My First Valentine
by Lubrican
Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
Chapter Four
The
first thing I did when I got home was go over to Valerie's. Her dad answered
the door.
"Good
evening, young man," he said, formally. "I understand you are
escorting my daughter to the Valentine's dance."
"It's
me, Mr. Carter," I said.
"I
know who you are."
"I've
gone with Val places lots of times."
"Not
on an official date," he said.
"Is
this an official date?"
He
smiled. "It had better be. She's pretty excited about it. Do I need to ask
you what your intentions are towards my daughter?"
"Intentions?"
He
leaned closer and winked.
"Are
you going to see what you can get away with?"
I
blinked.
"You
mean try something with Valerie?" My voice rose. The very concept was
ridiculous. She'd break my arm.
"Exactly,"
he said, looking serious and folding his arms over his chest.
"Who
is it, Dear?" asked Mrs. Carter, and her face appeared over his shoulder.
"Oh, it's you, Bobby."
"I
was trying to divine his intentions toward my only daughter," said Mr.
Carter, still very serious.
"Don't
harass the poor boy, Ed." She looked at me. "Come in, Bobby. What's
up?"
"I
need to find out what color Val's dress is," I said. "The one she's
going to wear to the dance," I added, just so there wasn't any confusion.
"I
don't think she knows, yet," said Mrs. Carter. "She's been trying on
dresses all afternoon."
"How
many dresses does she have?" I asked, surprised. I wasn't sure I'd ever
seen Valerie Carter in a dress. Then I remembered a wedding we both went to
when we were ten or eleven. She wore a dress then. And she'd worn a skirt one
time to another dance.
"More
than the average tomboy," said Mrs. Carter, smiling. "You staying for
supper with us?"
"No,
I have to get home. The lady at the flower place said I was ignorant and that
if Val's dress is going to be white, I have to call her and tell her."
Both
adults laughed, which I thought was pretty rude.
"It
won't be white," said Mrs. Carter. "Not this time."
I
wondered which time it would be white, but decided not to ask. I knew what I
needed to know.
"Thanks,"
I said.
"Certainly,"
said Mrs. Carter. "When she decides, I'll call your mother and let her
know what color it is."
"The
lady said the corsage will be two white orkins, or something like that."
More
laughter. It was a rude night.
"Valerie
will be pleased," said Mrs. Carter, when she stopped laughing. "Orchids
represent grace and beauty."
"They
do?"
Mr.
Carter grinned and patted me on the shoulder.
"At
least I know my daughter's virtue is safe."
"Ed!"
said Mrs. Carter, clearly chastising him with that one word.
"Well
if he doesn't even know what the flowers he's giving her mean, then he's
clearly not sophisticated enough to seduce her."
"Ed
Carter!" Now she sounded mad.
"I'll
just be going," I said, turning to leave.
As
the door was closing I heard Mrs. Carter say, "And what if she's the
one doing the seducing?"
I
thought about that for about twenty feet or so. Valerie? Seducing me?
Not
a chance in the world.
Not
that I'd mind, of course. If she did, I might get to see those breasts I was so
interested in.
But
there was no way.
Especially
if she'd already seduced any of those other guys she'd gone out with.
Or them her.
My
stomach hurt by the time I got home, but by the time my mother interrogated me
about the corsage I'd forgotten all about seduction and what I had finally
admitted was jealousy on my part.
After
all, she was going to the dance with me, right?
Okay,
okay. I was going to the dance with her.
I'd
been to lots of dances. I was always a little nervous about it, while it happened.
I was always nervous in groups of kids. You never knew when somebody would pull
some prank, or try bullying you. Things could go terribly wrong in the blink of
an eye, and at no fault of yours.
But
this time my mother was putting me in a suit. And there was the whole corsage
thing, and the lessons my mother suddenly decided were required on etiquette.
Such as going up to the door to escort Valerie to the car, and opening her door
for her and all that kind of thing. I was pretty sure she'd beat me to the car
and open her own door. She had a tendency to dash everywhere, and it was
entirely possible she'd actually be offended if I opened doors for her. I could
just hear her saying something like, "What are you doing? I'm not an
invalid. I'm perfectly capable of opening my own door. Get away from me!"
