Morgan's Diary, part two

With clean hair swept behind my ears, pink cheeks and of course my very best underwear on, I jumped at Morgan's knock on my bedroom door right on time. Hurrying over I let her in. The minute she was inside, she so smelled-up my small room that I caught my breath.

"Hi," she sang. The dreaded diary was back in her hand. She teased me, running one pink-lacquered fingernail over and over its cover.

"OMG, boys," Morgan declared. "You always need to do something with those stupid things you've got. If it’s not needing the bathroom in the middle of class, it’s this."

And she snorted a typical Morgan-laugh, making me feel no bigger than one of my own freckles.

"Um, so, Morgan, what time do you have, then?" I pressed on, fidgeting, my voice high and tremulous.

Slowly she turned the pages of her diary, pink lips pursed. I shifted some more in my underpants, which were starting to ride up. Surely she could see how badly I needed to do this!

She could see alright, I then thought pettishly. Why did she have to be such a teaser all the time?

Morgan tweezed one page of her diary between forefinger and thumb, giving it a little flip-flick. "I see you're allowed to in three weeks," she announced at length. "Wanna wait until then, or do you want me to check if there's anything earlier?"

I felt like I was going to burst! "Um, check for something earlier please, Morgan," I blurted out, the words stumbling over each other in my agitation.

She giggled.

By now I couldn't stand still, or control my breathing. The toecap of one sneaker restlessly pressed against my other instep, and it was beyond me to stop my thigh quivering weakly as it only ever did when I was in a state like this.

"Got clean panties on?" Morgan asked, as if this question had only just occurred to her. She stopped slowly leafing through the pages to ask it. Frantically I nodded my head, well past words.

Her shiny fingernail hovered above one page. I gulped hard and held my breath.

With a saucy smile Morgan slowly moved the finger to touch the end of my nose, directing me to sit down on the bed. This I did at once, heart pounding. This was it!

She looked like she was fighting back the giggles. Then all of a sudden she whipped round and gave me a cheeky little over-the-shoulder wave, then skipped out of my bedroom and was gone.

After I'd cried a bit with my cheeks buried in the bedsheets, it wasn't so hard resigning myself to another three weeks of feeling like this. At least I knew where I stood. What was left however was a burning fury directed solely at you-know-who.

Why had she had to tease me like that? If she hadn't ever intended to let me, why not just say so from the start?

I felt silly as could be. A girl had got the better of me in the worst possible way, and it was all one big reminder of how wrong it was that she should ever have been able to. Sighing I stood, as if that would somehow improve things. Through the open window wafted a summer smell mixed with a sharp pang of teen-perfume. Weakly I pictured the girls passing by, going out to parties, some headed for Morgan's of course.

Oh, three weeks though! PE and assembly and class alike were sure to be such a pain!

Morgan and I were both June babies, as she’d reminded me, so I supposed that was the date three weeks from now to which she'd referred. I didn't think even Morgan was going to be able to begrudge me a little respite on my birthday! However, those weeks were agony, just as I'd known they would be. Girls seemed to be everywhere, and prettier and more tempting with each hot day that crawled by. It was funny how a tiny thing did it when a boy was in that sort of state. For me it was the scalloped edges of another girl's bra-cups, if you can believe that. Naturally, I only saw them through her semi-see-through school blouse, but she had boobs almost as big as Morgan's, and she smelled almost as much, and with everything else that just happened to be the moment it all got too much for me.

"But you wouldn't wear one like that unless you meant to be seen in it!" I suddenly found myself insisting, hoarsely flinging the words at her in an accusatory manner, desperate tears pricking my eyes. "What would be the point of edges like that otherwise?"

The girl just looked bemused, sniffed, and said something smartly about how I didn't understand underwear.

I fumed over her all day though. For some reason what I kept picturing was her amid brilliant sunbeams in a bedroom that smelled as much as she did, front-down on the bed, smooth and naked as she cast her pretty black-lashed eyes over a Just Seventeen or something. The twin curves of her bare butt poked up, careless, because everything about her was all hers and no-one else's. Again and again that afternoon hot tears spurted and I dashed them away, but couldn't do a thing about how badly this vision of her made me hurt inside.