Take Your Daughter to Work Day

Lubrican

By Robert Lubrican

Bookapy Edition

2^nd editioion edited 2023

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Table of Contents

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Foreword

Some plot ideas are patently ridiculous, but fun, nevertheless. They are fun to write (like this one) and I hope they are fun to read, too. And it could happen. Maybe not in this lifetime, or in this dimension, but it could happen.

But, since it probably won't happen, there needed to be a story about it. So there, you go.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter One

The world is full of little dangers. It's a little like trying to navigate a jungle, in which there are snakes, poisonous plants, patches of quicksand, unfriendly natives, and other things you want to avoid. When you move at a sedate, studied manner, you can look out for, and avoid most problems. It may take you a while to get where you're going, but at least you'll get there in one piece.

But sometimes, you can't move at a sedate, studied pace. And sometimes things get out of control.

That's what happened to Judith Tanner the year her father's football team won the Super Bowl.

To go back to that analogy of the forest - only for a little bit longer - it evolved that she ended up having to run through the jungle. Had there been only one problem to avoid, she'd have been fine. But there were many hurdles, and in trying to jump them, she ended up in the quicksand.

Judith Tanner, who never even thought about shortening her name to "Judy" until she graduated high school, was raised in a world that was, in many ways, much like that of other kids her age. Her parents were well off enough that she wanted for pretty much nothing. Except, perhaps, a normal childhood. How can I say her life was typical, but then turn around and say it was abnormal? Let me explain.

Judith was a single child, born to the unlikely match of an assistant football coach at a major university and the daughter of the president of that university. The assistant coach and the president's daughter did not plan to have a baby. Not at all. Neither did they plan to elope one night. But their romance was full of fiery passion, and that passion drove them to actions that they might not have taken, had they taken the time to think things out.

What complicated things was that she came from an old, very traditional Catholic family. He, on the other hand, was a protestant. In truth, he started out as merely a bit of rebellion, in her mind. But things got out of control, as they sometimes do.

Even then, had the parties involved actually wanted love to conquer all, things might have worked out. But her parents convinced her he was at fault for everything. Her parents took control, and the marriage was annulled. Naturally, the "wayward" assistant coach was fired, and sent packing.

That was before they knew she was pregnant, of course.

And, of course, being Catholic, they were stuck. Their religion forbade terminating the pregnancy, and her parents' pride prohibited allowing someone who actually wanted and would love the child to raise it. In a throwback to a time five or six decades in the past, Susan was sent away to live in shame with her aunt, until the baby was born.

Bob Tanner only found out he had a daughter by accident. It happened two years later when he ran into Ricky Temple, who he had worked with back in those days, and who, while having a couple of drinks with his old buddy said,"Who knew you'd knock up the daughter of the president of the fucking university?"

He inquired, of course, and was repulsed, of course, up to and including a restraining order. But Bob Tanner, of all the people involved, actually felt more for the little girl than anybody else. If she was his daughter, he was going to be in her life. And he knew how to hire a lawyer too.

He had a new job and his teams had winning seasons. That meant he was paid well, so he could pay that lawyer as long as it took. What it took was six years before a court awarded him joint custody of his little girl. In the end, the mother's petition had only one non-negotiable part. It concerned the plan for the formal education of the girl, which the mother asked the court to decree to be under her control.

The father, in turn, also had only one non-negotiable demand. That was that the girl would officially bear his last name.

The judge expected there to be resistance to both of these when she called the two parties into her chambers to discuss things. Oddly, while there was significant tension (it was the first time they'd seen each other since their marriage had been annulled) there was almost no disagreement. He said,"You can have her educated wherever you want, as long as she has my last name." She said,"Fine. My parents are embarrassed by her having our last name anyway."

The judge had them sign the papers, and that was that.

Judith was, as this unhappy drama played out, already attending St. Clementine's Academy, a parochial school that would take a girl from kindergarten all the way through an associate's degree. After that, she'd be accepted to any Catholic college to complete her education. Her mother's decision on this was the result of two things. First, the grandparents demanded that the girl be raised Catholic. But Susan would have done that anyway, based on a complicated ethos in which the putative stance was that women are weak, and will submit to the advances of an unscrupulous man. And since, in this ethos (also assumed to be fact) all men are unscrupulous, Susan chose the path for her daughter that would, at least in theory, insulate her as completely as possible from the male of the species.

This philosophy was a learned one. Susan was the product of Catholic schools herself. The nuns had taught her many things, among them things that the nuns hadn't actually intended to teach. The untrustworthiness of men was one of those things. "Facts" can be of two types: established ... and inferred. You can only warn a girl about the hazards of intergender relationships so many times before the message begins to take on undertones you might not intend it to have.

That said, some messages are quite direct, and one must give credit to Sister Mary Margaret, whose catch phrase for just about everything having to do with men was: "If you give them what they want, you'll end up as a slut!"

And, in truth, by the time Susan went out with the nice young man who worked for her father, she already knew exactly how easy it was to "give them what they want, and end up as a slut." While she told him she was a virgin, she was not. He was the first, however, to actually care about her, and that was absorbed by her lust-fogged brain, perhaps. It's probably why she suggested in a rush of emotion that they visit Reno. Bad judgment can happen to both people in a relationship. Booze helps, and when they tied the knot in a wedding chapel, Bob was pretty tipsy.

The explosion afterwards destroyed whatever budding romance there was. He was suddenly missing from her life, and she was convinced he would be gone forever. The pregnancy complicated things even more, and suddenly she was infused with the wisdom that would have prevented all this in the first place. Having learned her lesson the hardest way possible she found a school that would guard her own daughter until the girl was twenty-one, and believed that perhaps by then, little Judith might have the intelligence and will to continue avoiding men on her own.

There were "only" half a dozen or so problems with this plan. The first, and most obvious, was that while Susan might have been turned off to men by the events in her life, that didn't mean that her daughter would grow up turned off to men as well.

Then, while there may not have been boys in the schools Judith was sent to, that didn't mean there were no boys anywhere. So Judith knew boys existed. Next, the vast majority of her schoolmates had frequent interaction with boys, both at home and elsewhere. And it is true, just in case there is any doubt about it, that girls like to talk about boys. Especially when the boy is involved in something secret, sexy, dangerous or otherwise interesting. Such as seeing how far he can get with a girl wearing a Catholic school uniform.

In addition to the informal "crowd source" sex education sessions Judith attended, in little huddles of whispering girls, and secret gatherings in the unauthorized party room of the residence hall, there was also the formal sex education Judith Tanner received.

Susan wasn't aware of how progressive parochial schools had become since she went to one herself. The school she'd attended was in Hollyhock, North Dakota, which had both a minimum of extra boys hanging around, few opportunities to go home for a visit, and no hint of formal information involving how a baby was made. What the girls were taught there was "Sex is for making babies, and when you have sex, you will, in fact, make a baby. After you're married, of course."

In fact, over the years after Susan left school, Catholic schools had evolved into a social system that quite possibly provides one of the most comprehensive sexual education programs possible, even if it isn't in the official curriculum.

Which brings up another of the problems Susan wasn't aware would affect her plan.

Men were hired to teach the girls. And some men were quite willing to teach the girls much, much more than what was in the normal curriculum.

Not that Judith Tanner got nailed by any of her teachers. Some of them wanted to, of course. The sort that was willing to do that, actually ached to do it with Judith, because she was a genuine, qualified, make-your-dick-stand-up-and-salute stone fox from the time she was about fourteen. And she just got better looking as the years piled on. And Judith would have had to been blind not to notice the attention she got from the men she was exposed to. Even if it was silent attention. Remember, it is argued that seventy percent of all communication is non-verbal.

But Judith Tanner was one of those girls who knew what she wanted. Even when she wasn't sure what she wanted.

