I had always been a little afraid of Tony Fox. He was a mountain of a kid -- as big and as quiet but not nearly as dumb. Though he was in my Advanced Algebra class, he didn't look the type. A football player of some sort, Tony had a look about him that said, "My mom let me dress myself today." He would have been an easy target to pick on if he didn't stand well over six feet tall and have arms the size of my thighs. As it was, I tried to stay clear of him.
Despite my typical stance of avoidance, Tony sought me out a late May afternoon in C Hall. "Hey, Mike," he said. Even in these words I found a slight bit of malice. "We need to talk... but not here. Come over to my house after school today. Be there by four." He shoved a slip of paper into my hand with his paw. I hadn't said a peep. Having seen some of his hallway violence against a Freshman the year before, I expected him to punch me just as much talk to me.
Surprisingly, the handwriting on the paper was anything but a Neanderthal cave scratching. It was in loopy, almost feminine, cursive. I checked the address again before going up to the stately manner in the good side of town to make sure I hadn't made a mistake. It was 3:55 PM and my heart was racing. What Tony Fox had to talk to me about... and not in school or with his fists... had me positively perplexed.
When he opened the door he didn't say a word. He just left the door open and walked back inside. I followed. I half expected him to turn around and be surprised that I was there. But he didn't turn. He just continued to walk with complete confidence that I was behind him. We went through a series of doors, down some stairs, and into what could only be described as a "rec room". Brown paneling, a pool and dart tables, beer lights and other accoutrement that just screamed "Americana!"
Tony pointed to a chair and I went over to sit. He turned and walked close to me, staring down at me, keeping me completely off guard. "Here it comes..." I thought, expecting a sock to the nose for discretions unknown.
"I know about the hardware store," he said plainly. For as calm as he was I was suddenly flushed with fear. I had been working at a hardware store for the last few months and in a fit of anger over the owner's distant relative being promoted over me, I liberated a rather expensive pocket calculator from the premises. How could Tony know about this? What was he going to do? Did this mean I'd get fired? My spine turned to ice.
He read the deluge of emotions that washed my face and smiled a Cheshire grin. "I'll keep my mouth shut, if you do some things for me."
Homework? Wash his car? Pick out his clothes? Whatever it was, the humiliation of being fired or even simply accused at work and the rumors that would fly around school were too much. Anything he required was acceptable.
"S-s-sure," I stammered. "Whatever you'd like, Tony, if we can just keep this between you and me."
"It's pretty simple. I just want you to take off your clothes and put on this outfit," he said with a wry grin, indicating a blouse and skirt that were laid out on the couch next to him. Were they here all the time? I realized that I hadn't taken my eyes away from him since I sat down. Looking up at him, the glare of the fluorescent lights behind him and partially masking his face in silhouette, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Could I do both? I really should do neither. I really should just do what he wants me to do. Why does he want me to do this? Is he gay? Would I be if I did this? How does this relate to the calculator? Will he really keep quiet? What happens after I put on those clothes? Have I already decided that I'm going to do it? I must have, my hands are unbuttoning my shirt. I'm standing up. He's back now and giving me room. Sitting down on a barstool and taking me in. Fuck. He probably sees naked guys all the time in the showers. He is a football player. Wait, he's not gay, he's got a girlfriend. I've seen him with Laura, the cheerleader. But why do this? This blouse feels cold against me. Is it the material? What is this material? I didn't look at the tag. I hope it fits. Why? Fuck.
Okay, part one is done... shirt's off, blouse on... Should I turn around while I take my pants off? Does he want my socks off too? Okay, socks off. If I turn around I'm showing my ass. If not I'm showing my cock. I've never let anyone see me naked before. Maybe this blouse will cover me up. How about I just follow my pants to the ground here and put the skirt next to it and try to just hope over so he can't see anything below the waist? Okay, I'll try... Fuck. This is more difficult than I thought. Okay.... pull up the skirt quick. Get it up and get it buttoned. This stuff fits better than it should. Did he know my size? Whose clothes are they? Laura's? His sister's? His mom's? This is just wrong. What the hell am I doing here? What is that he's got?
The light of a thousand suns crisped my eyes. At least that's how it felt. It was only a simple flash bulb from a camera but the shock of it and the implications left me stunned. Tony shook the resultant Polaroid and admired the image that shone through the fuzz of chemicals. "Very nice. I figured a prick like you had done something wrong at work. I don't care what it is. I just wanted to get this," he said, holding up the picture.