Hooks

by BadFred

If you wanted to sit under the open sky in dappled sunlight, with perhaps a cool breeze on those days that had them, and if you didn't mind the risk of falling chestnuts, fearless squirrels, and the ever present threat of sudden rain, then you could eat lunch behind the school at one of the tables strewn along an asphalt path through a wooded park. The place attracted students of a certain middling popularity. Those truly elevated, the cheerleaders, the football squad, ate their lunch in the courtyard. Those lower, band members, the yearbook staff, kids who did nothing much, gathered in desperate clusters around the snack machines behind the gym. The lowest, the geeks, the smart kids, the simply weird, all made do with the cafeteria, with its bare vinyl walls and antiseptic lights, where the presence of tables forced us to be mildly social. That's where I usually sat, except on this particular day, for I had heard a rumor. I walked along that path under the hostile stares to the most distant table, for like all objects of great ambition, hers was the furthest from school. She sat alone, who would dare approach? She was a girl, a very pretty girl.

I approached directly and slid onto the bench opposite her. As I did, she sat up and studied me with soft hazel eyes. We sat face to face. Silently, she chewed, her jaw working, her mouth closed. Then she swallowed and set down her sandwich. Still, she said nothing, just her curious eyes. Mostly, she seemed perplexed. I let my gaze drop to my little burgundy corduroy skirt that I'd worn special for today, and to my thin freckled thighs and bony knees. I ran my finger along the hem of the skirt. Then I looked up and asked, "Is it true that you like to cut yourself?"

She gulped. "Who the fuck are you?"

I shrugged. "Nobody much. I just heard a rumor and wanted to know if it's true."

"That's kinda none of your business." She didn't seem perplexed anymore.

"Maybe, but if it is true, you might want me to know."

She sighed. "Why? Are you going to share with me? Is this a reaching out thing?"

"No. Nothing like that. I won't help you at all."

"No shit you won't. Get away from me you freak."

But I didn't get up. I looked at her, at her straight black hair down to her neck, at her cream colored skin, her full lips. She wasn't thin exactly, but she had a nice solid shape that fit together just right. And those breasts. I'd seen her in a bra once, when I'd happened to be in the locker room after her gym class. They were very round. And many times, when the topic of her breasts was mentioned, other girls commented in tones of envy on their firmness. I'd spent many dreamy afternoons thinking about those breasts.

Her snapping fingers got my attention. "Earth to geek girl. Get lost!"

Still, I didn't move. "Do you cut yourself? Folks say they saw the scars, and that you've been seeing the counselor, and other stuff. Tell me."

"Fine. Will you leave me alone?"

I didn't answer that.

"Okay. Yes. I cut myself. I do it a lot. The pain in my body is the only thing that stops the pain in my mind. Is that what you want to hear? Is that fine?"

"Yes. Thank you."

I sat.

"Good. Now go away."

Still, I sat. I fingered one of my braided pigtails that lay in front of my shoulder, its end bound by a small elastic band. She shrugged and held her arms out wide. Then she leaned forward in exasperation.

I bit my lip. Then I said, "I wanna put fishhooks in your tits."

"What the fuck?"

"It would be beautiful."

"Are you crazy?"

"Yes. Are you?"

* * * * *

I left ten digits on a scrap of paper. As I walked away from her, again under the hostile stares of my dismal peers, I felt a warm breeze blow through the trees and saw leaves flutter and fall before my feet. I replayed it all in my mind, her gasps, her shifting eyes, her blank face. But emptiness wasn't refusal.

After I'd written the number, and after I'd slid it over the table, she reached out with her long, lovely fingers -- cherry red nails -- and pressed down on the paper. Then she pinched and folded it. Then she put it in her purse. She wouldn't meet my gaze.

I passed from the park back onto school grounds and strolled along next to the football field, where girls ran sprints back and forth, timed to the blaring whistle of the coach. My friend Anne was among them. When she saw me, she waved and shouted, "Hey Jennifer!" I returned that wave, to beautiful red-haired Anne.

Everything seemed so pleasant.

* * * * *

After school, Anne and her girlfriend Samantha charged up onto the bus right behind me. As we pushed forward into the crowded aisle, Anne tapped my shoulder. "So, what were you doing out in the park at lunch?"

I turned to respond, but just then a pair of JV assholes charged onto the bus, pushing and shoving. In the jostle, Anne was pressed against me. I gave way. When I reached an empty bench about a third of the way along, I slid in. Anne plopped down next to me "Come on Jen, what happened?"

I adjusted my bag on my lap and let a grin cross my face. "I just went for a little stroll." I turned to her and winked.

Samantha shifted into the empty bench behind us. She leaned forward. "Oh come on!" she said. "Everyone saw you talking to Amanda Pina."

I shrugged. "I might have stopped at her table to say hello."

Anne again, "And? Did she say hello back?"

The JV guys passed by and hooted on the way to their prized seats at the rear of the bus.

"I recall that the words 'get away from me you freak' were uttered."

I sat with my grin. Anne looked confused. After a bit, Samantha reached over and rested a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Anne squinted. "I'm not buying it," she said. "She seems way too happy."

I shrugged. "I do feel very pleasant today."

