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Archive name: (Burt7.txt				#2645
Authors name:
Story Title : THE ADVENTURES OF BERT ELLIS
Date: Tue, 30 Jul 1996 07:34:50 GMT
Part 7 of 8

Chapter 7


	Bert eventually convinced Robin that she should intervene on
his behalf and try to arrange a date with Carole. The older woman had
apparently been successful because Bert had managed to creep up behind
Carole in the hallway between classes.  He studied her curves as he
surreptitously approached her. The youth was not certain of his
reception, and it did seem that Carole had been pointedly avoiding him
since the episode with Robin in the shower. Her mother had promptly
twisted her arm to go out with Bert. The boy was almost certain that
this was the rationale behind Carole’s reluctance to meet him face to
face. If she did, she would be forced to accept the date. If she could
avoid him, the girl could alibi off by saying he had never asked.
Bert’s determination to make it with Carole was unabated, but he had
been considering everything that Cruncher and several others had said.

	He had even checked a book out of the library...the public
library, not the school library. He wasn’t sure the staid and aged
school librarian would have wanted a copy of Krafft-Ebing around. That
had given him a couple of ideas that would certainly be worth trying with
Carole. The usual approaches to her seemed to be fraught with nothing
but dicouragement. Perhaps the unusual would work.

	He certainly couldn’t lose by trying. She was truly a sight that
made him stiff. That lovely, flowing blonde hair, just the right shade,
and natural. No bleach bottle for Carole. And her body was a gourmet’s
delight. Carole managed to dress for the full impact on the male
libido, whether she realized it or not.  From his readings, Bert
didn’t think she realized what she was doing. A classic case of
approach avoidance. She made herself irresistable to a male, then did
every possible thing she could, at the last moment, to avoid getting
involved. A cock teaser.

	Bert hoped that his assesment of Carole’s attitude was correct.
He also hoped that he had understood what he had read. If so, soon
Carole would be eating out of his hand and he would be eating out
another part of Carole’s anatomy.

	But he had to get that all important first date. Then he could
try out his scheme and see it it worked. He quietly stalked his quarry,
her back to him as he advanced. Bert reached out and laid a gentle hand
on Carole’s shoulder. For a brief second, both reacted identically.

	Bert was treated to a breathtaking vista of Carole’s barely
fettered breasts from her unbuttoned blouse. The top three buttons were
unfastened in direct violation of the school dress code, but none of
the male instructors would dare mention it to her. The few female
crones that might, Carole scrupulously avoided. Bert’s eyes dived like
a bathyscape into the Marianas Trench of her twin peaks, studying the
terrain of the deep valley between her boobs. If anything, she was
better endowed than her mother.  Carole’s reaction was different. She
had been trapped by the very guy she most wanted to avoid.

	Bert didn’t give her a chance to bolt and run. "Glad I finally
found you, Carole. I wanted to ask you to the school dance Friday.  Your
mother says you do not have a date yet." Bert added the last to drive
home the point that Carole had a duty to go on at least one date with
him.

	"Oh, well, Bert, I don’t know." Her brillant blue eyes drifted
toward the floor as she furiously thougth of some lie she could tell that
would get her off the hook.

	"Sure you can, Carole. No cheerleaders practice, no tests or
homework due the next day - and you don’t have a date." In front of her
friends, that latter statement would carry the most pressure.  Carole
hated that her girlfriends had heard she had not gotten a date to the
dance.

	The girl’s eyes elevated upward until she stared into Bert’s
ingenuous brown ones. "All right, Bert. I suppose I can make it." He
flashed his smile and said, "Great. Pick you up at seven. See you Friday."
He waved jauntily as he went to class.

	Bert exhaled a long, pent up breath in relief. So far so good.
Now for Friday night.

	The week spurted by in odd patterns of molasses and greased
lightning. The interminably long parts were in class. The ones that
fled by far to fast were occasional after school tutoring lessons with
Julia, sometimes both Julia and Barbara and one long, long session with
Alana in the darkroom. He had spent two hours getting the table in the
darkroom cleaned and scrubbed of all noxious chemicals. Screwing on a
formica surface wasn’t the best of all possible places, but the
darkroom did afford a little bit of privacy, a door that could be
locked, reason for being gone for an hour or two at a time and did not
cause people to ask embarrassing questions.

	That aspect no longer bothered Bert. Let them hint and ask all
the questions they wanted. he could toss off a jocular answer that may
or may not be pertinent to what the inquisitor wanted to know.  Mr.
Woodard, for instance, had inquired as to the progress Bert was making
on the next photo assignment for the school newspaper.  Bert had
replied, "I’m still working on the basic layout with Alana."

	"Yeah," his instructor had answered, "I know that, but how is
the project coming?"

	"Coming hard and fast, sir."

	Woodward shot him a look that combine curiosity and complete
amusement.

	Bert added, "Things are developing nicely."
Woodward sighed. "Just be sure to get everything into the stop
before you fix it good. Some things don’t wash off, you know."

	"And some things don’t run off either!" Bert replied.

	Woodward had laughed at that. "You lucky son of a bitch. Get
out of here!" The man shook his head in amusement when Bert left. He
wondered what woman (women?) had changed this mousy teenager into a
real tiger.

