Lucky Star

Tue Sept 22, 1992

Noreen was feeling much better save some residual grunting and wheezing. She didn't want to bug Nick in case he was busy with last minute stuff but stopped by anyway and found him in Goody's office with a binder on his lap but not too busy to be excused since it was time for a breather. 

They stroll down towards the hydraulics lab, he explains, "we're just getting ready for bench needs."

"Sounds like a romp. So, later..."

"I can grab a couple burgers."

She leans in and pecks his cheek, "Mustard, pickle, NO onion, light mayo if you can?"

"You know it."

Later finds them on the couch in front of the TV for the first time in nearly a week when she was about half herself and went out of her way to show him a good time, which had bothered him some since then, that's not her sworn duty, he was there just to hang out.

She still has that same glow as yesterday, rejuvenated, and with her that comes with a hint of mischief even when she's not up to any mischief, except that she reaches beneath the couch and produces a plan black VHS case and rattles the contents with an expression that dares him to guess.

"WHAT did you just find under there."

"I found it in someone's stash of tapes a few weeks ago, been saving it." She opens the case to reveal a well-worn video cassette with a hand-printed label, she whisks it away before Nick can make out the title, but he manages to catch The World Of...somebody or such. Must be a documentary. As she loads up the VCR she invites him to stretch out and get comfy. He still had on his standard issue jeans and gray-ish golf shirt, a look that she only describes as 'preppy' but she had changed into familiar beige shorts and white floral top. Once it's rolling she lies belly down with her cheek on his chest and he habitually messes with her flaxen mop.

It starts with what looks like movie previews and he thinks it's of of HBO or such, then there's an ID for a somewhat familiar UHF channel in Chicago that he'd picked up now and then. 

"Oh channel 44", Nick offers to no response.

Then there's a card with some tree-like foliage with the words "ADULTS ONLY" in one corner, with the announcer pointing out that the following presentation is rated R and only viewable to subscribers who pay extra.

"This must be from that pay TV they had up there a few years ago."

"That is soooo interesting," she growls, bringing to mind that Ally Sheedy line from Breakfast Club that they'd watched in here recently.

"Are we adult enough to watch this?" 

Noreen just looks up at him with an expectation that he behave. Or...mis-behave? 

From the first few scenes it's obvious that this really is just for grownups, very tasteful but...familiar situations that end up involving private parts, usually with a kind of humor, but Nick doesn't always find a lot of humor in it, either way, it's fascinating. 

Over the next hour or so he may drift off a bit and so does she, but eventually there's this couple feverishly making love and the camera is never far off, and gradually he realizes Noreen stirring about.

"Getting any ideas?" she purrs.

Nick hadn't thought of this being a prelude but then he's learned that you never get what you expect so he doesn't expect much, but when you do get an opportunity it usually hits from the clear blue.

Recently she had been hinting that she wouldn't mind posing for racy photographs if he were the one behind the camera, which sounded exciting at first, but then he thought, he already has a photographic memory. Much more difficult for his mind store to fall into the wrong hands, something he didn't want to risk for an aspiring public figure. 

He starts massaging her back area and neck and gradually she massages the promised land against his thigh.

The movie ends and she kills the TV but not the VCR, just lets it go its merry way and leads him into her bedroom. They had never ended up on her bed before.

Before he knows it he's back on his back and she's on top and rubbing his shoulders. He can tell she's pretty wet, and it's the thin, ample, watery kind of wet.

After rubbing his member between her hands a few seconds she turns around, "You may need to help hold me up for this, 'kay?"

"I'll try."

She manages a convincing Yoda, enhanced by the hoarseness, "Try, not. Do, you must."

Before Nick can sigh she inserts him gently, in what some call a reverse cowgirl, pauses as if to drink it in, then begins rubbing herself. Nick realizes for the first time how she gets tighter, but just holds him inside and strums her own stuff like a banjo. 

And so this sets the rhythm.

