If red really is the color of love then Loretta Crestwood was an impostor. She seemed to float into her office, her ankles and high heels hidden under the hem of her red power dress. Red painted fingernails were tapping against each other, like a tiger sharpening its claws.
She knew a lot, and especially she knew a lot about teenagers. They needed a stern hand guiding them.
“So. Mark and Seth.” The two teenagers who were sitting painfully straight on pin chairs shrunk three sizes. “From what I’ve heard, the two are you are keeping good grades.”
“Yes…Mrs. Crestwood” Mark answered cautiously.
“We wouldn’t want your grades to be ruined by anything unimportant.”
“No.”
“But you do know that soliciting is prohibited on school grounds?”
Two heads nodded.
“But if you tell me right now who that dj is, I’ll forget all about this.”
The two heads snapped up at the same time. “But we don’t know. Nobody does.”
“Oh please.” Loretta Crestwood looked like someone had suggested to her that the earth was indeed flat. “Tell me and your parents will be able to be proud of you at your graduation.” Loretta Crestwood was not having anyone destroying what she had built up during her career. Not in her school.
"Loretta Loretta Loretta."
A voice that nowadays seemed all too familiar to the principle echoed through the halls and classrooms of the school. Within a second Loretta’s high heeled shoes clicked down the school corridor, her ears trying to locate the source.
"Like I said; I have a surprise for you. I’m as we’re speaking holding a letter signed our very own beloved principal, our dear Mrs. Loretta Crestwood. Regarded like a mother of every single student here at Sunnydale High. Except then for Mark Setgart who got kicked out last week, and of course not so beloved by Cheryl Davenport who was kicked out because she was knocked up and now I quote; didn’t feel remorseful. Man, she didn’t feel remorseful. What the fuck is wrong with this picture folks? So I sa----"
Loretta Crestwood held the boomer box over her head in a victory stance, its power cords disconnected. Her teeth were bared like an aggressive dog as she walked with her prey under her arm into her office and slammed the door shut.
Principal Crestwood’s display of rage hadn’t gone unnoticed by the students. Cordelia Chase stood among her group of friends, watching the outburst. She’d never seen their principal that angry before which said a lot. She tuned out when her friends picked up their conversation again about the next party and who had or had not been invited, feeling more uncomfortable in her clothes than ever before.
Buffy had regarded the spectacle with wide eyes. When she had heard her own distorted voice pouring out the school speakers she had almost poured her coke all over herself. Then to witness Crestwood’s outburst and realize that someone actually had taken the trouble to connect the boom box to the school’s speaker system. It was all too much.
"I…I’m no one special you know. I’m just a girl with a radio. Hell, I didn’t even buy it myself, my parents did. I don’t know what I’m doing. If I did, I’d be out making out with some hot guy. But instead I’m sitting here-alone in my room, feeling sorry for myself. Oh screw it. I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of being ashamed. Amen! Oh god, I think I need to..oh God…” a wet soaking sound was heard, then loud moaning. “Oh god I’m gonna cum! Harder than ever before! Oh my goooooooooood!” Buffy rolled the water balloon between her hands, faster and faster, until she finally howled into the mike. “Holy shit! I just love coming hard and fast! I really need some music now”
Love comes in spurts (oh no it hurts)
Love comes in spurts (it hurts)
Love comes in spurts (oh no, cuz)
Love comes in spurts (it always hurts)
click
”Thanks for that, Blank Generation. Let’s see what we got here. A letter with a phone number. Let’s hear what one of my two listeners has got to say….This is Very Virgin Mary calling. Do you have anything to tell me?”
A giggle was heard, followed by a click and dial tone.
“Well thanks for the call.” Buffy sank back in her chair. “Too bad actually. I want to hear your secrets, hell it can be anything. As long as it is real. I want dirt, filth, I want cum and pee, god damn it! As long as it’s real. Well look here; another mail. With a phone number. Well here we go again. Wish me luck.” She punched the numbers.” By the way – don’t forget to mail me send a letter to Very Virgin Mary post-box 232, Burton Arizona.”
“Hello” a nasal female voice answered
“Hi there. Nice to hear that someone is listening out there. In you email you told me you want to kill yourself”
“Yes.”
“And how do you plan to do that?”
“Well duh, I’m gonna use my finger. I’ve got a gun.”
“All right. You sound like a gal with a plan. So why do you wanna kill yourself?”
“I’m lonely.”
“So are we all.”
“Not you.”
“What do you mean? I don’t have any friends. No boyfriend. I eat lunch alone. I spend time in the restroom so that no one will notice how alone I really am.”
“So we’re screwed then?”
“I don’t know.” Buffy slumped in her chair and closed her eyes.
“I have to go.”
click
“Wow! Now I’m depressed too. But luckily I’m too depressed to bother. Alone again. Here is me Very Virgin Mary on 92.4, the horniest woman on this side of the moon. But so be it.”
Welcome to Der Wienerschnitzel
May I take your order please?"
Yeah, I want:
Two large Cokes, two large fries
Chili-cheese dog, large Dr. Pepper
Super deluxe, with cheese and tomato
"You want Bill sperm with that?"
NO!
Buffy bounced up and down on her bed, eyes closed, almost naked. Making the springs squeak. Pillows were used as projectiles as they hit the walls, covers landing on the floor. A stuffed pig landed on the ceiling fan and swirled round and round as it was an amusement park visitor. She jumped until she lost her breath and her hand grabbed the mike. “I’m back! Now – keep one hand free. In my hand I’m holding another letter from Mr. eat-me-beat-me-guy. Okay. Let’s hear what he has to say this week. I know you are all eager to hear.” Buffy held up a red hand-written piece of paper “Come in. Every night you enter me like a criminal break into my brain. But you are no ordinary criminal. You put your feet up pop your Pepsi; you start to party. Jam me, jack me, push me, pull me, talk hard!”
In another room lit only by candlelight, across town, Spike listened to the words he’d written being spoken. Laying on his back. His hand sliding under the waistline of his jeans.
“You turn up my stereo, songs I’ve never heard but I move anyway
You get me crazy I say; do it!
I don’t care what, just do it.”
Spike’s hips arched of the bed, his buttocks clenching. One hand left his cock, he pulled his pubic hair a little, continued to slide his hand over his stomach, caressing his chest up to his nipples. He twisted them, seamen staining his hands seconds later. He pulled a pillow over his face and screamed into it, his hot breath leaving a wet stain on the fabric.
“Now this is interesting. It’s genuine. I like it. I bet you’d like me to call Eat-me-beat-me guy, but sorry, no number enclosed.“ Buffy stood and walked aimlessly around her room.
”Are you listening, eat-me-beat-me-guy? Are you out there?”
“Always” Spike whispered, his voice still raged.
“We are so alike, but we’ll never meet. You’d never look twice at me, if we met. Are you really this tough in real life? Or are you like me – someone who can’t get a smile out, someone who doesn’t fit in. Well…whatever. It’s a shitty deal.”
“Yeah, shitty deal” Spike repeated and slowly drift off as the radio went quiet.
End of Chapter 3.
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