She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.
Her blonde hair shined almost as much as the silver sequins on her outfit. Her legs were impossibly long, a fact that was accentuated by the overly high heels of her shoes and the tiny skirt--if it could even qualify as one--that left little to the imagination. In my world the girls were always all about having perfect tans, which made her pale skin almost seem exotic. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the creamy globes that were practically spilling out of the thin…I think her blouse could only be described as two straps that that crossed across her chest exposing her navel and pretty much everything else. For the first time I think I actually understood all those things that guys at school were always talking about when they went on and on about girls.
My breath caught as I stared at her, mouth agape.
I honestly just about turned and ran as she took a few steps toward me, but instead I held my ground. I even straightened up and puffed out my chest a little bit in hopes that it’d make me look a bit bigger. Muscular. Impressive maybe even. At least I hoped that I didn’t look as freaked out as I was actually feeling as she came right up to me.
“You must be Anthony,” she said as she looked me over. I nodded, wondering how she knew who I was, but then realizing that of course she would since there weren’t any other kids around the house. But that begged the question, just who was she? “Aren’t you just gorgeous?” she cooed before I could ask.
I blinked. Was I? I’d never really thought about it. I mean I’d never really ever had to think about it; there hadn’t ever been anyone I wanted to impress. But this girl?
“Only half as gorgeous as you,” I blurted out, covering my embarrassment at my own words by flashing her a big grin, hoping she’d think I was joking. Not about her being gorgeous, of course, but that…I don’t know. I just knew it didn’t seem like the sort of thing that a kid should say to an adult. The sound of her laugh and the way her eyes lit up dissolved my humiliation away and replaced it with the desire to always make her laugh like that. I wondered if it always felt this good making girls laugh. Make them look at me like she was looking at me. It was all I could do not to gasp as she stepped closer, into my personal space.
“Dance with me, Anthony?” she asked as she reached out her hand to take mine.
I hesitated. “I…don’t really know how,” I admitted, feeling my cheeks pink at the admission. It wasn’t all that often that I had to say those words. And it wasn’t often that I found my face mere inches away from a woman’s barely covered breasts. Okay, I doubt that had ever happened since I was a baby. And I doubt that I was nearly as fascinated with them back then.
This time when she laughed, I felt myself flood with shame, both because I knew this time she was laughing at me, and because the sound made me excited anyway. Really excited. Realizing what was happening I really did turn and flee before she could notice.
I ran all the way to my room and quickly locked myself in, just in case she somehow managed to find me. I felt like such an idiot. She probably thought I was a pathetic little kid, now. Of course that was fitting because that’s exactly what I was, but…I didn’t want her to think it. Then again, I didn’t want her to think I was a little pervert, either, and she would’ve known if I hadn’t run away when I did.
My…excitement had already vanished by the time I got to my room, but my stomach still felt all funny, and I felt as though my skin was all...tingly. And like I could very well spontaneously combust if I didn’t find a way to calm down quickly. I remembered some of the older guys talking about taking cold showers and decided that just maybe it would be a good time to test out their theory.
I must have stood under the icy cold spray for a lot longer than I meant to because the next thing I knew one of the staff was pounding on the door, alerting me that Father would be at the table in just a couple minutes and I’d better hurry if I didn’t want to be late. And if they didn’t want their pay to be docked because they failed to make sure I was at the dinner table when he arrived, I silently attributed to their ‘courtesy’ call.
I hurriedly dressed for dinner and managed to make it to my place less than a minute before the dining room doors opened and my father strolled in with…her, hanging onto his arm. I quickly rose from my chair and stood politely until they were both seated.
“Anthony,” Father addressed me for the first time since I’d been called into his office.
“Yes, Father?” I asked, unable to tear my eyes away from her. She was now dressed in an elegant dress that looked a whole lot like one of my mother’s. In fact…I think it was maybe one of Mom’s.
“I’d like you to meet your new stepmother,” he announced. “Anthony, this is Rochelle. You will treat her with courtesy and respect,” he added, a sharp coldness in his tone.
