Spuffy Twitter
Top 10
Contact Us



05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!


Author's Corner

[Reviews - 61]

Microsoft Word Chapter or Story

Printer Chapter or Story

ePub eBook Chapter or Story

- Text Size +
2536 - Reads

Authors Chapter Notes:
This is, ultimately, a spuffy story, but to get there some ground needs to be covered. To begin with, I'll be going into a bit of Joyce's story before I get into Buffy's. So I'm hoping everyone will have patience with me to take this where I want it to go ...

Joyce Summers took in a deep, shaky breath. With no small amount of fear and trepidation, she picked up the small plastic stick. She closed her eyes for a brief moment before opening them again and peered down at the stick. A choked sob escaped her. She slid to the floor, the stick falling from her numb fingers. How long she sat on the bathroom floor, leaning against the wall, her feet just brushing up against the cool porcelain toilet, she couldn’t say.

She, Joyce Summers, barely twenty years old, honors student, always responsible and always rational Joyce, was pregnant. She was pregnant and she had no damned idea what she was going to do.

Unbidden, tears streamed down her cheeks. Sobs rumbled in her chest until she could no longer keep them silent. She curled up on herself and cried until her stomach hurt.

Was she being punished? She had never expected repercussions; it had been the one singular time she had ever stepped out of line. It was a small rebellion against a fate she thought she couldn’t fight against. Her parents said she would go to University. She agreed. Harvard? Of course. They demanded honors, and she complied. She had no friends, no social life, but she had above excellent grades and that was all that mattered to her parents. It didn’t matter how unhappy she was. Her mother was entirely unsympathetic to her daughter’s plight the one and only time Joyce had confided in her.

“You think I’m happy? Your father? Of course not. But to live the life we lead, Joyce, one must make sacrifices.” Eleanor Summers paused, her pursed lips softening slightly. “In time, you will be able to pretend happiness. And eventually you’ll sometimes forget it’s not real.”

As she had always done, Joyce gave into her mother. Hoping that maybe she would forget she was unhappy, if she tried hard enough. Joyce never broached the topic of her unhappiness with her mother again. And for two years she continued her parents plan.

Having graduated early from high school, Joyce finished her degree just after her twentieth birthday. Next on her parent’s plans for her was her Masters. Joyce had accepted it. She knew her parents would never accept failure on her part.

But now she was pregnant. She knew without a doubt what her mother would do when she found out. Her father’s reaction was too frightening to even contemplate.

She hadn’t even thought something like this could happen. Of course she understood how babies were made. She may be very innocent in some areas, but she wasn’t that naive. Even now she couldn’t remember that night very well...

It had been the night after her last exam. She didn’t know her final grades, but she knew with certainty that she passed every class with As. She had finished her degree and she was feeling that is was oddly anticlimactic. All the sleepless nights, hours and hours of reading, studying, and essays had led her to that moment and she was suddenly filled with a sense of discontentment. She paced her apartment, bursting with nervous energy.

Without giving it much thought, she ran to her room and opened her closet. Pushing aside her modest clothing, she reached into the far back and grabbed the articles of clothing she knew were stuffed there.

Joyce touched the silky fabric for a moment before slipping on the short skirt and sparkly black shirt. She couldn’t say why she’d bought the clothing two years ago. Maybe it was because it was something that was so completely opposite of the image people had come to expect of her. Maybe it was because she had honestly never felt so attractive. Or, more likely, it was because she knew her father was having an affair and she lashed out where she knew it would hurt: his money. Her mother, for all her faults, didn’t deserve an unfaithful husband.

The outfit had been very, very expensive. Plus the high heels, sparkly makeup, and the $25,000 she donated to the local battered women’s centre.

The only downside was that the donation was in her father’s name, so the very grateful battered women’s centre held a thank you dinner in his honour. Joyce claimed illness the night of the dinner, not wanting to hear his speech about how he had just “wanted to help an admirable cause”. The good publicity her father received following the donation left Joyce feeling bitter, and the novelty of spending her father’s money as vengeance quickly wore off.

So maybe Joyce wasn’t always the perfect daughter her parents wanted her to be. But nine times out of ten she was to a T.

So, in symbolic decisiveness, Joyce slipped into her daring, yet expensive outfit. She then put on her sparkly makeup and slipped into her high heels. She straightened her hair, put on bright red lipstick, a bit of blush, some mascara and twirled in front of the mirror. She barely recognized herself. Slipping on her shoulder bag, she left her apartment and hailed a taxi. When the taxi driver asked her “where to?” Joyce came to an abrupt mental halt. Where was she going? She’d never been to a bar or club in her life.

She flushed, embarrassed. “Um, someplace that people my age go? A club or something?” Joyce hated how unsure she sounded.

The cab driver only nodded as though the request wasn’t odd, and with a very excited, and bit fearful, young woman in his back seat he drove down the busy downtown street.

The club, for all intents and purposes, was exactly and nothing like Joyce had expected. It was dark, and a bit grungy. A mass of bodies moved on the dance floor to loud, upbeat music. Joyce could feel her own heartbeat accelerating. She was leered at and jostled as she moved among the throng of people. She was seriously considering going home when a young man, no older than herself, asked her to dance. Joyce quickly agreed. Several dances later he bought her a drink. Then another one. And then another. She was tipsy and she knew it. She knew it and she didn’t care. The liquor heated her insides and lowered her inhibitions. She danced several more times, not always with the same man. Hours had passed and she was laughing at something a very attractive man – was his name Tom or Tim? – said when she felt a cool hand lay on her shoulder.

After that the night was blurry. A series of tastes, touches, and sounds. She could remember going to a strange apartment. Now, looking back, she was very aware she had to have been very drunk to let herself enter the home of a man she didn’t know.

She didn’t even know his name. All she could remember of him was cold hands and dark, sensual eyes. In his apartment they were suddenly on his bed, kissing, groping. Flashes. Her clothes were gone without thought. A moment later his pants were down. Flash. He was inside her. She remembered crying out in pain. He looked down at her in shock but she began to move and he moved with her. Afterwards, when she thought about it, Joyce was ashamed with how insistent she had been. She screamed, yelled, clawed. “Faster” was her mantra and he looked down at her, up at her, beside her in something akin to awe as he complied with her demands.

The morning after she had woken in a panic, and she was half-way dressed before she realized she was alone. There was a dent in the pillow next to the one she had slept on, but that was the only indication that someone had slept next to her. She tiptoed out of the apartment; her ears and eyes wide open for any sounds of other inhabitants in the apartment, but she heard nothing.

She caught the first taxi she saw and directed the driver to her apartment.

She immediately went into denial and firmly placed the incident out of her mind. The shame of letting a man she didn’t even know use her body ate at her almost more than the shame of having enjoyed, and taken pleasure in a man she couldn’t even completely remember. For two months she tried to pretend it didn’t happen.

And now, she lay on her bathroom floor, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell she’d done.

Chapter End Notes:
Do you like it? Want me to continue? Please leave a review!

Enter the security code shown below:
Note: You may submit either a rating or a review or both.