Then
there was the assumption, on the part of my parents, that I was taking Valerie
out to eat before the dance. When Mom started in on how I was supposed to seat
her at the table, I held up my hand.
"Who
said we're going out to eat?" I asked.
"Judy
did," said my mother. "She called to ask me if I knew where you
intended to take her."
"Her
mother wanted to know where we were going to go eat?" This was getting
weird.
"Valerie
is allergic to shellfish," explained my mother.
"Shellfish,"
I said, uncertainly.
"Yes,
like clams, or oysters, like they have in fancy restaurants."
"I
can't afford to take anybody to a fancy restaurant," I said.
"Sure
you can, just this once," said my dad. "We'll help out with that. We
want you two to have a good time."
"This
is starting to sound like prom," I said.
"We
can discuss prom when it happens," said my mother, sounding businesslike.
"Yes,"
said my dad. "One soiree at a time."
"This
isn't a soiree, Dear," said my mother, obviously correcting my father.
"It's a semi-formal."
"Whatever,"
said Dad, and I could tell he was losing interest. I was too, for that matter.
"Since
I didn't know we were going out to eat, I'll have to talk to Val and see where
she wants to go," I said. "Or if she wants to go."
"I
gathered it was her idea," said my mother. She frowned. "And a
gentleman of good breeding should take charge and establish where he will take
his lady fair."
"The
last time I tried to take charge, Val slugged me," I commented.
My
dad laughed.
What
was it with all the rude people tonight?
The
day of the dance finally arrived. They were having it on a Saturday night,
which meant my mother had all day to fret and fuss and issue last minute
instructions on gentlemanliness and etiquette. In the years since all this
happened, I've heard more than one bride-to-be bemoan the fact that her mother
was intimately involved in planning the wedding, and that, as a result, the
bride was thinking seriously about eloping.
I
get that.
But
finally I escaped from my house, car keys firmly gripped in my hand. I was
being required to drive the whole seventy-five feet to the driveway next door,
so I could escort my date to the car without making her traverse any grassy
swards.
It
turned out that was actually a pretty good thing, because Valerie had on high
heels. And they'd have sunk right down into the moist earth of our yards.
But
I'm getting ahead of myself. Remember those lifetime memories I mentioned at
the beginning of this whole thing? Well seeing her come into view that night,
as I stood inside their front door, is another one of mine.
Her
dress was dark blue. I believe they call it Royal Blue. It fell to just above
her knees, which surprised me, because I expected it to go down to the floor.
Another thing I hadn't expected was for it to fit her so well. The only formal
or semi-formal attire I'd ever seen was at weddings, and in people's prom
pictures, and a lot of the women in those look like a big colored puff ball.
Valerie's dress fit her like a glove, and I suddenly saw that she had the same
hour glass shape that I saw in some of the pictures of naked women in my
collection.
She
wasn't naked, of course, but my eyes went to her chest anyway. The neck of the
dress was what I think they call a scoop. It was rounded and went down and back
up, exposing maybe three or four inches of cleavage. It wasn't as much as her
halter tops exposed, but somehow it looked just as alluring. She had a cream
colored clutch purse in her right hand, and she stepped carefully on high
heeled shoes that matched the purse. I could see the tiny wobble in her ankles
and the concentration on her face as she walked. There was a shawl draped over
her shoulders, and hanging down by her arms. It was ivory too.
She
stopped, and looked hesitantly at me.
"Wow,"
I sighed.
"Do
I look okay?" she asked, in a voice that sounded very unsure.
Her
father snorted. I didn't look at him. I didn't look at anything except Valerie.
"Better
than okay," I said. I know, it wasn't suave, but it was what came into my
mind.
"You
look good too," she said, her eyes ranging over my suit. I felt stiff and
uncomfortable in it, and figured I looked like it.
The
weight of the box containing her corsage intruded on my mind and I lifted it.
"I
got you a corsage."
"Okay,"
she said.
It
was obvious that she was nervous. That was odd, because Val was never nervous.
But it made me feel better, somehow, because I was nervous as hell.
"Well
don't just stand there," said Mrs. Carter. "Put it on her."
I
opened the box and reached in for the corsage. I'd looked at it before. My
mother had oohed and ahhed over it. Even I thought it was pretty. But I hadn't
thought about what it would take to attach it to her. I pulled it out and
turned it over. There were two huge pins sticking through the stem part of the
thing. They were obviously to pin it to her dress.