"Come on! Tell us!"

The bus groaned, lurched, and pulled away from the school. While we shifted and bounced, Samantha sat back, Anne glanced away, and I said nothing. Then Anne said, "Fine! Keep your secrets." She popped up and, before the driver could object, shifted back and sat next to Samantha. "I like Samantha better anyway. She doesn't keep secrets."

I looked out the window at the passing cars, buildings, and trees.

When we were several blocks from school, my phone rang. I yanked it from my bag, checked the number -- not one I knew -- and answered it. "Hello?"

"Hi. Is this Jennifer?" A girl's voice.

Anne got up again and sat next to me, getting very close.

"Please stay seated," the driver said.

"Yes. This is Jennifer. Who's this?"

"It's me, Amanda. Look, we can get together. I don't think I'll let you do that, okay? But maybe we can do other stuff."

"Okay. Yeah. That would be really great."

"Right, so -- uh -- I'll text you my address. Is that cool? My mom works till about seven. Wanna come over today?"

Anne nudged me. She arched her eyebrows. I shoved her away, maybe a bit too hard. "Hey!" she said.

"Shush!"

From the phone, "What?"

"Nothing. Can I call you back when I get home? I'm on the bus surrounded by very gossipy girls."

"Tell 'em to fuck off."

I looked at Anne's eager face. Then I felt Samantha reach over the seat and caress my hair. When I glanced back, she had the kindest smile.

"Nah," I said. "They're good girls. But yeah, I'll come over. As soon as I can."

"Fine. See you then."

"Right."

She disconnected.

I put away my phone and, again, looked out the window.

"Okay! What happened? Come on, tell us!"

I let my body relax and leaned back into Anne, into her grasp. I felt her warm breath on my neck. Again, Samantha touched me. I closed my eyes. Happiness.

* * * * *

When I got home, I took a quick shower, applied a bit of makeup, put on fresh panties -- light blue -- and a different tee. But I wore the same little skirt. It was my cutest, I thought. Then I pulled out the lowest drawer of my dresser, all the way out. Beneath it, stashed in a small leather case, was my collection: fishhooks in various shapes and sizes, big hooks, tiny hooks, black hooks, silvery hooks, a tiny gold hook, which I supposed was intended as jewelry. I checked the contents, then zipped up the case and slipped it into my purse. I darted back into the bathroom. From the medicine chest, I took out a small bottle of antiseptic spray and a fistful of cotton balls. I shoved all that into my purse also. Then I headed out.

Just as I reached the door, my father arrived home. We came face to face.

"Hi Daddy," I said.

"Hey Jenny, sweetie. You going out?"

I kept going forward into him, my head into his chest, my arms around his waist. "Yes."

He seemed hesitant to return embrace, but it came. I squeezed tight. He patted my back.

"Okay, sweetie, enough of that." He grasped my shoulders and pushed me away from him, holding me at arm's length. He looked me up and down, at my skirt, at my makeup. "Are you going out to see a boy?"

"Nah, Daddy, just over to a new friend's house."

He arched his brows. "A new friend?"

"Yeah. This girl Amanda. Amanda Pina."

"Oh? That's nice. Wait, did you say 'Pina'?"

"Uh -- yeah -- why?"

"Well -- do you know -- is she Jack Pina's daughter? Or, I guess, was she his daughter?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. I heard her dad killed himself or something. Was that Jack Pina?"

"Yes, dear. He was a sometimes member of our church, although I guess the wife and daughter never came. Anyhow, go ahead. I'm glad you're making friends, and I'm sure -- what's her name? -- Amanda -- could use a friend too."

"Sure. Okay."

I ran down the steps and out onto the street to catch the city bus. When I reached the bus stop, a shabby bench on the sidewalk across from our house, I looked back and saw him standing within the doorway watching me. I raised my hand and gave a little wave. He waved back, then closed the door.

* * * * *

She lived on the third floor of a tumbledown row house a few miles south of the school. After she buzzed me in, I climbed the creaky stairs to her landing, knocked on the heavy door with too many layers of paint, and heard the building squeak as her footsteps approached. Then the handle turned. It had a modern lock, but beneath it was an old keyhole lock with a painted over fitting. The door moved, got stuck for a bit, but then popped open when she yanked it. She stood before me in the warmly lit room. She wore a long yellow tee and -- I could plainly see -- red panties. No bra was evident.

I glanced at her, then at my feet. I shuffled forward into her, touching her. "Hey," I said.

She backed away from me. "Hi. Come on in."

The apartment was a mess. There were piles of clothes scattered about, ratty furniture with ugly upholstery, a coffee table with circular stains. On the table were empty glasses, lipstick tubes, a pair of nylons clumped up, and a couple trashy romances laying open, pages down. In the corner, next to the window facing the street, was a small television. It was off.

"This is home," she said as I came in. Then she closed the door behind me, leaning into it to shut it all the way. "Wanna soda or something?"

"No. I'm fine, thanks."

"Okay. So... what d'ya wanna do?"

I turned and looked at her. On her right thigh were several horizontal marks, the faintest blush of pink in her creamy skin. I motioned to them. "Are those from cutting?"