I swallowed hard. Stepmother? I blinked a few times, but still couldn’t look away from her. She didn’t look like a stepmother. Not at all like one. Worse…oh, God. I felt my body reacting again as I thought about how she’d made me feel earlier. I’d felt that? About my…stepmother?
And she must’ve known and told him! Oh my God, that’s what he was talking about with the courtesy and respect? I couldn’t breathe.
“It’s nice to meet you, Anthony,” Rochelle’s musical voice reached my ears. Nice to meet me? Then maybe she hadn’t…? I realized I was staring when she gave me a little wink.
“N-nice to meet you too….” Rochelle. Was that what I was supposed to call her? Or was I supposed to call her Mom? That just seemed so wrong. It was too soon. Mother? Step-mama? Oh man. How was I supposed to think of her like a mother? Had they really gotten married? “W-what should I call you?” I stammered out, feeling completely lost.
She laughed lightly and I felt my cheeks pink again. “Rochelle’s fine, gorgeous. At least for now,” she added, winking again.
As soon as dinner was served, we all fell into the normal silence of dinner. I did my best to keep my eyes fixed on my plate, but every once in a while I had to sneak another peek at her. And most of the times I looked up, I found that she was watching me, too.
Dinner was almost done when Father was called away from the table to attend to some important business.
“Would you like me to teach you?” Rochelle asked as soon as he was out of the room.
“Excuse me?” I asked, genuinely confused as I let my attention focus on her.
“You said you didn’t know how to dance. I could teach you.”
My mouth was suddenly dry and I reached quickly for my water glass, drinking a lot more than what would be considered polite by society standards.
“I’m a dancer, after all,” she continued. “I always wanted to teach someone.”
“I…don’t think I’m supposed to be in there.”
“Not even to mop?” she asked, teasing me a little bit. Oh God! I’d forgotten all about--and I’d just left the mop and everything outside the doors and-- "Hey, it’s okay,” she purred, suddenly out of her chair and kneeling beside mine, looking up into my face. “I put it all away. It’s okay.” Her hand dropped onto my leg and she rubbed it gently. “Nobody even has to know about it,” she told me. “It’ll be our little secret,” she added, reaching up and ruffling my hair. Father wouldn't have been happy about it, but I let it stay messy rather than slicking it back into place.
And so began our lessons.
Every day after school I’d get home and instead of going straight to my room, I went straight to the ballroom. It was a secret, of course. Not just because I was going where I wasn’t supposed to go, but also because…it wasn’t exactly cool for a young boy to take dance classes. Well, maybe it would have been since they were one-on-one lessons, and they were with a girl who I was becoming more and more infatuated with. Which, of course, had to stay my own personal secret.
Each day she’d teach me a new dance. From the Waltz, to the Foxtrot, to countless other dances. And once I had each mastered (as with many other disciplines, I was deemed to be a ‘quick study’) we would practice it and go back and review some of the others. She began teaching me to assist her with her own dance practices. I wasn’t big or strong enough to perform most of the lifts she had in mind, but she taught me how to do them anyway. It was a little embarrassing, really, but she’d guide my hands to where they were supposed to be. And sometimes where my hands went made me think completely inappropriate things about my stepmother. More afternoons than not, I ended up making sure that there was time for me to take a shower before meeting up with Father for dinner.
Father’s business started taking up more and more time, and his after dinner plans with Rochelle often had to be placed on hold or cancelled entirely. Each night at dinner we would silently wait until he was called away. The first several times he left so abruptly, Rochelle seemed pretty sad about it, but then…then we started talking.
She’d tell me (in really…colorful language! I wondered sometimes if Father knew she talked like that--he'd probably have taken me over his knee if I’d ever said any of those things) about her rehearsals and performances and sometimes about the show she always dreamed about auditioning for down at Radio City Music Hall. And then I’d tell her about my day. If I was upset about something that happened at school, she let me talk it out with her and always seemed to know what to say to make me feel better about it. And she’d tell me how her choreographer didn’t like the way she did some step and I’d tell her that the man must be crazy because I’d never seen a more amazing dancer. That always seemed to make her really happy.
