Senior Year Memories Ch 16

(Usual Disclaimer Time: Even though this story almost entirely takes place in a high school setting, all the characters in this story are 18 years old or older, and since we're living in the wide wonderful world of porno-land here, where clichés roam free and things might get a little unrealistic from time to time, please remember it's all in good fun, I swear.)

(Author's Note: After considering the reviews of the previous chapter, I was offered some solid criticisms about the pacing and characterization of the last few chapters, and while I may not agree with every detail of every criticism, they made good points on topics I was already becoming aware of. In an effort to address them, I am speeding up a couple storylines and putting three chapters of intended story material into these next two chapters. I want to thank everyone for this feedback, as it keeps me honest as an author and helps me address potential problems that I've been vaguely aware of without addressing. Because of these changes, I will apologize in advance for the slower start to this chapter, but as ever, I will try to end with a bang. As well, I would like to again thank MisterWildCard for acting as a second set of eyes on this chapter and for his honest editing and fantastic suggestions. As always, if you're enjoying this, please, please, please drop some stars, reviews or shoot me some feedback. Though I may not always respond, I do love hearing from all of you and seeing that you're enjoying the series. It keeps me going and motivates me to continue writing more. You've all been wonderful and I can't thank you enough for all of your kind words and encouragement and yes, even the criticisms!)

Previously, on Senior Year Memories: While researching the identity of the mystery girl he had sex with on Halloween, Sam, with the help of his best friend Tori's older sister, Rachel McNeil, 18-year-old nerd Ryan Collins was given a tip that Sam might be in some way related to the school's marching band. Following this lead, he went to the band geek friend of his goth lover Josie Wong, Hope Harris, for answers. Hope revealed that she was interested in a more intimate (and kinky) encounter with Ryan before she'd give up an answer, and while intrigued, Ryan was unable to follow through on this after being intercepted by library aide Marie Halpern. Taken to the library to meet with the librarian, Mrs. Claire Sullivan, Ryan was first worried that he was in trouble for having sex with Josie in the library earlier in the week. Instead of being in trouble, Mrs. Sullivan engaged Ryan's aid in helping Marie embrace her inner slut, engaging in a rather informative and intense threesome. Though a temporary delay, Ryan still remains devoted to finding out Sam's identity, even if a vague text from Kaitlyn threatens further delays...

***

Someone once told me that the more things change, the more they stay the same. While my studies of history have taught me there's a certain truth to that on a long enough timeline, in the small scale I've found that the more things change, the more they tend to keep changing. This year had been nothing but change for me, and it wasn't showing any sign of letting up. For all the change that was good, I was grateful. I could've done without the bad changes, but aside from the ones that were my own damn fault, the bad came with the territory.

And then there were the changes that were neither bad nor good, but were changes I had to account for anyway, like the moving trucks next door when I got home.

It'd been another long day at school made longer by spending an hour at the Puma Press offices after class so I could get some serious work in on an article. Neither of the two people I wanted to talk to, Tori McNeil or Hope Harris, were in the office like I'd hoped, and though that was frustrating, I was weirdly grateful for it in its own way too. While I wanted to talk to Tori to see if she was ready to talk about the new girl she'd been secretly-but-not-exactly-secretly dating and Hope to make good on her promise of kinky sex and the possibility that she might have information on the identity of my Halloween mystery girl, Sam, having a day where I could just focus on my schoolwork and get ahead in areas that I'd been neglecting lately was welcome.

I even thought this might happen without a hitch when my phone vibrated.

Hope: You never got around to asking your question.

Focusing on my article, I pinched the bridge of my nose, uncertain that this was something I wanted to engage in now. Hope was flirty and loved to talk dirty, and if this kept going it could probably lead to some crazy places. While I would've loved to explore some crazy places with Hope, today was not that day.

Me: Sorry. Something came up at the library.

Hope: Don't worry about it; band practice has been riding my ass lately.

Hope: Rather have something else riding my ass if you catch my drift, but I can't help that I'm music's bitch sometimes.

Hope: Anyway, while I'd love to have you tie me down and have you pleasurably torture the answers you need out of me, I don't know what my schedule's gonna be like for a while, so if you got something to ask, ask it.

Me: Thanks.

Me: Met a girl on Halloween, didn't get a name or face since she was in costume, pretty sure she was in marching band, wonder if you could help me out.

