(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. This story is highly serialized, and though it’s not 100% necessary to have read the whole story up until this point to enjoy the content of the chapter, it’s definitely advisable to understand some of the ongoing plots.)
(Author’s Note: Thank you one and all for your patience and comments regarding the New Year’s Eve orgy chapters. As has happened once or twice before, it expanded well beyond what I initially intended and may not have become everyone’s cup of tea because of this. Going forward, I’m planning on bringing this series more back to the roots of what it typically is, with fun encounters encompassing a broad, overarching narrative of various story arcs. I hope you enjoy!)
Previously, on Senior Year Memories: After a long, hard Christmas season, 18-year-old Ryan Collins had the chance to spend some of his winter break relaxing before being invited to a New Year’s Eve party by some of his cheerleader friends, which, since this is that kind of story, can only mean an orgy with a dozen sexy cheerleaders. Though much fun was had, particularly with trashy blonde cheerleader Gwen Savage, as well as an evening spent in a pile with all twelve girls, by the New Year Ryan was ready to go home and get some serious rest, but not before finally meeting and chatting with his mysterious new neighbor, Alice Talbot.
***
Sleep.
Beautiful sleep.
Resting, recharging, sleep.
This is how I spent most of New Year’s Day. And the next day. There were only a few days left of winter break before I had to go back to school, but you wouldn’t know that for how little I was doing. I’d wake sometimes to go to the bathroom, to eat, or to text with Josie and see how her vacation was going, but other than that... my days were sleep. When I couldn’t sleep, I’d put on a movie for a while and wait for the tiredness to kick in, then I’d sleep in front of the movie.
All in all, I was happy.
Memories of what happened during the couple days of that insane New Year’s Eve orgy danced before my eyes whether consciousness held me or not. Good memories. Obscene memories. The kinds of memories I’d have never hoped for before and now were mine.
My body, on the other hand, was another story. When I wasn’t exhausted, I was sore from all the marathon sex, with limbs that felt like they weighed hundreds of pounds. It felt like my mouth would forever taste like pussy. It was a good taste, but I was ready to get back to my normal life.
Well, my new normal life, anyway.
December had been a madhouse of my own making, but without anything to my knowledge on the horizon, January looked like it would be a little cleaner. Sure, I’d get back to school and tutoring and the newspaper and Josie soon, but it would be the kind of life I knew and enjoyed and could make the best of.
Well, that wasn’t only it, was it? No, there was a complication I’d hoped not to think about, but when you’re doing nothing you’ve got little to do but think, and it was impossible to ignore.
A complication in the shape of a tiny blonde spitfire named Brooke King. We’d spent a lot of time together during the party, a lot of good time, and without question I’d call her one of my best friends. There was a moment toward the end, though, when we kissed that something felt different. Now, Brooke and me kissing, that happened all the time, but this time... I felt something intense. Something more than just our usual friendly, casual sex kissing. If I weren’t with Josie, this wouldn’t be an issue, but I was, so, I was conflicted. Confused.
I tried not to focus on it. I wanted to keep this for school, when I could actually talk with all the people involved.
Yeah. School would make this all better.
The first day after the orgy was hell. The second was better. The morning of the third, with only a couple days left before school started again and some motivation to take advantage of this free time growing, I felt like being up and about was a possibility. Maybe not one to get really frisky during, but I could spend more of my time awake than asleep and get caught up on the pile of texts I had to respond to that weren’t from Josie.
Life was getting back on track, a little at a time.
Pulling on a t-shirt and jeans after I got out of bed, I opened the curtains and looked outside. Sitting in the bedroom window of the house next door was a whiteboard with a simple message written on it. The person who usually wrote those messages was nowhere to be seen, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to be in touch.
‘REMEMBER YOUR PROMISE?’
Below it was a phone number.
I thought about the message, then felt the phone in my pocket. I was still tired, nowhere near what I liked to think of as my “fighting shape”, but I had made something like a promise that she said she’d hold me to.
My phone was in my hand. I tapped it, uncertain of whether or not today was the day I tried to make the proper acquaintance of the girl next door.
“Fuck it,” I said, programming her number into my phone and sending a text.
I was long overdue to really meet Alice Talbot.
***
The last time we’d spoken, Alice said she wanted to visit a local mall, and if she wanted a mall, a mall she was going to get. The nearest one was in Blair Valley, our high school’s dreaded football rivals (for whatever that meant), and it wasn’t much of a mall. Only about half of the stores were open, the remainders closed or out of business after the Christmas season. It was decorated with a number of Christmas decorations I’d charitably call tacky, the background music was only on about half the time, and most of the halls were filled with temporary little kiosks with pushy salesmen that looked like they were ready to pack up and run the moment a cop showed up.
In its favor, it had a nice food court and a good, not that expensive chain movie theater.
If the Blair Valley Shopping Center was a mixed bag, though, 18-year-old Alice Talbot was anything but.
“You were right; this truly is *most* of a mall,” Alice said, smiling prettily in spite of her less than thrilled assessment of our nearest mall. She looked stylish and relaxed, a stark contrast to the gaudy mediocrity of the Blair Valley Shopping Center. She wore a flowing green skirt in a medieval print that hid what I knew to be nice, long legs, a tight-but-not-too-tight t-shirt for a band I’d never heard of, a stylish jacket and boots that boosted her height a couple inches, enough that we could meet eye to eye. Combined with her flawless dark skin, big, beautiful brown eyes, brilliant smile and impressive dark curls she held in a loose afro, and she looked like a model.
And since the Blair Valley Shopping Center was hardly used to seeing models, she managed to turn a few heads.
“I tried to warn you,” I said.
“You did, but I’m curious, and it’s one thing to take another person’s word for something and another to experience it for yourself,” she said, her faint accent somewhat intoxicating to me.
That’s probably why I asked, “So... can I ask you a question?”
“You can ask. Whether you get an answer, well that’s up to the question, isn’t it?” Alice returned.
“Okay... well, I’m having a hard time placing your accent...” I said.
“Ah. *That*. Does it make me truly stand out here?” she asked.
“Not really, but it’s unique, so-”
“My parents both worked in international law, so there was a lot of moving around. When I was three we moved to Australia, and didn’t move away until I was twelve. We’ve been bouncing around stateside since then, until they divorced, which is what brought us here. We’ve moved, but the accent has lingered,” she explained, her smile holding back some bitterness I couldn’t place.
“I’m... sorry?” I said.
She shook her head. “No. You’re not. Don’t be sorry. Dad was being a real prig at the end. To Mum. To me. The divorce was for the best. And Mum was getting tired of international law anyway, she found a nice job with a firm nearby, and we’ve got our suburbs, so... you know, ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on.”
“Always,” I responded. I didn’t need to explain to her my own adventures living with an oft-absentee single parent after my own mother died, or the misadventures I’d had this year, since I’d already told her a fair few of these tales through our days upon days of communicating through notes exchanged in the window. Not all of the juicy details, I didn’t want to scare off a potential friend that badly, but enough. She knew well enough what I did with my free time that we just kept it a matter of playful taunting and teasing.
“So... is there anything exciting to do around here, other than your usual extracurricular activities, or is that truly it?” she asked.