After dinner I was supposed to go back to my room to retire for the night, but after the first few times Father was called away, Rochelle invited me to join her in the Grand Room after dinner where we’d watch movies together and then talk about them until it came time to retire for the night.
That was how things went for a couple months, and for me, those were the happiest times that I had known since my mother died. And though it made me feel incredibly guilty to even think it, in some ways, I was even happier than when she was alive. To Rochelle (which I learned was mysteriously spelled ‘Rachel’ on her Driver’s License. She also, it turned out didn't take Father's last name. When I asked about it, she confided they hadn't actually gotten married yet, but that he promised her that they would soon!) I wasn’t just some annoying kid. The time she spent with me made me feel really…special. I wasn’t her dress-up doll, I wasn’t her toy poodle to parade around her friends…I was her friend. She even made me a cake on my birthday; all by herself. It didn’t look so hot, but it was the best cake I’d ever eaten. I didn’t even mind that Father missed my birthday dinner.
Unfortunately it seemed that while everything was going well for me, they weren’t going quite so well for Rochelle.
One afternoon I went to the ballroom, but she wasn’t there. I waited for a while, practicing some of the things she’d taught me; but she didn’t ever come. That night, she didn’t come to dinner, either. I was dying to ask Father where she was, but he never once gave me the opportunity.
I didn’t even finish dinner that night. As soon as Father was called away, I checked the Grand Room, but she wasn’t there, either. I went back to my room, so upset that I felt sick. I undressed and crawled into bed all the while wondering: Had I done something wrong? Had she finally tired of me like everyone else seemed to? Or worse, was she sick? Like mom was? Or had she finally had enough of Father leaving her alone? God, what if she was actually the new ‘Nanny Jean’? What if he’d been paying her to stay with me but now was firing her? I felt worse as I thought about the possibilities.
Finally I decided I needed to find out for myself what was going on.
After pulling on my robe, I snuck into Father’s private wing and stole down the long hallway and to the Master Bedroom. Once I was there, I almost chickened out. What if Father hadn’t left? I was never to come into his rooms unless it was under his command.
On the other hand…I really just wanted to know that everything was alright. If I’d done something wrong, I wanted to fix it, or if she was sick, I wanted to make sure she got taken care of, or if she was gone…I just wanted to know. So I knocked lightly on the door.
When no one answered, I knocked again a little harder. “Rochelle?” I called softly through the door. And when there was still no answer, I cautiously opened the door just far enough to peek in. I just wanted to make sure that she was okay.
“Hey, Gorgeous,” she called out to me in a voice that didn’t even sound like it belonged to her, it was so raspy. So, she was sick, I realized as I made my way into the room.
“Hi,” I greeted softly as I stepped into the room. She was sprawled out on the bed, wearing a flashy robe and I suspect little else. I caught myself staring for a few moments before realizing that I really shouldn’t be. “Sorry. I’ll go…I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” I stammered quickly as I turned to get out.
“It’s okay,” she assured me, though. “Come on. Join me,” she invited, patting the spot on the bed beside her. I hesitated, but she repeated the invitation, sounding a little hurt by the way I’d turned away.
So I climbed into bed beside her, carefully averting my eyes from where her robe was falling open. I wondered if she realized.
“Sorry I didn’t show up today,” she apologized after a couple minutes of silence. Her voice was small and pained. I looked to see that her eyes were red from crying and it broke my heart. Her cheeks were lightly streaked with black from the mascara she hadn’t bothered to wash off for the night.
“Are you okay?”
She just shook her head. “I didn’t make it,” she informed me. “I had my audition. They said…I didn’t have the right look.”
What? I stared at her again. I’d never known anyone who looked like her. “But you’re so pretty!” I blurted out before I could stop it. The way she smiled told me that I said the right thing, though. “They’re just stupid,” I assured her in the only way I knew how.
