BF4Ever

  BF4Ever

  George Matheos

  BF4Ever

  Copyright © 2017 George Matheos.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

  Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

  ISBN: 978-1-5320-1937-1 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-5320-1936-4 (e)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017905153

  iUniverse rev. date: 04/12/2017

  Contents

  Prologue: Best Friends Forever

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Also by George P Matheos:

  Mirages of the Rub al-Khali

  The Man Who Killed Osama

  Pure Magic

  To my wife

  Victoria Ashly Craig

  What is a friend but

  a single soul

  dwelling in two bodies

  -Aristotle

  Prologue

  Best Friends Forever

  Four teenage girls, Sharon, Robin, Kitty, Myrna, all gorgeous blondes, best friends forever since the sixth grade, walk together, two by two, as usual, one April morning, on their way to their loving Magnolia High School in Sherman Oaks, California.

  Sharon is the prettiest of the friends, and all the boys in her class, want to fuck her. She glows with teenage sensuality, a quality which incites people to want to take her in their arms and make her their own. Young as she is, she knows she’s beautiful, and every time she looks in her full length mirror, she loves herself, though sometimes she wishes she weren’t so beautiful. Aware that pretty girls are often taken advantage by bad people, she is already scared to death of what the future might hold for her. But for now, her fear centers mostly around Hank Merker, star quarterback of Magnolia High, who, she’s well aware, is determined to make love to her while they’re still in high school. Trapped by the multi-media gossip of her school’s culture, she feels encircled by star Hank’s macho reputation.

  Robin is the daughter of the CEO of Pioneer Bank of Southern California which may account for her refined demeanor. Her features are classically symmetrical making her seductively beautiful with an aura of brilliance. Her blue eyes sparkle, and combined with her beauty and intelligence, she can be very compassionate to the world around her. She is formidable, but her considerable outstanding qualities, to her dismay, can make her appear standoffish. She wants to be popular, because she has everything, but the boys maintain their distance, fearful that she might devour them. There’s an illusiveness to her assertive smile and discerning eyes that makes it difficult for the boys to pin her down. She is a gentle soul whose flawless beauty is difficult to penetrate. Above all, she is secretly in love with and dreams of Hank Merker, her best friend Sharon’s boyfriend. Every time Hank says “Hello” to Robin, her face flushes with embarrassment.

  With a lovely face and an articulate presentation, which makes use of extensive vocabulary, Kitty is bright and always flirtatious. The only dyed blonde of the lot, she is of slight build, but is a very clever, bubbly girl. Boys love Kitty because her petite appearance doesn’t threaten their still-developing egos. When she was much younger, her mother had impressed on Kitty that to say “no” to a boy, when asked for a dance, for example, was to be impolite: “So, always be polite and say “yes” to all boys who ask you to dance with them.” Since then, Kitty has always polite, especially to the big boys on the varsity squads whom she loved the most because of the easy way they lifted her in their arms. But of all the boys that she would want to lift her off the ground, Hank Merker was the one whom Kitty loved and dreamed about. Sometimes she wished Sharon wasn’t around. It had been obvious to Kitty that Hank was simply not interesting in her.

  During study periods, Myrna works as a teachers’ assistant, picking up attendance slips in the school’s library. Boys love to go to the library instead of study hall because they get a glimpse of Myrna. She has a gorgeous Dutch milk-white complexion that blushes pink when Hank and his boys come to the library. Her loveliest attribute, by far, is her delicately well-rounded ass, easy to the eye beneath her expensive clothes. She is hugely intelligent with an understated shrewdness that points to a successful life. Nobody looking at Myrna’s beautiful face would ever think of her as dumb. She’s very popular with all of the good-looking boys in school who love to kiss and fondle her and she loves to be kissed and fondled, but only by those she allows, least she be thought as too easy. She has no doubts about her sexuality, and no doubts that she could get Hank any time she wants.

  With the exception of Sharon who comes from a Catholic middle class background, the other three friends are filthy rich, thanks to their hard working Protestant parents. Predictably, sooner or later, all the best friends will give themselves to Hank Merker because he is the star quarterback of Magnolia High.

  *

  “Who’s walking commando today,” asked Kitty loudly, full of confidence in the presence of her best friends.

  The girls were well-groomed and stylishly elegant, as always, and the boys did gallantly follow behind them, in close proximity to their fantasies, but not too close, least they be devoured by the girls’ fearfully tight filling asses. During these early morning teenage rituals of ‘look but don’t touch’ coyness, played out every school day, the girls pretended indifference to the penetrating stares from awkward boys ogling and charging behind them, their eyes gleefully glued to the best friends’ well-rounded teasing buttocks. It was a typical school boys’ harmless amorous response to a bewitching young girls’ subtle invitation, a teen hormonal display of adolescent awakening most natural.