Hope: And by "met" you mean "fucked her silly," right?

Me:...

Me: Yes.

Hope: Got a picture of her?

I looked for one of the more dressed pictures of Sam and forwarded it to Hope. It was a long time before she responded, and when she did, the answer was short.

Hope: I'll get back to you.

I could've pressed her, maybe even should've, but a moment of peace to finish my article was too tempting, so I jumped on it. I got my article in, a damn fine one at that if I'm going to boast, but when I was done I was ready to be done for the day. I was good to get in pajamas, lock myself in and play some games, maybe even watch a movie, or even spend some time with Dad if he was actually in.

Having to emotionally process the moving trucks in the Martinez's driveway wasn't exactly something I'd anticipated.

Though I considered just riding up to my house, I took a detour down their driveway. I saw the 60-something Daniel Martinez guiding some of his older, twenty-something sons and a few moving men they'd hired on what furniture went where in one of their trucks. A fat, jovial man with a white beard that would've rivaled Santa Claus, Mr. Martinez didn't do much work himself (likely blaming it on his diabetes, or bad knees, or bad back, or one of the many ailments he'd blame for such things that weren't nearly that bad), instead balancing on his cane and acting like a very cheery general.

"Hey, Mr. Martinez," I said.

"Hey, Ryan! Cómo estás?" he asked. Back when I was little and Mr. and Mrs. Martinez used to babysit me all the time, they and some of their younger kids tried teaching me Spanish. It didn't really take then, though I'd been making up for it since in high school. I wasn't one of Sra. Lopez's best students by a long shot (though with the view down her shirt she sometimes gave, I was fond of trying to impress her sometimes), but I did okay. Whenever he saw me, Mr. Martinez liked to throw softball Spanish my way teasingly.

"I'm fine, but... how are you guys?" I said, looking at the moving.

"Getting old's the short answer," Mr. Martinez admitted. "Judy needs a new hip and I need to realize I ain't young like I used to be. So, Judy and me are selling the old place and moving in with my son Diego down in Santa Barbara. Nice weather, and I get to be close to most of my grandkids."

"Wow," I said, the thought of the Martinezes moving bittersweet. We were never really close, but they were family in a weird way. More than that, they were one of the few constants I'd had in Regan Hills for the better portion of my life since Mom died.

"What, I thought you'd have been glad to be rid of a bunch of old farts," Mr. Martinez said, then waving with his cane and barking, "I told you, Juan, those boxes go in the other truck with the rest of the shit! This truck's for the nice stuff!"

"What nice stuff?" Juan shot back.

Mr. Martinez laughed. "Smartass kids. Gotta love 'em."

"I'm happy if you guys are gonna be closer to family, it's just..." I trailed off.

Mr. Martinez put one of his strong, callused hands on my shoulder and squeezed. "I know what it's just, kiddo. Gonna miss this town too. Especially you and your old man. He even around these days? It's almost like he don't exist."

"He exists, he just has a way of avoiding the plot," I explained.

Mr. Martinez nodded, knowingly. "Well, if he finds a way of popping in and staying in, we're not moved out fully yet. Gonna have a barbeque first week of December to kick off the move south, and you guys got an invite. For all the noise we're gonna make, there's no way we're not inviting you."

He made a fair point. He was also a damn good cook. "I'll tell Dad, but if he can't make it, I definitely am."

Mr. Martinez laughed and clapped me on the back. "That's what I like to hear!"

Curious, I asked, "You guys sell the place yet?"

"Yeah. Escrow people are still workin' out all the paperwork and inspections and the like, but it's basically a done deal. Got a great offer from a single mom with a teen daughter, maybe something for both you and your old man to keep an eye out for, right? Finally get you to bust that cherry of yours?" Mr. Martinez teased.

My love life, or lack thereof until recently, had always been one of Mr. Martinez's favorite ways of ribbing me. No doubt he'd try to set me up with one of his granddaughters or grandnieces at the barbeque as a way of messing with me. He'd done it before, and I usually stuttered and stumbled and didn't do shit about it, but I was in a better place these days, so who knew?

"I'll get right on that," I said, looking at the furniture being moved. "You need any help?"

