Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/SEX/ADULTSHARE/B/BLKMAIL.TXT/__headers__.txt

Text File | 1994-07-16 | 3.8 KB | 77 lines

Archive-name: blackmail

                   I-I  Blackmailing the Queen  I-I



[Chapter 1 - Ann Ascends the Mountain]

Ann Macafee was one of those girls you dream about but never get.

She hung around with the "in" crowd, which was a mixture of atheletes,
college-preps, and the stars of the drama club.  You could see them at
every lunch hour, all clustered around the big live-oak in the central
quad, an invisible barrier of distain for all non-members seperating
them from the general rabble.  We all hated them.  We all wanted to be
them.  They were the elite that just naturally floats to the top of
every high school.

Ann Macafee was their Queen.  She was the female lead of nearly every
play the school put on.  She dated the star of the football team (I
know, that sounds corny, but it was true) and hung around with the
kids-who-are-rich-and-will-be-richer.  Her family lived in the
foothills in a house that was just this side of an estate.  She had it
all, and she was beautiful.

Her beauty had that casual, effortless look.  Her short brown hair,
fine and fresh, framed a face that was almost a perfect match to that
girl whose father owns the hotel in Twin Peaks (I say that now, though
of course back then there was no Twin Peaks).  Her body, always clothed
in expensive wools and tweeds, was perfectly proportioned.  Her firm
high breasts looked like the models by which all other breasts are
designed.  Her round, tight ass gave only slightly when she perched on
a chair.  She had straight, dainty posture, and perfectly manicured
hands.  She was, in every sense, a perfect little doll.  And she knew
it.

Some people can put you down without saying a word - by the way they
look at you, or avoid looking at you; or simply by the way they carry
themselves.  Ann was a perfect example.  She was better than us, she
seemed to say.  She would glide through the halls, aloof and apart, her
face a mask of calm seperateness, until she would spy another of the
elite circle and her expression would break into a smile of pure
warmth.

For most of my junior year I had suffered a devastating and quite
secret crush on Ann.  I was not a part of her life, of course.  I was
no nerd, but my friends were as I was, a part of the masses.  I was a
fairly good-looking young man, well built and handsome, or so I was
told by the girls I dated, but I did not posess that magic glamour that
permitted access to the higher circle.  Ann never looked at me, never
met my eyes.  We were lab partners in chemistry, and somehow she still
managed to avoid any kind of interaction.  The few times I tried to
make a joke or start a conversation, she withered me with total
disinterest.  It was horrible.

By my senior year I was pretty much over it, though.  I had enjoyed a
pretty successfull summer, sexually speaking, and this had boosted my
confidence to the point that I no longer needed an Ann Macafee.  Oh, I
still appreciated her lovely long legs on those days she wore a skirt,
and I still let my eyes roam her breasts when the weather was warm and
she wore thin silk blouses.  But my obsession was over.

I thought that she would never enter my world.  But everything changed
when I discovered that Ann led a secret life.

It was early in my senior year.  I had driven up to the top of Mt.
Ervin, which is a popular make-out spot for the highschoolers.  I was
working on a project for my photography class, and had gone up to Ervin
Park to take some long-exposure shots, showing the stars streaking
across the sky over time; a very common thing for amature photographers
to do.  I did not want to be seen near the parking lot with a camera,
since that was where the kids parked, and no one would be too happy if
they saw me bopping around with my Nikon.  I had taken a few girls there
myself, and I know I would have been pissed.