Ep6: A Kiss Before Clobbering

“Hi Tommy,” Randy Starr states with a certain measure of ‘parental’ impatience.

“Hi yourself,” Tommy Boyd answers, sensing his unease. “So, what’s the matter?”

“I just happened to pass the Wallendeck home,” the handsome fellow explains as both young people stroll down a sidestreet in Lincoln Heights. “The family’s very upset. It seems somebody punched Joey Wallendeck in the nose!”

“You mean somebody finally decked Wallendeck? Ha-ha-ha!”

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

“Serves him right,” Tommy proclaims snippily. “He’s an obnoxious blowhard who pushes little kids around. Creeps like that should be taught a lesson.”

“Listen… You know I made that promise to your Aunt Edwina…” soul of patience Randy continues, trying his best not to be provocative. “Whenever I catch you misbehaving – challenging guys, getting into fistfights with them, that sort of thing, well… I’m expected to haul you in for some serious rehab, one way or another.”

“Ha!” Tommy laughs out loud. “That’s a great promise. But first you have to catch me in the act. Where’s your proof, Mr. D.A.?”

Randy just grins slightly, playing it cool. “You know the Wallendeck home is under construction. The entire front lawn’s been torn up.”

“So?”

“Well, I imagine whoever punched Joey in the nose probably still has mud on his shoes.”

Tommy freezes for a split second; then she instinctively raises her sneakered foot to check it for mud stains. Nothing. But as she turns and raises her head again to face her questioner –

-- Randy engulfs her with a potent-as-always kiss!

Instantly Tommy’s eyes bug, then swiftly drift into dreamy bliss. Even after he gently pulls away, her lips remain puckered. Once again, T-Boyd is in a typical Randy Starr-induced trance, torn between her boisterous tomboyish nature and budding teenage desire to “girl up” and give in to romance!

Randy just smiles and shakes his head. Then, almost like clockwork, he bends down and scoops up the dozing girl athlete like a sack of sexy flour. He hefts Tommy over his broad right shoulder, so her long, shapely and very un-boyish legs are mostly on display. Behind Randy, Boyd’s once-powerful arms dangle haphazardly, and her large mane of brown wavy hair cascades downward, swaying as Randy walks.

A few moments later Starr checks his watch. Damn, half-past six! He’ll be late for that social at Marcia Sloan’s if he doesn’t move his butt, and fast!

Meanwhile, still thrown over his shoulder, Tommy is deep in dreamland now, with images of her beloved dad, the Colonel, and a smiling, hunky-looking Randy trading places in her unconscious. Although no one can actually see the sleeping tomboy’s upside-down face as she is hauled away, her Starr-christened lips are still appealingly puckered. “Mmmmmmm…” young Tommy moans in her sleep, experiencing feelings and sensations that are both wonderfully new, and downright scary!

The Proper Little Miss pre-school, late afternoon. Listlessly rocking a doll among "classmates" a third her age is a foiled and frustrated Tommy Boyd -- make that Tomasina -- decked out ridiculously in a toddler’s frilly dress and pink hair bow. It’s all part of her ongoing, “starting from scratch” feminization therapy, an extreme rehab effort initiated by Tommy’s hopelessly old-fashioned guardian-aunt, Edwina Strictland. Trying to be helpful as always, Harold Pinter chats with his unhappy friend from a nearby window.

“Painting a picket fence for punishment – that’s not so terrible,” Harold offers philosophically. “Joey Wallendeck could’ve slammed you real good for giving him that black eye.”

“Who cares about Joey Wallendeck?” Tommy explodes. “It’s my so-called friend Randy Starr, that smug little sneak! He’s the one I’m going to clobber, first chance I get.” Emphasizing her point, Tommy clenches a very unladylike fist.

“Randy caught you, fair and square. You know the rules.”

“Harold! You’re supposed to be my friend! And screw the rules, Starr broke them as far as I’m concerned. Kissing… yuck! Now he’s going to pay!”

“One smooch put you under, huh?”

