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Old 01-Mar-18, 20:04
lterp lterp is offline
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Default Bettina the First

One of my pet peeves is when I start a story, I have plans for continuing it, and then somehow it never quite happens. I don't know how guys like boyandy do it -- writing a part one and eventually adding 10 more chapters without abandoning the story.

So I waited till I felt like this one was complete before posting any of it, which is why it's on the long side. I hope some of y'all like it!

***

Bettina the First


God, I hated Bethany Lee. No matter how hard I studied, she was always at least a percentage point better. AP Calculus, AP Physics, AP English, I’d get marks in the high 90s and she’d score 100. Hell, I’d ace a test and she’d find a way to get extra credit. I wanted to badly to be valedictorian, but Bethany was always in my way.

Even worse, I never even had to ask about her grades. Every class, me, Pat Leary, sat right in front of Bethany, the teacher would hand me my quiz or paper, and I’d see her score, right underneath mine. “Great job, Pat,” they’d say, handing me a 95 while Bethany got a 98.

I had a chip on my shoulder about it. I was one of only 20 white kids in out of 250 at Fremont High, Class of 1995. The rest were Asian, Middle Eastern or Hispanic, and that motivated me. The stereotype was that the Indian and east Asian kids worked the hardest and get the best grades, and I wanted to be on top. It was really competitive and my best friends, Maruri and Arun, had given up on even being in the top 10 percent, joking, “Guess I’ll go to my safety school: Stanford.”

Even though she was smarter than they were, too, they’d give me shit about Bethany. I laughed it off, but they knew it bothered me. “She beat you, how many, 150 tests in a row? But you’re not keeping count, right?”

“Of course not. Hey, don’t worry about me. I’m doing great.”

What’s worse, we had almost all the same extracurricular activities. We both played saxophone in the marching band, symphonic band and jazz band, and in all three she was first chair, and I was second. She was #1 singles on the girls’ tennis team, while I was #4 singles on the boys’ team, and her team went to state while ours didn’t. We were both in drama club and she always got better parts than I did. She was captain of our Scholastic Bowl team, not me. The only differences in our schedules were that she a cheerleader, while I took creative writing classes.

We were finishing up the first semester of our senior year, and while I was technically within striking distance, I was starting to accept that I wasn’t going to catch Bethany. I still had to work hard to keep salutatorian, but I had finally resigned myself to losing. It wasn’t so bad. I applied to MIT, Cal Tech, Georgia Tech, Michigan, Illinois – all the best computer science schools – and I was sure I’d get into all of them, and just hoped for scholarship money.

Once I admitted I wasn’t going to be #1, I let my guard down a little bit. Bethany and I became more cordial, sitting next to each other in band and in classes, but I was awkward around her, even though I had a reputation of being a friendly guy. I wasn’t bad looking, and, at 18, I finally added a little muscle to my 5’10” frame, getting up to 175 pounds. Bethany, of course, was a little taller than me, maybe by an inch, but was reedy and thin. She had some acne issues and incongruously chubby cheeks, and her hair didn’t always look washed. She didn’t try to dress well either. She could have been cute if she tried harder.

I started cracking jokes during band practice, and made her laugh a couple times. The first time, she looked confused – had I never talked to her like an actual person in 3.5 years of high school?

By the next semester, we were friends. Not besties, and we didn’t go to each other’s houses, but we liked seeing each other around. I think she even developed a little bit of a crush on me, though she also knew I was lusting after Paramjit Shah, a long-haired Indian girl who was probably way out of my league, but laughed at my jokes just enough for me to hold out hope.

“I don’t know, Pat. Paramjit is sweet, but she’s a little…” said Bethany, who knew her from the cheerleading squad. Bethany and I were at tryouts for that year’s musical, “Annie Get Your Gun.” Even though we’d both been accepted to a bunch of colleges, we were still getting our extracurriculars in.

“Dumb?”

“You said it, not me.”

“Come on Bethany. Everyone’s dumb compared to you.”

“Wouldn’t you want a smart girl? Someone to challenge you?” She pointed at herself with both index fingers, like she was a flashing sign. I blushed. I wasn’t used to any girl being forward with me. “Or maybe you like tiny girls? She’s probably 90 pounds. When we do stunts, I can throw her pretty high in the air, all by myself.”

“See, she’s fun sized!”

Bethany laughed. “Or is it her reputation?” I blushed even redder. We’d all heard that Paramjit was willing to go down on guys.

“I’m pure as the driven snow,” I said.

“For now,” she said with mock-seriousness. I laughed, though I was embarrassed about still being a virgin.