"Uh -- yeah."

"Can I lick them?"

She blinked, then snorted -- actually snorted. "You really are a freak!"

"Yeah." I moved to her again. "Or, we could just make out if you want."

"That would be better. Let's sit on the couch."

"Okay."

I placed my purse on the coffee table then sat with her. We embraced and kissed, long sweet kisses. They started as little pecks with a few caresses. She smiled. Then deeper, with tongue. After a long while of kissing, I broke from her embrace and asked, "Can I lick your tits?"

"Uh -- sure. Just licking?"

"Yes."

She removed her shirt to reveal smooth globes of creamy flesh with rosy, swollen nipples. I reached and gave soft caresses. Then I leaned and puckered my lips around her right nipple and gave a wet, sucking kiss. She cooed. They were perfect, without blemish.

"You never cut your tits?" I asked.

"No, just my thighs and tummy."

I sucked more, this time the other one.

"That feels nice," she said.

"They're beautiful."

"Thanks. Can I see yours?"

I removed my shirt to show my tiny things. She stroked and gave my nipples little tweaks. Then she leaned and sucked. I held her head to me and caressed her. Her mouth was warm.

After a bit of that, we kissed again. Then I asked, "Do you wanna do more, or just fool around?"

"Just fool around I guess. What would you wanna do?"

"I dunno. Eat your pussy or something."

"No fishhooks?"

I blinked. "Wanna see them?"

"You brought them?"

"In case you changed your mind. Wanna see them?"

"Uh -- "

I reached for my purse on the table. When I pulled out the cotton balls to get at the leather case beneath, her eyes got wide. Then I took the case, set it on my lap, unzipped it, and opened it to show the treasure within.

"Oh my god," she said.

"This is my favorite." I removed a particularly large black steel fishhook with a menacing crooked shape. Then I held it eye level, between my eye and her tits. She gulped.

"Look... uh... Jennifer, I haven't cut myself in a few months. I'm really getting better and all."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Like, right after my dad died I had a really hard time, and I had a bad time with a couple boys. Anyhow, all my friends sold me out and I was really alone..." She kinda shrugged.

"I understand," I said. I put the fishhook away, zipped up the case, and shoved it and the cotton balls back into my purse.

"Yeah, so..." she went on. "I kinda wanna get new friends who don't suck, and maybe a boyfriend or a girlfriend."

"Okay. I'll be your friend, in any case -- if you want."

"Right. I do. But I don't really wanna hang out with the geek crowd."

"That's fine. Just you and me, and my friends Anne and Samantha. They're cool, but they have second lunch period."

"Aren't they dykes?"

I smiled.

* * * * *

After making the required call to our respective parents, I decided to stay for dinner. When her mother arrived home, she lurched in through the stuck door, carrying a grocery bag and a large purse. "Amanda, will you help me?" she asked. Amanda popped up, took the bag, and headed toward the kitchen while her mother crossed the room to get a look at me. I stood up from the couch. By then, we'd put our shirts back on.

"Hi Mrs. Pina. I'm Jennifer -- Jennifer Robbins."

"Hi sweetie, pleased to meet you. By the way, I go by my maiden name, Mullins, now, or you can just call me Steph."

"Oh. Sorry."

"That's okay. You couldn't have known."

She gave a warm smile and got close. "My, you're a pretty one," she said.

"Uh -- thanks."

She was a small woman, bigger than me by a few inches, but smaller than her daughter. She had the same soft eyes, though, and the same straight black hair. She wore a black pencil skirt and a white blouse over a flat tummy with nice enough breasts, if nothing like Amanda's. I noticed that she had strong, shapely calves. I returned her smile.

"So -- Jennifer was it? -- how did you meet Amanda?"

"Well, we're not in the same classes or anything. I just knew she sat alone at lunch, so I went and talked to her."

"Just like that?"

"Yes."

"Are you popular?"

It seemed an odd question, but her expression was open and frank. "Not really."

"Fine."

"Is that important?"

Her expression changed to something almost wistful. "It used to be. It used to be the most important thing, to both of us. Now, I think I prefer girls like you." She reached and touched my face. "Anyhow, I'm going to get dinner ready." She breezed from the room as Amanda returned.

"Your mom's nice," I said.

"Hmm."

Dinner was roast chicken, which Ms. Mullins had bought prepared, mashed potatoes, from a box, and frozen green beans. The plates were those plastic things you could use in the microwave. The utensils were the cheaper sort, bendy forks, dull knives. On the table before me, there was a long gash in the white paint. My chair wobbled.

I restrained myself from making any breast jokes while Ms. Mullins carved the chicken. But I shot Amanda a little grin, which she returned. I think she got it.

We began to eat quietly, just the muted sounds of cheap cutlery on plastic plates. It was that sort of quiet you get with new people when you've run out of small talk, but weren't sure what else to say. I decided to break the silence. "So, what happened to Amanda's dad?"

Amanda stopped chewing and set down her fork. After a few seconds, her mother answered, "When he lost his job, and we lost our house, things got really bad -- you know -- in the family. So, one day we came home and he had shot himself."

"In this apartment?"