“Keep that to yourself,” Tommy says sternly. “But, yeah, that slick operator knocked me for a loop. When I came to, I was all tied up, a special delivery for the Wallendecks. That's when they pronounced sentence, punishing me for giving their precious little Joey his well-deserved shiner.”

“Well I'm not exactly an expert in sleep therapy," Harold can't help pointing out. "But isn’t it better being sent to dreamland with a kiss, rather than a right hook?” he logically asks.

Tommy stops rocking the doll for a moment. She thoughtfully touches her chin, followed by her puckered lips; then she shrugs. Sometimes a kiss can be even more potent than a punch… especially when the kisser in question is Randy Starr!

Later that night, a lithe, athletic female figure makes her way through neighborhood trees, finally positioning herself across from a small suburban house. Having switched from disgraceful girlie dress to sexy sports bra and shorts, Tommy stares directly at a second story window with anticipatory glee written all over her youthful, bright-eyed face. “Randy Starr, prepare yourself for a shock!” the girl dynamo declares gingerly, relishing every word as she begins what promises to be a playful act of revenge.

And, sure enough, within seconds Randy himself walks across the room and passes the window, downing a glass of vino. Tommy’s already broad smile widens as she clenches her potent fist. Boy, is Randy going to regret knocking her out with a sneaky kiss and “delivering” her to PLM like a bag of dirty laundry, the saucy tomboy thinks to herself.

But then something happens that practically stops Tommy’s heart. Randy’s attractive date for the evening, an equally sexy but decidedly feminine vixen, saunters over and throws her arms around him. Obliging as always, handsome Randy responds with a world-class kiss, which she very much enjoys.

Tommy’s mouth drops open. Kissing again! And who is this overly made-up bimbo who seems to interest Randy so much? “What has she got that I haven’t?” the suddenly desperate tomboy asks, grabbing her own sizeable breasts and squeezing them with a perplexed expression. Truly, what's the point of having these always-in-the-way "funbags" if the dumb boy you kinda like doesn't even notice them? So much for that uninhibited sock-to-the-jaw revenge plan… it seems ladies’ man Randy is otherwise occupied!

Chester’s Garage, Sunday afternoon. A somewhat glum Tommy Boyd is wiping a windshield when none other than Randy Starr drives in. “Fill ‘er up, Tombabe.”

She looks at him without smiling. “You know I hate that nickname.”

“Sorry, Tommy. Hey listen… I'd like to apologize.”

“For what?”

“Y’know… Could’ve been much fun rocking dolls yesterday when you really wanted to be out playing baseball with your Little League friends. How’d the guys make out?”

“They got creamed.”

“I see. Well…”

“Look, Starr. My deal with you is no different than with all the other chauvinistic creeps in Lincoln Heights. You catch me by outwitting me or outfighting me, I put on the lousy dress and rock the miserable doll. That kind of defeat keeps me on my toes and inspires me to do better. But this kissing stuff? That’s below the belt, buddy boy!”

“I thought it was just above the chin.”

Tommy arches an eyebrow as only a female of the species can. Then she folds her arms and sighs with pronounced impatience.

POW! POW-POW! And POW-POW-POW again!

Poor Frankie, pride of Lincoln Heights’ unshaven, leather-clad, rotten attitude greaser set, has become a hapless punching bag as Tommy Boyd’s powerhouse fists slam away at him, non-stop. “This’ll teach you to take on a real a martial artist like me, you would-be badass!” the tomboy gleefully taunts her pathetic foe, totally in charge of this afternoon slugfest. “What’s the matter, Frankie? Can’t you take being beaten by a girl? Again?!”

“No dumb broad beats me!” Frankie spits out, barely standing but seething with rage. “You threw a few lucky punches, melon-chest, that’s all!”

“Well, in that case… !” Tommy drops to the ground, whips out a shapely leg and knocks Frankie right off his wobbly feet. “Here’s some of my fancy footwork, just for variety’s sake!”

Observing this mano-e-mano alleyway battle from a short distance away is Frankie’s impatient, chain-smoking girlfriend Celine, a cheap-looking loudmouth who perfectly compliments her worthless other half. “What out for that crazy bitch, I think she’s on steroids!” Celine warns her beau casually while applying some lipstick.