The next day in physics we talked about our musical tryouts, and both thought we did well. Bethany, of course, had been a lead before, but not since Sophomore year, since they liked to share the wealth. I had never been a lead, though I had a good voice. It was a pretty corny musical, but that was fun in a way.

Mr. Han entered the classroom and we settled down, and he suddenly shouted “Pop quiz!” He passed out papers and told us we had 20 minutes. It was statics, which was not my favorite topic. We had to show our work clearly for Mr. Han, which was where Bethany always tripped me up.

Mr. Han allowed us to chat while he graded the quizzes – he could grade 20 quizzes closely in like 10 minutes.

“Hey,” said Bethany, “what’d you think of question 6?”

“I think it was pretty clear.”

“Yeah, but what did you think of the question?”

“Which one was that? The block on a board?”

“Boy, you don’t have much of a memory, do you? Just the facts, huh? It went
“Juan and Bettina are carrying a 60-kg block on a 4-m board as shown. The mass of the board is 10 kg. Since Juan spends most of his time reading cookbooks, whereas Bettina regularly does push-ups, they place the block 2.5 m from Juan and 1.5 m from Bettina. Find the force in newtons exerted by each to carry the block.”
Bethany clearly had an amazing memory. As I got to know her, I was less embarrassed about finishing second to her.

“What about it?”

“Well, I was thinking, it’s like I’m Bettina and you’re Juan.” She reached across my desk and gave my upper arm a squeeze. “Though it could be a 100 kg block as far as I’m concerned. But then, you wouldn’t be able to lift your end. I’d probably just have to carry it myself.”

“What are you talking about?” I looked her up and down. She was in a long-sleeve shirt, but I was sure I outweighed her. Was she making fun of me for being weak? I didn’t think I was particularly weak.

“Tell you what. If I beat you at arm-wrestling, you have to take me to prom. Forget about Paramjit.”

“Um, OK.” I made a face at her. “What do I get when I win?”

“I’ll tank the physics final and get a ‘B’ for the class. Then you’ll get to be Valedictorian.”

Sarah Nguyen, sitting in the next row, said “No way! Do it now! I want to see this!” Someone asked her what she was talking about, and she very loudly said, “Bethany and Pat are going to arm-wrestle!” That caught everyone’s attention. I was in it now. We went to a lab table and stood across from each other. I was nervous at how confident Bethany looked, but I kept telling myself, this is my chance to be Valedictorian! It was everything I wanted.

I put my right elbow on the table. “Well, I’m left-handed, but OK,” said Bethany. “Someone count down.” I was surprised at how big Bethany’s hand was – it was almost as big as mine.

“On Go,” said Sarah. ”Three-two-one-GO!” she counted really fast.

Bethany got a jump on me at “Go” and immediately bent my wrist back. I held on as long as I could, but at that angle it was over fast. Everyone cheered Bethany and she said, “What time you going to pick me up, Juan?”

Sarah got the joke. “Good job, Juan. She almost had to try!” she teased.

I was humiliated as Mr. Han told us to sit back down. He returned the quizzes. I got a 94. Bethany aced it, naturally.

After class, I told her she cheated. “Sarah didn’t count down right. You started before she said go.” I wasn’t sure this was true, but it was the only way I could reconcile what happened.

“We could try again,” she said. “Anytime.”

“Nah, I have to get to class.”

“Wait, wait. Does this mean you won’t take me to prom? You lost fair and square!”

“No, it wasn’t fair.”

“OK, how about this. 100-meter dash. You’re a boy, you play sports, let’s race on it. Same bet.”

I sighed. “Fine.”

“I’ve got cheer practice after school tomorrow. Meet me at the track at 4:30.”

I certainly didn’t want to lose again, but being Valedictorian was suddenly on the table. I told my parents I was going to study late at the library, which certainly wasn’t abnormal, and tennis practice was the next day, so I changed into my tennis gear and went to the track, as instructed. Cheer practice was going on, and when Bethany saw me, she waved to Paramjit to come over. “One more?” I heard her say. Bethany grabbed her under the armpits, they both squatted low, and Bethany threw Paramjit high into the air. Paramjit somersaulted, then landed heavy in Bethany’s arms. She caught Paramjit so easily, like she was a toddler. I hadn’t lifted weights in forever, and my shoulder was a little sore from our short arm-wrestle. She was so skinny, but perhaps I had underestimated her.

Bethany jogged over, looking reasonably cute despite our awful school colors of brown and gold. Her hair was tied back and she had a great smile. Crap – was I starting to like her? The uniform was long-sleeved, but her legs, while thin, were definitely ridged with muscle. Her thighs would flare with every step. I was a little nervous, but on the tennis court, speed and movement were the best parts of my game.

“Hey, Juan.”

“Not funny. People have been calling me that all week.”

