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Pickles recognized the sex ed teacher. She was a regular at his family's church: an upstanding Catholic with an annoyingly cheerful demeanour. Always dressed in modest blouses and skirts, never with a hair out of place. She'd married young to a bland, white-collar husband and gave birth to three well-behaved, overachieving kids.
It was the kind of family that his mother was jealous of, using them as the gold standard to which she could compare her own dysfunctional family. Bonnie Hooper's husband spends time with his children. Bonnie Hooper's son is going to be valedictorian. Bonnie Hooper's other son didn't start drinking at age six. Bonnie Hooper's daughter didn't chop all her hair off and start dressing like a boy.
No, Bonnie Hooper's daughter wasn't like him. But oh, did Bonnie Hooper's daughter like him.
She'd been the first to insist that the Tomahawk High Girls' Basketball Team instead be called the "Tomahawk High Girls' (and Pickles) Basketball Team". She had defended his right to wear the boys' uniform. She helped him with his homework in exchange for drum lessons, and was genuinely interested in his favourite metal CDs. And when he caught her writing Allie + Pickles in her notebook, he had the honour of becoming her first kiss.
She sat in front of him, and he watched her slump further and further into her seat as her mother prattled on about saving yourself for marriage and how masturbation is a sin. He couldn't blame her. If it was his mom up there, he'd probably just kill himself.
"Now, what can premarital sex lead to?"
Inspired, Pickles opened his notebook and tore out a blank page. He scribbled down orgasms, folded it up, and, when he was sure no one was looking, poked Allie with his pencil. She reached back and he discreetly slipped the note into her waiting palm.
She snickered under her breath and Pickles grinned. She passed the note back.
Ever had one?
Loads of times. You?
She glanced back at him before giving him her answer.
Not yet.
Never one to hold back, Pickles wrote: Maybe I can be your first.
Their fingers brushed as he handed her the note. He wished he could see her face as she read it.
Allie wrote something and began to refold the paper. Suddenly, she hesitated. She quickly unfolded the note and erased it, scribbling something else its place. She did this twice more before finally folding up the note and passing it back to Pickles.
In tiny letters, it read: Meet me in the bathroom.
Allie went first. Being a model student, her mother allowed her to go. Pickles glanced at the clock, willing himself to stay for five more minutes of mind-numbing religious bullshit before raising his hand.
"Hey, Mrs. Hooper? I gotta go to the bathroom."
Mrs. Hooper shook her head, smiling in tight, condescending way. "Not until Allie comes back, dear."
"C'mon, dude," Pickles said, putting on a pleading face. "I'm pretty sure I just started my period and I really don't wanna bleed through my pants."
She let him leave.
Allie was waiting for him in the disabled stall. He took a quick peek beneath the other stalls to make sure they were alone, then joined her.
"Hi," Allie said shyly.
"Hey." Pickles smiled, hands finding her waist. "C'mere. We'll go slow."
"Okay."
She wrapped her arms around his neck and he kissed her, rubbing the small of her back. He nibbled her lip—a favourite of hers—and she pressed her body closer to his. Tentatively, she began to grind against him, and he angled his thigh so that she could get more friction.
"Oh, that's..." Allie breathed. "I like that."
"Right?" Pickles said. He could already feel a throbbing between his legs, one that Allie clearly felt too. "You can go harder if you want."
Confidence regained, Allie practically began humping his leg, quiet moans escaping her parted lips. Pickles matched her pace, grinding his thigh into her. He leaned in to kiss her again and was met by her tongue, which he welcomed readily into his mouth.
"Have you done this before?" Allie asked between kisses.
"Made out with people?"
"No, I mean have you ever had sex before?"
"Oh," Pickles said. "No. I just jack off a lot."
She laughed at that. "You're pretty good for someone who's never done it."
"Bet I can do better if you let me eat you out."
Allie drew away from him, and Pickles mentally smacked himself for blowing his chance. Then she pulled down her sweatpants and panties. With a smirk on her face, she thrust her hips toward him.
"Prove it."
Pickles dropped to his knees and grabbed hold of her thighs. "Don't mind if I do."
Of course, he'd never actually eaten pussy before; it wasn't exactly something he could practice on himself. But he was sure that he could figure it out.
He gave an experimental swipe of his tongue along her slit. She was already wet, the taste sharp and musky, and he decided that he liked it. He gave her cunt another lick, ending with a kiss to her clit.
Allie covered her mouth with her hands, letting out a muffled whine. Encouraged, Pickles slipped the tip of his tongue into her entrance.
"Fuck," Allie breathed. "Keep going. Please."
Pickles obeyed, his tongue exploring her depths as far as he could reach. His own sex burned with need and he palmed himself through his jeans. He groaned into her pussy, making her squirm, and she bucked her hips so that his nose rubbed against her clit. She moaned at the sensation and Pickles began to unbutton his pants.
He suddenly felt a hand in his hair. Allie's fist closed around a swath of choppy red locks and she tentatively pulled him upward until his lips brushed against her swollen bud.
"Could you...?"
Pickles nodded. He took her clit into his mouth and gently sucked on it. Allie let out another breathy curse, her grip in his hair tightening. He slipped his hand into his pants, fingers finding his own bud. He rubbed it with vigorous circles as he rolled his tongue around Allie, eliciting a low moan from her as she pushed his face further between her legs.
He could already feel his climax building, heat pooling in his core as he practically humped against his hand. Allie writhed against him as he flicked his tongue on her clit, sucking her with greater force. He looked up at her, relishing the sight of her blushing face, with her eyes screwed shut and a hand clamped over her mouth to muffle moans and curses.
She cried out as she came, and the sound sent Pickles over the edge. The two shuddered as they rode out their orgasms, Pickles still mouthing Allie's clit while he jerked himself off, Allie's fingers clawing at his scalp until her cry trailed off into panting.
She gently pushed his head away and Pickles sat back, withdrawing his hand from his jeans and buttoning them back up.
"How was that?" he wheezed.
Allie laughed, a satisfied smile playing at her lips. "Fucking amazing, dude."
"Awesome," Pickles replied, trying and failing to catch his breath. His chest felt a little tight, and he realized that he might have exerted himself a little too hard.
"You okay?" Allie asked. She laughed again when she realized what was happening. "Christ, Pickles, way to ruin the mood."
"I'm sorry," Pickles said, half-laughing and half-coughing. He grabbed his inhaler from his pocket and shook it, taking a few puffs.
"You're so cute," she said, pulling her pants back up. "We should probably get back to class before my mom gets suspicious."
"Aw—don't talk about your mom after we just fucked."
"Sorry." Allie offered her hand and pulled Pickles to his feet.
Pickles kissed her. "It's all good, dude."
After a thorough hand washing (since Allie insisted that Pickles' hands smelled like pussy) and a thorough mouth-rinsing (since she insisted his breath also smelled like pussy), they finally headed back to class. Mrs. Hooper's lecture was almost over by the time they returned, saving Allie from embarrassment and Pickles from boredom.
But they were lucky enough to catch her rant about teenage promiscuity.