I know that sounds confusing. Perhaps it was more that, if she didn't actively want something, then as far as she was concerned, she didn't want it. She sort of had 'default positions' in her life. Like the first time she was offered a bottle, and a hit off the joint as it went around the circle of girls gathered in the candle-lit attic of Martin Residence Hall, after curfew. It was her first time at such a gathering. Some of her older classmates had decided it was time for pretty little Judith to join the crowd. She did, in fact, take a sip from the neck of the bottle of the Jim Beam, and decided immediately that she didn't care for it. But she wasn't stupid. After that, she put the bottle to her lips, tipped it up, plugged the tip with her tongue, and then shuddered and swallowed noisily as she passed it to the girl on her left. The joint she already knew she wasn't interested in, so she just said "I don't smoke." After the first time she passed it, the girl on her right passed it directly to the girl on her left and she never touched it again.

In this example we can see that she was politically astute, insofar as peer pressure affects social standing, and yet made her own decisions about things that could affect her life in momentous ways.

I'll just cut to the chase and say that, while Judith didn't have a chance to have any boyfriends, or get any sexual experience (with boys) while she was at school, that didn't mean that she was uneducated about the role men might someday play in her life.

There are two other things that must be said before we go on to explore what happened to Judith on the day her father's football team won the Super Bowl. One is that the primary male role models in her life were her father and the male instructors at St. Clementine's. They were the only males she spent enough time around to be affected by. The teachers were transient role models. Her mother was somewhat aloof, quite possibly because Judith reminded Susan of her original sin, so to speak. Her father, on the other hand, always lit up whenever he saw her. From him she got the hugs and nurturing that every child craves. All girls fall in love with their fathers, at one point or another.

Judith, basically, just stayed that way. She loved her daddy on a level no other man even approached.

The other thing is that she was fearless. It was a fearlessness based on self-confidence, and an innate trust that she could handle whatever life threw at her. Of course she had no idea just how much life could throw at a young woman from a protected upbringing.

But about two and a half months after she turned seventeen, she was about to find out.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Bob Tanner was the youngest head coach of a professional football team in history. So of course he was the youngest head coach to get his team to the Super Bowl. Or for his team to bring him with them to the Super Bowl. That was one of the things that made his team so formidable. He made sure they knew that it was their talent that had gotten them places. At the same time, they'd all been in the game plenty long enough to know that it took someone with real talent of his own to organize their talent, to end up as winners. He knew that too, of course. He just wasn't conceited about it.

Mutual respect is a very powerful asset.

In any case, emotions were running high as the day of the big event loomed closer and closer. The players were ready, and Bob Tanner and his assistant coaches were ready. They just wanted to be on the field, doing what they did so well.

Of course celebrations needed to be planned, in case they won. Actually, the celebration would take place either way. It would just be a hell of a lot more manic if they won. Even if they lost, though, they all still made a bundle, and any great plays would have been seen by millions. Careers could be made in a game like this, even if your team didn't win.

And it was, in fact, Bob's youth that caused him to assign the preparations for merry-making to the wrong guy. Well, maybe not the wrong guy, exactly. It was more that he didn't have the experience to give anywhere near enough guidance on what form said merrymaking should take.

The man he assigned was Tommy Hill, the assistant coach for strength and conditioning. In truth, Bob thought that asking Tommy to arrange the festivities was simply a reward for the man's hard work with the offensive line, which was routinely kicking ass all over the field. To that end, he said "Win or lose, Tommy, the guys will never forget this game. We need a party to go with that. Lots of champagne! It should start in the locker room, and keep going from there."

What he wasn't aware of was that Tommy had partied hard in college and, being unmarried, the only reason he didn't still party hard was because he had to be awake and functional at four in the morning every day.

So Bob had no idea that, in Tommy's mind, for a p[arty to be great, what you had to have with good champagne, was beautiful (and ideally naked) women to help the men drink it.

Tommy's first effort at arranging this didn't go so well. When he approached Mandy Jenkins, the head cheerleader for the team, and described his vision of naked cheerleaders cavorting around in the showers, helping the men get all that sweat off of them so they could go get drunk, her reaction started with "What the fuck have you been smoking?!" Then she pointed out that some of her cheerleaders... and his team members ... were married. She followed that up with "I know this is a big deal, but you're an asshole for even thinking about this, and I should kick your fucking ass!"

Tommy's next call was to the titty bar he frequented when the team wasn't on the road.

The manager was ecstatic when he hung up.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Bob grinned in anticipation as he heard the phone ringing on the other end. A sweet young female voice answered the phone, saying "Hello?"

"This is Bob Tanner," he said. "I need to speak with my daughter, Judith, please."

"Hi, Mister Tanner," said the perky voice. "Gimme a second. I'll go get her. She might be in the shower, so don't worry if it takes her a minute to get here, okay?"

The image of a dorm full of nubile girls, all preparing for bed, some of them cavorting in the shower, invaded his mind, and the grin tightened. He'd seen the residence hall, of course, during a visit to pick up Judith. It was an old brick building, with floors as smooth and shiny as glass. He knew the old-fashioned, land line phone that this unidentified but friendly girl was speaking to him on was perched in a small niche in the wall in the middle of the hallway. Officially, the girls were not allowed to have cell phones at St. Clementine's, something he thought was draconian, but which his wife approved of heartily. Susan approved of anything that punished someone else. She had evolved into a bitter, sad, mean woman. Of course the only thing the staff could do was seize an offending device if they saw one. He knew his daughter had one, but he did not call it because he didn't know where his daughter was. If it rang under the wrong circumstances, he'd get her in trouble, and he didn't want to do that. So he called the dorm line, like all parents were supposed to do.

He shook off thoughts of his wife and the grin, which had faded, came back as the phone rattled.

"Hi Daddy!" squealed the sweetest voice in the world. "I love you!"

"And I love you too," he said. "I can even prove it."

"You don't have to prove it," she said. "I know you were busy getting the team ready for the Super Bowl and stuff."

Bob's grin slipped again. She was referring to the fact that he'd forgotten her seventeenth birthday. Susan hadn't, but she hadn't had the decency to remind him either. She'd been trying to poison his relationship with Judith for years, ever since their daughter was twelve, and had chosen to live with him one summer vacation, instead of with her mother. Susan's reaction to that had been so dark that he and Judith had frankly agreed that she'd stay with her mother during summer vacations from then on.

Still, by agreeing to live with her mother when school wasn't in session, Judith got to spend weeks at a time visiting her father. One of the things she learned early in life was that you can cram a heck of a lot of joy into a small amount of time if you pay attention to not wasting said time.

She also learned that, if you don't actually live with your father, it's a lot easier to talk to him about important, sometimes intimate things in a girl's life. They had somehow become very close, for as little time as they'd been able to spend with each other over the years.

Of course part of that was because, when she did get to go visit him, he managed to ensure that the only thing he had to pay attention to was her. And any woman appreciates a man who gives her his full attention.

"I know," he said. "And that's one of the reasons I love you so much. You've cut me a lot of breaks in the Dad arena, and I appreciate it. I doubt I'll ever be a really good Dad, and I am thankful for your patience with me."

"You're so silly," said his daughter, and he felt a thrill run through him as he could tell she really meant that.

"Anyway, I know you said you didn't care about a birthday present, but how would you like to see the Super Bowl from the best seat in the house?"

"Really?" squealed Judith. She rarely got to attend any of her father's games. Her mother wouldn't even consider going to one, and Judith knew better than to ask to attend such functions un-chaperoned. Not to mention that such games were invariably hundreds of miles away, and Judith had no car. Her father had offered to buy her one, but her mother refused to sign off on the insurance forms. One of the things Judith didn't know was that she had been conceived in the back seat of a car.

"I'll be on the field, of course," said Bob. "But you and your friends will be in the owner's box, and after the game we can spend as much time together as you want. I can show you around. You know ... show you what my job is like. Call it a take your daughter to work day."

"I can't wait!" yelled Judith happily. "You said friends? How many can I bring?"