Wham! Tommy jumps directly on top of floored Frankie, knocking the breath out of him. “Lucky punches, you were saying? All right. Let’s try a few more!” With that proclamation, Tommy playfully pounds her downed opponent’s weary face. Finally, bored with apparently limited possibilities, she drags semi-conscious Frankie to his feet, belts him in the stomach (ooofff!!!), and swings a perfect roundhouse right to the greaser’s chin.

CLANG! He lands smack in a pile of garbage cans. Ugh!

Tommy grins, feeling fully empowered by her classic-style victory over a male, and absolutely ecstatic because of it. Every inch of her powerful body reinvigorated, she places her clenched fists on shapely hips and grins from ear-to-ear.

“Freak! What have you done to my boyfriend?” Celine snaps at Tommy. Making sure her dress doesn’t get dirty, she kneels beside Frankie, taking his head in her arms.

“He just got what he deserved, Celine.”

“Stupid lezzie brat! What do you know about what a woman feels for her man?”

Almost on cue, Celine dives into Frankie’s face with the most aggressively hot kiss imaginable! Within seconds the Frank Man’s eyes open, joy fills his face, and the super-smooch continues.

“Oh, brother!” Tommy rolls her eyes.

“You’re just jealous, tomboy!" Frankie manages to blurt out. ‘Cause no one wants to gets smoochy with a she-male like you!”

“HA! I wouldn’t let them.”

“That’s why you’re a freak, geek!” Celine retorts venomously, fondling a most pleased Frankie. “Now go play with the other children and leave us grown-ups alone.”

“That’s right, Retard Girl,” Frankie throws in for bad measure. “Now scram!”

Suddenly and unexpectedly humiliated after a glorious victory over a boy, Tommy instinctively jogs away from the alley. Her picture-perfect, almost robotic athletic exit earns some nasty sneers and jeers from her contemptuous foes.

Alas, Tommy the tomboy is clearly having trouble lying to herself. Like it or not, she’s going to have to learn the dangerously “grown-up” ways of her opponents, much as she’s had to master difficult athletic training over the years. Staring into the bedroom mirror later that very evening, Tommy can’t help practicing first-level kissing techniques, gamely puckering her lips to outlandish proportions. “Aww man, I look like some dorky flounder!” she finally groans, disgusted with herself for indulging in such unabashed “girlie” behavior.

It’s a day later. A few hours of sweat and fury in the Lincoln Heights gymnasium seems to revitalize young Boyd, once again getting this remarkable female athlete back to basics. The much-abused school punching bag becomes a sort of stand-in for every boy she’s ever competed with athletically, and the perfectly toned teen dynamo, resplendent in boxing gloves, just keeps battering away.

And then there’s good old Harold, Tommy’s best friend and new “kissing trainer.” The irony is overwhelming. Nerdy Harold’s been trying to get into Tommy Boyd’s shorts for years and years. But now, her puckered lips seem so forced (a child’s idea of how to kiss) and her manner is so clearly tomboyish and unfeminine, that Harold is actually scared off!

But as confident as she may be while she’s conscious, Tommy’s nightmares betray a grave concern for this incredibly potent male weapon. In a stylized dream, she finds herself “imperiled” by dashing, ever-so-smooth kiss-master Randy Starr, whose lips instantly tame her. Even worse, the local sports star/bully basher sees herself facing off against perennial adversaries Chad, Frankie and Pimples. As usual, she cleans the JD’s clocks with a dazzling display of agility and fighting tactics. But all they have to do, Tommy worries as she sleeps, is catch her off-guard for a crucial second… which is exactly what happens with obnoxious, super-arrogant sports rival Chad Parker. An experienced ladies’ man, he seems to swing out of nowhere to engulf her in a killer kiss, instantly rendering the spitfire helpless. The other guys laugh uproariously as, once again, Tommy’s arms go limp and her lips remain puckered.

The dream continues, with a partially-recovered Tommy encountering and struggling with both Frankie and Pimples. They both manage to sneak in a smooch, instantly immobilizing her. Totally entranced by this well-aimed affection, all the helpless tomboy can do is stand there and take it.

