Pipestone Bible Camp Ch. 03 – Growing Pains

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Babes

Warning: the following chapter contains unexpected sexuality that involves reluctance and no explicit consent because the characters are inexperienced and don’t always approach sexuality with maturity… because they’re not mature and I wanted to write them realistically. In real life, reluctance can be a prelude to fun or horror, so just do the work, get consent, and have some great sex, okay?

*

Warm and safe, the love of my life inside me and wrapped around me, I slept the blissful sleep of the newly-deflowered. I dreamed I was running through the streets in a downpour, the water drenching me, but I was almost weightless and practically flew along on my swift bare feet without fear of harm. The rain stopped suddenly, and I was alone at the base of a majestic temple, a mountain of stairs leading to pillars that were shrouded in darkness.

With barely a thought, I climbed the stairs and found myself at the top next to one of the stone columns. The darkness was alive, nervous, convincing me of things that were there and not there at the same time. I pressed my face against the stone pillar, its cold smoothness reassuring me that it had no surprises for me; it had no life. Then, out of the darkness, I heard footsteps approaching. The sound echoing on the stone edifices around me, it felt like the footsteps were coming from everywhere at once.

I felt a slight tickle, a warm wiggling itch, begin to dance over the bare skin of the back of my neck. I bent my head back to rub it against my shoulder, but the itch only seemed to spread. The footsteps were closer, their finely shod sound crisp and perfect, but still impossible to locate. The pillar was real, so I held onto it more tightly, the comforting coolness seeping into me. The itch had spread over my shoulders and down my bare torso, but I told myself that it wasn’t real. It couldn’t hurt me.

Then, an enormous hand was placed on the column by my head. Its size took up nearly all of my field of vision. Its skin was an angry red, festering blisters covering it. I closed my eyes, feeling the owner of the hand standing close behind me. I tried to breathe, but it felt like something invisible was slowly choking me. I felt hands curl around my hips, pulling them back from the column. I clung to it more fiercely, closing my eyes and telling myself it wasn’t real. “You came back to me,” a low crackling voice rasped behind me. I felt heat radiating from it, burning me where it held my hips, but it wasn’t real.

The thing behind me spread my legs further apart, stopping them from closing again with enormous hoof-like feet. It was just a bad dream, I told myself. I always woke up from these dreams before anything really hurt me. Then, I saw an enormous scabbed appendage appear between my legs, searching upward between my thighs, tickling me with its burning, brushing touches. My breath could only come into my lungs with a wheeze, desperately pulling it in, as if the air was thick and sludge-like.

My eyes were closed so tightly, I was sure I couldn’t open them again if I tried. I knew what was going to happen. The creature only had one purpose for me. I felt the appendage push into my opening, and with a jerk, it impaled me on its massive burning cock. My feet left the ground and it held me in front of it, thrusting into me again and again. Fire coursed through my body, burning, itching and stinging everywhere it went, as the being pounded himself into me again and again, roaring my name with each invading thrust, “Melanie! Melanie! Melanie!!!!”

I awoke in a haze. I felt a mask pressed over my mouth and nose, pinching me. I tried to push it away, but my arms wouldn’t move. “She’s waking up,” a man’s voice said. “Melanie, can you hear me? We’re taking you to the hospital. Squeeze my hand if you can hear what I’m saying.”

I became aware of my arms, wrapped against my body on a narrow stretcher bed. I squeezed the hand I felt holding mine. “Melanie, you’re in an ambulance. Your roommate called 911 because you were having trouble breathing. We think you’re going into anaphylaxis — that you’re having a severe allergic reaction. Do you have any allergies? Squeeze my hand once for yes, two for no.”

I squeezed the hand once, but I couldn’t think how my allergy to balloons mattered. I hadn’t seen any at the party… the party… the fountain… the rain… As I began to fall asleep again, I felt a jab in my thigh and heard the voice telling me more things, asking me questions that didn’t matter. I slept.