“It is funny.”

I rolled my eyes. “OK, it’s kind of funny.”

“OK, so it’s just a straight sprint, right? Hundred-yard dash, nothing to it. Hey Jit!” she called and Paramjit jogged over. “You know Pat?”

“Yeah, hi! What’s going on?”

I couldn’t believe Bethany was threatening to embarrass me this way. “We’re having a race. If I win, he has to take me to prom.”

“Oh,” said Paramjit. She was so petite and cute. “You don’t have a date yet?” What did that mean? Like, Paramjit might want to go to prom with me? Still, being valedictorian was at stake, too. I tried to get it out of my head. If I won, I could still ask Paramjit, I could have it all.

We lined up and squatted low, and as Paramjit counted down I jumped off the mark a little early. Bethany didn’t call me on it, and I sprinted as fast as I could, keeping a good long stride. I could hear Bethany behind me, and I accelerated a bit. It wasn’t enough. I heard her labored breathing, and at around 75 meters, she was in front and pulling away. What was happening? Suddenly, I tripped and rolled onto the track, scraping my elbow. Bethany finished the race, looked for me, and jogged back. She helped me to my feet, and I was struck again that her hands were just as big as mine. “Oh, poor you,” she said. “You lost again.”

“I didn’t lose, I tripped. In fact, you may have tripped me.”

“If I tripped you, it’s because I was passing you, Juan.”

“I had another burst in me.”

She rolled her eyes. “God, you’re really not making this easy. Tell you what, I’ll give you one more chance. A set of tennis. I’ll even give you a week or two to recover your pride.” With that, she stepped behind me and put her hands under my armpits, then lifted me straight up into the air, just like she had with Paramjit. “You’re such a baby!” she said, setting me down gently, and jogged back to the locker room.

I was trying to get my head straight. Was Bethany stronger than me? Faster than me? It seemed like she was, but surely she cheated at arm-wrestling, and I tripped on the track. I knew could beat her at tennis. Of course, I’d never seen her play, and I knew she went to state in singles. But she picked me up like I was a boy. Shit. I realized I had an erection.

Of course, at the same time I was starting to feel like taking her to prom wouldn’t be so bad, though I also thought about Paramjit, who had just seen Bethany humiliate me. God I wanted her. I had lusted after Paramjit since middle school.

The next morning, Bess Yang visited me at my locker, and I must have blushed. She was on the cheerleading squad and had probably seen our race yesterday. Pretty girl, but I didn’t really know her well. She seemed awkward as she looked both ways in the hallway before saying, “Pat – I need to talk to you about Bethany.”

“What do you mean?” I felt myself panic.

“It’s just…” her voice got quiet. “Bethany is…focused.”

“Well, yeah. She’s the hardest worker I know.”

“Not that. I’ve seen her do this before. She gets obsessed and she just tortures guys. She’s never had a boyfriend, but when she fixates on a guy, she makes his life hell. Like Aaron Rodriguez – you remember him?”

“Sort of. He was on the basketball team, right? His family moved last year.”

“Yeah, he was good, too. He was short, but he ran point. He joked with Bethany a couple times and she stalked him and –”

“Wait – he broke his nose or something, right? He used to wear one of those plastic masks on the court.”

“That was Bethany. I was with her in the parking lot when he told her he didn’t want to date her and she went nuts. She broke his nose and cheek. He had a concussion and missed like three weeks of school. He didn’t move, he transferred to Moreau Catholic.”

“Holy shit.” The one-minute bell rang. “We have to get to class, but thank you.”

“Just be careful, Pat. She talks about you at cheer practice sometimes.”

That same afternoon I found I was cast as Frank Butler in “Annie Get Your Gun,” my first lead in a musical. On the minus side, Bethany was cast as Annie. We were going to see each other even more than ever.

Even worse, the plot of “Annie Get Your Gun” involved Annie outshooting Frank in a target contest, them falling in love, circumstances driving them apart, then reconciling. At the end of the play, Frank’s pride is too weak to allow the marriage because she’s a better shot than he is, so they have a final target shootout, which Annie throws so Frank will marry her.

The first time we had to sing “Anything You Can Do” together, I felt my humiliation and temper rise, listening to Bethany sing “Anything can do I can do better. I can do anything better than you,” and I put plenty of gusto into my refrain of “No you can’t.”

In practice, Bethany took it on herself to change some of the lyrics on the fly, and I know I went crimson as she sang:

“Anywhere you can run, I can run faster. I can run anywhere faster than you.”

Then another verse: “Anything you can lift I can lift greater. Any day I can lift more than you.”

