Saturday Night School Ch. 11

Nick helped them carry the equipment out to Charlie's car. Ronni sat down the two bags she was carrying and shook her head incredulously. "I gave her this thing so she wouldn't forget her stuff, and then she went and did it anyway." Charlie followed Ronni's gaze, and saw the blue bag sitting on top of the hood of his car.

He didn't bother to check to see if Michelle's red dress was in it; he knew it was. Michelle had left the bag there to send him a message, but what the message was, he didn't have a clue. He picked up the bag and put it in his trunk with the other equipment.

***

"Why did you give her that blue bag?" Charlie asked. He was at school, sitting at the main computer in the editing bay. The bell had just signaled that school was over, and he could hear students talking and laughing in the hallway.

"Who, Michelle?" Ronni asked from the seat behind him. "You know why I did it."

"I don't. Why did you give it to her?"

"To put her clothes in. So she wouldn't leave them behind."

Charlie scowled. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Why not?"

"Because. You knew what it would make her do. You knew she would undress. You put pressure on her to do it. She wasn't sure, but when you gave her that bag, she felt like she had to."

"I don't think so," Ronni said. "It was ultimately up to her. She chose to take her clothes off."

"It wasn't a good time for her to do it," Charlie muttered. "I didn't want her to do it. I told you that we broke up. You shouldn't have pressured her to strip. You and Nick. Not after she broke up with me."

"I thought you broke up with her."

"I did. I mean..." He frowned, trying to remember. Did he break up with Michelle or vice versa? Or had it been mutual? He couldn't remember the exact words of their conversation.

"She wanted you to be with me," Ronni said. "Remember?"

"She did?" Charlie couldn't remember. The memories slipped away from him like threads of oil in water. Did he break up with Michelle? Or did she break up with him? What did Ronni have to do with any of it?

"You think she's so exciting, don't you?" Ronni's voice had become low and sultry. "Because she gets naked for you. But I can get naked for you, too." Behind him, Charlie heard the sound of a zipper, the rustling of cloth. A moment later, Ronni's blue jeans dropped onto the table next to him.

"Ronni!" He kept his eyes on the screen. "What're you doing? You can't do that."

Another bundle of fabric dropped onto the blue jeans. Ronni's white t-shirt. "You like it when she does it," she whispered next to his ear. "Do you like it when I do it?"

"No! I mean... Ronni. This isn't a good place or time for this. Can't you hear the people in the hallway? Class just let out." A pair of panties landed on the top of his monitor. His heart was thundering in his chest. Did she have anything left to take off? Or was Ronni sitting completely naked behind him?

"I am," she whispered. "I'm naked. Just like Michelle. Isn't this how you want me?"

Her body pressed against his back and her arms slid around him. Her hands went down his front, towards his erection. Charlie noticed motion to his left; he looked over and saw that they weren't alone. A ring of students had gathered around them, watching them. Charlie knew he should stop Ronni, he should warn her, but he didn't. He let her put her hand between his legs, let her stroke his erection in front of everyone...

Charlie woke up as he climaxed. He was cumming in his pajamas again.

Five minutes later, he stood in the shower, washing himself off. His thoughts were troubled. Another wet dream, just a few days after the first one. What was happening to him? Why did his dreams have him lusting after every girl at school, every girl but Michelle? Why was his subconscious weaving together these lurid fantasies of public exposure?

He gazed down at his drooping penis, dripping in the shower water. A stubborn, defiant organ. It insisted that every woman was the same, that sex was sex, that a naked woman was a naked woman, no matter who she was. That sulking, dangling thing. It just wanted to feel good, to nestle in someplace tight and warm and wet. It wanted to pretend that was all that mattered.

"You don't even get it," his thoughts raged. "If we sit in that theater on Saturday, and we see Michelle is actually Glenn's girlfriend, it's going to destroy us. Nothing else is going to matter. There won't be a Ronni, there won't be a Vampire Vanessa. There won't be another woman to convince to strip in public. There's just going to be emptiness. The rest of senior year is just going to be empty and colorless and nothing else."

His penis sagged towards the drain, the water dripping from it in a steady stream. It had one eye, pointed down, as if avoiding his gaze. Could it feel shame? His wet dreams seemed like denial. He could already see the bleak days ahead, cock in hand, lying in bed alone, masturbating to his memories of Michelle. His penis would be satisfied, it must be satisfied, even if it could only be satisfied by the fading memories of his one achingly brief brush with love.