I was tired enough that I honestly hoped he would say no, and thank god he was something of a mind reader. "Naw, me and my boys and the boys from the Home Depot got it, just so long as- FOR FUCK'S SAKE, JUAN, I WROTE SHIT ON THE BOXES THAT'RE SHIT, IT'S NOT THAT HARD!"

Slowly, I wheeled my bike away. "I'll go get to my homework then."

"Do that, kiddo. And don't forget the barbeque!" he called out.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I replied, walking back home.

The Martinezes were leaving. The Martinezes were leaving, Kyle Bowman was banished, and I suddenly had a lot of friends and all the sex I could've dreamed of and then some.

I wondered what else the year had in store.

***

When I was wondering what else the year had in store, finding Kaitlyn Pruitt lying down on my bed and reading my battered copy of Watchmen wasn't exactly what I had in mind. On her stomach and facing away from me, I was given a perfect view of her luscious body, her beautiful round ass, her long, lithe legs, even the slightest swell of her DD-cup tits pillowing out underneath her. She was dressed in her Regan Hills High Pumas cheerleading outfit, a tight, white, long-sleeved top, a short, blue skirt, and knee-high white socks, her long, silky black hair tied back in a ponytail. From the angle I approached, her skirt was hiked high enough that I could see her matching blue panties. She must have come here directly after practice, but you couldn't tell that for how pristine she looked.

Tired as I was, it was a look that inspired activity in my pants.

"Lotta blue dick in this book," she said.

"That's not exactly the point," I said, dropping my backpack by the doorway and walking slowly to the bed. "Also, how the hell did you get in here?"

"Your hide-a-key isn't as well hidden as you think," she said. Kaitlyn closed Watchmen and put it on the shelf above my bed, sitting up and facing me. Her resting bitch face and sneer had softened considerably since we'd started having sex, though there were still traces on her beautiful, slightly tanned face. Rather than the turnoff they might've once been, now I thought they made her even hotter.

"I should really fix that," I said.

"Why? You don't like surprises?" Kaitlyn asked.

Thinking of the surprises that had held the better portion of November so far, I said, "Some of them. Not that this is really a surprise, is it?"

"No," Kaitlyn said.

I'd received a message from Kaitlyn the day before saying she wanted to talk. At the time I took that as her wanting sex, which after my afternoon in the library fucking the librarian, Mrs. Sullivan, and her aide Marie into oblivion just sounded exhausting. I'd texted her back saying we could talk today, and in my infinite wisdom I chose this day as my catch-up day, meaning I'd forgotten entirely until I saw her there on my bed.

"So..." I said, sitting beside her on the bed. "...you wanted to talk?"

"Yes," Kaitlyn said.

"Like actually talk, or 'talk,'" I said, not sure which I preferred at the moment.

"Is it really so crazy that I'd actually want to talk with my clothes on?" Kaitlyn asked.

"No, but with us it's just, you know, a little unexpected," I said.

Kaitlyn sighed. "So..."

"So?" I asked.

She sighed again. "Look, this isn't easy saying what I gotta say-"

"Never thought I'd catch you at a loss for words," I interrupted.

"Oh, fuck off," she said, standing up, frustrated and running a hand through her hair. "This is all your fucking fault anyway."

"What is?" I asked.

"These... standards, I'm developing. They suck," Kaitlyn admitted with the severity of someone who was admitting to a long hidden crime.

"Standards?" I asked, amused at how she said it like a dirty word.

"Don't remind me," Kaitlyn said, sitting back down next to me. "I'm a slut. A proud slut. You know it, I know it, everybody knows it, this isn't news. All it used to take in a guy was a nice smile and a tight ass (or at least a six pack) and I'd fuck him. I'd tally them up just like they'd tally me up, but I always knew I'd held the high ground because I had more marks and fucked more cheerleaders than any guy in school could ever dream. But then I met you. Again. Because we'd met before."

"Obviously."

"We started fucking, and at first I was just loving it because I loved your cock and how good you were with your mouth and because Brooke really likes you, and... and I thought it was just that. I didn't think I was actually getting to like you," Kaitlyn admitted.

"Like me?" I said, flattered and confused and scared in equal measures. "Like, 'like me' like me, or-"

"No, no, not like that," Kaitlyn interrupted, shaking her head softly. "Not that you wouldn't probably make good boyfriend material with some work, but you know me, I know you, we're not really relationship people right now."