She smiled, her eyes shining as reached out and stroked my cheek. “That’s sweet, Anthony, but I’m not…I’m really not. They said I wasn’t sophisticated. No shit, right?” I would have laughed except I knew she wasn’t saying it to be funny. Besides, sure, she wasn’t like any of the women who lived around here; to me that’s what made her so intriguing.
“Well…I think you’re beautiful,” I repeated my assessment, blushing slightly at the admission.
“You’re the only one who ever tells me that,” she admitted quietly. Really? Not even Father--And then I lost all train of thought as she leaned in and kissed me.
It was at once weird and exciting. Weird because it felt good, it made my lips and skin tingle, it made my heart race, and mostly because…because she was my father's fiance; for all practical purposes, my stepmother. As soon as that thought struck I pulled back quickly, embarrassed by the way my body was instinctively responding.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, her hand stroking my cheek again. And then she was kissing me. This time it wasn’t soft but…insistent. Desperate. And I understood desperation. I knew how it felt to feel rejected and lonely and…and…all rational thought fled as I realized that her robe had come open and she was wearing nothing beneath it.
I’d seen naked women in movies, of course. But that was nothing like having one right there before you. Guiding your hands to places on their bodies where they wanted you to touch them. She’d done it before in the ballroom, but that was…not the same. Not this time. This time it was…wild and…wrong. Oh so very wrong, my mind was screaming out even as my body ached for more.
“It’s okay, Anthony,” she assured me, whispering into my ear as she leaned over me, pressing her breasts into my hands as she reached down and tugged the belt of my robe.
“No. Wait,” I finally managed to choke out as I struggled to get out from beneath her. I tried to push her gently away from me. “Don’t,” I gasped as I felt her hand at the elastic of my shorts. I pushed her harder, wincing as I realized that my hands were still on her breasts. When she backed off for a moment, I rolled, tumbling from the bed and landing heavily and awkwardly on the floor. It took me a moment to orient myself enough to scramble to my feet. I was ready to bolt for the door when I heard her. Sobbing.
I froze again and turned to see her drawing the sheet up over herself. “I’m sorry. What’s wrong with me? I just…why doesn’t anybody love me?” she asked. And I knew exactly how she felt. I felt my eyes well up again with tears as she said the words I so often felt.
“I love you,” I assured her. And I did. She was my best friend in the whole world. My only real friend; the only one who ever took the time to really talk to me, not just at me. She looked up and the expression on her face screamed the same things I’d felt time and again. Feelings of doubt and insecurity and loneliness, and…questionable worth. “I love you,” I repeated, cautiously stepping closer to the edge of the bed.
“Then…” she asked looking up at me with that same quiet desperation. “Lie with me.”
Part of me knew that’s not what she was really asking. Part of me knew, but completely denied it. She just wanted someone to hold her. Someone to show they cared. And I could do that. I nodded slowly and slid back into bed beside her. I put my arm out and she snugged up against me. I could feel my heart still racing for a couple minutes until I was actually convinced that what we were doing was okay; we were just being comfortable and companionable. We were innocently cuddling.
But then she kissed me again. Softly. Gently. And it felt good. Amazing. And I found myself kissing her back. It was nice…and then suddenly it wasn’t. It didn't feel innocent anymore and it was wrong! I tried to push her away again, but this time it was like she didn’t even register it.
“Stop,” I gasped, even as my body was waking to the sensations she was creating. It paradoxically felt incredibly good and incredibly frightening at the same time. It was like I had absolutely no control over my own body. And worse, I didn’t over my mind, either. I was supposed to want this. God, I loved her. She was beautiful and sexy and fun and…and I was supposed to like this. Sex was practically all the guys talked about at school. And I could feel why; my body was totally into it. But I didn’t want this. Not…not…I tried again to push her away. I wanted to hold her; I wanted to be held, but I didn't want...
“Are you fucking stupid?” she suddenly asked as she straddled my body, peering down into my face.
I felt as though I’d been slapped. What? Why would she…? I shook my head, unable to speak around the lump in my throat.