"Well, seeing as how when I entertain you, I'll have to entertain them too, let's keep it to one or two, okay? Unless they're eighteen, and want to stay in their own room in the hotel. I'll arrange for a room for them. You too, if you'd rather stay with them than bunk in with your old man."

"No way!" said Judith, immediately. "You're not old. And I love spending time with you. You know that. It would be fun to have some of my friends there, though. And they all think you're a hunk."

"Oh really?" He laughed. "Okay. Five at the most. I'll have Rhonda email you the tickets. And you'd better not scalp them, you hear me?"

Her laugh tinkled in his ear. Then he heard her say "Oops! Dropped my towel. Good thing they don't have coed dorms here." She laughed again, but Bob imagined his beautiful young daughter standing there, in that hallway, naked, possibly shivering. In his imagination he hugged her - for warmth only, of course - but somehow he was naked too.

He swallowed and forced his mind back to the present.

"Yes," he agreed, thinking of what he'd do to any boy who put his hands on Judith. He blinked. He'd always thought Judith was beautiful. But he'd never had any seriously sexual thoughts about her. Fleeting ones ... but not as detailed as this last one was.

It bothered him.

"Okay," he said, nervous now. "I need to get back to it. Promise me you'll come."

"Of course I will," she said. "I can't wait. I love you, Daddy."

"I love you too, pumpkin," he sighed.

He spent another minute or two reflecting on an additional unbidden series of thoughts that flashed through his mind. They involved Judith, sharing his hotel room with him. Somehow, in his misty anticipation of being in another motel room, there was a naked woman in his bed too. He tried, for a few seconds, to figure out how he could have his daughter and a naked woman in his room at the same time, but that led to another quick fantasy that made him feel even more guilty.

He shuddered and shoved those thoughts away. He hoped she never found out he'd had them. He thought about Teresa Johnson, one of the marketing reps who'd been having regular meetings with him on the run-up to the Bowl. She was a perky, vivacious, and undeniably beautiful woman who made it clear she was available to one of the two most important coaches in America. At least for the present. He grinned again. Teresa was an opportunist. He knew that. He also knew he wouldn't invite her into his bed. He'd seen a number of "work romances" end badly. She was good at her job and he didn't want her to leave because a romance with the boss didn't work out.

Besides, the last thing he needed right now was a scandal. And, he'd never had a serious relationship with a woman after things went to shit with Susan. At first it was just too painful. Then he became gun-shy that it might happen again. He did date, sometimes, and he went out with one teacher for six months, but then she wanted commitment from him that he couldn't give, so she went looking for it elsewhere. Not having a woman in his life all the time didn't bother him, though. Fifteen years of relative celibacy had trained him that most urges could be handled pretty efficiently by less complicated procedures than wooing a woman and hoping she'd go to bed with you.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

That very night Judith logged onto her school email account, and found an email from an address she didn't know, except that it ended in ocelots.com, which she knew to be the organization her father worked for. She opened it excitedly and then read:

Judith,

My name is Rhonda Detweiller and I'm your father's executive assistant. Per your father's instructions, there will be five tickets waiting for you, with seats in the owner's box. Please check in at gate six. If you need help finding it, just ask any official Bowl employee where the participant gate is. Print this message off and present it to the guard at the gate, as the following verification code will be on his authorization list: ZW89C56-102-107. You can also park in the team support parking area under this same authorization code.

We hope you enjoy the game and the whole team looks forward to meeting you.

Rhonda Detweiller

The first person Judith went looking for to share the good news was her best friend and roommate, Tiffany.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Jerome Franklin, owner of Club Exotica, was not a happy man. He felt like he should be, though. One of his best customers, Tommy Hill, had offered him the chance of a lifetime. Jerome didn't think of himself as the owner of a seedy strip club in a run down part of town. He made decent money, and one of the assistant coaches from the football team that was going to be in the fucking Super Bowl this year was often in his club. And that very assistant coach had offered Jerome and his dancers the chance for what amounted to bragging rights for what Jerome thought of as the Super Bowl of strippers.

Jerome believed he was on his way up in the world.

Then he got his dancers together and told them what the plan was. It was Tommy's plan, actually, but Jerome was blinded by the stars in his eyes as he listened to it. The girls, however, had been around the block enough times to wear the rubber off the tread a bit, and when Jerome told them all they had to do was get naked in the showers with the team that won the Super Bowl, the girls balked a bit.

Natasha was their leader, and she spoke for them now.

"Jerome, honey, you been smokin' crack? We ain't goin' in no locker room full of 300 pound naked guys who feel like they own the whole fuckin' world. We be dancers, Jerome, not hookers."

"Nobody said anything about hookin'," Jerome said, defending himself.

Lakeesha spoke up next. "So if you was in the shower, all happy and washing the sweat of winning the Super Bowl off of you, and a naked hottie like one of us stepped in with you ... what would you think was about to happen?"

Jerome blinked. He maintained a strictly professional relationship with the girls who worked for him. Life got much too complicated if he didn't. But that didn't mean he hadn't had a fantasy or two about some of his dancers.

"I'll make sure they know that's not what's going on," he said, rather than admitting that they were probably right.

"Yeah," said Natasha. "I can just see you telling some linebacker to keep his hands off one of us. No, I think you need to find yourself some other girls, Jerome. Besides, some of us got kids. We can't go running off to someplace hundreds of miles away."

Jerome started to feel panic. There was literally a hundred grand in this for him if he pulled it off like Tommy wanted. And now these sluts were going to take that away from him?

"How about if you just danced in the locker room?" he asked. "G-strings and pasties," he added, hopefully. "I mean you'd start with more than that on, but you'd only have to go down to G-strings and pasties. Come on. There's two grand in it for each of you. And that's for maybe an hour. Think about it. Those guys will have things to do and places to go. They're not going to hang around and cause trouble for a bunch of dancers. Plus I'll pay for the bus tickets and motel."

"Two thousand? And all we do is dance? In the locker room and not in the showers?" That was Jeanette, who Jerome knew was having some financial problems. He thought about the hundred grand (plus expenses) Tommy had offered him. "Three thousand!" he blurted.

They had huddled then. Finally Natasha had turned back to him.

"You got yourself some dancers. But that's it. No hanky panky, and nobody gets completely nude. And we fly out and back. No bus. Deal?"

He'd been frantic. He'd yelped "Deal!" almost instantly. But now that he'd had time to think about it, he realized this didn't look at all like what Tommy had been so excited about. And now that he'd had time to reflect on everything Tommy had said, he remembered Tommy saying something along the lines of how long he'd been waiting to get into Veronica's panties after watching her strip so many times. Veronica, however, was one of the girls who had a kid. And a husband ... who looked like he could walk onto one of the teams in the Super Bowl.

It was sensing his hundred grand slipping away, not to mention the bragging rights as the club owner who had entertained the winning Super Bowl team, that had him frowning right now.

A thought came to him. Actually, the girls had been right. If he was in that situation, he would assume that the girls cavorting with him, naked in the shower room, would be willing to do the nasty with him. She had said they weren't hookers.

So what he needed was ... some hookers.

He picked up the phone and called a friend of his named Snooky.

At least that's what everybody called him.

Fifteen minutes later, he was smiling again. Snooky wasn't even going to charge him anything for supplying thirty high-class call girls.

After all, these were the kind of girls who could make their own deals, and he'd get a percentage of that. And some of them would almost certainly establish lasting relationships with some very important men in the world of sports; the kinds of relationships that would make him rich many times over.

Snooky saw it as an investment in the future, and he knew he'd never have been able to get his girls in there any other way.

Chapter Two

It wasn't unusual at all for a group of five or six girls to be gathered in one of the rooms at St. Clementine's. After all, what else did they have to do? There was a strict curfew at eight o'clock, and it was impossible to subvert one of the nuns who locked the doors of the residence halls each night, and then set the alarms. In the past, a nun had sat up in the common room all night, but modern technology had relieved them of that chore. Still, each residence hall had a dorm mother, and all of them slept very lightly. And if the alarm went off, the very first thing that happened was that all the girls had to report to the common area for roll call. Somebody always tried to sneak out each year, but it only took once or twice for peer pressure to enforce that rule, even if everybody wanted to break it, now and then.

