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Good Morning Little Schoolgirl	By : Linda_Linda Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Led Zeppelin Views: 4197 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is unfortunately a work of FICTION (the OC is, uhm, high-school me). I do not know Jimmy Page or Led Zeppelin. I make NO money from this. Pairing: Jimmy Page/author.

Chapter List
- 5
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- 7
I burst into tears and sink to the floor with the dress and the note in hand. Never in all my life did I ever think that anyone would want to marry me. Tall, goofy, weird, crybaby me.
But he does. I read it again and again to be sure I wasn’t seeing things, and again and again my eyes confirm what they saw the first time. Jimmy loves me, that’s obvious, but enough to ask the most well-known question, that’s what’s so unbelievable.
For a while I kneel there and weep, and the next thing I know, he returns, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my cheek.
“Shshsh, it’s okay, baby, it’s alright,” he whispers as he pulls me back into his lap. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“I do want to,” I sob, “I love you too, I want to be with you forever…oh Jimmy!”
He smiles and rubs his nose against my cheek then kisses me there again. “Well, let’s get started then.”
******
We shower together, washing each other’s backs, kissing beneath the flow of water and giggling when our hair gets in the way. Once we finish, he picks me up, wraps me in a towel and carries me to the bed we’ve shared for almost a week. Speaking of which, I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to make love to me yet. But I know he will eventually.
“Stay there,” he says. “I’m gonna get your dress and find me a suit.” He heads to a large closet and flips through hangers full of random clothing, nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.
“How exactly are we going to get married? Won’t they know that I’m…just sixteen?”
“Not if I can help it!” he says with a grin. “That’s why I got – this.”
He tosses me a small makeup case from the closet. I catch it and read the labels. Concealer? Blush? Eyeshadow? What the hell am I supposed to do with all this stuff? I never really bothered wearing makeup before, but it certainly intrigues me. I open the case and am about to clumsily apply blush when Jimmy stops me.
“Hold it,” he says. “Let me do it once you’ve got your dress and stuff on.” He pulls a suit off a hanger, careful not to crease it, and lays it on the bed next to my dress.
“What about underwear?” I have to ask.
“I don’t wear any, didn’t you-? Oh, for you? Don’t worry, I got ya some.” He hands me a lacy white pair with a garter belt and hose and helps me put them on. “I love to dress you, darling.”
He puts on his pants, then takes my hand. “Stand up, let’s see how tall you are… Yeah, the dress should fit.”
It’s hard to find the right way to pull the dress on, but with Jimmy’s help it is on within five minutes and he zips up the back for me. Then he brushes out my hair, gently unsnarling my long locks, and curls it with a curling iron.
“How do I look?” I ask.
He steps back to inspect his work and smiles. “Stunning.”
I forget about asking for a mirror and close my eyes as Jimmy reaches for the eyeshadow, then the blush, then paints my lips with the same red lipstick he gave me the money to buy. He tugs at the loose front of the dress and I blush, painfully conscious of my small breasts.
He folds up some tissue paper from the box the dress was in and stuffs until it’s full, shaping the tissue paper a little so it looks natural.
After all the fuss, I want to know how I look. I can’t wait much longer. “Let me see how I look now. Please?”
“Just a minute,” he says and pulls on his shirt. “Button this for me?” I do, and when I get to the top button, he grabs my hands and kisses them. “I love you so much.”
I try to kiss him back but at the last second he remembers my lipstick. “Sorry, babe, don’t wanna smudge your pretty red lips.” I giggle.
“Now for your shoes.” He slips a pair of white heels onto my feet and they fit perfectly. His long dainty fingers fasten the straps around my ankles, then he stands up and combs his hair.
“Lemme see how I look, c’mon,” I beg. I am very impatient.
“All right, all right! Here,” he says, leading me to a full length mirror by the door.
When I look at my reflection, I am almost convinced that it is not me. The long hair, the thin arms, the pale skin and deep brown eyes all look familiar. But there is surely some other girl on the other side of the mirror, mocking my actions perfectly.
“No. Way.”
“Amazing what a little makeup can do, huh?” he says. “Frankly, you sure as hell don’t need it. You’re beautiful just the way you are.” His comment warms my heart. “Keep in mind, though, that your mother’s looking for you. If you look like…well, you, it’s more likely that she will find you.”
“I hope not!” I say emphatically. A shiver runs down my spine as I remember the last time we fought. She was complaining, as usual, about everything I did imperfectly, and after a lot of verbal abuse, she grabbed a hunk of my hair and pulled me into my room by it. It hurt. Bad. I screamed and cried for her to please let me go, please just fucking stop, but she would not. She grabbed my hand and somehow twisted or bent my left hand – the one I use for guitar playing, which need I add is my only possible means of making money – and locked me in my room for over an hour. I tried to call the police but they wouldn’t help me. They said that the laws allow parents to “discipline their children within reason.” THAT was not within reason. I lost all respect or love for my mother as well as a lot of hair that day.
“Honey,” he continues, “this isn’t for me at all. It’s for your protection, and, of course, because I love you. When I saw your fingers all fucked up that day, I knew there was only one way to stop your mother from hurting you.”
“I didn’t think anything could, the stubborn bitch,” I spit.
“Not even the law will,” he agrees. “I call it abuse, the police call it discipline. And discipline should not destroy someone’s career.”
He brings happier thoughts to me quickly. “You look so beautiful today, my love. I have seen many women in my life – my aunt got married when I was ten and she looked gorgeous – but you, Linda…you are somethin’ else.”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about, baby,” he adds, stroking my hair. “She won’t see you ever again.”
We embrace and gaze at ourselves in the mirror. We’re getting married. I’ll be listed in the phone book as Mrs. James Page.
I can start over. I can erase my past. She’ll never find me.