“Then what is it? Are you queer?” I couldn’t even respond to that. She laughed. “Fuck, that’s it, isn’t it. Christ, I should have known…”
“N-no,” I insisted, my eyes tearing up.
“Then just shut up and enjoy it,” she purred, pulling my shorts down.
---
“Just shut up and enjoy it,” Tony repeated the words as he stared down into his mug at the last of the amber liquid. “Romance at its best, huh?” His grin was almost feral as he looked back up at Gibbs.
Gibbs wasn’t sure what to say. He’d always had his suspicions about DiNozzo’s childhood. He knew all sorts of platitudes that just didn’t seem like enough. His entire body was tense with anger, but he knew that Tony was too on edge for him to express it just then.
“It was over fast, really,” Tony was suddenly dismissive of the whole thing, which only intensified Gibbs’ anger. “I mean it was my first time, you know. So…it was over fast.”
“Tony.” Gibbs’ voice was too gentle. Calculatingly soothing, but with an edge that made Tony more nervous again.
“It was awkward. And uncomfortable. She was…it wasn’t like she was really heavy or anything; she wasn’t…she was…petite. Except her boobs,” he added, wagging his eyebrows as if this were a fond memory instead of a painful one. “But I was…I was twelve. And small for my age.” Again his grin was over-wild as he added, “except you know…down there.”
“Tony.”
And then Tony’s eyes were glistening again. “I was supposed to enjoy it. It was supposed to be the best thing that ever happened to me, right?” his voice was slightly shaky. “But…I couldn’t breathe. It was like she was…crushing me. And...and still it felt good. But I couldn’t…it…”
And then Gibbs’ hand was on Tony’s shoulder. He didn’t need to speak. Tony already knew everything the man felt. He stared up at Gibbs, looking much like the 12 year old child that had been forced into an adult world far too early.
“She was Father's...I didn’t mean to…” Tony whispered blinking quickly a few times.
Gibbs looked at him silently.
“I know. I didn’t. It wasn’t my fault,” Tony spoke the words Gibbs’ eyes were relaying. “But I shouldn’t have--" he stopped, his eyes dropping back to the mug until he felt Gibbs’ hand under his chin, gently urging him to look back up again. For a few moments he stubbornly closed his eyes, but when they opened again and he met Gibbs’ gaze, he gave a small nod, and a slight but honest smile. “I know.”
Gibbs nodded back and took a small sip of his bourbon, waiting for DiNozzo to get the rest out of his system. It took a few minutes for Tony to start talking again, but Gibbs was willing to wait as long as necessary.
“I don’t know how, but somehow my dad knew about it,” Tony spoke at last. “That night…it was the next to last time I saw her. She was packed and out of the house before I got home from school the next day. And I was shipped off to the Academy within the following week. Found out a few weeks later that I was disinherited, too,” he added bitterly. “Guess he thought it wasn’t my fault, too, huh?” Again, his grin was a little too wide, but Gibbs didn't comment.
The two men sat in companionable silence for several minutes until finally Gibbs drained the last drops from his mug. He knew that what Tony needed tonight was the assurance that they were okay, and yet that Gibbs wasn’t pitying him. Calculatingly, he reached forward and picked up Tony’s mug, drinking the remainder of the liquor quickly. “I shouldn’t drive. You’re taking me home. Maybe pick up a pepperoni, sausage, and extra cheese?” he suggested, raising his eyebrow pointedly.
Tony’s grin was genuine this as he nodded his agreement. “Thanks, Boss,” he said, knowing that Gibbs would know it wasn’t just for the pizza.
“Next to last time?” Gibbs prompted as they stepped into the elevator.
Tony smiled faintly. He may have lied to McGee about sleeping with a Rockette when he was 15, but Gibbs had taught him well; there should always be an element of truth in your lies.
“Ran into her once when I was fifteen. I was in New York and went to see the Christmas show down at Radio City Music Hall…”
Author's Chapter Notes:
The content warning regarding non-graphic sex w/ a minor under dubious consent pertains to this chapter.