This particular group of girls were the ones Judith wanted to invite to go with her to the Super Bowl.

Tiffany was sixteen, with long black hair and high cheekbones Judith wished she had herself. She was Judith's best friend, quite possibly because she and Judith were both still virgins. Tiffany could (and had on several occasions) pass for eighteen, probably because she had a natural, sultry, smoky-eyed look to her. It wasn't conscious on her part. She was just a very passionate young woman, who'd never had a chance to explore many elements of that passion. So it sort of oozed out of her.

Monica was the same age as Judith, with blond hair she wore in a pixie cut. Her bright, blue eyes went with that hair, which flipped all over the place as she moved her head. She was slim, but well proportioned. She came from a small town, and had been in public schools until, when she was fifteen, she'd gotten caught losing her virginity to a cousin at a family reunion. She'd been sent to St. Clementine's to ensure she didn't explore the world of sex any further. And it had worked ... to a degree. Monica had discovered that a girl could make her feel just as good as that fumbling boy had. She hadn't exactly lost interest in boys ... but she didn't miss them horribly either.

Janice was eighteen, with dark red hair worn habitually in a ponytail. If it was down, it reached her shoulder blades, but gathered high up, it bounced around at the nape of her neck. It was thick and heavy, and she often playfully swung her head to use it as a whip against one of her friends. Janice could pass for twenty-one if she had some makeup on. Makeup was forbidden in school, but that didn't meant it wasn't around. Janice was the girl who slipped off campus to procure cigarettes and beer for those who wanted it. Like Monica, it was a male relative who was responsible for her being sent to St. Clementine's. Unlike Monica, it was Janice's uncle who had spent a year teaching her about her body, and his, before her mother caught them kissing in the pantry. Neither Janice's parents nor her friends had any idea how many times Uncle Rick, with his prick safely covered by latex, had rutted between her silky, soft thighs. Janice missed men a lot.

Kendi was the last. Of Oriental extraction, she was the shortest of the group, and had the compact, muscled body of a gymnast. She liked her body, except for the fact that her breasts were as petite as the rest of her. She could get her nipples to grow to almost half an inch if she played with them, but could do nothing about the fact that the tape only measured thirty-two inches when placed around her chest. Also sixteen, like Tiffany, she had classic Oriental features. She often posed as a Japanese exchange student, and spoke fluent Japanese, even though she was a third generation American. Her family lived in southern California. When in California, she spent her time surfing, and loved to wear bikinis. It was her grandfather who was responsible for her being at St. Clementine's. He had offered to pay her tuition there, and further to the college of her choice, as long as she graduated in good standing from St. Clementines. Since her immediate family didn't have that kind of money, they had mandated she do as her grandfather offered. American they might be, but some of their racial and cultural traditions were still strong.

"So ... what do you think?" asked Judith, after she told them the news.

All of them squealed with joy and said they'd love to go. Almost immediately, though, Monica, Kendi and Tiffany said they'd have to ask their parents for permission.

"Of course," agreed Judith. "Be sure to tell them we'll have our own hotel room, and we'll all be staying together." She raised a hand. "And my dad will take care of everything," she added. She got a piece of paper from her satchel and wrote down her father's number. "Give this to them, so they can call him if they have any questions," she said.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

In fact, two parents did call Bob to verify that his offer was legitimate, and to ensure that the accommodations were as represented by their daughters.

The only hitch, in fact, came not from the parents of the girls Judith invited.

It came from her own mother.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Things weren't going as smoothly as Tommy had expected them to.

"What do you mean there's going to be girls in the locker room?" asked his girlfriend.

Zoe's voice had risen two octaves, and had the kind of shrill tone to it that bored straight into a man's brain. Especially when that brain was hung-over, like Tommy's was.

"It's no big deal, Baby," he moaned to his girlfriend. "It's just a party ... you know ... for when we win."

"You mean, to the victors go the spoils," said Zoe, her voice closer to normal again. "In a pig's eye, Tommy. You're not going into any locker room with a bunch of strippers. I know you too well, you bastard."

"It's not like that, Honey," he groaned. "The girls will be for the guys ... not me. You know you're the only woman in my life."

"Tommy, if you think I've forgotten where we met, then you're an idiot. And if you think I don't know how often you still sneak off to that stinking strip club, then you're an even bigger idiot. You better make up your mind, Mister. If you want any more of this, then you're not going into that locker room with a bunch of naked women!"

By "this" she meant her lithe, naked body. Zoe ran a little dance studio which she'd gotten Tommy to finance for her. He'd financed her before that, stuffing twenties into her g-string as she did table and lap dances for him at Club Exotica. She'd decided to go out with him, about the third time he begged her to, and things had progressed pretty quickly. He wouldn't let her move in with him, but her whispered dream of getting out of the strip club and starting a dance studio had struck his fancy. Now she had a little studio, with an apartment in the back, and almost fifty students who paid her enough to get by. It wasn't quite what she'd envisioned, but it was better than working for Jerome. Even if she didn't make as much.

She got up out of bed now, and stood, posed where Tommy could see her. She knew she looked good. She was in great shape. Normally, he was putty in her hands, especially when she was naked. She could get pretty much anything she wanted if she approached him naked. Except a ring on her finger, anyway. At least so far. But she was working on that, and her current demands were a test, in one sense, to see how much of that path had been laid down in stone, as opposed to some less durable material.

"Don't get mad, Baby," Tommy pleaded. "I have to do this. This is an honor, honey! The head coach gave me this job. I can't go back to him and tell him my girlfriend won't let me arrange the after game party! I might as well cut my balls off in front of the man!"

Her demeanor changed. He was pleading, as opposed to telling her who was boss. She'd studied behavior modification in Sociology 101, before she ran out of money and had to drop out of college. It was time to take another baby step. "I don't want you to cut your balls off, Baby," she cooed, sinking back down on the bed and cupping the testicles in question. She gave them the barest little squeeze, and then let her hand slide up to grip his penis. It wasn't stiff, but she knew that was because he was drunk. He'd taken her out to celebrate something, but then wouldn't tell her what they were celebrating. She'd had to get him wasted ... and in bed ... before she got it out of him.

"I just want these balls all for myself," she purred. "They're mine. I admit I get a little jealous when I think of some other naked floozy seeing them."

She blinked, aware in her own alcohol-fogged mind that something wasn't quite right about her last comment. But the fact she had just put herself in the same classification with the women she was objecting to went right over her head. His, too, for that matter.

"You don't have to be jealous," he said, recognizing a chance to try to bullshit his way out of his current troubles. "I don't even look at other women, and I for sure wouldn't let one of them touch me like you do."

Even drunk, she recognized what a line of crap that was, but he was trying, so she let him off the hook.

"I'll help you plan the party," she said. "I'll take care of the dancers. I'll even come up with some routines and costumes and stuff. You can concentrate on the booze and the food that way, and avoid the temptation. I do know you, Tommy. You're sweet, but when you're around a naked woman, you're also weak. I can even prove it to you."

She did that by leaning down to take his flaccid penis into her mouth.

It didn't stay flaccid long, even though he was at least two sheets to the wind.

Of course he was too drunk to realize that his "weakness" at the moment had a lot more to do with what she was doing, than how she was dressed.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The Mother Superior looked up from her desk as the novice entered her office. The older woman peered over the tops of her granny style reading glasses, taking in the starched habit the younger woman wore. Some of the nuns on staff were beginning to resist the idea of working in habit. And, perhaps, this one would too, eventually, if she took her vows. The Mother Superior knew the Novice was sincere, but conflicted. That wasn't unusual. And normally, she would put no obstacle in the way of someone trying to make a decision like becoming a nun.