******
During the short drive to town, Jimmy asks me where I want the actual marriage to happen.
“Gee, I don’t know. How about the park…oh, yeah, it’s snowing. The park’s real pretty in the summer though.”
“Why not in the church up the road?” he suggests.
“But you’re, you’re, you’re a wizard, that’d be…”
“Wrong?”
I shrug.
“It’s not illegal, they wouldn’t kick me out even if they knew.” He brushes a lock of hair out of his eyes and grins. “Which they don’t.”
“Can I…um…be a part of what you believe in?” I ask. “I don’t wanna say ‘join your religion’. It sounds kinda stupid.”
“Doesn’t it though? People hear ‘religion’ and they think Christianity. Hundreds if not thousands of other belief systems – about 6,000 years worth - existed before any current one, and the Church has been degrading them for a millennium at least. Innocent people were burned alive for nothing more than being close to animals, for using herbs to cure diseases, for walking alone in the woods. Witchcraft, they called it.”
I shake my head. “Lot of good these close-minded people have done the world.”
“Think about it though. So many things to believe in, and everyone thinks they’ve chosen the right one, the true one. The truth. What a concept. What is real?”
“What you believe in seems very real,” I say. “Everything I’ve learned from your books holds true.”
He reaches over to my seat, driving with one hand, and holds mine tightly with the other. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever met who believes in these things.”
“But it does, Jimmy, it does. It works. This is real. It explains everything. Why can’t the world get turned on to the occult like we have?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we’re special.”
We pull up to the church and get out of the car, quickly so the snow won’t ruin our clothes, and go inside the warm bright building. Somewhere an organ plays softly and the music echoes through the halls. Jimmy’s arm wraps around my waist.
“But for the sake of both of us,” he warns me, “pretend you do believe.”
...
We are married in a surprisingly short and uncomplicated ceremony. My age was given as 18, seeing that I could be as old by my looks. All we have to do is say “I do” about a dozen times, for better and for worse, in sickness and in health, to have and to hold and exchange rings and sign our names, and the priest pronounces us man and wife.
Jimmy kisses me for a long time after that, so long that the priest has to clear his throat loudly and say “That’s enough.” We laugh and thank him, and holding hands tightly, we run back outside and get in the car. He pulls me into his lap and kisses me more passionately than he could a few minutes ago, and I return the favor. His hands move over me through the dress and I moan into his mouth.
“Damn, baby,” he gasps, breaking the kiss, “I need to drive!” I know he’s distracted…but I really don’t want to move.
“Let me sit on your lap all the way home,” I beg. “Please?”
“All right,” he says. “But we’ll have to take the long way home so nobody sees us.” He smiles in the rearview mirror.
I don’t care. I just want to be close to him like this forever. And the drive home is far from forever, but it’s still fun to ride down a deserted road while he holds the steering wheel with one hand and sneaks the other up to my breasts.
“You’re married now,” he whispers in my ear. “You are Mrs. Linda Page. Linda Page, the guitarist. Linda Page, my love. My life. My wife.” His hand rubs right over my racing heart. “You’re not listed in the phone book, the address directories, nowhere. You are safe.”
His comforting words leave me at complete and total ease for the first time in forever. At last, I am free. No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers’ dirty looks. And best of all, no more going home to the pits of Hell and facing the worst demon of them all: Joanna Blank, the authoritarian slave driver of a mother.
Eventually he pulls down the front of my strapless dress and exposes me to the cold air. My nipples stiffen and he smirks, then licks his finger and rubs the moisture over them. I moan and let my legs part a little more as I sit on his lap. His cock is hard against my ass and I wriggle in eagerness. But inside I’m kind of nervous. Will it hurt? Does it feel the same as when he slid his fingers inside me that wonderful evening?
As if he can read my mind, he reaches under my dress to pull my panties aside. His other hand is shaking a little on the steering wheel. Slowly – ever so slowly – he nibbles my neck as he finds and strokes my clit until I’m wet. I wrap my legs around his when he finally slips his fingertip inside me. His foot presses down on the gas pedal and we speed up a bit.
“Mmmmmm, Jimmy…I think…mmmmm…” I close my eyes and lay my head back on his shoulder. He kisses me on the lips, hard, and I accidentally brush his crotch when I reach back to help him lift my dress for better access.
“Go on,” he whispers, thrusting gently against me, the bulge beneath my hand growing. And I do. I unzip his pants as best I can from this angle and reach inside. He is very well endowed. It’s huge, and I shiver slightly at the thought that someday, probably today, he will want to put it inside me. It would never fit.
The worries disappear when he kisses my cheek and plunges his fingers deeper into me. The tip of his cock is wet and instinctively I rub the wetness over him. He groans and lifts his hips helplessly under me. I stroke him, slip my shoes off and rub my feet against his legs, moaning and crying in pleasure myself. I roll my hips against his lap urgently and find myself working his cock faster and harder. He likes it, I can tell. He’s panting and his warm breath tickles my neck.
His fingers rub my sweet spot and his panting speeds up. I gasp, then find myself groaning “JIMMY, JIMMY, JIMMY,” as I get off. With a warbled moan, he shoots his hot cum into my palm, his cock twitching and pulsing in my hand.
Exhausted, I lie back against him and tuck his still-hard cock back into his pants. He sighs and kisses my cheek and neck, then licks my sweetness off his fingers. “Baby,” he mumbles, “I can hardly wait.” Then he takes the hand I jerked him off with and licks his cum off it. It’s unexplainably hot, the way he does it.
When I open my eyes, we’re in the driveway, just a few feet from the door. I pull my dress back up and open the car door, and he picks me up and carries me over the threshold of what is now our house, like I always dreamed someone would.
- 5
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- 7
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Good Morning Little Schoolgirl