Finally, the guys remember that Tommy Boyd is an annoying sports rival first, a voluptuous screw-worthy chick second. In an outlandish triple-punching, each takes Tommy by the chin and arranges the perfect angle for their devastating wallop. Whoa… talk about getting it in the kisser! And three times in succession! Tommy bolts out of her dream. Feels her chin and her lips. “This is getting serious,” the teenager says glumly, sitting up in bed.

Later that same day, a testier Tommy demands that Harold help her out… even threatening him with a clenched fist at one point (“Just DO it, Harold!”). She shuts her eyes, leans over, and puckers up in her usual, exaggerated fashion. But, amusingly enough, the tomboy’s closed eyes actually enable Harold to sneak away, a fact she’s totally unaware of. In his place coming down the street now saunters… Frankie!

Only this time, it isn't a dream!

Delighted to find his nemesis in such a compromising position, Frankie grabs Tommy and gives her the sloppiest kiss he can muster. Ugh! Stunned and wobbly, the woman athlete is utterly helpless in her adversary’s engulfing grasp.

“Mmmm… Ohhhh…” inexperienced Tommy moans, entranced by the powerful male assault and totally disoriented. In her mind, she sees herself playing catch with her beloved dad, Colonel Boyd, flexing a cute little girl muscle to impress him. But then his fatherly features congeal into the handsome young contours of dreamboat Randy Starr. Fudge. Try as she might, Tommy can’t get this devilishly cool-looking dude out of her mind!

Meanwhile, an in-control Frankie is having the time of his life. Turned-on by this forced stimulation, Tommy’s amazing twin endowments heave, pushing her tank top to the max. “Mmmm… Ran—dee…” unconscious Boyd blurts out. “Randy? Ha! Thought you were a dyke!” Frankie laughs. “So you’ve got the hots for that new guy, huh. Now that’s rich!”

“Mmmm” is sleeping, ultra-aroused Tommy’s only response. Once again, the cute peach fuzz on her forearms bristles, and Frankie notices all this with a big leer. “That’s right, sweetie, it’s your dream boy Randy, right here! Give me everything you got, bitch!”

Just then… Ding-ding-aling-ding! sounds the ring tone of Frankie’s cell phone, interrupting his unexpected make-out session. Annoyed at this distraction, Frankie pulls out the phone, even as stupified, sexually-primed Tommy remains standing right in front of him. As fate would have it, it’s Celine, and she wants him to pick up a few supermarket items for their dinner-at-home that very evening. Much more interested in continuing the feast he’s currently enjoying, Frankie nods and placates his partner (“I hear ya, babe… not a problem,. Nah, I’m just hangin’ around, wasting time…”).

Frankie concludes his call and puts the cell phone away. He looks at ample, hot-to-trot Tommy, rubs his chin thoughtfully, then glances about. On the alley floor he spots an old plunger, discarded with some other household junk. A nasty smile gradually spreads across the unshaven greaser’s face. He picks up the plunger, which drips a little dirty water, then turns and faces Tommy. “So you want a kiss, huh, ya little bimbo?” he asks with a leer, raising the object.

“Mmmmmm….”

“Fine. Try THIS!” With sudden swiftness, Frankie slams the wet plunger directly into Tommy’s waiting mug, then retracts it just as quickly. Yikes! The tomboy’s face practically pops from this direct, cartoon-like assault. She’s certainly broken out of her romantic reverie trance, but so violently that her whole body staggers, her hair is disheveled, and both of Tommy’s lovely eyes cross for a few laughable moments. At the same time, a time-pressured Frankie rolls up his sleeve…

Just like in the tomboy’s dream, he adjusts his opponent’s pretty chin for a massive, perfectly-delivered punch. WHAM! Tommy goes flying like a featherweight dummy, landing spread-eagled and unconscious on the ground before her gloating enemy. “Sleep it off, Tit Girl,” he laughs harshly as he walks right past her, pushing on to his next destination. “We’ll pick this up some other time.” Humorously, there’s still something of a smile on sleeping Tommy’s face, even though she’s just been pummeled.

