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Blackmailing the Queen

Chapter 1 – Ann Ascends the Mountain

Ann Macafee was one of those girls you dream about but never get.

She hung around with the "in" crowd, which was a mixture of atheletes, college-preps, and the stars of the drama club. You could see them at every lunch hour, all clustered around the big live-oak in the central quad, an invisible barrier of distain for all non-members seperating them from the general rabble. We all hated them. We all wanted to be them. They were the elite that just naturally floats to the top of every high school.

Ann Macafee was their Queen. She was the female lead of nearly every play the school put on. She dated the star of the football team (I know, that sounds corny, but it was true) and hung around with the kids-who-are-rich-and-will-be-richer. Her family lived in the foothills in a house that was just this side of an estate. She had it all, and she was beautiful.

Her beauty had that casual, effortless look. Her short brown hair, fine and fresh, framed a face that was almost a perfect match to that girl whose father owns the hotel in Twin Peaks (I say that now, though of course back then there was no Twin Peaks). Her body, always clothed in expensive wools and tweeds, was perfectly proportioned. Her firm high breasts looked like the models by which all other breasts are designed. Her round, tight ass gave only slightly when she perched on a chair. She had straight, dainty posture, and perfectly manicured hands. She was, in every sense, a perfect little doll. And she knew it.

Some people can put you down without saying a word – by the way they look at you, or avoid looking at you; or simply by the way they carry themselves. Ann was a perfect example. She was better than us, she seemed to say. She would glide through the halls, aloof and apart, her face a mask of calm seperateness, until she would spy another of the elite circle and her expression would break into a smile of pure warmth.

For most of my junior year I had suffered a devastating and quite secret crush on Ann. I was not a part of her life, of course. I was no nerd, but my friends were as I was, a part of the masses. I was a fairly good-looking young man, well built and handsome, or so I was told by the girls I dated, but I did not posess that magic glamour that permitted access to the higher circle. Ann never looked at me, never met my eyes. We were lab partners in chemistry, and somehow she still managed to avoid any kind of interaction. The few times I tried to make a joke or start a conversation, she withered me with total disinterest. It was horrible.

By my senior year I was pretty much over it, though. I had enjoyed a pretty successfull summer, sexually speaking, and this had boosted my confidence to the point that I no longer needed an Ann Macafee. Oh, I still appreciated her lovely long legs on those days she wore a skirt, and I still let my eyes roam her breasts when the weather was warm and she wore thin silk blouses. But my obsession was over.

I thought that she would never enter my world. But everything changed when I discovered that Ann led a secret life.

It was early in my senior year. I had driven up to the top of Mt.

Ervin, which is a popular make-out spot for the highschoolers. I was working on a project for my photography class, and had gone up to Ervin Park to take some long-exposure shots, showing the stars streaking across the sky over time; a very common thing for amature photographers to do. I did not want to be seen near the parking lot with a camera, since that was where the kids parked, and no one would be too happy if they saw me bopping around with my Nikon. I had taken a few girls there myself, and I know I would have been pissed.