***

The fake beard and moustache made Charlie's face itch. Earlier, he had bought a ticket and walked through the theater lobby without anyone scrutinizing his disguise. All credit to Jennifer - she was a skilled make-up artist and did excellent work. Charlie barely recognized himself when he looked in the mirror.

He arrived early so he could find a seat in the back of the theater, a spot where Michelle was unlikely to see him. Even with the disguise, he feared that she would be able to pick him out. He wanted to be sitting in his spot before she or any of her friends arrived.

He picked a spot that gave him a good view of the entrance to the theater. He could lean over slightly and look down the aisle all the way to the front row. He could see Michelle's arrival and he would be able to see when she left. If she glanced up in his direction, he just needed to lean back and slouch and he would disappear into the darkness.

But when Michelle finally arrived, Charlie realized the flaw in his spying position. Michelle and Glenn were sitting next to each other and he was too far away to see anything they did during the movie. The movie was almost two hours long and anything could happen during that time. They could hold hands. They could kiss. Charlie was there to observe the way Michelle interacted with the charismatic football player, but he had no view of it.

Maybe he could move during the movie, when the theater was dark. Find a seat a little closer. The theater was nearly empty. He had a lot of seats to choose from. He just had to remember: the closer he sat to her, the greater the chance she might see and recognize him. And that would be a disaster.

Still, he had to chance it or the whole thing would be a waste of time. He needed to be able to see them. He just had to trust in Jennifer's disguise. Michelle didn't expect him to be there and she wouldn't be looking for him. She wouldn't pay any attention to the scruffy man in the baseball cap and the beard.

He heard laughter from below. Boys laughing. Glenn and his friends having a good time. Charlie clenched his jaw and slouched in his chair. He wondered when the movie would start. The time on his phone read 7:48. The movie was three minutes late.

The lights dimmed. Finally! Charlie perked up in his seat. The screen lit up and started to play a commercial for Coca-Cola. Then a warning to the audience that all cell phones should be silenced. Charlie tapped his foot impatiently through one preview, then the next. He told himself that he would wait for the movie to start before he slipped out of his seat and crept closer to Michelle's row.

He was leaning forward, too far forward, when all of a sudden Michelle appeared in the aisle, walking up the stairs. She seemed to be looking straight at him. Charlie froze; he waited for the inevitable reaction when she recognized him. Instead, her eyes slid to the side, oblivious to his presence. Maybe he was hidden in the darkness, or maybe his disguise fooled her. Whatever the reason, she didn't notice him.

Vanessa and Tina followed her. Three girls on an expedition to the lobby. Maybe they wanted to buy sodas and popcorn from the concession counter. Or maybe they were all headed to the bathroom. They would likely miss the beginning of the movie, but probably they didn't care.

Whatever their reasons for leaving, Charlie couldn't move while they were gone. He couldn't risk getting caught while wandering through the theater. Besides, if Michelle was outside with Vanessa and Tina, then she wasn't with Glenn, and Charlie had no reason to watch her. He leaned back in his seat and watched the start of the movie.

Night Crew. Not the kind of movie he would pick to see. It was a comedy about a group of custodians at a department store. Charlie wondered which of Michelle's friends had picked this particular film.

His phone buzzed from where it was sitting on the seat next to him. A text message. To his surprise, it was from Michelle.

"Hi, Charlie," it read. "Are you out with Ronni?"

Did she know? Did she see him? Charlie glanced down the aisle but no one was looking in his direction. Michelle was still outside with her friends, as far as he could tell.

So maybe she was asking because she really thought he might be out with Ronni. She wanted to know how it was going. Charlie cradled the phone in his hand, his finger hovering over the keyboard. He thought about making up a story, something about an awesome date with Ronni, everything going perfectly, blah blah blah. But then he wondered what the point was of lying to Michelle. To try and make her jealous? Maybe she wouldn't even care. And what if she discovered his lie? It would be humiliating.

"No," he texted back. After a brief hesitation, he typed, "I saw her earlier today. We did some editing on the film. Just work."

He waited to see if Michelle would respond. After a minute, her response appeared on the screen: "No plans with her tonight?"

