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- - -
The school day dragged on, torturously slow. With no cold showers readily available, Peter just had to endure.
And God, did he endure.
Girls. Girls everywhere. It was like moving through a thick fog, the simple act of walking the halls of Midtown High making his head spin. All of these girls, these ripe, nubile young women, surrounding him, brushing past…
Whatever happened to him last night had done more than just give him six-pack abs. Peter's senses had all been kicked into overdrive, too. Sight, sound, smell, touch. All were sharper, stronger, more intense. He was getting everything, noticing everything.
And Peter thought girls had been a distraction before…
The first crisis came during the passing period before AP Calculus.
He'd spotted Sally Avril in the hall, the girl he used to crush on in the eighth grade. Tight denim jeans hugged her legs and a stylish, frayed white top left a sliver of trim, pale belly exposed. Long blonde hair with a streak of pink fell down her shoulders in waves. Set over a cute, upturned nose were big blue eyes, big enough to get lost in. But God, those lips… Plump, bee-stung, and looking oh so glossy. Like she'd just ran her tongue over them.
Peter didn't even get close enough to talk, let alone for her to even notice him. But maybe that was a blessing - because he definitely noticed her. Just seeing her strutting by set him off. Down between his legs, Peter's cock stirred awake, hardening, surging with pumping blood, the growing beast held at bay only by the confines of his pants.
Right there in the hall, sporting a stiffy. It was a miracle nobody noticed.
Peter slipped into the restroom, found an empty stall, and waited it out.
There was nothing else he could do. Not like he had a choice. No way was he going to walk the halls pitching a tent. And "handling" it was out of the question. Jacking off in the school bathroom? He was a nerd, not a freak.
The second crisis was during US History.
Glory Grant was across the room, whispering and giggling with her friends before class actually started. Her voice was silvery and warm and her laughter was rich and sweet. Peter could listen to it forever. And he'd never noticed how lovely her skin was, looking so soft and smooth and perfect. Flawless chocolate icing. Her hair was darker, frizzy and bouncy black locks tied back into a loose ponytail. Instantly, Peter was struck with thoughts of running his fingers through it - holding it tight in his fist as he-
Peter was very lucky he was already sitting down.
The third crisis was the worst of them all.
It was AP English Lit and Gwen Stacy was wearing shorts. No cheer practice today - which meant she didn't have to wear her uniform. No skirt, no tight top, no exposed tummy. The outfit she picked out instead, however, gave Peter no respite.
The shorts weren't especially scant - they went down to her mid-thigh - but they were snug. Cotton Candy pink hugged Gwen's rounded hips, the hemline biting oh so slightly into the softness of her thigh. The fabric fit to her body like a glove, molded lovingly to that toned, firm, peach of a backside. So captivating were the shorts that Peter almost didn't notice Gwen's top - a white cardigan sweater. Loose upon her shoulders and around the sleeves and tummy, but not loose enough to fully hide away the swell of her chest. It was almost like Gwen's clothing admired her body even more than Peter did.
If Gwen had been sitting across the room, the distraction of her figure might have been tolerable. But in English Lit, Gwen Stacy sat directly in front of him.
Nothing about the ensemble was especially sexy - it was the small things. The cute way the sleeves rode down on her hands. The faintest bit of bosom when the sweater pulled against her chest just right. The way her shorts inched down her waist as she shifted in her seat - just enough to give the barest, scantest glimpse at the edge of her panties. White cotton. Frilly.
Peter stared. And stared. And sta-
"Peter?"
"Yeah?" He shot up in his seat, reaching up to adjust his glasses - which weren't there.
It wasn't the teacher who called his name. No, this was much worse.
Gwen Stacy had turned around. She was looking right at him. Bright blue eyes reading his face, scanning, scrutinizing, narrowing.
His heart was racing, pounding against his ribcage. Somehow, miraculously, he managed to play it cool. Even as he screamed on the inside, crazed over what the look Gwen was giving him could possibly mean, Peter wore the mask of calm.
She was still looking at him. Fuck. That was it. It was all over. Puny Parker was done for. He was Peter the Perv now-
"Are you going to take the worksheets or what?" Gwen shook the small stack in her hands, lifting a brow. Her tone was hard - impatient.
Relief washed in, a cool flood pouring over him. Peter cleared his throat, putting his eyes on his desk as he took the stack of worksheets.
"Right. Sorry."
"Are you… okay?" Gwen asked him. Inwardly, Peter winced. His luck wasn't that good, it seemed. When he looked Gwen's way again, he saw her brow knitted in concern. "You look a little dazed."