I
looked at Val, at that scooped neckline. There was plenty of room for it on
either side. I approached her, pulling the pins out of the stem.
"Which
side do you want it on?" I asked.
"Put
it on her left side," said her father.
"Why?"
asked his daughter.
"So
he won't crush it while you're dancing," he said.
"Dancing?"
We both said it at the same time.
"I
believe it's called the Valentine's Day Dance," said Mrs. Carter,
gently.
"I
don't know how to dance," I said, weakly.
"You'll
figure it out," said Mr. Carter.
"You're
going to be late if we stand here talking all night," said Mrs. Carter.
So
I approached Val, trying to figure out how to pin that stupid flower onto the
left side of her dress. It was obvious that the easiest way would be to slip
the fingers of my left hand inside that scooped neckline - just a little -
which would let me lift the cloth and press the pin through it without stabbing
her. My fingers could then guide the tip of the pin back out of the cloth. I'd
have to do that twice, once with a pin high on the stem, and again with a pin
low on the stem.
The
idea of sliding my fingers inside her neckline didn't bother me at all.
What
bothered me was doing it in front of her parents.
I
looked at her mother.
"Maybe
you should do this?" I suggested.
"You're
her date," she said, firmly.
Slowly,
I reached. Val just stood there.
"Don't
stick me," she whispered.
"I'll
try not to," I answered.
I
had touched Valerie Carter hundreds of times. We'd wrestled, and pushed each
other, and given each other a boost while climbing a tree or whatever. So
touching her this time shouldn't have been any different. But it was. I'll
never forget the soft, silky feel of her skin on the back of my fingers. I
tried not to go too deep, but it was impossible to put the flower on securely
without both pins, and that bottom one required that I slide my fingers so
deeply that I expected them to run into the edge of a bra. But they didn't. All
I felt was soft, warm, slightly spongy flesh as I struggled with the pins.
She
stood there patiently, which surprised me. I kept expecting her to say what a
moron I was, and take over herself. But she didn't. During the process I
realized she was wearing perfume. That was a first too. And it smelled really
good.
I
glanced up. She was looking at the flower. Or maybe my fingers. When I looked
up, she did too. My hand was still inside her dress, but she wasn't blushing or
anything. I looked back down and finally got the bottom pin in. I removed my
left hand from her dress and gave the corsage an experimental tug with my
right.
"I
think it will stay on," I said.
"It
will be fine," said Mrs. Carter.
"Let's
go," said Valerie. She sounded urgent.
"Pictures
first!" said Mrs. Carter.
"Mom!"
Val objected.
"This
is your first date. If you think you're getting out of here without some
pictures being taken, you're sorely mistaken, young missy!"
"This
isn't my first date," said Valerie, artlessly.
"It's
your first semi-formal date," said her mother. "Now, stand
over here by the potted plant."
Mrs.
Carter lifted a digital camera that she must have had all along, but I hadn't
seen because I had only had eyes for Valerie. We stood there, having to be told
to smile, while the camera flashed four or five times.
Finally,
we were allowed to leave, hearing both adults call out, "Have fun." I
didn't offer my arm so much as Val took it. I think it was because she
was still a little unsure about walking on those stilts. The heels must have
been four inches tall. We had elected to go out to eat after the dance, because
Valerie's friends all said that was the thing to do.
We
walked slowly to the car, but I didn't mind how slowly we walked.
That
was because all that way, my arm was pressed firmly into the side of her left
breast.
When
we got to the car, I found out why my fingers hadn't run into her bra while I
was affixing the orchids to her dress.
As
she got into the passenger seat (through the door I had thoughtfully opened for
her), she pulled the shawl into her hands and I got my first look at her back.
It was bare.
The
material of the dress came over her shoulders and then went down her sides,
making a scoop of another kind across her lower back. Her whole back was
exposed, and there was no way in the world she could have worn a bra. The
errant thought crossed my mind that she had picked this dress just because
she'd have an excuse not to wear one.
I
only got a quick glance, but during that glance I was deeply affected. I know
guys aren't supposed to be all touchy feely and gooey about our emotions, but
things were happening to me that were changing the way I thought about Valerie
Carter. I'd seen her back before. We'd played on the slip and slide topless.