Everything is going on around front where he can just feel it, her other hand exploring his pouch as she likes to do.  He just rubs her shoulders and tries his best to do as she asks, she's in control and he senses no need to hurry things along, it's the escape they both need before starting a new chapter.

Times like this he can't help but remember when they met, this is pretty much the best view he got of her that night, as it were. Now that same view is bobbing along to a song he can't hear, those grabbable hips his to explore, still, he has a solid elbow placed between her shoulders, gradually works the other hand around and finds her clit.

Almost right away this appears to be working, she coos approval, gasps, sways and starts chugging, it's close, she gets wild, and out of nowhere he hears a clear rendition...

"You must be my lucky starrrrr...ohhh man...*gasps*...where ever you arrre..."

And then she jerks, lets out a pretty butch moan that would be funny any other time, then goes limp.

She begins to slide down footward and he tries to prop her, his dingus pops out and bobs against her back as she gets situated once again, her head facing up against his chest and she captures his pride beneath her right arm,

"You're so good, here, fuck my armpit," as she pinches the end of it and tongues the tip best she can in that position.

So Nick blesses her wish and grinds it between her skinny arm and ribcage, somehow this is productive, she's no kind of predictable and that blond mop, he can see and rub her nips, still angry as a fresh bee sting, and for the first time in years it gushes about three feet upward, the initial glop had to have nailed her forehead with a SPLAT, but she gleefully gobs up the rest of it up just the same.

Once that's done he tries to get her to rest on him more normally and is able to keep her awake just enough to get her slimy face nuzzled up against him, two misfits, one blissful mess.

For whatever reason he recalls recently hearing that Lou Gramm track, Ready Or Not, and how he's been meaning to ask if she ever plucked that one out on the ol' bass.

Nick awakens to her nudging, "Sweetie, see what time it is." He looks around and finds glowing numbers that say 12:27. He normally heads back home an hour or so before this. Still, he foresees no problem gong back to sleep once he gets there.

The Incinerator

Goddard Elementary was built by a Roosevelt program in the 1930s and featured a smokestack out of the same brick but just a tad taller than the two-story building. During the six years of Nick's tenure there, two runs in kindergarten then through fourth, he realized the typical aroma was from the custodians shoving in all the single-serve milk cartons from their lunch.

Nick also wondered why there was never a rumor, at least that he heard, that bad kids ended up going in there. Guess that would be hard to sell unless a student were to suddenly disappear and so forth.

So instead of paying for trash service they would just throw it beneath the smokestack, sometimes even during recess so that everyone in the neighborhood on the edge of town could inhale milk cartons.

At one point Nick asked his mom if the name Goddard has to do with the God at church. She said she'd have to look into it but never did.

There were lots of people that she would mention over the years that had started attending services, were getting married, having surgery, going on a trip.

Others would just disappear and the trail would just dry up. 

These people just vanished into thin air, just like the milk cartons.

Sometimes individuals would come without their spouse. Sometimes they would be there every Sunday. For a while. Then you realize you haven't seen them for a while. Nobody usually knew why.

Those waxy milk cartons had things to read on them, sometimes a joke, sometimes a fact. College Knowledge.

Sometimes couples would attend for a while then you'd hear they were getting divorced, and you don't see them there again but might run into one of them at the grocery. If you see one of those across a parking lot you just acknowledge them and don't say much else. He or she looks different now.

They used to have high school kids help out in the elementary cafeterias, years later Nick realized as an OWE kind of thing. One of them was a cool dude who would tell Nick he did a good job for eating all of his tray that day. That dude was only around a few times then disappeared.

When Nick's parents changed churches most of the congregation would naturally go poof once they lost touch.

Once you get to high school you can have chocolate milk in one of those little cartons. At some point he realized they no longer used the incinerator, that dank smell was no longer in the air when the wind blew from the school, probably decided the smoke was not a good idea and they should just have the cartons hauled away.

In his junior year he cracked up one of the cooler teachers by pointing out that the plain milk cartons proudly proclaimed HOMO MILK in bold letters by a carton designer who obviously, either didn't understand their target demographic or won one hell of a bet.