Even the bridge: “I'm superior, you're inferior. I'm the big strong one you’re weak and small. I'm the smart one, you're the dumb one. I can beat you arm-wrestlin', that's not all”

“Bethany!” called Miss Garcia, the director. “Sing the lyrics as written, please.”

With all our extracurriculars, I suggested we wait until just before prom for our tennis match. The musical would be over by then, and it wouldn’t give me any more chances to weasel out. I promised I’d abide by the results of the match as long as she stopped calling me “Juan.” I thought of Bess’s warning and basically was trying to stretch out our competitions as long as I could.

Things started to seem normal again. We’d see each other at band and in class, and she didn’t seem that obsessed. After one pop quiz in physics, Sarah Nguyen challenged me to an arm-wrestle, which obviously reminded everyone else of my humiliation, but I took her up on it. She was maybe 5’6” and 120 pounds, and I felt so much relief when the match started. Her hands were small, she was trying her hardest, but I nicely pressed her arm down in a few seconds. “Dammit!” she said. “I guess you’re stronger than I thought. Bethany must be a beast!” That actually made me feel a lot better. I wasn’t a weakling. Maybe.

Despite all the warnings, I had a wet dream: Bethany throwing me high in the air and catching me, over and over again. In the dream, she was like 8 feet tall. I had never had a wet dream before, and I was surprised that was what set me off. I turned on my light and looked at the previous year’s yearbook and looked at Aaron Rodriguez’s picture. He wasn’t a big guy, but he was a lot more built than me, especially in the shoulders and arms.

After the weeks of rehearsal, the play went over pretty well. It’s kind of a corny play, but it had a lot of stage work and the parents loved it. We did four shows. On the last night, Bethany, telling no one but Miss Garcia and the stage-hands, totally changed the ending. At the end of Act II, rather than throwing the shooting contest, she’d go ahead and win. The target showed bull’s eye after bull’s eye for Annie. She turned to me and sang loudly, one last time, “I can do anything better than you!” Then shouted, “You’re on your own, Frank!” and stormed off the stage. They dropped the curtain and the crowd went wild, more so than for the other three shows.

Over the months, Maruri and Arun had actually started to encourage me to go to prom with Bethany. “You have to forget Paramjit, man,” said Arun. “She’s got a list of guys.” Maruri thought Bethany was cuter than I did, and thought it would be funny for me to throw the tennis match, just like in the play. “I’d never do that,” I said.

So finally, in April, we agreed on a Saturday to play tennis. Instead of one set, we agreed to play best of three sets. Boys’ tennis had just ended, so I was in tennis shape, while girls’ tennis ended in the fall. I hoped I’d have more stamina and be more on my game.

It was unseasonably warm – over 80 degrees. I arrived first and warmed up my serve; Bethany rolled up 10 minutes late in a tennis skirt and warmup jacket. “No faking an injury,” she said with a laugh. “Even if you get injured, you lose. Same for me, OK?” I agreed. I had told myself to focus, be a winner, and whatever happened this match, it would count.

From the start, I was the more consistent player. I had good movement on the court, and even though I was a bit of a pusher, I goaded her into a lot of unforced errors. She had a ton of spin on her lefty serve, but by the end of the set I was starting to track it. My serve wasn’t the best part of my game, so she broke me once, but I broke her three times and led 6-3.

I had thought it was strange she kept on her track jacket, and during the water break she took it off. She was wearing a fitted tank top. Her arms looked thin from across the court, and I wondered again about our arm-wrestling match. Maybe she had cheated, like I claimed.

She served first in the second set, and there were no breaks after three games. We were changing sides, and I stopped to drink some water. While she was adjusting her pony tail, I saw these peaked, mountainous biceps rise and fall. Her arms were a lot thicker up close. Her shoulders and back were absolutely ripped, not just from being thin, but with visible muscles. I looked away, but I was suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

I faltered and she broke me at love. “It always takes me so long to warm up,” she said, and in her next service game she bombed four straight aces. I played better the next game, getting it to deuce, but she broke me again and, four more serves later, it was a quick and easy 6-1 set for Bethany. “Better get fitted for a tux!” she called, and giggled.

During the changeover, I mostly regained my composure. I had gone into the match planning to win with footwork, and regardless of that 100-meter dash we did, I was quicker around the court than she was. I stayed mentally tough, backed up my serve three straight times. I couldn’t break her, though. In the seventh game, we kept ending up at deuce. The game went on and on, but after at least 15 minutes I won to go up 4-3. “Gah!” shouted Bethany, and she slammed her racked on the pavement, cracking it. She then bent the cracked head in half with her bare hands. “Dammit!”

I waited a moment. I was exhilarated for a moment. Had I won? I glanced at her bag, and realized I hadn’t. She was a #1, of course she had a 6-racket bag.