  “Are they still behind us?” asked Sharon.

  “What do you mean behind us? You thinking sodomy, Sharon?’ giggled Kitty, and the others felt embarrassed.

  “Not so loud, Kitty!” hushed Myrna.

  “They’re just idiotic little boys,” said Robin always disgusted with the same stalkin
g shit from stupid boys just barely out of middle school. “Jesus, they’re just too stupid! What do they expect us to do? Drop our panties?”

  “Well, yeah, if you’re wearing any,” said Kitty.

  “As usual. I’m sure you’re not, Kitty,” said Robin in fake disgust.

  “Go ahead, Sharon. It’s Hank and his boys, and you know he’s got the hots for you,” said Myrna, and she discretely gave a little gentle shove to Sharon.

  “Leave me alone. What am I supposed to do? Skip class and make out with Merker all day long? You guys are all crazy,” said Sharon.

  “I wish I had the star quarterback of Magnolia Hi sniffing my panties,” said Kitty.

  “Except you’re not wearing any,” said Myrna.

  “Sharon, he’s right behind you; right behind your derriere,” continued Kitty.

  “Sharon likes Hank … Let’s tell him right now Kitty,” said Myrna.

  “Don’t you dare say anything … please, please, please,” whispered Sharon staring straight ahead wishing that there be no misunderstandings from the crowd behind her.

  They all giggled at Sharon’s still juvenile behavior, but not too loudly, being aware that the boys were closing in on them. Not one of them had the balls to turn around and greet the boys.

  So they continued the ritual of denial, of not wanting any boy sniffing behind them least they be thought as easy; not even Hank, the most famous hunk school varsity, first string, quarterback, dreamboat of all the girls of Magnolia High.

  “Let’s face it girls: one can never say enough about our Hank,” said Kitty. “He is a gorgeous Hunk … Hank the Hunk.”

  “Shame on you, Kitty,” said Robin, who couldn’t have cared less about high school nonsense like hung quarterbacks. “All you can think about is Hank the Hunk.”

  “So do you, so do you all,” said Kitty.

  “Sometimes you are disgusting, Kitty,” said Myrna.

  “Listen to prissy, prissy, Missy Myrna, the Beloved,” Kitty laughed out loud.

  “Please let’s stop and let them pass us up,” said Sharon who was trying to somehow hide her fabulous ass from what she thought was probably the laser gawking of the boys even though she wasn’t commando.

  “Tight ass Sharon,” said Kitty.

  “You talking to me?” said Robin.

  They slowed down to make way for the boys to pass them up, but the idiot boys halted short of the opening, and instead crossed to the other side of the street, their pretended game of indifference still on, though one of the boys was heard to say, “Go ahead, Hank, say something to her.”

  Most famous athletes, regardless of origin, are naturally attracted to blonde girls even though some might be dyed blondes. The boys would have loved to say something smart to the four beautiful girls of Magnolia High but they were still just too inexperienced.

  “Stupid fucking idiots,” murmured Myrna to no one in particular.

  “What do you expect? They’re still babies,” laughed Robin to Sharon’s relief.

  They walked the sun-speckled sidewalks to their school. The walk, the sidewalks, the trees lining the streets, they’re all the same walks to school that are part of everyone’s memories of walking to school. Nothing, in all people’s memories, about walking to school, has ever changed. It’s one of those lovely rituals that remain immortal. Who is not envious of the young walking to school?

  Not only during these walks to school, but also in the school itself, classrooms included, in the middle of a lesson, Sharon always had the feeling of being watched, of being suffocated by the fantasy stares floating throughout the room; and weirdly worse, that everybody was telepathically touching her. It was during these psychical pre-occupations that she often wished she weren’t so beautiful; that maybe then people would stop staring at her. And in the agony of her mental distress, in desperation her fantasies would carry her out of the classroom and far away from school where she could be alone, away from the babbling crowds of her mind. Alone and away, where she could be beautiful without feeling freakish and bothered.

  She wondered whether her beautiful friends felt as she did. She wasn’t at all sure what it meant to be beautiful, and whether she really wanted to be beautiful, but she loved the attention, in spite of the stress her good looks brought her. She prayed that it wasn’t simply something totally physical, that there would be some spirituality to this cursed beauty that she had never asked for. She knew that physical beauty was all too temporary. Confused, she felt alone, though she knew that everybody wanted her.