"No, we were living on Carson Street at the time."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. Amanda just sat. "Is that when Amanda started cutting?"

Amanda remained motionless. Her mother put down her fork. "No. That came later."

I carved off a bit of white meat and ate it. Then I said, "You guys seem to be doing a lot better now, I think, than you were."

Her mother smiled. "Yes. Yes, were are." She reached and squeezed Amanda's hand.

I took a few more bites and let them simmer. Amanda sat motionless, her eyes cast down to her plate. Her mother sat with her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, gazing at Amanda.

After a bit, her mother said, "I blamed Amanda for her father's death, at first, right after it happened. I think that's what caused the problems. And now that I'm over that -- you know -- processing it, I think things are getting better."

"Oh? Why did you blame her?"

Amanda glared at me, right at me. Her mother touched her hand again. "Sweetie, it's okay. We should talk about these things. I know it's hard." She turned to me. "We had a lot of money before. Amanda had rich friends, designer clothes, all of that. Her father even promised to buy her a car on her sixteenth birthday. A very nice one, the red convertible. Remember that, sweetie?" Amanda didn't react. "So, when he lost his job, we lost all of that."

Amanda sat back. I took another bite. Her mother continued. "So, we lost our house, moved to the apartment on Carson Street, and -- well -- there were no more designer clothes or new cars or anything." She looked at Amanda. "A lot of things were said that shouldn't have been said."

"I see. What sort of things were said?"

Amanda slammed her fist. "Can't we just drop it!"

"Amanda?" her mother said.

Amanda looked at me. "Seriously, are you this sick? Do you pick open ever scab you see?"

"Amanda! Dear! Don't talk to your friend like that."

Amanda shot up from her seat, hard enough that her chair skidded and toppled. She let it fall and stormed from the room. From down the hall, we heard a door slam.

"Amanda," her mother said in a pitiful voice.

"It's okay," I said, holding my fork midway to my mouth. "I guess she still has a lot of pain to deal with."

I finished my meal -- well -- just the white meat.

* * * * *

During lunch the next day, I went to find her in the park. She was there, at her table at the end of the path, sitting with her uneaten lunch before her, still in its wrappers. As I approached, she lifted her sandwich, gave it a long look, then squinted and put it down. I arrived, slid in next to her, and said, "Hi, beautiful."

She was silent for a few long moments. Then she said, "I know what you were trying to do. I mean -- it was obvious."

It seemed to get quiet -- quiet enough to notice the branches slide and rattle in the slight breeze. After a bit, I asked, "Did it work?"

She lifted her tee, just enough to show her tummy. "Mom and I got in a fight after you left." On her tummy was a fresh cut, barely healed, fiery red with jagged bruising.

"It's beautiful," I said.

She pulled her tee back down and looked at the table. "I want to hurt you -- like you hurt me. If I do it, if I do your thing, will you let me hurt you?"

"I'm not good with pain."

"Oh? You can sure dish it out."

"True. Good point."

We sat. Above us, a mocking bird landed on a small branch, a twig that seemed far too thin. It sang a strange, angular song. Through the trees, I saw a boy hop onto a table, pull up a girl, and kiss her. Amanda saw none of these things. She still looked down.

"Okay," I said, "for every two I put in you, you can put one in me."

She glanced up. "How's that fair?"

"Heh. Well" -- I looked at her breasts -- "you have more real estate, if nothing else."

She didn't seem amused. "I won't be gentle," she said.

"Okay." I touched her arm. "Actually, I will -- be gentle."

The mockingbird hopped to a different branch. When I glanced to where the boy and girl had been, they were no longer visible.

"So," she said, "my mom has her support group every Thursday. We can do it then."

"Good. Great."

It was Wednesday.

"Fine," she said. "I'll see you."

"Cool. So... do you wanna see each other tonight, just like normal?"

"Should we?"

"Sure. I do like you. I mean -- a lot."

Her eyes stayed fixed. She shrugged.

"Look," I said, "I wanna do my thing, but I wanna be with you too. I mean, we can be girlfriends."

She slid away from me. "How can I be girlfriends with someone who hurts me?"

"Easy." I slid toward her and held out my hand. She didn't take it.

"I can't turn on and off like that," she said. "I can't -- you know -- be friends on one day, then do that the next."

"Try it. Come out tonight with me and the crew. Pizza? Anne can usually get her mom's car."

She slid further away, near to the end of the bench. "I can't be happy and unhappy. If I'm happy, you can't do your thing. You have to choose."

"Amanda... Come with us tonight. We'll figure out Thursday on Thursday."

"No. No, I'm deciding. I'm unhappy, that's how it is. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Amanda..."

"Please go!"

And there was nothing else to say. So I went, strolling under the rustling trees. The mocking bird screamed and flapped along behind me. Soon, I passed the table with the boy and the girl. He was seated on the bench with his back to the table. She was on the leaf-covered ground between his legs, her arms wrapped around a calf, her head resting on a thigh. She gave me a dreamy smile as I passed. He gave a rigid stare.

* * * * *

That evening, I sat alone at the kitchen table while dinner grew cool. For the third time, I called my dad's cell number, heard it ring -- and ring, and ring -- then disconnected and put down the phone. Time passed. The potatoes went from steaming with melted butter to cool with a greasy film. I called his number again. More ringing. "Oh, Daddy," I said. Then I called the main number at a local sports bar.