“Sorry about that, Pat. I just got a little carried away. I’ll keep my temper. Will you forgive me?” She looked very earnest, but again, she was messing with her hair. I couldn’t look her in the eye. Those arms were enormous.

“Of course. Let’s finish up.” I was definitely deflated.

She lost a little bit of oomph on her serve, but held. The pressure was on, and while I got my first serves in, Bethany was swinging freely, and she was crushing the return. I was broken to go down 4-5. Bethany didn’t taunt me; she was focused, which made me nervous. She regained the speed on her serve and served aggressively: ace, double-fault, ace, ace, double-fault, ace. I didn’t touch a single ball, and on the last ace, she screamed like she was Maria Sharapova. We shook hands at the net, and she said, “I was worried about this one. I hadn’t touched a racket since my season ended in November. Thanks for warming me back up.”

I laughed nervously. I was mad I hadn’t won, mad I wasn’t going to be valedictorian, but also a little afraid of Bethany’s strength and what Bess had told me. “I thought I had you there, near the end.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t. And now you’re all mine.”

Prom was only two weeks away, but I found a tux pretty quickly. In fact, I kind of looked good in it. Word got around that we were going together: “Of course those nerds would hook up. Still, it’s kind of adorable.” I always made a point to tell people we were going as friends.

One Monday in Physics, Bethany said, “Hey, let’s switch seats.” I shrugged and complied, so I was sitting behind her instead of in front of her, like in every class. Leary and Lee. Class was just a lecture, and halfway through, Bethany unzipped her hoodie, revealing a cap-sleeve T-shirt. She adjusted her pony tail, and once again, the muscles in her shoulders and arms just popped, rising and falling with each movement. I turned crimson – sometimes it sucks being Irish – but no one noticed. A few minutes later, she put her hoodie back on.

“Did you enjoy the show?” she asked after class.

“What do you mean?” I knew what she meant.

“I saw you staring at my arms on the tennis court. Thought I’d give you a closer look.” I looked at the floor. “I know you were looking. You’re thinking, how is it that this skinny little girl, is so much stronger than you are. And it’s a reminder, every time you see my muscles flex, that I’m smarter, faster, stronger, more talented, more coordinated and just all around better than you. At everything. Literally everything. I’m quite a catch.” She grabbed my arm and squeezed it hard enough that it hurt. “Stop telling people we’re going as friends,” she whispered. “You are my date.” She lightened her grip and smiled. “Got it?” and kissed my cheek.

I did what she told me. She said she didn’t want a limo, she wanted to drive. I rented a navy blue tux to match her dress. I bought a crazy expensive boutonniere, a matching bouquet, all the accoutrements. My parents thought it was strange I was going to prom at all, and when Bethany arrived, I was all set to just leave, but Bethany forced her way in. “Where are your parents? Don’t they want to meet me?” She was wearing a navy blue, long gown with fancy gloves and a shawl. It was strapless, and from what I could see, Bethany ‘s chest and trap muscles made her look like a linebacker.

“Oh. Sure. Mom! Dad! Bethany is here!”

My parents came in from the living room, and they were very cordial as they shook Bethany’s hand. “Good, strong handshake,” said my dad.

“My parents always say a weak handshake shows a weak person.”

“Hah – well, you’re clearly going places. Where are you going to college, Bethany? I bet everyone was lining up.”

“MIT, full scholarship.”

I looked at her suddenly. I had committed to MIT, but I hadn’t told her that. “I thought you were going to Cal Tech!”

“I changed my mind. Everyone offered me free rides, so they’re happy to have me.”

“That’s great,” said my mom. “It’ll be nice that Pat has a friend in Cambridge.”

“I didn’t know you were going to MIT!” said Bethany with a smile that made clear she definitely knew. “Do you have a camera?”

“Of course,” said my dad, who went to the hall closet for his camera bag. Bethany and I held each other’s waists – I was surprised at how firm she felt. “Say cheese!” He took several, including one with Bethany stooping down from her heels to kiss my cheek.

As we walked to the car, Bethany paused to let me in front of her, then lightly shoved me. “I can’t believe you told your parents we’re just friends.”

“How did you know I was going to MIT?”

“I told you, I had no idea,” she said in a sing-song voice.

The drive to school was mercifully short, and we all loaded up into a bus to take us to an expensive hotel with ballroom in San Jose. With everyone together, Bethany was outgoing and fun, even if she always was going to be a little intense. Sarah, Bess and Arun were sitting near us and took great pains to call us “cute together.” Paramjit was sitting near the back with her date, who I didn’t recognize. He must have been older, or from another school. The hotel was beautiful, the DJ was good, the food was rich, and we had fun, even if whenever there was a slow song, Bethany held me closer than she should have.

