by Sierra Hill
Kylah and I, while friends, have not ventured much into the sexual territory. We’ve stayed on very neutral topics, veering from anything that could be considered flirting or sexual innuendo. There have been times when I really wanted to make a wise crack over something she’s said because of her innocence, but I’ve held back. Now, I want to know.
I have no idea how much experience she has. I know she hasn’t had a boyfriend – she told me that much. But she’s been in college a whole semester now. That’s plenty of time for drunken hook-ups at parties.
Truthfully, I can’t see Kylah doing that, though. Part of me hopes she is still innocent because the jealousy is already a living and breathing demon inside of me. Maybe I don’t really want to know these things…since we are just going to be friends.
The three ellipses pop up on my screen…then I can tell she’s deleted the text and starts again. Then deletes.
Fuck that shit. I decide to call her.
Kylah answers with a breathy hello.
I lay back on my bed, feet hanging off the edge, and place my left arm under my head.
“So tell me, sweet girl…is it just the guy who grossed you out about it, or don’t you like it when a guy goes down on you?”
Her response gets me so hard, my shorts are tented, and my mouth salivates with possibility.
9
Kylah
“Oh my God! I can’t believe you just asked me that.”
I’m so glad that this conversation is over the phone, because my cheeks are burning so hot, I know my face looks like a little red balloon.
This topic is too embarrassing for words. What the heck am I supposed to say to him? Do I tell him the truth, because that’s what friends do? Or should I play it off, pretend I’m not an innocent school girl who’s never even had a boy’s hand in her pants?
Ugh. Admitting this will be so humiliating. I just can’t do it.
On the other end of the line, I can hear Van rustling around, like he’s in motion. I wonder where he’s at right now. Is he sitting at his desk? Or on a chair in the corner? Or maybe on the bed. Just thinking about what he looks like sprawled out on his bed makes my girly bits tingle. I unlock my legs from my crisscross position and lay back against my headboard.
Van’s voice is low and deep.
“It’s a serious question. I’ve heard some girls don’t like it. They think it’s too intimate or makes them feel too vulnerable or something.”
“Do you like it?” Redirect…there, that’s good. Now I don’t have to lie about it.
Holy crap. I cannot believe that question just came out of my mouth, though. What am I thinking? Oh, right…about him and his tongue. Down there.
He clears his throat and I can hear the tension in his voice.
“Um…yeah.” There’s a level of amusement in his tone. “I like eating pussy.”
My mouth is gaping open. I’m so glad we aren’t Skyping right now. I would die. Literally, keel over and die.
“So…um, what about you? Do you enjoy giving head?”
I cough and throw my pillow over my face to bury my squeal. If Sienna were in here right now, she would be laughing her ass off at my expense. How the hell did this conversation even start?
Oh right…I was trying to prove to him that I’m a naughty girl, and not at all the sweet one he thinks I am. Even though I totally am. Now I’m doomed.
His laughter on the other end of the line has my ears perking up.
“You find this funny?”
He makes a throaty sound. “Nah…it’s kind of a turn on, actually.”
Whoa. Van is turned on? By me? Holy cow.
I’m seriously at a loss for words. I never expected in a million years having this type of conversation with Van. All our previous discussions have been on safe topics. I, of course, was curious about his relationship with Lyndsay, but we never discussed their sex life. Nor did he bring up the subject of my sex life (or lack thereof).
Now I have to get creative. What am I supposed to do, come out and admit that I’ve never even seen a dick up close and personal? I’m nearly nineteen years old. In fact, Kady’s and my birthday is coming up on December twenty-ninth. We were almost New Year’s Eve babies.
“Oh.” I say lamely.
“So, do you?”
Oh no. What’s the question? Do I what? Do I like giving head? Or do I find talking about this a turn on? Geez.
“Yes.” I admit, but have no idea really what I’m agreeing with.
“Yes, you like giving blowjobs? Or yes, you’re turned on too?”
My heart is breaking records right now at how fast it’s beating. It feels like it’s speeding down the Autobahn and has no breaks to stop it from beating out of my chest.
“Both.” My response is a whisper. Maybe if I don’t say it too loudly, the lie will be real. Because I’m sure if I had the opportunity, and really liked the guy, I’d definitely like sucking dick. A lot of girls do, so why wouldn’t I?
Or maybe I’d only like it if it were Van’s.
“Ky.” Van says my name like it’s a prayer. It’s beautiful in the way that it floats through the airwaves, touching me like a feather across my heart.
I swallow the lump in my throat. I love it when he calls me by my nickname.
“Yeah?”
“I think about you a lot.”
If my body wasn’t amped up before this, it is roaring to life now. My hormones are like piranhas in a feeding frenzy. They are going insane.
“Me, too.”
“When do you come home for Christmas?”
I mentally count down the days. I have two more finals to take and a paper due before Tuesday. Then I’m back home for three weeks. Now I can’t wait. My tummy flip-flops with anticipation.
“I’m back on Tuesday.”
He blows out a long breath. “I leave for Tucson on Thursday.”
My heart boomerangs and then hits a wall, careering to the floor. I’ll only have a few days with him. I can feel the tears of disappointment welling up in my eyes.