"I'm fine." Peter lied. The sound of Gwen's voice was fuel for the heat in his gut. And seeing those lips of hers in motion… The fire was rising, turning his desk into the hot seat. "I just spaced out for a bit. That's all."
Gwen narrowed her eyes again, reading him for a moment longer. Then she gave a shrug and turned back around.
Oh, thank God.
Peter relaxed - as much as was possible for him then - and passed the rest of the sheets back. He looked around and felt more relief. No one else seemed to notice that awkward little crash.
He spent the rest of class squirming in his seat, doing his level best to manage the steel rod trying to rip through his fucking jeans.
Even looking away from him, Gwen proved to be wholly distracting.
The lilac scent from her hair carried into his nose, sweet, feminine, making him dizzy even just sitting down. And her skin, all that he could see thanks to her shorts, looked so flawless and smooth. He wanted to just reach out and run his fingers over those thighs. He wanted to feel how soft she was, how warm. He wanted to run his fingers through that silky, golden hair.
Peter forced a look towards the clock up above the whiteboard. A half-hour left in the period.
He just needed to tough it out.
- - -
Lunch period brought no relief. Dozens and dozens of students bustled into the cafeteria hall. Dozens and dozens of girls. Dozens and dozens catching Peter's attention.
Strong magnetism, like a gravity well for his eyes, hips swaying, hair bouncing - other things bouncing, too. Peter couldn't help but look.
There was a haze, invisible to the naked eye, but Peter could feel it. He could smell it. It was lavender and cinnamon and strawberry and jasmine. Perfumes and shampoos and bath soaps and all natural scents. Feminine fragrances coming off every single girl in the room.
It was intoxicating, stirring up warmth in Peter's gut so strong that he could hardly eat. All he could do was sit there like some goof, picking at his cold mashed potatoes.
But then came a new sensation. Peter had his eyes locked on Glory Grant's jean short-clad hips when he felt it. A strong buzz at the back of his head, pinpricks spreading all over his scalp. A thrum through his skin, making it snap taut, making every blade of hair stand on end.
His whole body, struck with tension. Awake. Alert. Aware. Of everything.
Danger. Coming fast.
Peter tore his eyes from Glory's full thighs - just in time to catch Flash Thompson's hand by the wrist.
The jock's open palm had come within inches of the back of Peter's head.
Peter blinked, too stunned to feel outrage. He didn't resist as Flash pulled his arm back. The blond broke into a snorting laugh, though his own face was pinched in surprise, same as Peter's.
"Oooh. Parker's got reflexes." Flash jeered. The tone of his voice, that obnoxious smile - more than enough to stir up annoyance.
"What do you want, Flash?"
The blond held up his hands, barely attempting a play at innocence. His smirk looked about as friendly as a junkyard dog.
"Just making sure you were paying attention, Parker." Flash set a hand on the table - the same that almost clapped Peter's head. Flash leaned, no doubt making a point of his size. He loomed over Peter, his expression turning crass. "Creeping on girls takes a lot of focus, huh?"
Peter dropped his fork, resisting the urge to groan. That would have made Flash's day, seeing him so embarrassed. He took in a slow, even breath.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Peter lied, keeping his eyes straight ahead. He was already tired of Flash's face.
But the jock kept at it.
"Making puppy eyes at Gwen Stacy is one thing. I totally get that, man. But every single chick in school?" Flash shook his head, cackling. "You got ambition, Parker. You're gonna strike out, one-hundred percent, but still…"
"Whatever, dude…" Peter had endured enough. It was time to go. The cheer screeched against the floor as he stood up - though he had to hunch a little. As annoying as Flash's voice was, even he couldn't quite quell the effect of so much… feminine allure.
Peter hoped he could make it to the doors before anyone - especially Flash - noticed. But as he made his way across the cafeteria hall, he heard Flash following up behind. And the jock was keeping pace.
God, just let it go, asshole…
Then Flash called out, as smarmy as he'd ever sounded.
"Hey, you gotta take care of business. I get it." A bout of laughter followed, obnoxious and infuriating. "Just don't go whacking it in the school bathrooms. That's really not cool. Freaky shit."
People were starting to look their way. Many of them were girls. What burned Peter the most was the table over in the corner - Flash's football buddies watching the show unfold, laughing it up.
Almost to the doors. Peter grit his teeth, clenched his fists. Suddenly there was the buzz again, shooting up Peter's back. All over his skin.
