Chapter 10: Mary, are you ok?

M.J. exhaled gustily. The whole time I'd been talking, she hadn't been breathing. I couldn't see her face; I could only guess what expression it might have on it now.

Her hand, frozen the moment I said I wasn't a fan of working with my hands, begins to move again-she strokes the shaft of my cock slightly with her fingers-and then the girl finally decides to look at me.

Mary Jane has a winning smirk on her lips. That could be the smile of a guy who got the lucky ticket to sleep with the first pretty girl in class. I'm sure I'd had the exact same smug expression on my face when I'd said "goodbye!" to my virginity in Gwen's arms.

"As you wish," she whispers and squats down. Yeah, you better not touch the floor here with your knees.

I can hardly believe the reality of what's happening. I've offered a girl I barely know to suck my dick in some filthy, littered nightclub courtyard, and she doesn't mind.

The Mary Jane Watson I knew would never agree to something like that...well, at least not so immediately. After all, to her I'm the barely familiar reserved nerd Peter Parker who spoke to her today for the first time ever.

But... another world, different rules. I'm beginning to understand: this situation is as atypical for this world as it was for the past, not because Mary Jane agreed, but because I suggested... or rather, allowed it.

Flash has been driving wedges at Osborne for years, and he keeps breaking down. It's strange to me, but to the locals it's the norm. That's the way a decent guy's supposed to behave.

M.J. pulls my pants down a little more, exploring me with his hands with genuine interest. Soon I feel the touch of her soft lips, then the sharp tongue, and finally the hard tenderness of her teeth on my flesh. I don't care that M.J. wasn't very skilled, that her teeth are touching my skin too hard and too often! On the contrary, it makes me happy. My only regret is that I can't return the favor to my girlfriend right now. I shouldn't have been in such a hurry; we could have done it at my house.

She's doing pretty well for herself, though.

I notice that M.J.'s other hand has disappeared under her red skirt. From the sounds of it, there's already a waterfall. Wow, it's taken a lot of effort in the past for me to cause Mary Jane such a deluge. Not to mention that in all my life I've only known one girl who found her own pleasure in pleasuring her partner with her mouth. And it wasn't Mary Jane. I am left to wonder whether such mild horniness is typical of local girls.

I want to tell Mary Jane that she's making too much noise, but suddenly I realize that I haven't heard any sounds from across the patio in a long time...

"M.J.," I whisper, running my fingers through the girl's hair, "I'm almost there."

But Mary Jane only began to work her mouth more intensely and wiggle her hand inside her panties. Well, it's my job to warn her.

I think she managed to give herself a little orgasm while she was giving herself a blow job. That's the only way I can explain that MJ's moans drowned out even my heavy breathing at that moment.

"Ew, gross," Mary Jane's voice brought me out of Nod country. Well, at least in some ways she stayed the same.

I don't know how it is with others, but I've noticed one little thing about myself: I can't help but like a girl whose mouth or face I've just cum in. It's just some goddamn instinct that I can't resist, and there's no need to.

Right now I was just so overwhelmed with tenderness for Mary Jane. I hastily took a clean handkerchief from my pants pocket and helped her wipe off the cum residue.

"Thank you," M.J. whispered embarrassedly, taking the handkerchief from me. She was embarrassed by the gesture for some reason.

"I think Harry and Audrey are gone," M.J. said uncertainly after a minute, as she cleaned herself up.

"Yeah, they definitely did," I answered the unspoken question, "No, I don't think they realized it was us."

Mary Jane's face, however, still showed doubt.

"And even if they did, I don't care!" I pulled the girl to me and kissed her lips.

Mary Jane's eyes widened in surprise, but she soon answered me more eagerly than before. She pressed against me with her whole body, ran her hands through my hair, and didn't let go for a minute.

Soon we returned to the dance floor and found our classmates there, they were just moving toward the bar, and we joined in the journey. Thompson ordered drinks for everyone again and looked at M.J. suspiciously.

"Where have you been disappearing to?" On hearing this, Mary Jane wiggled herself a provocative winning smile.

"Dancing," she said, eagerly draining her drink.

"What are you so happy about?" Flush knocked over her drink.

"Peter's a good dancer," M.J. smirked, but Audrey didn't fall for it and only squinted harder, as if she hoped to find traces of the crime that way.

Osborne, meanwhile, was sipping his drink in small sips and looking at me with interest. At least he didn't ask for a straw, and that was all right.

"You've changed," he began. "Has something happened in the last two weeks?"

I thought about the answer. Or rather, I tried to search my memory for anything that concerned Harry and Peter's relationship before I got here. Not much came out.

A few years ago, Osborne had tried to find some common ground with Parker, since, after all, they were the only guys in the class. But Peter wouldn't make any contact, and Osborne had nothing to interest his out-of-touch mind. They had no common interests at all, and in the end, Harry quickly gave up and gave up trying.

"Something really happened," I say, and I notice that not only Osborne, but the girls, too, are listening.

"Is it good?" Mary Jane asks, but when she sees that the others don't understand her, she explains: "Something good happened?"

"More likely yes than no, at least for me," and yet I can't answer that question unequivocally.

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"Whatever happened," Thomson interjected, "it was good for you! I like the new Parker. You used to sit like an alien in the back of the class and never let me hear a word out of you."

Audrey put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed it with all the strength of her trained body. You can't imagine how much power there is in the hands of the leading forward of the district's strongest high school soccer team. For example, in my current uniform, if I put on full soccer protection, I wouldn't run a mile. I'd die in the second 100 meters.