"Duffy's!" a harsh voice answered. Through the phone, I heard the chatter and hum of televisions.

"Hi. This is Jennifer -- Jennifer Robbins. Can you ask around and see if my dad is there?"

"Sure. I'll try." I heard him call out, "Is there a Robbins here? With a daughter Jennifer?"

Just then, a chorus of loud screams erupted through the phone, someone must have scored a point or something. Next, the man came back on. "Your father's here, sweetie. Here he is..."

"Hi sweetie, what's up?" His voice.

"I made dinner, Daddy. It's getting cold."

A moment passed. "Oh crap! I lost track of time. I'm sorry Jen, I'll head home right now."

"Okay."

"Right, don't wait for me. Eat up before it gets too cold."

I looked at the plates, it was too late for that.

"Okay."

"I'm leaving now."

He disconnected. I sat back, still holding the phone. I waited for him.

* * * * *

I didn't see her all day Thursday. During lunch, I sat at my normal place in the cafeteria with the regular crowd. After school, I rode home with my friends, like every day before. Anne questioned me mercilessly, but learned nothing. Samantha was kind.

Then I was home. I showered and changed quickly, light makeup, little denim shorts, a yellow blouse. I gathered my things, my fishhooks, the antiseptic, the cotton. I rushed and caught the bus.

I climbed the creaking stairs to her door. Like the previous visit, she greeted me in panties and a tee.

"Hi," I said.

"Hey."

I entered her shabby apartment with its ragged furniture. "Do you wanna do it here or your room?" I asked.

"Uh -- my room I guess."

"Lead the way."

I followed her to her room. It was small. The bed was messy. There was a desk and little dresser that had probably been expensive and fashionable years ago. On the wall were posters of bands. We stood there and shifted for a while.

"Can we sit?" I asked.

"Sure."

We sat on the bed. I slid close.

"Wanna kiss for a bit, first?"

"Sure, fine."

I took her chin and tilted her head to me. Then I kissed her, closed mouth, but probing. Her lips stayed tight, reluctant. I kissed harder and caressed her breasts. She didn't stop me.

"I guess we should get started then," I said.

"Sure."

"Let's take off our shirts."

We did. Then I took out the antiseptic, the cotton, and my collection.

"I'll start," I said. "I'll do two, then you do one."

"Fine."

We turned to each other on the bed, face to face, our legs curled beneath us. I took the antiseptic and sprayed her right breast just outside of the nipple. Then I took a bit of cotton and smeared it in. Her pale flesh glistened. Then I chose a fishhook, a medium silvery one with a gentle curve. I cleaned it with the now moist cotton. Next, I reached and took a nice pinch of flesh, perhaps a half inch when I squeezed. I brought the hook close. Then I did it. At first, her flesh resisted, dimpling in. But soon enough, the sharp point bit. I glanced at her face and saw her eyes twitch. She bit her lip. I pushed harder, and the hook went deep. Soon, the flesh opposite the entrance bulged as the point sought escape. Then it popped free with a tiny spot of blood. She grunted, but softly.

I sat back and looked. I slid the hook back through the channel so the barb pulled on the wound, stopping its travel. I tugged a bit and her flesh stretched. She moaned.

I reached behind her neck, pulled her to me, and kissed her as hard as I possibly could.

"Holy fuck it's beautiful," I said.

Her eyes grew wide. "Do the next one," she said.

I did, same routine, this time with a small black fishhook -- for the sake of asymmetry -- on a spot just outside her left nipple. Again, there was the smallest speck of blood. Again, she gave a slight grunt and moan. And again, I kissed. I kissed and kissed. Her lips parted, slightly.

"Your turn," she said. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

She sprayed and rubbed my little tit with antiseptic. She reached for a hook, a small jagged one, and cleaned it. Then she took a hard pinch and pulled. I yelped and jerked away.

"Hold still!" she said.

"Sorry. That was too hard."

"Just wait till I put the fucking hook in. Then you'll know. Now, sit still. Don't flinch. I sat for you."

I slid forward again and sat. She pinched again, hard. She brought the hook close, quickly, too quickly to flinch. Then she screwed her face into a hard expression and pushed it though.

I cried out. My eyes filled with tears. She tugged it hard, pulling me forward.

"Ow! Ah!"

I tried to pull away, but that hurt worse.

"Still wanna kiss me?" She twisted the hook.

I didn't answer, I cried out. She let go and I shot back.

"Still wanna kiss me?"

I blinked until my vision cleared. Then I looked at her wounded tits and her intense eyes.

"Yes," I said. "Please kiss me."

She kissed me, mouth open with tongue.

"Do you wanna keep going?" she asked.

"Yes."

I did two more, just inside of each nipple, again two medium hooks with gentle curves. She flinched on the second one. I paused. "Sorry," she said.

"That's okay. Why don't you squeeze my arm while I do it."

"Okay."

She squeezed my arm, I pierced her tit. More kisses. I gave her nipple a gentle lick. Then I gave the most recent hook a tweak. She squealed.