	Friday classes seemed to be drenched in glue. Every second was
an hour, every hour an eternity. Even Miss Munoz class was something of
a drag. Miss Munoz had dressed like a nun, all in black which could have
been ultra-sexy but wasn’t. Bert knew Miss Munoz and Mr.  Theodore (of
the ten inch dong) had a confrontation and their relationship was on
the skids. Not that he cared, in fact, it might mean that he would
have more opportunitues to get into Miss Munoz’ pants but he was
concerned about the time it might take. Right when he needed every
second he could muster into seducing Carole.  Bert Ellis decided he
would cross that bridge when he got to it.

	Friday’s last class vanished and Bert raced home. He had been
studying his closet for three days choosing the exact sartorial elegance
to don and most impress Carole. He had finally decided that his gray and
black checked shirt with black pants, black shoes with tiny buckles
and black socks would be the most effective.  He pivoted in front of
his dresser mirror and studied him- self with a critical eye. Bert had
to admit that his garb was sinister, made him seem a trifle aloof, and
yet no one could say anything was ususual about his dress.

	Carole’s subconscious would register the full effect, even if
her conscious mind did not. And right now, he had to work on her at an
elemental level, then work up, hopefully along her legs to her golden
furred snatch.

	Bert combed his hair and sprayed it with some abominable smel-
ling stuff that was suppposed to keep it from flopping all over the place
whenever a light wind blew. The dance tonight would require a bit of
moving around, and he didn’t want to continually have to drag a comb
through his hair. It would detract from the cool, suave and slightly
bored attitude he wanted to convey.  He left his house at seven
o’clock on the dot knowing it would take a minimum of fifteen minutes
to arrive at the van derr Hoff house. The youth wanted to be
intentially late. All part of his act, his seeming ennui with the
whole evening.  The teenager pulled up in front of Carole’s house
twenty minutes late. He casually walked up the path to the door,
knowing Carole was probably watching his every move and seething
inside, angry as hell!

	The chime had barely died when the door was swung open by
Robin. The look on her face was something of a mixture of anger and
confusion. In a low voice she said, "Bert! I thought you’d never get
here. Carole’s been ready for ten minutes. Do you want to go out with
her or not?"

	Bert smiled ingratiatingly and said in a normal tone, "Good
evening, Mrs. van der Hoff. Is Carole ready yet?" Robin shot him a
venomous look, then motioned him in. He immediately took his place on
the loveseat as Robin said, "She’ll be ready in a couple of minutes."
The civilation-old make the mail wait routine, seemed a bit trite
and useless since he had turned the tables so neatly. It no longer
appeared he was the eager stallion trotting after the filly, but
rather that the filly was slightly stupid not being ready after an
inexcusable delay.  Carole appeared in a few minutes, and Bert had to
re- strain a gasp. She was dazzling. Her very radiance brightened the
room immensely. She had obviously dressed to impress him to the
utmost.  The turquoise dress seemed to float about her body, clinging
here, flowing there. All the heres and theres were strategically
placed for maximum effect on any red blooded male.  The decolletage of
the dress was as improbable as it was heart wrenching. The sharp V
notch of the neckline plunged far down past the bottom of Carole’s
compact melon-sized breats. Umbra danced and masked vital portions of
her partially exposed tits in a cunningly designed fashion. Bert
allowed a slight smile to creep across his lips as he said, "Good
evening, Carole. Ready to go or do you need a few more minutes to get
dressed?"

	The teenager started to duck as Carole picked up her purse. He
was certain she would fling it at him in rage at his implied insult.

	Instead, her face fell into a wooden mask that smiled mechanically.
"I’m ready. Let’s go." Ice dribbled from every word.

	Bert carefully studied anew. The hemline of her dress was per-
fect for what he had in mind for the main event later in the evening.
It came to mid-thigh. The photographer thanked his lucky stars that
Carole had not chosen to wear stockings. That would have complicated
things to the point of idiocy on his part.  Who knew? It might be
nothing but stupidity that he planned. But he would soon know.

	"I want to say good-bye to your mother." Bert turned his back
to Carole and went into the kitchen where Robin was stuffing the dinner
dishes into the dishwasher.

	"I just wanted to tell you, Mrs. van der Hoff, that I’ll have
Carole back before midnight. We’ll be at the school dance - it’s in
the gym - and we’ll probably to to Dan’s Den for a hamburger afterwards."
	
	Robin’s lips compressed into a tight line. "I don’t know what
game you’re playing, Bert, but you’d better watch yourself. I’ll see you
burn in hell if you..."

	"Good night, Mrs. van der Hoff," he said, cutting off her low
voiced tirade.

	Bert returned to the fuming Carole and said, "Let’s go now. I
wanted your mother to know where we’d be." As they walked to the car,
Carole asked, a note of curiosity creeping into her soft voice, "And
what did you tell her?" "I told her that you wanted to fuck me, and
we’d be going to a motel. What did you expect me to tell her?" Bert
slammed the door behind Carole with a trifle more force than necessary.
He went around and got in behind the wheel. He keyed the car to life and
took off.