To end the torture, I poked her in the solar plexus with my fingers, not hard, just to loosen my grip. Audrey may not be a professional fighter, but her abs were very strong. But I got what I wanted, and got out of the chokehold while Thompson came to her senses.

"Oh, you little one," she muttered, gasping for air.

"Ha-ha," laughed Osborne, "as he did you."

Flash glared at Harry angrily, but she forced a smile out of her mouth and let it go. Yeah, men aren't taken seriously here, for Thompson a confrontation with me is impossible without a loss of self-respect and dignity.

"How about a ride around town?" Mary Jane belatedly tried to lighten the mood.

There was no objection, and a dozen minutes and two bar orders later we were already sitting in Audrey's convertible. I felt uncomfortable in a car driven by a drunken Thompson, who had decided to regain her points of leadership by showing off her driving skills. There was nothing I could do if she lost control. Nervously squirming in my seat, I tried to remember my high school days: had Eugene ever crashed his fucking PlymouthProwler? But I couldn't. It was so long ago, such early and insignificant details of my life began to get lost back in the world after I awoke from hibernation.

Thank the non-existent gods it all worked out, and after a few hours of dumb driving around town and a dozen retarded ideas visiting Audrey's head, I managed to convince my comrades that it was time to go home. While we drove, Mary Jane, who could not boast of being resistant to alcohol, but for some reason did not miss a single toast, was safely asleep.

After stopping at Watson's house, Thompson staggered out of the car with the obvious intention of pushing the girl. She really was an excellent driver, since she managed to drive perfectly in such a state. Seriously, even her own body was less obedient than the car had been a few minutes before.

"Don't," I stopped her, "I'll do it."

Under the surprised looks of Thompson and Osborne, I gently pulled M.J. out of the passenger compartment and took her in my arms.

"Wow, I haven't seen anything like that before," Audrey whistled, and then looked at Harry doubtfully, apparently imagining herself in Mary Jane's shoes, a second later twitching in disgust at the situation.

"See you at school," I hinted to my classmates that some of them needed to get out of the fog, and then turned my back on them and strode toward the house. Mary Jane was heavier than I'd expected, so I'd better hurry.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow," Thompson's voice came over me, along with a strange noise, as if the girl had fallen back into the cabin without opening the door.

"What do you think you're doing?" Harry exclaimed. "Get off me, you're heavy! God, Audrey, what's the matter with you?"

Instead of answering, Thompson started the engine and revved it up.

By this time I had beaten the hook on the Watsons' wicket and was approaching the front door. It was the fourth hour, and the house light was not on. Considering that I knew where Mary-Jane's room was, I would try not to wake the household or the girl herself.

The key was found in the most secure and unpredictable place in the universe-under the visor of the front door, so I managed to sneak in with the sleeping girl in my arms. The light from the streetlights was coming in through the unblinded windows, so I could more or less navigate the space. After counting all the creaking and rattling steps on the stairs, I finally reached Mary Jane's room on the second floor and laid the girl on the bed with relief. I immediately sat down beside her to take a breather.

The girl was still sound asleep, and I had to undress and cover her with the blanket myself. While I was folding her clothes on a chair, I managed to accidentally bump into the desk, which caused the computer to come out of sleep.

At first I wanted to just turn it off, but my attention was drawn to an open tab in the browser: "The first date with a guy, or what not to do, so it would not be the last.

After a quick run through the talking points, I found such entertaining points there as:

"If he agreed to a date, it means he likes you. You're something hooked him and managed to stand out among the crowd of others. So be more confident, girlfriend."

"He'll be evaluating you, watching you. Think about how to behave, so that he left a good impression."

"Understand his signals: he is attracted to you and shy to show it? He listens carefully and looks at you. You can tell right away."

"He laughs at your jokes. This is how he expresses his sympathy and wants you to see it."

"He's not trying to prove anything to you. He's not trying to be cool. He feels good and comfortable with you, and he's as relaxed as possible."

"Show some adequacy. The guy has to understand that you're not a maniac and he's not going home in four black bags."

"Listen carefully to what the man is talking about, show him that you are close to his interests, do not forget that men do not think about sex all the time, as we do."

"Show that you're not horny. Don't get all kissy, don't grope him for no reason. Everything has to be done on time."

But the advice I liked the most for the third date:

"If you want to make it to bed, don't skimp on foreplay, the whole date should be one big foreplay, process him, make him think about sex as often as you do it yourself."

According to the logic of this article, I am in a processed state all the time, because I think about sex as often as the girls do.

After turning off Mary Jane's computer, I quietly left the stranger's house and wandered back to my place. In fact, I could barely keep my legs anymore. I hadn't slept much last night and had had a very full night after that. Something had to be done about my stamina.

Besides, I didn't like the speed with which my sex drive evaporated-just after a light blow job. I'm sixteen years old, I'm supposed to be like a barrel full of cum! Wouldn't it make sense if the rare men of this world had a heightened sexual desire to compensate for their paucity? But my own experience in this body and the advice for girls on the internet says otherwise. Either the Peter Parker of this world originally matched the average, or my Spidey talents were not limited to martial arts. So with the opportunities this world offers, losing superpowers becomes a real disaster! It's too late now, but something has to be done about this mess. What was it Mumbles said? Men are just useless trash, and she doesn't need a boy with a flaccid dick who can't even get angry. Well, that's not me! Like hell I would put up with that state of affairs, even if fate had thrust me into such a body.

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