"Oh fuck," she said.

"Yes."

Her turn again. This time, she reached for the big, black, crooked hook, my favorite. "Not that one," I said. "I'm saving it." She chose another large one, bent and cruel.

Pain and tears. Then kissing. We began smiling, huge smiles.

"God this fucking hurts," she said.

"Yeah it does."

"Are we gonna do more?"

"Two more -- for you. One more for me. Then, something special."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

A curious expression crossed her face, but I didn't explain. I took two more hooks, small and lovely. This time, each went beneath a nipple, but very close, right in that place where pink met pale. When I licked her breasts, the barbed ends scratched my tongue.

Three fishhooks remained, the big black one, the tiny gold one, and a third fairly standard sort. "Please use that one," I said, pointing to the third.

"Okay. But I'm putting it through a nipple."

"Fine."

She pinched hard and jabbed it through. I squirmed and started laughing.

Two remained. A took a deep breath and settled myself. Then I said, "I wanna do something kinda special. Will you let me?"

"What...?"

I picked up the little gold fishhook. "I wanna put this in your eyelid."

"What the..."

"I'll be very careful."

"Uh -- "

"Please. It would be so pretty." I spun it in my fingers. It glinted in lamplight.

"But there's only one more left."

"Right, and I wanna save that one anyhow. I was thinking you could cut me, like on the tummy so my dad doesn't see."

"Oh. Okay. How big of a cut?"

"I dunno. As much as you want -- I guess. Nothing that needs stitches."

"Right. Of course."

"So you'll do it?"

"Yeah." Her voice sounded -- maybe -- a bit breathless, excited.

I pulled up her right eyelid then wiggled my fingers to get a nice pinch. She recoiled, just a bit. Then she stopped herself and settled down. Slowly, I brought the hook close while her eye darted about. Soon, the point touched flesh. "Ready?"

She tensed up and gave a little grunt.

I pushed it through, in and out. I gave it a little tug. She groaned and squeezed my arm. Then I released and it settled back on her eye.

"Oh fuck, that feels weird," she said. She blinked and squinted. Tears began to flow.

"Did it hurt?"

"Fuck yeah it hurt. It still hurts."

She kept blinking her eye. The hook glinted.

"It's pretty."

"Kiss me," she said. I did.

"Okay, ready to get cut?"

I took a breath. "Yes."

She groaned and blinked her eye more. "Fuck! You're gonna pay for this shit. Lie back."

As I did, she rolled, reached behind a nightstand, and produced a shiny razor blade. She scurried across the mattress and knelt next to me. Then she leaned forward and gave my pale tummy a little kiss.

"Don't breath. Keep your tummy flat," she said. Before I could do much, she drew the blade across in one swift, practiced motion, a six inch shallow cut. I hunched forward, just enough to see the blood began to flow. The blood. And then the pain, the dull pain that grew and grew. My heart hammered. My chest bellowed as I gasped for air. I squirmed, panicked, and squeezed the sheets in agony. Blood dribbled down my side and onto her bed.

When I'd settled, she said, "I wanna do another."

"Fuck no."

"Lie back," she pressed on my chest.

"Fuck no. What are you doing?"

She held the razor and grinned at me. "Just one more. Please."

"No way. That hurt. A lot."

"I know exactly how much that hurts. Lie back."

"No."

"What do you want?"

"Nothing for that."

She looked at me, at my tummy. She ran her finger through the blood pooling in my belly button.

"Okay. Let me clean you up." She set down the razor, grabbed a bunch of cotton, pressed it onto the wound until the bleeding stopped, then cleaned me with the antiseptic. "See, that's not so bad."

I didn't say anything. She scurried up to my head and leaned over me. Her breasts hung above my face.

"Are they pretty?" she asked.

"Yes. Very."

She tugged on the little hooks beneath her nipples, very near my face. "Let me cut you again, and I'll let you eat my pussy, and I'll eat yours."

Tempting, but I stayed quiet.

Then she said, "I'll be your girlfriend."

I sat up a bit, wiggling around from beneath her breasts to see her face. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"I thought you couldn't be girlfriend with someone who hurt you?"

She shifted and lay next to me. She reached and gently tweaked the hook through my nipple, pulling it so the barb caught and pulled the pink flesh. I flinched.

"I think I changed my mind." She kissed my cheek. "In fact, I'm sure of it. I want to be your girlfriend. Do you want?"

"I have to let you cut me?"

"Yup. Just one more."

I lay and thought. "Come on," she said. "This eye thing hurts a lot. You owe me." Still, I said nothing. "Please, please, please."

Then I turned to her and reached for her. We embraced, our wounded breasts pressing. She pulled me tight, driving the hooks in her tits into my tits, and mine into hers. She made a sound, like a whimper, but so different, so satisfied. It lingered, and I found myself cooing along.

After a bit, I said, "Okay. One more."

I couldn't say no to love.