"No," he wrote. "Cancelled."

He watched his phone, waiting for an answer, but it never came. When he saw Michelle reappear in the aisle with her friends, he knew he wasn't going to get a response. Their brief communication was over; Michelle wouldn't dare text him in front of Glenn. He watched her walk down to her row, and his eyes followed her in the dim light until she disappeared into her seat.

Now he wasn't sure what to do. He wanted to find a seat where he would have a better view of her, but now that she had texted him, he felt self-conscious about being there in the theater with her. It felt like she had put a spotlight on him. She was thinking of him, she wanted to know what he was doing, if he was with Ronni. But he wasn't with Ronni. Because he was spying on Michelle. Stalking her. That was what he was doing, wasn't it? He was stalking her.

He was the bad guy in the movie.

He wanted to leave. The whole scheme seemed ridiculous to him now. In the back of a dark movie theater, wearing a fake beard and a baseball cap, watching Michelle's seat like he could see through it if he stared hard enough. Even if he sat closer, would he really be able to watch her while remaining inconspicuous? It would be pretty obvious he was watching her and not the movie.

All this subterfuge, and in the end, all he had was a view of the back of her seat.

A burst of laughter came from that row. He couldn't tell who it was. He didn't think it was Michelle's laugh. Whatever they were laughing at, it wasn't the movie. Charlie leaned forward, concentrating on separating the sound of the movie from the noises coming from Michelle's row. He couldn't see her, but maybe he could hear her.

More giggling, laughter. Voices talking back and forth. Charlie wondered if this was why they had picked a movie that had been out for weeks. The theater was close to empty and they could talk and laugh without worrying about the other customers complaining. Charlie thought he heard Michelle giggling a couple times, but he didn't hear her saying anything.

A text appeared on his phone. It was from Michelle, and she provided a reason for some of the laughter. "Ugh," she wrote. "Someone snuck tequila into the movie. They're playing a drinking game."

He wrote back, "Who?"

"Cody. Others."

"Are you playing?"

"No," she wrote. "I don't drink."

Charlie looked up at the movie screen. Three of the custodians in the film were trying to chase down a raccoon, with slapstick consequences. Charlie texted Michelle: "Is the movie good?"

"No," she wrote back. "It's terrible."

Her friends didn't seem to think it was so terrible. Charlie heard an eruption of laughter from that row as the custodians fell over each other trying to chase the raccoon. He checked the rest of the theater and could only see a handful of other patrons, scattered here and there. Charlie's row was empty except for a short elderly man on the far side. The elderly man was absorbed in the movie, but he wasn't laughing. No one was laughing in the theater but Michelle's friends.

Was Glenn drinking? Charlie wondered if his rival had joined in the drinking game. He wished he could figure out a subtle way to ask Michelle about it in a text. Glenn and Cody were friends, and if Cody was drinking, it seemed likely that Glenn was getting drunk as well. What was Glenn like when he was drunk?

Now the laughter coming from that row seemed like drunken laughter. The loud voices sounded like the belligerent shouting of the intoxicated. "Oh my god," Michelle texted. "This is embarrassing. They're being so loud."

Charlie texted back, "Who?"

"The boys. They're drinking and being loud."

"Are people complaining?" Charlie asked.

"No," she sent. "No one else is here, thank god."

"Wrong," Charlie thought to himself. "I'm here." But, of course, he wasn't going to tell her that. And he wasn't going to complain about her friends, no matter how loud they got. Actually, if he was being honest, it made him happy that Glenn, Cody and the boys were behaving so obnoxiously. Their behavior might cause Michelle to think twice about spending time with them in the future.

The movie seemed to be reaching a climactic moment. The custodians had all been fired, and now they sat around a table brooding about their futures. Michelle texted him. "Now Cody and Vanessa are making out. They're not even watching the movie anymore."

Charlie was about to type a response, when another text came from her. "Hello," it said. Then several more texts, very quickly, one after the other: "Hello." "Hello." "Test." "Test."

"What's up?" He texted back.

Still more texts came from her. "Test." "Test." "Test." The phone vibrated in his hand.

Then: "Are you here in the theater?"