But the truth of the matter was that this novice was the most qualified member of the staff to perform the task at need. Her background contained experiences in it that would help her understand the concerns and even dangers involved. No one else on the staff was better suited for the job.

"You asked for me, Mother Superior?" said Sister Francine.

"Yes, my child. I have a task for you, if you are willing to pursue it."

"Of course," said the young woman, her eyes downcast. "I will do so."

"Don't be so eager," cautioned the Reverend Mother Mary Vianney. "This task may be a trial."

The novice's eyes came up now. There was a glint in them, perhaps a spark of defiance. Mother Mary had seen it before.

"Am I not here for a series of trials?" she asked.

"Of course," said the Mother Superior. While she would put no obstacle before one such as this, the whole point of the novitiate was for the world's trials to be contemplated and overcome ... or at least adjusted to. She would be there to counsel this novice, and trust that things worked out as they should. "One of our girls has been invited to attend the Super Bowl with her father. Normally, that would require nothing from us. But he has said she may bring four friends with her. Her mother insists that we provide a chaperone for the group."

"Forgive me, Mother, but that seems a bit odd to me," said Francine.

"It is a peculiar family," said Mother Mary, sighing. "The parents are not actually married. It's an odd situation that needs not be discussed here. Let me say only that I suspect she is not so much concerned with the shepherding of her daughter as in preventing the girl's father from providing this holiday experience altogether."

"But that's awful!" said Francine.

"Indeed. In any case, we have been drawn between the mother and father. Her mother has demanded a chaperone, quite possibly to prevent the girls from going. I suspect she assumed I would shrink from meeting her demand."

"Why do I suddenly feel like she has misjudged you," said Francine.

"Because it is a sin to judge at all," said Mother Mary, who never missed a chance to preach. "Though, to be honest, I doubt this fits within the usual meaning of 'judgment.' In any case, it's always wise for impressionable young women to be accompanied by someone older and ... wiser, as they go off on this kind of adventure."

"I agree," said Francine. "I have to admit, though, that I'm a little confused about why you're telling me all this."

The Mother Superior tossed one hand negligently into the air.

"Because I want to send you with them, of course!"

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Zoe?" Tommy's voice was already careful. He was worried that Zoe's reaction to what he was about to tell her would be a bad one.

"Hmm?" she responded, looking up from the magazine she'd been leafing through.

"You know the party?"

"The one I'm coordinating for you?" she asked, sweetly.

"Yeah," he said. "Jerome called and said he didn't have enough dancers. So he had to outsource."

"Outsource?" she asked.

"You know ... get some help from outside the club."

"Jerome is helping out some other club owner?" The skepticism in her voice was clear.

"No," he said. He swallowed before going on. "He has some contacts in the ... um ... escort business."

"Hookers?" she asked, both her voice and face neutral.

"Escorts!" insisted Tommy.

"I bet the girls talked him into that," she said.

"What?" He was confused.

"I know the girls who work for Jerome. They aren't hookers. Not on a regular basis anyway. And I know how I'd feel if I knew I was going to be one of only fifteen dancers at a gig like this."

"So you're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" she asked. "I'm going to have my arm through yours every instant you're in that locker room, Tommy. I don't give a flying fuck how many hookers he buses in there."

"Escorts," Tommy reminded her.

"Right," she said, grinning widely. "Escorts."

"So we're good?"

"Tell Jerome I expect some of these outsource girls to get naked with the players in the shower room," she said. "That will really take the heat off the dancers. Tell him at least ten. Fifteen would be better."

"Right," said an amazed Tommy.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Snooky?" Jerome's voice, though he didn't know it, sounded just as careful as Tommy's had when he first approached Zoe about the hookers coming to the party.

"Yeah?" said the deep voice on the other end.

"You remember that ... um ... entertainment gig we talked about?"

"Of course," said Snooky. "The girls are excited about it. You better not be calling to cancel."

"No, no, nothing like that," said Jerome. "It's just that there's been a little twist."

"What kind of twist?"

"The guy we're working for has a girlfriend, and she's taking care of the details. To keep things on the down low, she wants your girls to show up in some kind of costume, so everybody will think they're dancers."

"My girls are not dancers, Jerome," growled Snooky.

"I know that," said Jerome hastily. "It's all just for looks. It can be anything ... you know ... like cowgirl clothes, or even a Halloween costume or something." Like Tommy had with Zoe, Jerome swallowed before going on. "And there's one more thing," he said.

"It's starting to sound like I'm gonna have to charge you something for this after all, Jerome," said Snooky, heavily.

Jerome's heart sank. What had started as a cool off the books windfall was shrinking even further.

"How much will it cost me if half of your girls have to get naked with the players in the shower room?"

"Is that all?" Snooky's voice rumbled. "That's not a problem. Not if I can pay them something for just that. Three hundred each should be enough. They'll jump at it. It will make it much easier for them to cut a deal with the player they're rubbing up against."

Jerome tried to do the math in his head. He'd still end up with at least twenty five big ones.

And that was twenty five big ones he didn't have right now.

"Done," he said, relieved that things were back on track.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Sister Francine stood, leaning against the desk with her arms folded over the gray bodice of her habit. While most nuns didn't dress in habit any longer, the sisters at St. Clementine's did. It wasn't solely for religious reasons, however. The Mother Superior felt that if the girls were required to wear a uniform, then their teachers would as well. It was, in one sense, merely another lesson in life. That's because, when the girls were allowed to get out of their uniforms, so, too, were the nuns. After school hours, the sisters wore the same clothes any other woman might. They were probably more consistently conservative than average, but T shirts and jeans were just fine as long as that nun wasn't "on duty." The point was that the sisters set the example ... in all things.

Sister Francine was on duty, however. Her starched, gray, black and white habit was crisp, and looked firm enough to stop a bullet. She gave her most serious, level stare to the girls lined up some eight feet away from her. It was a stare she'd practiced for hours when she first got to St. Clementine's and started her first teaching job as a nun.

"I understand the five of you are going to the Super Bowl," she said, her voice neutral.

"My father invited me, and said I could bring some friends," explained Judith. "We get to be in the owner's box!"

"What a blessing it must be to have a father with that kind of authority," said Sister Francine.

"Yes, Sister," said Judith. She didn't actually think of the fact that her father had "authority" as a blessing, but she wasn't going to argue with Sister Francine. Everybody knew that Sister Francine had a stick up her butt. They knew it, but it often took them several painful lessons to get there. Sister Francine didn't look a whole lot older than some of her students, and when she wasn't wearing habit, she looked just like any other young, vivacious, pretty woman. None of the girls at St. Clementine's had any idea she was actually twenty-eight, and hadn't decided to become a nun until she was twenty-six. Nor did they know she'd been a teacher in a public high school before becoming a novice.

Francine saw she was losing them. All these girls had a sort of protective shell they could sink into and pull closed around them. She saw it happen all the time. Well, not all the time. But she saw it happen whenever someone was pummeling them with duty, or morals, or responsibility. It was actually not much different than it had been when she taught in public schools. Teenagers were the same everywhere. Yes, these girls had been offered a bit more in terms of moral direction, and yes, they were overwhelmingly better mannered on the surface. But down deep, they were just like all other girls. They all had dreams of what their life might be like, and they all wanted to explore those dreams.

"Never mind," she said. "A problem has arisen." She had no idea her voice had taken on that "nun tone" the girls almost groaned out loud at. That tone meant some nun was about to throw very cold water on something that had, before that, been anticipated as fun.

"We have permission to go!" blurted Janice. She immediately wished she'd kept her mouth closed, but it was too late. She was just as astonished as all the others when Sister Francine put both hands up in the air, facing them.

"I know, I know," she said. "I'm not the enemy here. The problem is that one parent has demanded that you be chaperoned."

"What? Not my parents." That was Janice again, who distinctly remembered asking her parents if she could go. Her father had said "Only if you can get me a ticket too," before laughing. Her mother had been tipsy, as usual, but had grinned into the webcam and said "Sure, Honey."