* * * * *

I sat at her kitchen table eating day-old french bread while my girlfriend -- and how I loved saying that -- heated soup on the stove. She wore only panties, a lilac print. Within those panties was a pussy which had just climaxed many times beneath my tongue, a sweet pussy, pink, delicate, exquisite. She stirred the soup. I munched the bread and watched her lovely ass. Soon the soup was warm enough, evidently. She removed it from the stove and spooned it into a pair of bowls, which she then brought to the table. She sat, smiled, and touched one of my pierced breasts. I stroked her face. Then she handed me a spoon.

After we finished eating quietly with bashful smiles, she asked, "Do you wanna take them out?"

"Yes. I guess we have to. It ruins them, you know. I have to clip the ends off."

"Right. Yeah."

We went back to her room. I took a pair of cutters from my purse and, one by one, clipped the barbed end from each hook and removed it. I took special care with the one in her eye. Then she removed mine. Then, more blood, more cotton, and more antiseptic. And more kisses. Her eye was swollen and red.

We lay in her bed and kissed. "My mom will be home in a while," she said.

"Ah."

"Maybe you shouldn't be here."

"Why not? Your mom seemed to like me."

"I dunno. It got kinda weird the other night, and I don't wanna deal with that. Plus, she might notice something and start asking questions."

"Okay."

We got up and dressed. When I went out the door, she stopped me on the landing and kissed me. Then I scampered down the stairs, ran out into the warm air, under yellow streetlights, and caught a lonely bus home.

* * * * *

She wasn't at school the next day. I looked, watching for her while I walked through the halls. Nothing. No angel. At lunch, I strolled into the park to her empty table. I sat there alone and nibbled on my sandwich. After school, while the bus rumbled home, I sat by Anne with Samantha behind us. "You seem sad," Anne said. "What's up?"

"Amanda wasn't at school today. I tried calling her, but she isn't answering her phone."

"Oh." She peered at me and smiled. "So -- you guys are becoming an item?"

"Yes. We kinda are."

She squeezed my hand. "Does our sweet Jennifer finally have a girlfriend?"

I looked at her face, at her eager expression, her pleading eyes. "Yes. Yes I do."

She sat forward, toward me. "Oh! Have you -- been initiated?"

Had I ever. But how could I tell them the full measure of Amanda and me?

I gave her a little bit. "Well, let's say that last night -- we dined on each other."

"Oh my!" Anne got real excited. She clapped.

From behind us, Samantha said, "Welcome to the club." She touched my neck.

When I got home, I tried to call Amanda again. No answer, so I went and lay in bed. I took off my shirt and inspected my wounds, light strokes, soft touches. I thought of her. Was she doing the same? Was she thinking of me? The phone rang, the house phone.

Amanda would call my cell. I let it ring. There was a minute of silence, then it rang again. This time, I popped up from the bed and went and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Jennifer?" A woman's voice.

"Yes."

"Hi. This is Steph Mullins, Amanda's mom."

"Right. I remember."

"I got your number from the book, and I think I know who your dad is. Anyhow, I hope you don't mind that I called."

"I don't mind."

"So... Look... This is going to seem a little weird, but you and her are becoming friends, right? I mean -- real friends?"

There was something to her voice, a sense of stress. I'd even call it pleading. "Yes. I think we are."

"Jennifer, I'm going to ask you a question. Alright."

"Yes."

"Were you here yesterday?"

A lot could go wrong, depending on how I answered that.

"Jennifer...?"

"I was. I was there for a few hours in the afternoon."

"Right. I thought so."

She paused. I waited.

"So," she went on, "look, was Amanda acting weird in any way? Did she seem unhappy?"

"Ms. Mullins, is Amanda okay?"

"Yes. I mean -- she started cutting herself again. Well, piercing really, I guess. Anyway, I thought we were over this."

I said nothing.

"Look, Jennifer, I'm asking you to help me. I'm trying so hard and things between us..." Her voice trailed off.

"Is Amanda there?"

"Yeah. In her room. She's grounded and lost phone privileges."

"Ah. I tried calling her today."

"Honestly, I'm not sure if it help or hurts. I have no idea what to do."

"Can I talk to her?"

"Not on the phone. I mean -- I have to stick to my punishments. You can come over if you want."

"I do. Will you tell her I'll be over, as soon as I can."

"Sure. Please come. Oh, wait, Jennifer..."

"Yes?"

"About yesterday, please, is she okay? Did she -- you know -- talk about..." She got quiet again.

"What?"

"About suicide?"

"No. No, of course not. Nothing like that."

And suddenly I felt a yawning fear, I felt what her mother must feel, what everyone must feel, who loves.

"I'll be right over. Please tell her I'm coming."

Then I dashed to my room and changed into a little skirt set. On the way out the door, I met my father arriving, carrying a pizza.

"Hi Daddy. I'm going to Amanda's."

"But sweetie" -- he held up the box -- "I was hoping to have dinner with my angel tonight."

"Sorry." I slipped around him toward the door.

"Jen, your friend can wait. Let's sit and have dinner. Then you can go. In fact, I'll drive you."

"No good. You eat slow, and I just promised her I'd be right over."

"Call her back."

"Dad! Please."

"Honey, I went out of my way to do something nice for you."

"Yeah, after forgetting about me the other night."

"Jen!" He stepped back with wide eyes. "I'm sorry about that." He looked at the pizza.

"Dad, I really have to go."