***

I woke again in a hospital bed to the sound of soft guitar music next to me, then I heard Kurt’s voice singing barely louder than a whisper:

I love lilacs and avocados
Ukuleles and fireworks
And purple ponies and walking in the snow
But you’ve got to know

You’re the love of my life
You are the love of my life
You are the love of my life
You are the love of my life

From the moment I first saw you
I knew, I knew it right away
I knew that you were the love of my life
Quite eryaman genç escort bayanlar simply the love of my life
I love Lucy and pumpernickel bread
The Statue of Liberty and standing ovations
And falling into bed
But get it through your head

You’re the love of my life
You are the love of my life
You are the love of my life
You are the love of my life

From the moment I first saw you
I knew, I knew it right away
I knew that you were the love of my life
Quite simply the love of my life

You can drive me crazy
You can drive me anywhere
Here are the keys
Just do as you please
It may not always be easy

But you’re the love of my life
My heart is riding on a runaway train
You are the love of my life
Through all the pleasure and pain

From the moment I first saw you
I knew, I knew it right away
I knew that you were the love of my life
Simply the love of my life
You are the love
The great love of my life

“Carly Simon…” I rasped when the music trailed off, my throat sore and scratchy. “I love that song.”

Kurt smiled and closed his eyes, nodding with a sigh of relief. “My mom sang it to me a lot when I was a kid. How do you feel?”

I began to answer, when I heard noises outside the door. “She’s allergic to balloons, but it’s never been this bad before! How did this happen? I want to—”

“Mrs. Palmberg, I’ll need to talk with Melanie privately for a moment, if you could please wait in the lobb—” a woman’s calm voice answered my frantic mother.

“NO! I will not wait in the lobby! I am her mother! She could have died! You’re her doctor and I have a right to—”

The doctor spoke even more quietly, “I agree with you. When she was under the age of 18, you were responsible for making all medical decisions and it was only appropriate that you be given all pertinent information. Now that she is an adult, though it may seem strange, we need to respect the laws that give her the right to privacy and allow her to decide upon her care and with whom we discuss her situation. Please, Mrs. Palmberg, this won’t take long at all, but it would really help me treat your daughter if you could wait in the lobby. We will call you into the room the moment she asks us to.”

I heard my mother’s annoyed hissing sigh, a sound I had learned to dread since childhood, then the sound of her stomping away. Embarrassed at the scene she had made, I looked up at Kurt and shrugged ruefully, but his eyes were far away thinking. “You’re allergic to balloons…” he said, looking uneasy, almost stricken.

The harried-looking doctor walked into the room before I could ask what was wrong. Kurt excused himself, squeezing my hand before he left. The doctor closed the door of the room before sitting down in a tall chair by a portable desk, reading the screen of her laptop. “I’m Dr. Christine Dahl, Melanie. I was on duty when they brought you in last night with edema, hives, and difficulty breathing. The EMTs administered an epinephrine shot on route to the hospital, which probably saved your life. Your labs indicate you’ve had a severe histamine reaction. Do you know what you might have been exposed to that triggered it?”

I had to think about what she was saying for a while before understanding her. She sat stiffly, staring at her computer as she spoke. She was using clinical terms instead of trying to use simpler words that most people would understand. It was obvious she was upset about something and was using the words as a wall. “Um… I only know that I’m allergic to balloons, but I didn’t blow any up or even see any last night. Besides, they really only make my lips get swollen and a few blisters sometimes. It’s not that bad. Nothing like this.”

“Were you exposed to any other materials that contained latex?” she asked, still not looking up from the screen.

“I don’t…” I said, not really knowing what she could be talking about. As far as I knew, I was just allergic to balloons.

“Your reaction was indicative of a prolonged exposure to an allergen, most likely more than just skin contact. It is more indicative that the proteins of your allergen were introduced through an open wound,” she said, raising her eyebrows as she talked to the screen in front of her. “Were you sexually intimate tonight?” she asked.

Oh my God. I had just lost my virginity and now I had to talk about my girl parts with a doctor? Begging for a quick death, I stammered “I don’t… understand what…”

“Balloons are made from latex, a derivative of the rubber tree. You are allergic to latex which is used in many products, not just balloons,” she said, angry for reasons I couldn’t understand. “You should have been told this for your own safety when the latex allergy was discovered. This should have been addressed when you discussed birth control methods with your doctor. Hasn’t your gynecologist ever discussed—”

“I haven’t… I don’t have a… one of those doctors. Um… my mom said that ankara escort bayan I didn’t need to do that until after I was married,” I stammered.