It took less than a minute for the girls to figure it out. They looked at Judith with widened eyes. She was clearly embarrassed.

"Sometimes my mother can be a bi--" She stopped, suddenly, and reddened as she realized what her anger at her mother had been about to make her say. She darted a look at Sister Francine, ready to be chastised.

"Yes!" barked Francine, covering, unnecessarily, as it turned out, the offending "tch" that Judith had managed to keep from blurting out. "I mean no!" she said quickly. "I mean you may discuss that during your next confession with the priest, Judith. The point is that she has made this demand, and we must honor it. Mother Superior has asked me to go with you."

"You?" asked Kendi, her voice strained.

"I'm not a monster," said Francine, who had too much experience with young people to take real offense. "I actually understand some of the temptations you will be exposed to on this little ... adventure."

"We're just going to watch the game," said Judith. "In the owner's box," she reminded their new chaperone, thinking that would sound pretty un-adventurous.

"And where will you stay after the game?"

"My father is arranging a suite for us," said Judith. "At the hotel he's staying at," she added.

"And this hotel is probably where all those husky men will be staying as well ... right?"

It was so silent in the room that a pin could literally have been heard to drop. This was for several reasons. One was that Sister Francine's cheeks got tinged with pink after her lips stopped moving. But the biggest shock was that all five girls could hear something in her voice that they had never heard in any sister's voice ... right along in there where that voice had said "husky men." They could not know she was remembering her life before the convent, which had been as active in things sexual as any other pretty young woman's life. At least one who was not getting her education in a parochial school.

Francine shook off those memories, and repaired the grim look on her face that had slipped as she had remembered what it had been like to be in a motel room with Brady Hopkins, one of her teaching peers. One of her married teaching peers, though, and only the first of several reasons she had decided to put herself on the road to taking a vow of celibacy.

"The point is," she said, her voice level again,"that there will be considerable celebration going on all around you at this hotel. And your father will necessarily be expected to be involved in that celebration, don't you think?"

Judith could only nod. She couldn't argue with that.

"And that means he will not be able to chaperone you as completely as he might under other circumstances."

"We don't need a chaperone, Sister," Monica blurted. She looked surprised that she'd spoken, perhaps because she was surprised she had spoken. That let her guard down even further. "We're good girls!" she said.

Again, they could not know that the nun facing them had been to parties after games, or that she had what she perceived as a serious addiction to sex, even as a teenager. Whether a professional counselor would have agreed was debatable. But, like many of her students, she had been told over and over that sex was bad, and wrong, and destructive, and unacceptable, and dirty and a hundred other reasons why engaging in it would ruin her life forever. And like all young women, her body had ignored all those reasons, and cried out to be fulfilled by taking its place in the natural order of things. Her body had cried louder than her rational brain, as it turned out, and by the time she'd gotten through college, the fact she wasn't pregnant yet astonished her. She had assumed her sexual appetite would wane after she got a teaching position. But it hadn't. In fact, it was while she and Brady Hopkins were chaperones at prom, that they ended up in the room where the gym mats were stored. She was still sure, to this very day, that neither of them had intended to let things get out of control. But they had. Brady had rung her bell hard, and the only reason their affair had ended was that she fell hopelessly in love with him. Knowing she could never have him fully, and completely, she fled, abandoning her job and leaving her "old life" behind.

She'd taken drastic steps. Putting everything out on the lawn had gotten rid of most of her possessions. The rest she simply left in the apartment for the landlord to deal with. She didn't ask for her deposit back. Once she got to her refuge, she donated her car to the local NPR radio station. She tried to cut off all ties to her former life. She'd expected it to be tormenting but astonishingly, things seemed to work out. She was quite sure she'd never teach again, but when interviewed as a postulate, and her shame came out, the very fact that she fled from her sinful ways counted in her favor, as it turned out. Of course it didn't hurt that they were desperately short of teachers at St. Clementine's. Theyu had even had to hire some men to teach classes.

But she'd been given a second chance, and she gave thanks for that every day. It was now her duty, as she (and apparently the Mother Superior as well) saw it, to help these young women avoid the pitfalls she had faced herself.

"You always need a chaperone," said the sister, her voice filled with passion. "You must trust me on this."

"We'll chaperone each other," said Judith. "And my dad really will take care of us. After all, he chose for me to be educated at this wonderful school. So he has the same values as you do, Sister." She smiled.

Sister Francine recognized BS as well as anyone else, even though she would no longer use that term to identify it. Not out loud anyway.

"I'm sure that's true, but it doesn't address the real problem here. When a parent makes a demand like this, we have to comply. I'm sure you understand why. So if there is no chaperone, then Judith cannot go. And if Judith cannot go..."

She didn't have to finish. It was clear to them all what that meant.

"Call your father," said Francine. "Tell him what happened ... assuming he doesn't already know. See if there's anything he can do."

"She's trying to ruin this because she hates him!" moaned Judith. "She knows how hard it is to get tickets. Even for him!"

"Just call him," said Francine, soothingly. "The Lord works in mysterious ways." She blinked. "Did I really just say that?"

The girls' shock over the fact that stick-up-her-ass Sister Francine actually had a sense of humor was broken by a giggle from Kendi. There was more nervous laughter.

"Of course I did," said Francine, trying to be serious. "Because He does!" She turned her eyes on Judith again. "Call him!" she said, imperiously.

"Yes, Sister," sighed the girl.

"Go in peace." Sister Francine said, folding her hands in front of her. "Good luck. I mean that."

Her eyes narrowed as they watched the girls leave the room.

Two of those skirts looked an inch or two too short.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"We're screwed " moaned Monica, as soon as the door closed behind them.

"No we're not screwed," said Janice darkly. "And that's the whole point!"

Tiffany socked her friend on the shoulder. "Just because you're a slut doesn't mean the rest of us are." There was no real heat in her voice, though.

"She's right, though," said Kendi. "Think about it. It's the Super Bowl. He already gave you five tickets ... and he made you promise not to scalp them. He was kidding, but still. No way is he going to give you another ticket for some nun to come with us."

"She's not really a nun yet," reminded Tiffany. "We just have to treat her like she is."

"Focus, Tiffany!" said Janice, acidly.

"Sorry," said the other girl. She hugged Judith. "And I'm sorry your mom is being like this."

"I know," said Judith, sadly. "She's always been like this."

"Why? I mean what happened?"

"It's complicated. My mom and dad weren't together when I was born. I never even met him until I was six, and the first time I got to spend any time with him alone was when I was eight. There was a big court battle or something," said Judith.

"I always wondered why your mom's last name is different than yours," said Monica, who hadn't felt secure in bringing the subject up before this. That wasn't surprising. Only Tiffany knew many details about her best friend's background. While a lot of kids in the secular community might have understood what it was like to come from a broken home, that was quite rare at St. Clementine's.

Janice handed her cell phone to Judith. "We might as well get it over with. Call your dad."

"I can use my own phone," said Judith.

"Use mine. That way his number will be on it."

"What? Why?"

Because if he can't get Sister Francine a ticket, I'm going to call and ask him if he'll invite me separately."

"What?" Four voices rose in outrage.

She grinned. "I'm kidding. It wouldn't be any fun without you guys."

Tiffany shoved her phone into Judith's hand. "Use mine."

"Why?" asked her best friend.

"Because your dad's a hottie," she said. "And he's available ... right?"

Chapter Three

"I heard, Honey. I'm sorry this happened," said Bob. "Your mom can get a little high strung sometimes."

"You're being charitable, Daddy," said Judith. "You always are. Why is it that you, who don't even go to church any more, are more forgiving than my mother, who probably goes to mass three times a week?"

"I love you," said Bob. He realized how that might sound, and added,"And your mother loves you too. She just worries about you in different ways than I do." He immediately thought about that too, because he was pretty sure his worries about his beautiful daughter were pretty close to what all parents worried about when it came to a gorgeous, nubile teenage girl.

