“Yah. Sure.”
“But, your pictures that you put up make guys into weirdos.”
“Sure.”
“And you can’t love weirdos.”
She set her hands on her hips and looked away. “Nope.”
I walked toward her. “So, what you do lessens the number of guys that can love you.” I came close enough to touch her. “Why do you put pictures up on the Internet?”
“How about you leave now?”
“Sure. I will. Before that, I wanted to give this to you.” My left hand trembled so pathetically that I had to steady it with my right as I handed her back her number-ten envelope. “Maybe—ah—you could use it to buy the D&G purse.”
“Wait. Victor.” Her eyes ached with her mouth parted. “It’s yours.”
“That’s not what I want.”
“What do you want, Victor?”
She waited. Her lips got ready to mouth something—
“You,” I answered.
“What?” she asked. “What did you say to me?”
The weight settled down into my heels as I lowered out of all the lofty, ridiculous, whiney, schoolboy logic back down into my own body. I leaned in closer—pressed my hand above her hip and leaned in farther to whisper it inside her reddening ear, “You.”
“What?” she said.
My hand crept over her last, free hip as those thoughts started traipsing over the curves of those scents. “You,” I whispered in her opposite ear.
She was on me with hot breath and lips and I ran my hands up her back—all over her before holding her tight.
“Wait,” I said. We leaned against the desktop. I gasped. “What about the dinner?”
She gasped. “… not coming.”
“What?”
“My father,” she gasped. “He’s not coming.”
“Oh.” I pulled her cotton shorts down and over her delicate knees. I wondered if she’d invited me over as a substitute for her dad. She pulled her panties down and off.
“Do you have something?” she asked in my ear.
“It’s in my wallet.”
“Let me—what the?” Em jerked to look behind us.
Two girls in grass stained lacrosse jerseys stood, open mouthed, “—maybe we should…”
I felt Em’s catty glare at them even through the back of her head.
She turned and kissed so hotly.
“Nevermind,” they said and left.
“Maybe—” I mumbled.
“Fuck’em,” she said. “I’m getting an apartment next semester.”
She turned over on the desktop with one of her legs clenching behind the small of my back. I clawed over some of those jagged, shaking shelves for more support. I sailed over the fantastic, pixilated imagery of other flesh; reliving my moist mouse clicks.
She pinched my side. “Look at my eyes,” she demanded, “I’m not your computer.”
I thrust angrily. Then, up above, those brown eyes were waiting for me. She was a person. With history. Breathing; feeling; existing—changing—being. A person. Her personality distracted. The position was wrong. Our timing was off. Someone would find us.
She moaned. She sighed. “Sorry—do, do your thing.”
I looked away from her and defocused my eyes. I did it to her along with all the others for which I had drooled.
“Grab—grab my hair,” she sighed.
“No.”
“Do it. Hurt it.”
“No. I can’t. Maybe—”
Her hand clawed across my face. “Fuck me,” she pleaded.
The flesh of her shoulder warmed with my wrenching hand and something in me yanked that gorgeous black hair down—down! quick, quick in full, needy handfuls like feasts of warring nations of smoothness…tickling pain.
“Ah—more!”
“I can’t…”
“More… Fuck it. Just fuck, Victor. Just fuck it.”
There was the rhythmic perfection of these spinning, newfound stars. Her body just kept yielding and yielding and yielding. I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t look at her. She was tricking me into an abyss of everything and I loved her for it.
The moment came; mounted; was over with a gasp.
We collapsed into each other; embraced for moments; kissed.
It seemed the sunbeams had just found their way through the blinds.
“We should get dressed,” Em said.
“Right.”
“Victor?” she asked.
“Yeah?”
“Are you sorry?” she asked.
“No,” I said. She was looking at me to say something else and since I wasn’t saying anything, she kept staring and studying me. What was I supposed to say? What could I say? We had shared and gained pleasure but the condom (this one had been in a darker package but it was still fairly close to white) it had stopped the necessary connection that makes magic and men and evil and virtue. That must sound crazy but it’s close to the truth. Now I knew why Erin Masters had cried when she saw that white condom coming at her. It was another plastic barrier, like the black computer monitor and the cellphone. Something that had begun before any of us had met and that we couldn’t escape or ignore. I couldn’t express these words in the couple seconds I had and I couldn’t tell her that I was this ship halfway between the shores of Woman and Machine, feeling lonely and wanting to be alone just from the force of habit.
We put our clothes back on and giggled through the awkward silences, slowly awakening to the danger of our exhibitionism as we listened to the sounds and voices bustling below us.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I admitted.
“Do whatever you feel like,” she said with her sadness hinting.
“I—I should leave. It’s past visiting hours for… boys.”
“Victor…”
“Yes? Look, Em, I like you. I want to see you again—”
She pulled me back:
“You don’t have to be embarrassed about not being able to look me in my eyes. Some guys just need training wheels to make it back home safe.”
About the Author
David studied mechanical engineering at Iowa State University. He’s worked in aerospace research and development in Indiana and Virginia. He enjoys running, karaoke and sand volleyball. He’s an advocate for reading, face-to-face, going-for-it and living a life without Internet or cable in one’s home.
http://www.davidwallacefleming.com
Acknowledgements
I’d like express my appreciation to:
Dorjan Chaney, John Hammond, Adam Ransick, Kevin Farrell, my mother and all the members of the Austin Creative Writing Group who assisted in the editing and revision of this book.
Alisa Ferris, for guiding in the cover design and title selection. Ryan Flynn, for suggesting “Growing up Wired” as a marketing tagline.
All the early readers, for talking me out of certain chapters and spotting errors.
Growing Up Wired Page 24