Dr. Dahl closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, finally met my eyes, the anger in her face was slowly being replaced with something like pity. “Melanie, you were brought in with severe hives and swelling in the genital area. The reaction was mostly likely caused by contact with a latex condom.” She watched and nodded briefly as the look of realization on my face and my attempt to disappear under the covers of the bed confirmed her suspicions. “There were also several lacerations… small cuts… in the area. Those can happen during sex that is vigorous, when there is a size difference between the partners, when a woman is not sufficiently aroused prior to penetration, or when the woman has not been intimate before,” she said. “In this case, those lacerations are probably how the latex proteins were introduced into your bloodstream, causing the more severe anaphylactic reaction. You’ve stabilized, so we can send you home. I’m prescribing you an anti-histamine to use for the next week, a cream to use to relieve the hives, and two epi pens that you should keep with you if this ever happens again. In the future you will need to use polypropylene or other non-latex condoms. I would advise you to avoid lambskin, though, because they don’t protect you from viral transmissions, such as HIV.”

The most uncomfortable conversation of my life continued for what felt like an eternity. I could barely bring myself to say the names of the body parts that would require creams and what to watch for as the swelling and hives went down. All I knew was that the horrible stinging burning sensation in my nethers would fade to itching and then eventually to a blessed normal feeling that I had not appreciated enough when I had it. Then, since Dr. Dahl took personal offense at being made to explain things to ex-virgins during the first few weeks of school “every goddamn year,” she took it upon herself to give me the basics of female health and sexual responsibility, along with a handful of pamphlets that I would make certain my mother didn’t get a chance to see.

My parents drove me back to the apartment and offered again to bring me back home so they could care for me, which I refused repeatedly. “Look, it was just an accident,” I assured them, “I’ll know in the future to avoid surgical gloves when I have a cut on my lip,” I lied, hoping they wouldn’t notice that I could barely walk without discomfort. I kissed them goodbye in the street because Dad didn’t want to pay for parking, and took my things up to the apartment. I entered, half-expecting to see Kurt waiting for me while Suki, my lifesaving roommate, flipped through TV channels faster than any sane person would, but it was silent and empty inside. There were no messages on my phone, making me realize that yet again Kurt and I had not exchanged contact information. Feeling bereft, I showered and went to bed, planning to look for a job the next day.

The next morning, I padded out to the kitchenette and took a banana from the fruit bowl and made coffee. Suki was flipping through channels, giving each of the perky news personalities only a fraction of a second to pitch their shows to her. “Hey! You wanna watch anyth—ooh perfect for you! Itchy and Scratchy!” she said, putting the TV on The Simpsons. Tossing the remote aside, she walked up and leaned over the counter grinning while watching me putter around the kitchen. “So… how’re ya feeling?”

“Um… better, thanks,” I said, pouring her a glass of milk and mixing in some Ovaltine. “Thanks for… you know, calling for help, too,” I said, putting the glass in front of her. “What happened? How did you—” I began.

Suki snorted, “Mel, you were swollen, red, and wheezing in your sleep. You looked like a blood sausage. Mr. Six Used Condoms in the Empty Kleenex Box was nowhere to be seen. He came back with ice cream just after they’d taken you away,” she said, putting her silicone straw into the Ovaltine and drinking half the glass.

“Blood sausage isn’t really red. It’s more of a brownish black, actually,” I murmured.

“Uh huh…” she said, tilting her head to look at me sideways. “Yeah… cuz I really wanted to talk about blood sausage after all that. My virgin roommate bangs a guy she meets at a frat party six times, nearly dies, and then I have to throw the guy out again before her parents—”

“Kurt came back here? He was at the hospital when I woke up, but he left when the doctor came and I didn’t see him after that. What did he say? Why—”

“Oh yeah, fuckboi showed up again, but he was completely blitzed. There was no way I was letting that mess in or cleaning up whatever he left. I told him to take a hike and call you when he sobered up. Are you really into that? I woulda thought you—”

“He doesn’t have my number, Suki! How am I supposed to—” I bit my lips and tried to calm down. It etimesgut escort wasn’t Suki’s fault. Why would Kurt have gotten… whatever ‘blitzed’ meant… right after he left the hospital? How would we find each other again this time? I sighed, reasoning that Kurt knew where I lived, so at least he could show up at the apartment, now. We had shared an incredible night together. We were in love. I was sure I’d hear from him soon.