"So... ?" Her unvoiced question was obvious.

"Actually, I can come up with a ticket for your chaperone. The only problem is that it won't be in the owner's box. It's too late to swing that. Now, as for the room, that's no problem at all. We have a whole floor of the hotel, and I can have another extra bed put in the suite."

"So, what you're saying is that I can tell Sister Francine that you do have a ticket for her, and that she can be our chaperone at the Super Bowl." Judith spoke this firmly, with the full knowledge that what she was saying was the truth ... but not necessarily the whole truth.

"Maybe I should call and talk to somebody at the school," said Bob, who knew exactly what she was doing.

"No," said Judith immediately. "Mom's being a bitch about this. We both know that. And you know I don 't need a chaperone."

"I didn't say that at all," he said calmly.

"What?" His daughter sounded upset.

"Yes, your mother's being ... unkind. But you're a beautiful young lady, and you want to bring along four other girls who I'm quite sure are beautiful young ladies as well. And, having been a young man, once upon a time, in ages gone by, I know what guys think about when they see a bevy of beautiful young women. And those thoughts are not charitable, dear daughter."

"You're so silly," laughed Judith. "And you're not as ancient as you claim. I'll have you know that at least one of my friends thinks you're a hottie. And she's the innocent one!"

Bob laughed, but it was artificial. Again his mind produced a quick fantasy in which he did completely unacceptable things with more than one girl. Thankfully, their faces were misty and unformed, but he pushed those thoughts away anyway.

"Don't get in trouble with your mother," he said softly.

"I won't. Everything will be fine. I'll tell them you got another ticket. That's what they asked me to call and ask for. They didn't ask for a ticket that would sit her right next to us."

"You're being legalistic about this, Sweetheart," he said, sighing.

"So's my mother," she shot back.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Girls talk about finding men - maybe more than one man at a time. This may be especially true of girls who have access to so few men that they tend to overdo it when they think access will improve things all by itself. Janice was particularly bad, as she was the slut of the group, so to speak. In fact, she had engaged in sexual intercourse only four or five times. But her uncle, who had taught her how to love sex was older, and he knew exactly how to enslave a girl through her lust. He had at least paid attention to when she might be fertile, and had made sure he didn't drench her womb with his sperm when she was. It did not occur to her that not all men might care so much about how good a time she had, or at what time of the month her pussy was inundated with his sperm. Not all men carry a condom around with them, or will use it even if they do.

She was never encouraged by the others, as she talked about what she hoped to do with what they thought of as the fictional man she talked about meeting on their adventure. But her nattering affected them all.

Kendi had let a boy between her thighs twice. The first time was a disaster of the worst magnitude. The second only occurred because she was drunk at the time. But she wasn't too drunk to realize that it was a lot more fun when you were relaxed, instead of being in almost panic mode, tense, and sure you'd be caught at any second. So it had been better, if not what she dreamed of. She gave some time to wondering ... maybe even dreaming a bit ... that she might do it a third time on this trip, perhaps ... and that it might be even better than the last time.

Monica had engaged in sex only once, at a family reunion, with one of her cousins. They'd been caught in flagrante delicto, a term she got to know in Latin class, and she was sent to St. Clementine's as a result. She could still remember the sweet feelings that had been about to wash over her, and which were so abruptly destroyed by the adults one of her other cousins had directed to their hiding place. All she had to do was close her eyes, and she could still feel his penis inside her, stretching her almost enough to hurt, but filling her delightfully. The only way she could get that feeling now was with her very secret vibrator, which she had stolen from her married sister's nightstand. She had known her sister could never begin asking questions about the missing article, because it was already very secret when she stole it.

Tiffany and Judith, despite the fact they had experienced only hurried kisses with boys (Tiffany had been groped on one occasion, but Judith not,) had explored orgasms quite thoroughly. They had, in fact, explored them together. They were undeniably both sworn virgins in a legal sense, to the point of having made a pact that they would only lose their virginity in the presence of each other. There was, however, no hint of a shred of either of their hymens left, both as a practical matter of having adopted the use of tampons, as well as being torn, ripped and plundered by excited fingers, both their own, and each other's.

They were not lesbians. The love they felt for each other was genuinely of the friendship variety. But they had been roommates for over ten years, and had discovered puberty together. They had, in fact, discovered almost everything together. If the Catholic Church had approved of multiple marriage, these girls would have tried to find the same husband to share.

So their expectations, concerning the trip, were a bit different than those of the more experienced girls. Still, just like boys brag about what they expect to do, girls dream about romance and sex too.

And on long evenings as the event they so looked forward to slowly approached ... they talked about all these things.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The school had a van, and since the girls were representing the school, the decision was made that the van should be used to get them all there and safely back. Sister Francine would drive. It was only a six or seven hour drive, depending on game traffic. If it was bad, it might take an additional hour. But they left in plenty of time. If they got there early, they'd stop somewhere and eat something before they got to the game. Everybody was sure that anything to eat or drink at the Super Bowl would cost a fortune. They didn't even think about the fact that the owner's box would be catered.

The first three hours of the trip were actually fun for everybody. Sister Francine told a few stories about her life before the convent, and the girls actually had an interesting and informative discussion about the differences between the old and new testaments, and whether those differences meant God had changed His mind about how to punish sinners or not. The very concept that God might be able to change His mind about something was good for an hour's worth of argument, since the concept of changing one's mind carried with it the assumption that the only reason for doing so was because you decided you were wrong.

Eventually conversation died off, and the monotony of traveling set in. Two more hours went by and Francine mentioned that they were in Super Bowl traffic. The girls perked up as they began an impromptu game of trying to identify cars with passengers bound for the game.

Then, while everything was going great, and they were right on schedule, the right rear tire had a catastrophic blowout. What that means is that the tire went from being full of air and supporting its share of the weight of the van, to being out of air and coming apart, in the space of about five or six seconds. By the time Sister Francine's brain registered the fact that something was wrong, pieces of the tire were already flying in a dozen different directions.

Tires are made of layers of steel webbing, polyester cords and rubber. The carcass is hand made by wrapping a drum with the right number, thickness and width of various belts of things, all attached to two thick wire circles called beads. The bead is a circle, but it will distort such that it can be stretched over the rim of a wheel that is larger than that circle. The carcass is then put into a mold, where liquid rubber is injected all around it, sealing all those layers and the beads together.

Normally, this would be too much information for the average reader, but it's really important to this story, because when a tire has a catastrophic blowout, and comes apart, those woven steel belts come apart like shrapnel. They can tear shit up really bad too. Like the spare tire hanging under the back of the van ... ten inches away from that exploding tire.

You think I'm exaggerating? You know those strips of rubber you see lying on the highway that have come off of an eighteen wheeler's tires? The common name for one of those is "gator." Why? Not only do they look a little like a gator, lying in the sun, but run over one at seventy miles an hour sometime. The exposed steel will do things to your tires and underbody that will make someone think your car was attacked by an alligator.

Francine kept it on the road, but by the time she got it down to forty miles an hour, they were riding on a bare rim on the right rear, and it was shooting sparks fifteen feet.

They didn't find out the spare had also been destroyed until they cranked it down.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The chances of a woman who looks like a nun being picked up with a destroyed tire, mounted on a steel wheel, are actually pretty good. Most people will pick up a nun under just about any circumstances. But the chances of a vehicle coming along that can pick up that nun, the tire and five Catholic school girls ... well, now we're talking more in the lottery range. Especially if more than half of those cars are on their way to the Super Bowl.

This is not to say a number of men didn't wish they could stop and pick them all up. The nun notwithstanding, those girls were babes. And, in fact, it was almost astonishing how many cars did stop to try to help them. Or at least to get a chance to look at them. A lot of men frowned, and looked at the ruined, bare wheel, lying beside the jack, and then at the spare, which had a ragged rip in the sidewall that was about nine inches long. All of them decided that the time expenditure would be great, and the possibility of tapping one of those sweet young things probably non-existent. So they shrugged their shoulders and left.

