to the heavy door. Soon they were out on the street, the door locked behind them. No one noticed them walking down the street. Becky felt sore as she walked. Her friends had told her about that, too.

"Don't you ever leave that thing inside me again!" she scolded. "You better hope that none of it leaked out inside me."

"I'm sorry, Becky!" Brad apologized. "I don't think that any leaked out." He tried to sound sorry. Secretly he was congratulating himself. In her scolding was a tacit promise of a 'next time'."

"We've got to get rid of this stuff," she said, referring to the wad of paper towels and the condom. There was an iron grate in the street for the storm sewer at the corner. She glanced around to be sure that no one was watching, and then squatted down and dropped the evidence in with the litter and refuse below.

If they started for home right away they would be just on time for her curfew. They turned in the direction of Becky's house.

Brad reached down and found her hand as they walked. He glanced over to her, expecting to find her smiling, as he was.

"Hey, Becky! You're not crying, are you?"

"No." she replied. "Something blew into my eye. I'll be alright."

******************

It was a rainy next morning. Becky had just left for school. The Reverend Chandler thought that she looked subdued and tired. He wondered if he had made a mistake in extending Becky's curfew. She obviously needed more sleep.

The Reverend had much on his mind. His daughter was only one item on his list. He had to start writing his Sunday sermon. He had appointments to visit recalcitrant church members. He had to find out about this new Math teacher at the High School.

It was the second task that he hated the most. Jarrod Morris was so much better at it than he, but he couldn't press too hard because of his position as mayor. In any case, he knew that in many cases it was impossible to send in a pinch-hitter for him, regardless how smooth Jarrod might be. He laced God and Christian Fellowship into the conversation, but no one had a doubt that he was looking money. It felt like selling God.

It was necessary, though. If the church couldn't quite make it through the summer months, the utility bills of a heavy winter would break them. As humiliating as it was to drive over the countryside 'selling God', closing the church would be worse. He wondered how the other churches in town made ends meet. If only he could find a scandal, like Howard Jones suggested. He wondered how large a scandal would be required.

He picked up the newspaper and took a look at the movie listings at the local theater. More times than not, they provided ready targets for a sermon filled with the promise of hell. He made a few notes. He saw one news article that appeared promising. The Episcopalians were ordaining a lesbian bishop somewhere in New England. He wondered if he could somehow equate Episcopalians with Presbyterians. He was certain that he was losing attendance to the Presbyterians.

He thought that he would get the math teacher business over with before he turned to his sermon. He flipped through his rolodex to find the number for Homer Briggs, School Board Member and congregation member.

Chandler: Hello, Homer. It was good to see you in the congregation on Sunday.

Briggs: That was quite a sermon, Ethan.

Chandler: Some things have to be said, and it's up to me to say them, Homer!

Briggs: Ethan, I got that fund raising letter. I'll send you a check at the end of the week to make up my tithe.

Chandler: That's good, Homer. I'm sure that you will. That's not why I called you. I need something else from you.

Briggs: Of course, Ethan.

Chandler: There's a new teacher in the High School—an outsider, a Mr. O'Toole—what can you tell me about him?

Briggs: O'Toole? Oh, yes, Nathan hired him for the Math Department. He sets a lot of store by him. He hired him away from that Catholic Boys' High School in Rochester.

Chandler: What the ...

Briggs: Now, Ethan. I know how you feel about this, but Nathan says that this fella has a lot of ability. Nathan's just trying to improve the Math Department, now that Ben retired.

Chandler: For God's sake, he's my daughter's tutor!

Briggs: Well, she probably has the best tutor available, Ethan.

Chandler: She came home late from school. She said that she was with him.

Briggs: I'm sure that there is nothing to worry about, O'Toole being an ex-priest and all.

Chandler: Ex-priest! I can't believe it! Nathan hired a defrocked priest?

Briggs: Ethan, I said ex-priest...

Chandler: What's the difference? What did he do? Why is he here?

Briggs: I'm sure that Nathan checked all that very...

Chandler: How can you be so sure?

Briggs: Because I know Nathan!

Chandler: How do we know that he's not one of those pedophiles? Don't you read the papers? You never know. Usually, it comes out decades later.

Briggs: Ethan, there's no evidence...

Chandler: That's not good enough! I'll find out for myself. The Reverend slammed down the phone and pondered his next move.

"A defrocked priest!" he mumbled to himself. "This is too much!" The Presbyterians irked him by stealing his congregation away with all their 'happy talk', but he hated Catholics. He despised their gold chalices and secret languages, kneeling before statues and the Pope in Rome.

He mulled over what he would do about this offence. It had to come out into the open. Then his flock would realize how much they needed him, and his church. They had strayed. This would bring them back! It was what the majesty of the pulpit was designed for, and no one knew how to use it like he did.

*********

It was lunchtime. James was walked into the Teachers' Lounge carrying a tray with a sandwich plate and a cup of coffee. He set the tray on his desk and went to the mail slots to check for messages.

There were several notices. One was to recruit chaperones for the Ski Club. Another had to do with options for the Employee Savings Plan. He tossed both in the waste basket. The third was a note from Abby.