  The thing Sharon didn’t know about blonde girls, as the friends now walked to school, is that they all have good looking blonde mothers who pathologically praise their little blonde girls to appreciate their Hollywood and God-given infantile glamour, and later adult sultriness. The constant praise is intended to keep the tradition alive; ask any blonde. The belief that all blondes are naturally beautiful is not instinctual – even buck-toothed blondes are beautiful; it is joyfully taught and is handed down from mother to daughter: all blonde little girls are beautiful by virtue of their blond hair and blue eyes and, in time, they’ll be able to get any boy they want. Pretty much all societies are in tune to the blond myth. Every girl wants to be a blonde; the world is full of dark-eyed blondes.

  “You know, people, there are more serious issues plaguing today’s world than your constant babble about boys,” said Robin breaking into Sharon’s daydreaming as they got closer to the school.

  “Like what?” said Myrna who also was game to serious discussion. There was a certain amount of stiffness between Myrna and Robin.

  “Well, segregation, for one. After more than two hundred years American society is still as segregated as ever…”

  “I agree,” said Sharon wishing to change the subject away from her marvellous ass.

  “Even after all the effort by people like Martin Luther King Jr. and President Kennedy to push for equality and integration, especially in schools …” somebody continued; everybody knew the story of inequality and injustice.

  “There’s only one way to achieve integration,” said wide-eyed Myrna, “and that’s to marry them; and you know it.”

  Audacious as the thought might have been, there was a certain amount of truth to the potential of integrated marriages as a solution to many of America’s social ills. Though obvious to most American high school kids, hardly anyone in the broader blond American society talked about integrated marriages, with the possible exception of prime time TV who always reported fake news anyway. The subject, fortunately, one way or another, is continuously being covered in American high schools’ history classes, and although pathetically repulsive to the privileged socio-economic white conscious mind, pretty much everyone, especially blonde high school girls, agrees that something has to be done to erase segregation from the face of the nation, and the most obvious course of action is to “marry them”.

  In the case of our four best friends forever, when the topic had come up, what had made the class discussion believable was that the teacher was a young handsome African-American male. Marrying them, then, was another bull’s eye disturbing shocker from Myrna who had a way of directing conversations, like segregation, to the painful truth of a difficult subject deserving a lot more looking into. Most of the time, Myrna couldn’t have cared less about ‘the truth’ though one of beloved Myrna’s qualities was that she always had easy answers to complicated issues wherein all could be resolved with more investigation and research.

  “These are serious problems requiring a lot of study and research. There are no easy solutions to these things,” was the way the young good looking African-American teacher had put it to the class and all the girls’ classmates agreed with his summation. More research was required, and then marry them.

  “You know what you get when you mate a black person with a white person?” blithely asked Kitty as they walked beneath
the rich white magnolias.

  They knew it would be politically incorrect, but everybody acquiesced to Kitty’s everyday bottom of the barrel a-political humour.

  “What?”

  “You get an African-American,” said Kitty and everyone frowned a sense of scorn.

  “Kitty, you’re a Nazi,” said Robin.

  “Anyway, it hasn’t been two hundred years,” said Sharon.

  Back on their route’s magnolias, and tall date palms, and beyond the indecent stares of bad boys, and even while preoccupied in serious conversation, the girls never strayed far from their true calling, instinctively tossing their long, fine, golden hair playfully around their lovely necks and shoulders. Over and over, in synchronized fashion, again and again, like a mating dance in flight, they sensed the joy that was in their hearts. If only they knew the effect they were having upon those trees, what wondrous thoughts would fill their minds.

  “I wish I weren’t so old,” said Sharon looking pensively beyond the pregnant jacarandas and lustful magnolias with their huge creamy white flowers.

  “You’re not old, Sharon, none of us is old. We’re only fifteen; wait till you’re eighteen, or even twenty; then you can say you’re old,” Kitty wanted to make up for her earlier indelicate joke; she was doing her usual best to recover.

  “Or imagine getting to eighty! What a pain in the ass that would be! Eighty, right behind you, Sharon,” and with that, Robin cupped a feel of Sharon’s well rounded ass.

  “Cut it out, Robin! What are you? Gay?”

  “No but you are.”

  An elderly gentleman who had been taking his early morning constitutional walk caught up with the girls and had heard their conversation regarding age. He quickly passed them up, smiling to himself, but saying nothing to them. The girls didn’t even see him; he registered transparent empty, which is often the case with young girls encountering older gentlemen.