I wanted to tell her that she was wrong about this, that if a relationship opportunity came along that I'd drop everything for that, but I couldn't do that. Even though I'd risked some serious trouble lately, I was having too much fun. While I'd have loved the possibility of exploring a serious future with Tori or Josie, I wasn't there yet, not when Regan Hills High offered so many possibilities that I had yet to explore.

"But... it hasn't been as easy to be a slut like I like since you and me have been spending so much time together," Kaitlyn said.

"Really?" I asked.

"Really," Kaitlyn grumbled, frustrated. "I've been seeing the problems for a while now, but a few nights back I was with Aaron Cooper from the basketball team. Him and I had fooled around some before, I'd blown him a few times, let him fingerbang me once. I'd been feeling him out, and he was looking like a good possibility for fucking around with since he had a nice cock, but when I finally decided to go through with it, I couldn't."

Kaitlyn not being able to have sex with a guy sounded like a fish trying to live without water. "What happened?"

"He was boring, he was dumb, and he couldn't talk about much other than basketball or how basketball was taking him to college before he went pro, even though he couldn't go pro if his life depended on it. A while ago shit like that wouldn't have bothered me, but since you and me have been spending so much time together, since we've been talking and really getting to know each other, it's just... ugh, I need to be with a guy I can talk with, and that's seriously cutting down on the pool of fuckable guys in school."

"Should I be saying sorry?" I asked.

"Probably," Kaitlyn said. "Probably not. I dunno. I still love fucking, but now that you've kind of tricked me into having standards-"

"Hey, I never tricked you into anything!" I interjected.

Kaitlyn shrugged. "You say to-ma-to, I say you tricked me into having standards."

"That's-"

"Look, I just needed someone to talk to about it, okay? I'm going through a fucking identity crisis here, and I really want to sort it out," Kaitlyn said.

My heart went out to her, but if she was looking to me for answers, she was searching in the wrong place.

"So, you came to me because we have sex and talk, and because you're used to just having sex with guys without much talk, you're suddenly bored by them?" I asked.

"Yeah," Kaitlyn said.

"And you think I've got some magical answer to all this?" I asked.

"No, but I was hoping... fuck, I don't know," Kaitlyn said.

"I'm sorry that you're stressed, but I'm not sorry that I've raised your standards. I find it kinda cool, actually. I didn't know I counted as higher standards," I said.

Kaitlyn rolled her eyes, crossing her arms under her breasts petulantly. "You're not helping."

"I'm sorry," I said. "But look at it this way. If you're with a better class of guy, maybe you'll get a better class of sex out of it. All those guys you were with before who bore the crap out of you now, they can't all have been that great, right?"

"Some of them were, but..." Kaitlyn trailed off.

"Explore this new side of yourself. Enjoy the fruits of higher standards. Be picky. Have fun!" I said. I shook my head softly when realizing how much like Rachel doling out advice I sounded; that was far from intentional.

Kaitlyn looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her face. "I fucking hate it when you make sense."

She looked so good, I couldn't help but lean in and kiss her. "Do you really?"

"Yes," she said, a little breathy, a little taken off guard. I kissed her again, her soft lips melting against mine as we drew this one out, slower and softer.

"Still?" I proposed as our lips parted, our foreheads resting against one another.

Kaitlyn laughed, smiled even. "You'd be amazed how long I can hold onto a petty grudge."

"I'd believe that," I said, my hand sliding between her thighs. Moaning softly in anticipation, she parted them for me, letting my exploring fingers find her secret warmth. I rubbed my fingers around her panty-clad pussy, enjoying the soft sounds of pleasure she made as she held me close.

"Let's be honest about a couple things," Kaitlyn moaned. "First, I like what you're doing. Second, you and I both know that while I like what you're doing, I'd love something entirely different."

Knowing exactly what she meant, I kissed her one more time before dropping to my knees on the floor, sliding between her legs. Full of need, Kaitlyn slipped her panties off, spreading her legs and pulling up her cheerleading skirt so I could get a good view of her pussy.

I smiled. "I'd have thought you'd be a little more turned on."

Kaitlyn blushed. "I really did come here to talk, I wasn't expecting- FUCK!"

I didn't set out to cut her off by planting my mouth on her pussy and sucking, but once the idea came to me it was too tempting. When it came to all things sex, Kaitlyn was vocal and loud, aspects of her I absolutely loved.