Flash was right behind him, reaching out. Peter didn't see - he sensed.
A rush through his veins, white hot. Peter whirled around.
"Leave me alone." He hissed
Again, Flash played innocent - but Peter could see his eyes were lit up. This was fun for him.
"I'm just saying, bro. Wait till you get home. That's just common courtesy-"
Flash kept reaching out, as if to touch Peter's shoulder. All friendly-like, but mocking at its core.
Peter wasn't having it. He slapped Flash's hand away. Not too hard. Not even half strength.
The jock, however, played it up. Jerked his hand back quickly, like he'd touched a hot stovetop. He was sneering now, rubbing at his wrist. Acting like it hurt.
That pissed Peter off most of all. The cherry on top of Flash's bullshit.
Ridiculous.
"What the hell's your problem, Parker?" Flash snapped. Loudly. Loud enough to turn even more heads their way.
The buzz was even stronger now, dancing across Peter's body as Flash took an angry step forward.
What the hell is he so pissy about? A literal slap on the wrist?
Peter didn't move an inch. Years of putting up with Flash had left him with nothing but stewing frustration. He wasn't going to back down today. He wasn't going to throw the first punch, either. Sure, he had a brand new six-pack hidden under his shirt, but Flash Thompson still had some inches of height on him - plus a lot more muscle.
"I said leave me alone." Peter said firmly. He held eyes with Flash, fuming. "I'm not in the mood."
Flash glared down, not saying anything. There was a flicker across his face. Not regret or anything resembling it. It was realization. Flash glanced aside, finally remembering where they were… and all the people looking their way. The anger in the jock's eyes cooled… but only a little.
Flash took a step back, pointing towards Peter with warning.
"You've got a fucking problem, Parker. Check your attitude." He sneered. "Next time I'm not gonna be so nice."
Peter didn't stick around to talk back. Before Flash had even finished, he turned and headed for the double doors.
But just as he reached the exit, he slowed some. His attention caught on someone. Across the cafeteria, a pair of bright blue eyes met his own.
Gwen Stacy. Sitting with her cheerleader friends, with Liz and Sally and other girls. She was looking right at him. Looking… curious.
Her brow was pinched in thought. Just like back in English Lit. Like she was studying him. Her glossy lips parted. She brushed a lock of silky hair behind her ear.
Peter's heart was racing again. Between his legs, the growth stirred awake.
He was out the door a second later.
- - -
Gwen watched Peter go. The bookish boy wandered off through the cafeteria doors and out of sight. Even from across the room, she had noticed the tension in his body. There was rigidness in the way he walked. Clear discomfort.
Sympathy swelled in her chest. She felt for the guy, she really did. No matter what she said, no matter how many times she gave Flash an earful, she could never get him to give Peter a break. She'd even tutored the jerk, helped him with his grades to stay on the football team. All that amounted to was a big fat nothing. So all this time, Peter just sucked it up and dealt with it.
Until today.
Standing up to Flash Thompson. That's new.
Peter was long gone now, but Gwen couldn't help but wonder. Her eyes drifted to the king of the jocks himself… and she noticed Flash was still rubbing his wrist from where Peter had slapped his hand away.
Huh.
"Did you notice anything different about Peter today?" Gwen found herself asking aloud. Some of her friends at the table shrugged. Most said nothing at all, like they hadn't even heard her. Only Liz bothered to look up from her phone.
"Who?" Liz wrinkled her nose in confusion.
"Peter? Peter Parker? He's in our English class." Gwen pressed. Liz narrowed her eyes, brushing some dark hair from her face. She shook her head. Gwen sighed. "Brown hair? Glasses?"
Though Gwen did note Peter hadn't worn glasses today.
Liz sat back then, pursing her lips in thought. Whatever image she conjured up in her head had her face flashing with recognition.
"Skinny nerd?" Liz pressed back. "Into computers and bugs and stuff?"
"He's not that skinny." At least, he didn't look it. Not today.
Liz shrugged.
"I don't know. Maybe. Why?"
Now it was Gwen's turn to mull over her words. She bit her lip.
"I just… he looks a bit… taller. Doesn't he?"
Liz gave another shrug. Her attention went back to her phone.
"Sure. Let me know when he's over six feet."
Gwen snickered.
"So romantic, Liz."
"I know what I like. Didn't know you were into skinny nerds."
"I'm not." Gwen scoffed. "And he's not that skinny."
Gwen went back to her fruit cup. But her thoughts were still on Peter Parker. And she was still curious.