Quickly, I stepped back and opened the door. Then I slipped out. I didn't look at him as I closed it.

* * * * *

Her mother greeted me when I knocked.

"Hi Jennifer."

"Hi Ms. Mullins."

She stepped back and I entered. Then she closed the door behind me.

"Is she in her room?"

"Actually, she's out on the deck. But, can I talk to you first?" She beckoned toward the couch.

"I guess."

She went and sat. I followed and plopped down next to her, resting my hands on my thighs, pushing down my short skirt. But she didn't seem to notice that. She looked straight ahead.

"Look, sorry for dumping on you this way."

"It's okay."

"Right, some way to start a friendship, with your friend's crazy mom."

"You're worried. I get it. Really, it's okay."

She turned to me, smiled at me, and reached out to stroke my face. "You really are very pretty."

"Uh -- thanks."

Her smile lingered. Then she got up. "Sorry about that. Why don't you go on back and see her."

"Okay." I got up and started to walk to the back of the apartment.

"And Jen..."

"Yes?" I turned back.

"Nothing. Just be nice to her."

Behind the apartment, a small wooden deck with a pair of stout chairs hung precariously from their third floor. Beyond that, a maple tree stood in the tiny backyard, its top reaching just to eye level. Over it, I could see to the next block of row houses up the hill. They seemed to loom.

She sat in one of the chairs. As soon as I came out, she slid over so there was just enough room to squeeze in, if I didn't mind pressing close.

I didn't mind. I plopped down and folded myself into her grasp, nuzzling my face into her neck. She turned to me and we kissed.

"Hey sweetie. I missed you today," I said.

"Yeah. My mom took away my phone."

"So she said. I guess you got totally busted."

She nodded. "It was the eye. It swelled up pretty bad by morning."

She turned to show me. It was swollen, purple, and lovely.

"It's so pretty," I said.

"Yeah. It is."

I kissed her eye.

"Ow! Be gentle."

"I'm always gentle."

I wrapped both my hands around her neck and slid to straddle her, face to face, chest to chest. "Kiss me." We kissed, for a while. Then I got off her and again sat beside her, curled in her grasp.

"Too bad your mom's here. I'd love to eat your pussy."

"You can. I told her we're lovers."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I think she's just so happy that I have a friend that she'll let us do anything. I mean -- except -- you know -- that."

"Ah. Well then, take off your pants." I reached and squeezed a nipple.

"In a bit." She seemed to slump down and gaze out beyond the tree, beyond the houses, to the distant edge of the sky. I stroked her breasts, hoping she'd get turned on. "That's nice," she said.

"Yes."

Still, she slumped. Still, she stared off into space. After a bit, she said, "I'm so tired of feeling empty."

I stopped stroking. "Can I help?"

"You are helping. And you don't have to stop."

We kissed and caressed. Then, after another small bit of time, she said, "I wanna hurt you again."

I didn't answer right away. I studied the tree and its bent branches. The leaves rustled in the light breeze. Dragonflies drifted by.

"We can't do that stuff all the time."

"Right. But can we today? Things are so bad right now, with my mom and stuff."

"Why? It seems like she's really trying."

She didn't answer that. After a bit, she said, "Anyway, I don't wanna cut myself anymore, so can I cut you?"

"You can't cut me, I didn't like that at all. I have the one hook, the one I was saving. Wanna pierce me?"

"Where? Not the tits again."

"Uh -- where do you want?"

"Take off your skirt."

"You wanna...? There...?" My heart hammered in my chest.

"Yeah."

"Uh -- "

She popped up from the chair and knelt in front of me, her hands on my knees. "Please." Her eyes grew wide. "Please, please." She tugged on my skirt. "I want to hurt you so bad. There!"

Her eyes were very pretty.

I stood up in front of her. "Undress me." She reached and undid my skirt, letting it fall around my ankles. Then she pulled down my panties, past my knees, all the way. I stepped out of them and sat down in the chair. She parted my legs.

"Where is it?"

"In my purse. Hand it to me."

She handed me my purse. I searched, found the hook, and gave it to her. Then she leaned in and licked me, teasing around my clit with her tongue, probing, drawing it out. She reached in and pinched it's delicate hood. She rubbed, letting it swell and tingle.

Then she took the fishhook and pressed its cruel point into me, driving through. I squirmed, but she leaned on my belly and held me down. She pushed the hook further. I gripped the arms of the chair and closed my eyes. How long could I stand it? How long could it last? It seemed forever, but finally, I felt the hook push free.

I opened my eyes to see her blurry face through my tears. When I cleared my eyes, she sat ecstatic, regarding her work. I looked at it, at my pussy. The hook entered beneath my clit and emerged at the front of the hood, the point jutting forward. She pulled it. Pain shot through me and I kicked the deck and agony. "Oh! Oh! Oh! Please be gentle." I cleared the tears from my eyes again. She stroked and kissed me there, but softly this time.

"How do you like it?" she asked.

"Fuck!"

And I looked -- at her smiling face, at my pussy and the cruel, crooked hook in my pink flesh. It was so beautiful. My clit was so beautiful. Amanda's eyes blazed.

* * * * *