But I didn’t. I gingerly walked to the student union, always looking over my shoulder or craning my neck around corners, hoping that Kurt would be there, but he wasn’t. I applied for a few campus jobs within walking distance that paid well enough and fit my personality. I picked up my used textbooks at the bookstore, but there was no sign of a lanky guy with kind eyes anywhere. I checked the student directory to see if I could find him that way, but there was no registration for Kurt Soenson or Kurt Wyman.

I returned to the apartment and invented reasons that I needed to be sitting by the window looking outside for the rest of the day. My newly deflowered mind came up with reason after reason for why Kurt didn’t come to me, each of them belonging to the plot of a bad romantic comedy. I couldn’t even plan my day because I was worried that I would miss him if he came to the apartment. I knew how pathetic I was being and it made me sick, but I just couldn’t stop myself. There was nothing romantic about being vigorously deflowered and then left alone with nothing but your thoughts for days afterward.

Other thoughts began to creep into my mind as the days passed without any sign of Kurt, thoughts that came to me in my mother’s voice. Well, why would he come back? He got what he came for didn’t he? Six times on the first date. Men never want you once they’ve had you, you know. It’s just biology. He probably has quite a few other girls to visit before he gets around to you again… if he gets around to you again. They’re probably thinner than you, too.

After about a week of this, Suki staged a gentle intervention. “You’ve been sitting around here every day doing nothing while you’re made up like a fucking supermodel and it’s killing my dracaena trifasciata!” she yelled, waving at the plant I had moved to the floor from my window sill perch.

“I thought that was plastic…” I mumbled.

“It is!” she yelled. “You’re killing a goddamn plastic plant with this bullshit! Now go wipe that stuff off your face, go to food services and work your way through a pint of frozen yogurt and find someone else to fuck like a normal person!”

I had no reason to argue, much less any spirit, so I did. Makeup-less for the first time in 160 hours, I wandered over to the food services building, filled up the large cup with chocolate soft serve, put on all the unhealthy toppings, and sat down at a table alone. When the uneaten fro-yo had melted into a poop emoji in front of my unmoving eyes, Kurt’s cousin Paul slid down next to me with a tray carrying two baskets of French fries. “Melanie, I thought I’d never find you. Look—” he cut off as another guy joined us at the table. Paul paused, then slumped back low in his chair, spreading his knees wide. “So uh, it was good to see you again at the party… you have a good time?” he asked, casually dipping a fry into my melting fro-yo.

Confused at Paul’s sudden change in demeanor, I just blinked at him, then nodded. I looked up at the other guy who met my eyes, smiled and nodded once, extended his hand to me which I took numbly. He shook my limp hand in a firm grip, said “Tim,” and then sat down and began eating a tuna sandwich and reading something he’d written on a notepad.

Paul’s eyes darted to Tim and back to me, “So, uh, yeah… we should catch up sometime soon. We’ll do some Netflix in my room. Your pick. Why don’t you come by the house tonight?” he asked, leaning forward and stroking my back as he dipped another fry into the fro-yo poop emoji.

I thought about the offer. I was a cast-aside slut. I was a used condom shoved in an empty tissue box. I didn’t want to be seen. I didn’t want to make awkward chit-chat with Paul. I just wanted to go back to the apartment and sleep for the next three years. “I… I have to study,” I said, quietly.

“Even better. You’ll study, I’ll pick the movie,” he said, smoothly. Paul was always smooth. Tim looked up from his notes, looking darkly at Paul before he glanced at me and returned to his reading. “Besides, I think you forgot something at the party,” Paul said in a low voice, rolling his eyes when I finally looked up at him, “something you probably miss…” he finished, pointedly.

I blinked. Then, I blinked again. It finally occurred to me that Paul was trying to tell me something he didn’t want Tim to know… probably something about Kurt. Kurt… who had fooled me into thinking I was everything to him and then made sure I knew I was nothing to him once the deed was done. Had I dreamed that he was at the hospital singing to me? Why had he even bothered coming? So that his signals would be good and mixed? Was that how guys got girls to eagerly fall into bed with them and still have low expectations for anything else? Still, a big part of me craved closure, even if it was only a pathetic lie to scoff at later. “Um… yeah, okay,” I murmured.

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