And she'd worn bikinis when we went swimming. But the quick glance I got was
not at the back of ten-year-old Valerie on the slip and slide. And I'd never
seen it without a strap of some kind crossing it since her first period
had made her quit showing me her growing boobs. Somehow, that lack of strap
exposed a compendium of smoothly rippling muscles beneath what seemed like an
acre of smooth, flawless skin. I had never seen this back before, and it
was astonishingly beautiful.
"What's
wrong?"
She
broke my concentration, and I realized I was just standing there, remembering
the vision of her back. I had just begun to reflect on the concept that Valerie
Carter's breasts were unfettered in the dress she was wearing, and that I was
going to spend the evening with those unfettered breasts.
"Nothing.
You're just really beautiful." It just came out.
"Thank
you," she said. "Are we going to go, or are you just going to stand
there all night admiring me?"
"Go,"
I said. "Definitely go." Suddenly, I was very interested in dancing,
chest to chest with my date. Like her dad had said, we'd figure it out.
By
the time I got to my side of the car and slid in, I had most of a boner.
The
boner went away by the time we got to school. It stayed away as we negotiated
the entrance, and the stares of people we knew, but who looked strange and
alien in their outfits. I'm sure we did too. It's quite possible nobody
recognized Valerie. Her mother had done her hair up on top of her head, and it
had a string of tiny ivory beads woven into it. She had on makeup too. It was
the first time in my life I'd ever seen her with lipstick on. It made her lips
look lush and soft and, for the first time in my life I wondered what it would
be like to kiss them.
She
was a veritable smorgasbord of new thoughts. I'd thought about her breasts for
years, but now I looked at the lines of her neck, which looked like it had been
stretched, somehow, and at the hollow of her throat, and the line of her chin.
Her shoulders even looked interesting. And whether it was the nylons she was
wearing (another first), or the fact that she was basically walking on her tip
toes, her calves looked muscular, but feminine at the same time.
"I
hate these shoes already," she said, coincidentally.
"Take
them off," I suggested, regretfully.
"Maybe
later. Let's get some punch. I'm parched."
We
got cups of fruity punch and took them ten feet away from the table. The band
was warming up and there was really nothing to do.
"How
long did it take you to look like that?" I asked. It was just out of
curiosity.
"Hours,"
she said. "It's a good thing I like you, because if I didn't, I'd have
called a halt to the whole process."
"Really?"
I felt a foreign, but welcome rush of something nice shoot through me. I already
knew she liked me, so why did it feel so good to hear her say it?
"In
a heartbeat. I'm never getting married, because if I did I'd have to kill my
mother first."
I
laughed. She grinned.
"You
really do look amazing," I said.
"I
feel like a puppet, and somebody I can't see is pulling my strings."
"Well,
any time you want to dress up like that, I'll be happy to come look at
you."
"Good
luck. I'm not ever going to another one of these things."
"Never?"
She
looked at me.
"Maybe
if you ask me to."
I
felt that thrill again.
"Consider
yourself asked," I said.
She
laughed.
"It
doesn't work that way, pal. You wouldn't believe the hours I spent listening to
all the rules, and how I was supposed to act and all that."
"Me
too!" I said. "I got lectures every day since they found out we
were going to do this!
"And
you listened," she said, approvingly. "I noticed you opened doors for
me. Very impressive."
"I
was afraid you'd yell at me for doing it."
"It's
actually kind of nice. Makes me feel special."
"You
are special," I said. Again, it just popped out.
Her
eyelashes, which were impossibly long and black, lowered, until I could only
see half her eyes.
"You
are going to dance with me tonight," she said, softly.
"Okay,"
I said, trying not to sound too eager.
"A
lot," she amended.
"Okay,"
I agreed easily.
"I
don't want any other boys cutting in, either," she said.
"How
come?"
"Because
I don't want any boy other than you putting his hand on my back. I know it
won't, but it feels like this dress is going to fall off of me any
minute."
"How
about we wait until we're alone before your dress falls off," I quipped.
Again,
I got that half-lidded stare.
"You'd
like that ... pervert."
I'm
sure it was just the hormones coursing through my veins, but suddenly I felt
bold, and powerful and invincible.
"I
would," I admitted.
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