“But I’ll only be home for a week. I have to come back for practice right after Christmas.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad. You’ll be back for my birthday.” I don’t know why I let that slip. Why should he care about my stupid birthday? All we ever do is celebrate with our family.
“Really? That’s awesome. You gonna have a party?”
“Probably not. It’s always lame because it’s during the holidays, so Kady and I usually just go to a New Year’s Eve party and call it good. But I’m kind of hoping I get those tickets for the concert I want to see. I hinted to my parents that I wanted to go, but I don’t know if it’ll happen.”
I don’t know if Van remembers or not, but we talked about this back in October. We’d been discussing our musical influences and the type of music we listened to. He said he was into mainstream country, and some hip-hop, but really liked Twenty One Pilots. They are literally my favorite band. I’d mentioned that they had a show planned for the week after Christmas. I’d told him that if I got tickets, he could go with me.
I’d actually been dreaming about the show for months now. I imagine us standing there in a pit full of people, his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, holding me against his tall, hard body as we sway and move to the beat of the music. In my head, it’s romantic and not a love-sick fantasy at all.
In reality, it probably wouldn’t happen.
“That’s right,” he says, the enthusiasm in his voice helping to alleviate my insecurities. “If you do get them, and if the offer is still good, I’d love to go with you.”
I pump my fist in the air. Yes!
“I’d like that. It’d be fun.”
I hear him yawn loudly and realize it’s after one a.m. Crap, I have more studying to do tonight.
“I better let you go, Ky. It was good talking to you.” He pauses for a second, leaving me to wonder if he fell asleep. But then he continues.
“I’m looking forward
to seeing you next week.”
I can’t contain my smile. I feel like this is a turning point. Like he’s finally seeing me as more than a friend. And now that he doesn’t have a girlfriend, maybe there’s room for me to grow into something more.
“Me, too.”
“I’m really glad we’re friends.”
And just like that, my hope is dashed. Killed in a fiery wreckage aptly titled the friend zone.
10
Van
Every part of our conversation runs through my head over the next three days. I think I may have made a mistake and crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed.
Because now, I can’t stop thinking about Kylah. And not as a friend, but something more. Specifically, Kylah wrapping her lips around my dick and sucking me off so hard that I can’t see straight. Or me pulling up her skirt, wrenching her legs open, and finding her sweet, tasty center. Kind of like a Tootsie Pop. I wonder how many licks it will take to get her off.
I shake my head and stare down at the exam in front of me. My head is definitely not on the Econ test I’m supposed to be finishing right now.
I’m in the School of Business, majoring in Finance with a minor in Economics. Boring, I know. But it’s what my dad does – he’s an analyst for a large financial firm in Tucson - and numbers have always come easy for me. Not having any particularly strong gravitational pull toward one specific career, per se, I figure this degree will work well for the future. I may get licensed as a CPA and work for an accounting firm. Or maybe not. Perhaps I’ll end up working in the banking industry. Who knows? I haven’t thought much farther than the right here and now.
That’s a lie. All I’ve been thinking about is what will happen when I see Kylah next.
As for the long-term future, I know I’m not bound for Wall Street or anything like that. I’ll stay in the southwest and find a job that pays well. It’ll be a far cry from the NBA, where a few of my fellow teammates are looking to go – namely Carver and Lance. It’s all they ever talk about, aside from getting laid.
I stare blankly at the test sheet, trying desperately to remember the factors that influence fluctuations in market and economic stability. It’s hard to do when my dick is aching and all the blood rushed down to that head when I started imagining what Kylah would look like naked in my bed.
This whole thing is just confusing. I’ve only ever been with one girl my whole life - my now pregnant ex. She was my first and only up to this point. I don’t even know where to start with someone new.
Regardless of all the ribbing I’ve received from the guys, I am not just going to go out and fuck a random girl. That’s not my M.O. Maybe it was how I was raised. My parents are very religious, right wing conservatives who believe in the sanctity of marriage, church and government.
Obviously, I don’t share all their beliefs. But love factors in the sex equation. Getting into a girl’s pants one time doesn’t necessarily appeal to me like it does some of the other guys. I don’t begrudge them for wanting what they want – but I want something solid. A connection. Someone I can rely on, not just for sex, but for companionship. Because no matter how many male friends I have, being with a woman whom I can talk to is a pretty amazing thing.
I shared my hopes and dreams with Lyndsay. I told her about my insecurities related to my brother’s condition. My fears. Everything. Now that she’s gone, I’ve found myself opening up a lot more to Kylah, too. She’s been such a healing presence for me.
It makes me nervous how much I’ve come to rely on her so quickly. I don’t want to subconsciously use her as a rebound. I’d never want to hurt her just because she was an innocent by-stander.
Maybe I’m one of those guys who always has to be in a monogamous relationship – never able to be alone without female companionship. There’s nothing wrong with that, I suppose. Some dudes are lone wolves. Me, not so much. I like being together with a girl. Having that partnership.