After a couple hours, they announced that we were named King and Queen of the prom. I looked around, confused, but enough people clapped that I guess Bethany had been canvassing for votes. She was so excited as she dragged me to the front of the ballroom. They gave me a crown and I put it on to smile nicely for the photographer, when Bethany snatched it off my head. “No, Pat. I think you can be queen, or maybe just a dame,” she said loudly, and people laughed. She put the tiara she’d been given on my head, they took some pictures, and for one, she posed, flexing her biceps. Even beneath the gloves and the shawl, I could see her muscle rise.

“Can’t we do one normally?”

“Nope. You shall be Lady Pat, as decreed by King Bethany the First. In Spain, they call me Rey Bettina! And you, Dama Juan.”

I froze. I knew I should have snatched the crown from her head and tried to get at least one proper picture, but suddenly we were done. There’d be a picture in my senior yearbook of me, dejected, in a freaking tiara while Bethany beamed, flexing her arm, lording her strength and intelligence over me. Plus, she was going to follow me to college – maybe I could change my mind, too, even if I wasn’t quite as in-demand as she was. I felt ill. And I’d come so close to beating her at tennis, getting valedictorian, being #1.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I announced, and left the ballroom. I took my time finding the lavatory, and I swore people were smirking at me as I walked through the halls of the hotel. I sat in the stall, not needing to use it, and ran my hands through my hair, knocking the goddamn tiara onto the floor. Bess had warned me about her, but I thought she’d be gone by fall. What was I going to do? I thought, her arm muscles are tremendous, but she was still a girl. She had a narrow chest. I probably, maybe, outweighed her. I left the stall – and the tiara by the toilet – and wandered the ground floor till I found the gym. I loitered until a guest walked out, and snuck in, since it required a key card to enter. I blocked the door with a towel, walked fast to the ballroom and found Bethany. I took her by the arm – god, it was thick – and led her to the hall.

“OK, one last bet.”

She was intrigued. “You’ve already lost, Pat. Over and over again.” She touched me on the nose, like I was a child. She was still wearing her crown.

“It’s simple. A bench-press contest. Who can bench the most. If I win, you have to go to Cal Tech. Or anywhere but MIT.”

“OK, deal. Wait, what do I get? What’s in it for me?”

“We’ll have to do a king and queen dance at some point. At the end of the dance, I’ll kiss you.”

“With tongue?”

“I’ll keep it tasteful.”

We hurried to the gym, since I didn’t want us to be conspicuously missing, as much as I wanted to avoid the final dance. The towel hadn’t been moved, and I led her to the bench machine. She pointed to the opposite corner, where there was a bench, bar and weights. “Let’s use those,” she said. “It’s better to use free-weights. You use more of your muscles to keep the weight stable.”

Crap, I thought. I didn’t know that. She knew her way around a gym.

“Alright, Lady Pat, I think there are two ways this can go. Either you go first and I just embarrass you by outlifting you, or I go first.”

I thought it through strategically, deciding if I were backed in a corner, I might get the adrenaline to win this fight. At this point, I was desperate. “Go.”

“OK, I’ll warm up.” She put two of the biggest plates on, and explained that the bar was probably 45 pounds, making it a total of 135. She didn’t even take her heels off as she did eight reps without tiring at all. Even though she was goading me, I stopped at two reps to preserve my energy. She added two 15-pound plates and did five reps easily. I pretended 165 pounds was easy, but the second rep just about did me in. I needed the adrenaline to kick in, somehow. She added two 10-pound plates, breathed deep, and, to my relief, the three reps she did seemed strenuous, at least. Though she still hadn’t taken off her heels.

I climbed underneath and steeled myself. Could I bench 185, even once? I didn’t lift like this, I didn’t know.

“Pat. You know we have a powerlifting team, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s new this year. I’m not the best because they have these bullshit multipliers that benefit little 100-pound girls who can deadlift by lifting the weight like two inches off the ground. But I’m the strongest girl in school, for sure.”

I thought of her throwing Paramjit – and lifting me – and believed it.

“I know what I’m doing, and you don’t. Try not to hurt yourself, m’lady.” I lifted the weight and lowered it to my chest, but I could not press it up. “It’s OK, sweetie. I’m surprised you got this far.” I grunted. “Are you having trouble, baby?” The bar wasn’t pressing on me yet, but I was getting nervous. She reached under her dress and pulled off her panties, then straddled me on my chest. “Here, let me help you with that.” She pulled upward, doing most of the work as we put the barbell on the weight.