Too late, Charlie realized that his phone had been audibly buzzing with each text that she sent. The movie was at a quiet moment, and Michelle's friends weren't making any noise, either. The sound of his phone buzzing must have carried down to the row where Michelle sat. She had caught on to the pattern: every single text she sent to Charlie resulted in a buzz from the back of the theater.

He fumbled with the settings of the phone, trying to make it silent. But Michelle was done sending texts; Charlie looked down the aisle and saw her emerge from her row. She started up the stairs, her eyes flashing over each row, examining each person. She didn't have many to pick from, and her eyes swiftly landed on Charlie. She stared up at him for a moment, and he could see the exact moment when she recognized him.

She stormed up the last few steps and loomed over him in the back row. "Charlie! What is this? What are you wearing?" She spoke in an angry whisper. "What the heck are you wearing? Is this thing glued on?" She seized the beard, tugging on it. He winced as it pulled at his skin. "Are you here spying on me?"

"I... um...." How could he deny it? What else could he be doing?

"You look ridiculous," she said. "Who put this on you? You look like a biker." She pulled at the beard again.

"Jennifer Addish."

"Right. Of course. Ronni's best friend. She helped you put on a disguise so you could come here and spy on me."

Charlie shook his head. He didn't even want to look at her. He spoke in a low voice, "I'm an idiot."

"What?"

"You're right. I don't even know what I'm doing here. I'm sorry. This was so stupid."

"You're here to spy on me."

He looked up at her. "I am. The thought of you with...with him. I'm sorry. I'm acting crazy. Jealous. I don't even know what I'm doing."

She looked down at him silently for a moment, her hands on her hips. Her lips were pursed together. "Will you leave?" she asked.

"Yes. I'll leave."

"Right now?"

"Yes. I won't spy on you anymore. You don't have to tell me this was crazy. I know it was crazy."

"Ok." She glanced down the aisle, towards the row where her friends sat. "I'll talk to you later, then."

"Ok. I'm sorry, Michelle."

"That's fine. I'm still mad at you, though." Michelle turned and started down the stairs. She only made it down five steps before she turned around. She hesitated, gazing at Charlie, then shot a quick glance towards the front of the theater where her friends were sitting. They were blocked from view by the tall seats. Michelle looked back up at Charlie. Swiftly, she came back up the stairs.

"Michelle?" he asked uncertainly.

She slid her jacket off her shoulders. She let it fall to the floor.

"Michelle?"

"You make me do crazy things, too," she breathed. Now she was undoing the buttons on her shirt.

"Michelle..." Charlie whispered. He could see past her to the old man sitting on the other side of the row. The old man was still watching the movie. "There's a man in on the other side of the row. He can see you."

Michelle finished unbuttoning her shirt. She slid it off and let it drop to the floor. She reached behind to undo her black bra. "It doesn't matter," she said. "He won't recognize you. You're wearing a disguise, aren't you?" She slid her bra off. It joined the rest of her clothes on the floor.

Charlie looked past her, towards the elderly man, and saw that the man had noticed them, and was looking right at Michelle as she stripped. Charlie said nothing; he watched as Michelle pushed her tight jeans down her thighs, revealing dark panties. Charlie could see that the old man had his eyes locked onto Michelle's ass. "He's looking right at us," Charlie said in a low voice.

Michelle turned around. She faced the stranger, wearing nothing but a flimsy pair of black panties. Her finger rose to her lips and she gave the man the "shhh!" gesture. Then she bent over and pushed her panties down her legs. When she sat down in Charlie's lap, she was completely naked, and didn't seem to care at all that the old man ten seats away had forgotten about the movie and was now entirely focused on the live show she and Charlie were putting on.

She kissed Charlie. The fake beard must have felt odd to her, but it didn't cause her any hesitation. He wondered if it was part of the thrill for her; maybe she was pretending that he was a bearded stranger. Her legs were pressed tightly together, but when he slid his hand between her knees, it took only the slightest nudge to make her spread them wide apart. She was giving a clear view of her pussy to the man on the other side of the row, and Charlie knew how it excited her. He could feel her excitement when he slid his fingers into her.

Everything was happening so quickly. Charlie understood why they had to rush; Michelle had a row of friends sitting below who might start to wonder where she was if she was gone too long. This wasn't a slow, romantic encounter. Michelle had suddenly gotten it into her head that she wanted to fuck him, and that's what she intended to do.