	"Did you really tell Mom that?"

	"You know I didn’t since you were listening through the door! 
Don’t try to be coy or more dense than you have be, OK? I just want to
have a good time tonight, and you asking silly questions isn’t going
to make it."

	Carole promptly crumpled in the seat, clutching at the door
handle as if she planned to leap out at the next street light. She
retreated into a shell of silence and uttered not a single word until
they arrived at the high school gym.

	They passed be the hideous statue of Walter Williams, after
whom the school had been named. Carole idly remarked, "I wonder why
they cast him with his mouth open like that?"

	Bert snorted. "He probably wouldn’t stop screaming when they
poured the bronze around him."

	Carole spun in amazement, her mouth half open in surprise. She
quickly clamped it shut when she saw Bert didn’t appear to be kidding.
His tone and face said that he was dead serious. His mouth had a slight
smile.

	She shivered slightly although the evening was still and warm.
What kind of a warpo had she mistakenly allowed to have a date with
her? In spite of herself, however, the thougth was a bit ludicrous,
and she was silently amused. But Bert Ellis was definitely not her
type, not the way he had been treating her so far. It was as if she
were...beneath his notice!

	She, Carole van der Hoff, head cheerleader, most popular girl
in school, man killer, was being ignored as if she simply was not
important. She’d show that stupid bastard what it meant to be with a
real woman!

	Bert, when he was in plain view of anyone else, was the perfect
gentleman. He opened the door for Carole, made the rounds introducing
her to various friends of her that she didn’t know. He even introduced
her to Cruncher.

	"...and this is Carole. I suppose you two already know each
other...since Crucher told me so much about you. After all, you two do
see each other all the time..on the field...so to speak." Carole
didn’t know whether to be insulted or not. Was Bert merely being
tongue-tied and obtuse?  Was he implying that she knew this
neanderthal football player intimately?

	She decided she would turn the tables on him, turn on her charms
full blast and let this Cruncher be the lucky recipient. "I’ve always
admired the way you just smash right on through and take out all those
big guys intent on running over the quarterback." "Well sometimes I
play the defensive line, too. I sort of enjoy being the one to dump
the quarterback."

	"Oh that’s marvelous!" Carole squealed in glee, almost to the
point of jumping up and down and clapping her hands in cheerleader
fashion. Bert took her elbow and maneuvered her away before she
realized what was happening. "Over here is the school paper’s editor.
You know Alana, I guess. You cheerleader types seem to know everyone."
Alana’s reception was markedly different from Cruncher’s. The big tackle
had been turning on the charm as much as Carole had been.  Carole was met
with pure, unadulterated hatred here. And Bert seemed intent on
lingering, making lewd innuendoes with this black bitch and talking
about trivial matters.

	The band blared out its first song, but still Bert talked on with
Alana. Just as Cruncher started over, his intent obvious, Bert grabbed
Carole by the arm and guided her out to the dance floor.  "Enough talk
for now. Let’s dance."

	The girl couldn’t get into the flow of the music, and her move-
ments were those of a poorly coordinated marionette. Bert flowed and
glided with easy grace. Soon, Carole was beginning to feel completely
out of synch with everything going on around her, a new and disquieting
feeling. She normally dug these dances. They gave her a chance to
flaunt her multitudimous charms, bedazzle male onlookers and generally
have a fine time.

	Tonight, nothing was going right. Her dancing, normally sinuous
and vaguely lewd and suggestive, was clumsy. It was Bert who shone, who
had the envious eyes of both sexes on him.  Carole didn’t understand
that. Not completely. The male admirers were to be expected. He had a
date with her. But the feminine attraction to this zilch of a
photographer was inexplicable. Carole wracked her brain and failed to
find the answer. He treated her like dirt. Polite, well mannered, but
disinterested. And yet all the other girls cast envious eyes on him.
There was a suavity, an assured air about him that seemed
preternaturally embodied in his actions. Carole was both attracted and
repulsed. She couldn’t decide if she hated him or not.  "Bert, let’s
leave here and get something to eat. I’m feeling hungry." She wasn’t
the least bit famished, but it was an excuse to allow her to escape
from the myriad of eyes focused on them. She had long ago learned
that, in the middle of an embarrassing situation, it paid to cut it as
short as possible. Leaving now was the best thing she could do.

	She was half-afraid Bert would refuse to leave. He surprised
her when he rapidly assented. "Okay, let’s go on out to the car. And
if we get to the hambuger joint early, it won’t be crowded." Carole
breathed a sigh of relief as they left the gym. The cool night air
quickly evaporated some the sw%at that had trickled down the deep
crevice of her bosom and made her feel uncomfortable.  Outside, alone,
she decided she might be able to turn the tables on her escort. Using
tricks she had long since perfected might just make Bert Ellis as
uncomfortable as he had made her all night long.  She moved closer to
the boy, took his arm and hung on like a drowning person gripping a
life preserver. "Bert," she cooed, "do we really have to go and get
something to eat first? I’d rather just drive around. Maybe we
could... park and...look at the lights." Her voice was low and
seductive. And when Carole tried, she could be very seductive.