Sister Francine didn't know what to do. She decided not to call back to St. Clementine's, because there was nothing they could do for her clear back there. It never even occurred to her that they might have Triple A. In her previous life, she'd been too poor to have that kind of assistance on tap. The school did, in fact, have roadside assistance as part of their insurance policy, but she didn't think of that. She felt compelled to stay with the van, which was school property. But she couldn't ask one of the girls to get in a stranger's car and take the tire somewhere. It was suggested that two girls go with the tire, leaving the other three and Sister Francine with the van. But she was nervous about that too. In the end, a highway patrolman stopped. He offered to take Sister Francine to a truck stop about half an hour behind them, and gave the girls a number they could call him directly on, if they felt threatened.

Ten minutes later, the girls were scattered around the interior of the van ... killing time.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"We're going to be late," said Monica, about half an hour later.

"Nothing we can do about that," said Kendi.

"I hope they still let us in," said Janice. "What if the person with the list goes away after the game starts?"

"They won't," said Judith. "Besides, even if they do, all I have to do is find somebody and tell them who I am. My dad had to have told people to expect us, and take care of us during the game. He has to be on the field, but they'll know we're coming."

"We're still going to be late," said Monica. "We're going to miss part of the game."

"Maybe you should call your dad," said Kendi. Everybody knew who she was talking to.

"He's in the middle of the biggest game of his life," said Judith. "If I call him he'll just worry."

"He'll worry more if you don't."

In the end, Judith didn't have to worry about distracting her father. His phone went directly to voicemail.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Thirty miles down the road, Officer Caulfield pulled up to the gaping entrance to the service bay closest to the office of HTC International. All the other bays were occupied. There was a school bus in one, a couple of big rigs with sleepers on them in others, a dump truck filled another one, and even a honey wagon in one at the far end. He could smell the honey wagon, as far away as it was.

"Ask for Charlie," he said. "I have to get back on the road, but I'll have somebody check on the girls, and I'll be back here in an hour. If you're still here, I'll take you back to your vehicle, but Charlie can probably get you going quicker than that. He's in the business of doing this sort of thing."

"I hope so," said Francine. "This put us seriously behind schedule to get to the game."

Officer Caulfield grinned. "I'm imagining you sitting beside some big, bare-chested, painted up fat guy, who planned to scream and cuss at the Super Bowl and then gets saddled with a nun sitting next to him." He chuckled.

"It's novice, not nun," said Francine, smiling tightly.

"Not so's a man could tell just by looking," said the officer, still smiling. "Whatever the deal is, I'm glad I could help."

"Thank you. I'll say a prayer for you," she said.

"Make sure Charlie can help you first," he said. "You might need to save that prayer for yourself."

He opened the trunk and took the tire out. He let it flop down onto the ground.

"Charlie will have somebody come get it," he called. "Good luck."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Where is she?" moaned Tiffany. "She's been gone an hour!"

Nobody answered. Jessica had thought to turn on the radio and they'd found a station that was broadcasting the game. They had listened to the end of the pre-game show. It was now five minutes into the first quarter.

"We're going to miss all the fun!" complained Kendi.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Francine knew the news would not be good when she saw Charlie's face.

"I'm sorry, Sister," he said. "All they have is a P rated tire. You've got a full size van, and it takes an E load tire."

"But if I understand you, this P rated tire is still the right size ... right?" Francine was getting impatient.

"Yes, Ma'am, but I can't sell you a passenger rated tire when the book calls for an E load. The van's too heavy. If I put a P on it, it could blow again, and this time you might not be so lucky."

"You call this lucky?" Francine was definitely frustrated now. She took a deep breath and tried to center herself. It wasn't Charlie's fault.

"There's liability issues, Sister," he said, looking like he wished he was anywhere else. "I can get you the E load, but it won't be until tomorrow. That's the best I can do."

"How am I supposed to get my girls to the Super Bowl?" she moaned.

"I suspect it's the Super Bowl that's causing the shortage in two-forty-five, seventy-five, sixteen, E load tires, Ma'am. They use them on a lot of trucks too. But as to getting your girls to the game, We got a four door pickup we use for a service truck. We can fit two in the front, and if they're really good friends, four in the back. In fact, if we're going all the way to Glendale, I can find you a tire there. I'll drop you off, get the tire, get you going, and you can pick up the van tomorrow on the way back home."

Francine wondered how she and the girls were supposed to get back to the truck stop, sixty miles from where they'd be, but that was a problem for later. Right now, she needed to attend to the present problem, and Charlie had just provided a solution. She blinked, and cast her eyes upward. "My pardon, Lord. I know it was you who provided the solution," she said to herself softly.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"They're back!" yipped Tiffany. They all looked behind them to see a state police car, lights flashing, pull in behind them.

"I don't see Sister," said Monica.

"And that's a different cop," said Janice.

They opened the side door as the officer walked up.

"You ladies still here?" asked the handsome young man, sticking his head into the van. He was wearing sunglasses and a Smokey The Bear hat.

"Yes!" came the sad chorus.

"Dick said you might be. I'm Tim Wade. Officer Caulfield asked me to look in on you ladies on my way to Glendale."

"You're going to Glendale?" asked Judith. "That's where we're going! We're going to the Super Bowl!"

"I know," he said. "Me too. I'm on the after-game traffic detail."

"Can we ride with you?" asked Janice, excitedly.

"I'd love to help you out, girls, but that's against policy."

"Oh, come on," moaned Monica. "You're going there anyway."

"I know, but I'd get in big trouble if my zone sergeant found out. I'd like to help you ... but I can't."

Janice put her face close to his.

"You know who she is?" she asked, pointing at Judith. "She's Judith Tanner ... Bob Tanner's daughter."

"As in Bob Tanner, Head Coach of the Albuquerque Ocelots?" His eyebrows rose above the upper rim of his sunglasses.

"That's right," cooed Janice. "And I bet he'd be very thankful if you helped out his little girl." She smiled. "And her friends, of course."

He suddenly squatted beside the car, and took off his sunglasses. He had blue eyes, which ranged over the girls like they were steaks and he was in the mood to do some grilling.

"There are state police on the security detail at the game," he mused softly. "And I guess I could say that I was seeing to the safety of a relative of the coach."

"Yes!" blurted Kendi. "Oh, pleeeease?"

He stood up. "I must be crazy," he said. "What the hell. Come on, before I change my mind. Four of you are going to have to ride in the cage, in back."

"That's okay," said Janice. "Just get us there."

"Wait!" yelled Tiffany. "What about Sister?"

Judith froze, frowned, and then said "We'll leave her a note."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"I don't see any of your girls," said Charlie, as he eased in behind the van.

"I don't either," said Francine, worried.

Three minutes later they were on the road again, the note in Francine's hand. Her eyes ranged over it again as she urged Charlie to go faster.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Officer Wade was sweating. Partly, it was due to the fact that his A/C was having trouble dealing with the fact there were six people in the car with the windows rolled up. But there was something else too, and that was the very soft, very large breast pressing into his right shoulder, and the delightful scent of lilacs coming from the girl upon whose body that breast had grown. Janice had insisted that four in the back was too crowded, and had pointed out that his cruiser had a bench seat in the front. She had slid in, spread her legs to straddle the computer console on the dashboard, picked up his clipboard and the other gear he usually kept right next to him, put it on her lap, smiled and said "See? Plenty of room for me up here."

"You really don't have to put your arm around me," he said to Janice. "I think there's plenty of room."

"How many girls get a chance to put their arm around a real, live Arizona State Trooper?" she asked, breathing on his cheek.

"Officer," he said, weakly. "We don't use 'trooper' here in Arizona."

"Doesn't matter. I don't know a single girl at school who can say she got to cuddle up to a cop of any kind."

Take Your Daughter to Work Day

Lubrican

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