She shifted forward, pressing her pussy into my face. “How about now?” she said. “Is it getting hard to breathe?” I had never been so close to a pussy in my life, and it smelled both pungent and glorious. I breathed deep and she shifted forward till it was over my mouth. I couldn’t breathe. I put my hands on her hips, and she started rocking back and forth. “Use your tongue,” she said, and, not knowing what I was doing, I darted my tongue out over and over, like a lizard. It was apparently working because she started breathing deeper and deeper, then covered her own mouth as she, climaxed? I think?

She climbed off me and put her panties back on as I sat there, exhausted from both weightlifting and the lack of air. “Go wash your face,” she said. “And find your tiara – we’ve got a dance coming up.”

I did as she said, waiting till after she left the gym to get my bearings. I went back to the bathroom and found the tiara behind the toilet, and put that filthy thing on my head, because I didn’t know what else to do. I was trapped in this hotel in San Jose, waiting for the bus to take us back to school. I suddenly felt ill, pulled down my pants and shat my guts out. I cleaned up and stared at myself in the mirror for minutes. I was a great student, smart, reasonably attractive, reasonably athletic – how did I get in this position?

I sighed and went back to the ballroom. Bethany waved excitedly for me, and on the way to the dance floor, Maruri gave me a high five like I was the luckiest boy in the world, and I realized he’d handed me a small flask. I took a giant swig of the vodka inside and, weirdly, felt a little better when it was time to dance. In fact, I overdid my role, jamming my Lady-tongue deep into my King’s mouth at the end of “I’ll Make Love to You” by Boyz II Men, which I couldn’t believe was our prom theme. I think people cheered.

We were maybe 10 minutes from the bus taking us back to Fremont and Bethany was engaged with some of her cheer friends. Or maybe they were powerlifting friends. I wondered if my school was filled with girls stronger than me, then decided not to think about it. On my last trip to the buffet table, a little buzzed on all the vodka, I nearly bumped into Paramjit. Despite a rather humiliating night, I managed to say “Hi” in an enthusiastic way. “Who’s your boyfriend?” I asked, more boldly than I would have without alcohol.

“Oh, that’s Kumar, my brother. I really wanted to go to prom, but no one asked me. He graduated two years ago.”

“What? But, Paramjit, you’re literally the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“You’re sweet. But if you thought that, why didn’t you ask me? Why didn’t anyone ask me?”

“I mean, I wanted to. But you’re way out of my league. And then this Bethany stuff…”

“Pat, you’re the prom king. Or whatever. You’re probably out of my league.”

The booze really settled in. “Paramjit, I’ve been in love with you since middle school, maybe earlier. I’ve had so many dreams about you. Not gross stuff, but like, we’re in the park holding hands. We’re on a beach, we’re on a merry-go-round, we’re kissing, but not like I’m trying to get you do to anything, just kissing and holding each other. I adore you. I think about you every day, every hour. God, I’m sorry, I can’t believe I’ve said so much. I’ve made you uncomfortable, I’m sure.” I sighed, only mostly understanding how much I’d said.

Paramjit started to cry. “Then… why am I at my senior prom… with my brother?”

“Because I was too shy to ask you,” I said. She leaned towards me, and we hugged for what felt like the best thousand years of my life. Emboldened by vodka, I tilted my head way down to tiny Paramjit and kissed her, and she kissed back. I felt it reverberate through my body, even as I remembered kissing Bethany so passionately.

She breathed deep and leaned into me, touching my chest, already a little sore from my contest with Bethany. “Tonight’s not the night for this, but next week, I’ll give you my number. We still have a summer before I go to Berklee.”

“You’re going to live on campus at Cal?”

“Oh, sorry – Berklee, with two e’s. It’s in Boston, a music school. I got a scholarship there in opera.”

“I’m going to MIT!”

“Ha! Then maybe we’ll get more than a summer.” She smiled. “Kumar looks bored – it was such a huge favor for him to come out to this. I’m going to keep him entertained.”

A few minutes and two swigs later, buzzed on liquor, I turned towards the dance floor and Bethany was directly in front of me. “Having fun?” she asked with an edge.

“Having a great time!” I felt legitimately enthusiastic. I hadn’t drunk much before, but vodka was amazing so far.

“So. Paramjit.”

“She’s a friend…”

“You kissed her. I saw you kiss her.” I didn’t deny it. “Goddammit Pat, I told you, we’re not here as friends. You’re my fucking date. You. Are. My. Fuck. Ing. Date.” I nodded. An announcement rang that the bus was heading back to Fremont, and Bethany glared at me a second before we all started lining up to leave. On the way back, Bethany sat elsewhere so I sat with Arun and consoled him on his terrible night; his date from another school turned out to be a man, and he was having trouble reconciling that he was excited about that. “Sometimes you can’t accept what you want,” he said.