“Tommy! You okay? Wake up!” shouts a concerned Harold, now returned to his floored tomboy pal’s side. “Ohhh… what happened?” Tommy says weakly, rubbing her sore chin and touching her lips. Then she looks at compadre Harold, Lincoln Heights’ quintessential nerd. And a real look of terror crosses her face. “Wow! You’re a better kisser than I thought!” she tells him, horrified at her extreme, even-worse-than-expected vulnerability in this department. Being smart for a change, Harold decides to remain mum on the subject. For a few minutes, anyway.

“Gotta tell you the truth, Tommy. I wasn’t the one who laid that kiss on ya. I saw… ummm… someone else running out of the alley.”

“WHO? Tell me who, Harold!”

Celine’s house, about two hours later… As Frankie eagerly awaits the next course of his gal’s home-cooked meal – a layer cake – nobody notices Tommy Boyd slipping through a window. A perfectly-delivered karate chop takes Celine out as she prepares to bring her creamy creation into the dining area.

“Stop dawdling, babe!” Frankie shouts from the dining room table. “Let’s have that cake while the evening’s young!” He clearly doesn’t notice a winsome Tommy Boyd approaching from behind, carrying the formidable-looking taste treat.

“Anything you say, Streetscum!”

SPLATTT!!! Tommy slams Celene’s gloppy cake right in Frankie’s astonished face!

The girl laughs and laughs as her disoriented opponent struggles to get his bearings, wiping the glop from his face. “You crazy bitch!” he shouts, spitting out cake. “When I’m finished with you, I – uggghhh!”

A rock-hard TB fist rockets into Frankie’s stomach, followed by an equally powerful punch to his jaw. Gotta hurt! The hapless, cake-faced greaser is fully stunned now, dazed and rag-doll like. Yet another Tommy wallop sends him careening across the dining table. Aglow with childlike glee, the re-energized tomboy is fully enjoying this tasty payback session; with a saucy gleam in her eye, she even pulls this wobbly bad boy’s pants down… revealing polka-dotted underwear, and a sizeable bulge!

“Aww, how cute!” Tommy purrs. Then she leans over and gently rolls her hand over Frankie’s undershorts. “Poor baby… It’s a miracle you work at all given the busting I generally give you! Which reminds me…”

WHAM! Martial arts angel TB gets her propped-up man right where it hurts. And cross-eyed Frankie’s literally down for the count, slipping from the table to the floor.

Adorably, Tommy the triumphant tomboys bends down beside her bested foe and licks some cake from her fingers. “Mmmm, good. Way to go, Celine!”

In the kitchen sleeping off TB’s karate attack, the unconscious cake-baker is oblivious to this compliment.

Next day, in front of the Wallendeck house. Punished for giving the bratty kid who lives here a black eye, disgruntled Tommy is forced to paint the front picket fence instead of spending the day sinking baskets. Much to T-Boyd’s surprise, a familiar figure saunters over, wearing coveralls and carrying a paint bucket of his own.

“Thought you could use a little assistance,” Randy Starr says with the friendliest of smiles.

“I don’t need any help from you,” Tommy retorts with just the trace of a winsome smile. “This is my punishment and I can take every inch of it.”

“I’m quite sure you can.”

“So tell me, Romeo. How’s that great kisser of yours doing?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Tommy rolls her eyes playfully, continues applying a coat of paint. Then Randy’s hands gently take her lovely, almost childlike face and shifts it away from the fence, so it faces him.

A few heart-thumping moments. Randy’s about to move in with yet another devastating kiss… But then Tommy reflexively closes her eyes and once again puckers her lips like an inexperienced youngster, unexpectedly presenting her potential boyfriend/lover with a romantic deal-breaker!

Randy smiles to himself. Then, instead of kissing the ultra-adorable tomboy, he takes his wet paint brush and dabs her pert little nose with it.

Tommy, nose now painted white, opens one eye and squints wryly at this naughty but dreamy boy in her midst. One of these days, Randy Starr… one of these days!