Bethany must have sat in the front of the bus because when I got off, she grabbed my arm and dragged me to her car. “I am so angry at you,” she said.

Honestly, I was drunk. I was a lightweight, and I’d drank all of Maruri’s flask.

“It’s fucking prom. We are king and fucking queen. And you go and make out with…that tiny little slut?”

“Sorry,” was all I could come up with.

“Sorry,” she said in a nasal voice to mock me. “Sorry I’m too afraid to fuck a real woman.”

“I didn’t fuck her.”

“I know, you dipshit. But I am your date. Why would you do that to me?”

“Sorry. But we’re not dating. I know you’re saying we’re more than friends, but we’re not dating. We’ve had like one kiss, for show.”

“You’ve had my pussy in your face.”

“That was all you.”

“You were all like, ‘let’s go to the gym, let’s make another bet, let’s salvage my pathetic male ego.’ And you lost. Again.”

“OK, that’s fair.”

She shouted, “I don’t need you to tell me what’s fair.” She dragged me to her car, opened the back door, pushed me in and mounted me. I tried to escape, but she had me straddled, and she had pinned my wrists to the other passenger door. “OK?” she asked, and I knew she meant, “Don’t struggle.” She pulled off my pants and underwear, then removed her panties for the second time that night. She reached into her handbag and opened a condom, but it was too small to fit over me. I was terrified, but I couldn’t control my erection. She found another one, rolled it over me, and it felt tight – I was a virgin, I almost came – then pulled it off. She found a third condom and gently and slowly slid it onto my cock. “Oh my god,” she said, though I didn’t really know why. She climbed onto me and immediately pushed my sheathed cock into her wet pussy. It slid in, but tightly – was that the way sex usually worked? – and she rode me fast and hard. I felt her squeeze my cock and I moaned. Bethany slapped me across the face. “Do not enjoy this,” she said. “This is rape.”

I paled, because I was confused. “I am raping you,” she said, as if in a trance. “I am raping you, you pathetic little boy.” Is this what happened to Aaron Rodriguez?

Somehow I didn’t lose my erection. She started riding me harder and harder and I felt so much strain in my back and stomach from her intensity. I worried I wouldn’t be able to keep up, even if I was terrified at her focus. “Anything you can be, I can be greater” she said between breaths, and, remembering her impromptu lyrics in the play, I knew it was true. I knew I had lost. Finally lost.

As she pushed herself deeper and deeper onto my cock, with no regard whatsoever for me as anything more than an adversary to defeat, I was hers. I tried to grab onto her, to steady myself against the power in her hips and thighs. She pinned my wrists again, slamming them against the door frame and I screamed as I felt a sickening crunch in my right wrist. I was immobile, broken and overpowered by her obscene strength. What was I to Bethany? A mild challenge? A fun toy? As a man, I was puny to her.

She continued to ride me, staring me straight in the eyes. I started to cry and she smiled. We’d go to MIT together, where she’d prove over and over again that she was smarter, stronger and better than me. If she saw me in Boston again with Paramjit, I feared for both our lives. I was trapped.
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  #2  
Old 25-Jan-19, 07:36
nadiablack nadiablack is offline
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Default Re: Bettina the First

fucking amazing story, why don't more people talk about this one?
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Old 25-Jan-19, 16:44
lterp lterp is offline
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Default Re: Bettina the First

Thanks @[Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register] !

"Bettina the First" is a long story, and it's a slow burn, so I'm not surprised it has a smaller audience than stories that get right to detailed fights and wrestling matches. It's more of a mental domination story, too.

Anyway, I always thought Bettina was my best character in my best story. It's awesome to hear that you liked it, and thanks for the bump.
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Old 25-Jan-19, 22:27
nadiablack nadiablack is offline
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Default Re: Bettina the First

Quote:
Originally Posted by lterp [Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register]
Thanks @[Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register] !

"Bettina the First" is a long story, and it's a slow burn, so I'm not surprised it has a smaller audience than stories that get right to detailed fights and wrestling matches. It's more of a mental domination story, too.

Anyway, I always thought Bettina was my best character in my best story. It's awesome to hear that you liked it, and thanks for the bump.
Would you ever consider writing a sequel or a similar "bullying" story?
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Old 27-Jan-19, 13:19
s0ltan s0ltan is offline
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Default Re: Bettina the First

I loved the bullying in this story too.
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Old 28-Jan-19, 18:55
lterp lterp is offline
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Default Re: Bettina the First

Quote:
Originally Posted by nadiablack [Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register]
Would you ever consider writing a sequel or a similar "bullying" story?
Definitely would. I have a 1-year-old at home, but someday I'll find the time!
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