Now I feel empty inside. Except when I’m with Kylah. Once again, the timing of this attraction is not great. I just can’t see us making a go of it, so I should shut it down now, before anything starts. There’s no way we can be together. I’ve put a lot of thought into how I should proceed with her. I don’t want to lead her on or use her just because she’s convenient. She deserves someone who has the time to give her. And has a less fractured heart.
I’m still mulling this over as the class TA tells us that time is up and to finish our remaining problem. My head flies up as I take in the scene around me. There’s only three other students in the room, and they are packing up their bags to leave. I return to my attention to my test and realize I have three remaining questions left unanswered. Shit.
Thankfully, my grade in this class was fairly high going into finals, so it shouldn’t ruin my chances of passing. I’m angry at myself, though, for being so distracted lately. The professors all understand that for athletes, we have a lot of other priorities that can interfere with coursework. It’s just a fact of life for college basketball players during the season. Up until now, it’s never been a problem for me to divide my time. Sure I’ve gotten sidetracked every once in a while, but never so far off course that I bombed a test or a class.
With defeat and self-loathing, I pick up my test and my backpack and head to the front of the classroom where I hand my paper in to the TA. Her name is Margarita and she’s from Spain. Gorgeous by any standards, with a seductive accent that can turn a guy on just with one syllable from her mouth. I’d not given her much notice until this second. Now that I’m the only one in the room, she’s leering at me with these big, brown eyes. If we were in a bar, I’d say they were ‘fuck me’ eyes.
“How’d it go, Seńor Gerard?” She rolls her R’s and it’s really sexy. Very Salma Hayek-esque. I swallow the lump in my throat and push away any porny-thoughts that crop up. Sweat trickles down the crease in my back.
“Oh, you know. Okay, I guess.” I shrug, letting go of my grip on the test between us. When I return my gaze to her face, I see her lick her lips.
Shit, have I been this oblivious this semester? My brain scrambles to recall any previous interactions we had that maybe I’d misconstrued or completely overlooked. She was always hovering near my desk when she lectured, and kept her attention on me a lot, but none that seemed out of the ordinary.
She leans in toward me, her button-down blouse hanging low enough so that I can easily see the cleavage displayed and a peek-a-boo of her pink-lace bra. She coyly peers up through long, inky lashes, pinning me with the sexiest stare I’ve ever encountered.
“I would have gladly helped you study, Donavan. Your time must be in limited supply with your extra-curricular activities. I wish you would’ve called me so I could’ve helped you…perhaps in the Foreign Currency and Exchange Rates principles.”
Is this innuendo for something else? Good God.
Her hand juts out to land on my bicep, which she squeezes before sliding it down the curve of my arm down to my wrist. My eyes are glued on her hand as I watch this transpire. She lets out a soft moan as her hand makes its way back up my arm, and then to my chest.
What the hell is happening, here? I think I’ve gone into shock because I can’t get my body to move or my mind to conjure something to say. Nothing. My tongue feels three times larger than normal, my mouth dry. Feet rooted into the floor.
“If you’re worried about your test score, perhaps we can meet later to discuss? In my office, where it’s quiet and I could conduct an oral exam.” Again, the roll of the R sends the blood flowing south.
I stammer at the suggestion. “Um…wow…that’s really nice of you to offer.”
“Mm-hmm. It would be of benefit to you, si?”
We are interrupted by this surreal conversation when my phone chimes. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I pull it out of my shorts pocket and check the display. Margarita lets out a sigh of frustration. I blow out a sigh of relief.
I pull back, her proximity almost cloistering,
and give her a little wave. “I gotta take this. I’ll see you next semester.”
Pivoting on my Nike-clad heels, I exit into the hallway as fast as I can before I stop and lean against the brick wall of the concourse. My heart is hammering and my cheeks are hot, red and blotchy, I’m sure. I have a tendency to flush easily when I’m embarrassed. Just a trait that I was born with and that brings a lot of attention to my face when I’m in front of reporters during press conferences.
I open my hand and look down at the display. It’s Kylah. I feel guilty for even thinking this, but I consider not answering it. Getting involved with her, no matter how much I want to, will only prove difficult. Not that she’s difficult. She’s great. It’s just the damn timing and circumstances that bum me out.
The picture I took of her the night we went to the movie is the contact photo. We’d been goofing around after we’d eaten dinner and before we went back to Cade’s and she was laughing hysterically over something we were talking about. I just couldn’t help myself. I opened up my camera app and snapped a picture. Her hair is disheveled, her eyes are squinty because her smile is wide-open and takes up most of her face. And her chin is pulled up, head back. She looks gorgeous. Happy. Irresistible.
So how can I not answer her call?
“Hey, Ky. What’s up?”
I hear her form a soft ‘O’, like she’s surprised I answered the phone.
“Oh my gosh,” she stammers. “Hi, Van. I didn’t expect you to answer. I thought you’d still be in class. I was just going to leave a message. But now I don’t have to.” She’s rambling nervously and it’s pretty cute.
“Where are you?”
“I just got home.”
“Really?” I ask. This is different than what she originally mentioned. “I thought you weren’t expected back until tomorrow? Isn’t that when your flight was scheduled?”
After our hot and sexy conversation the other night, things felt a little awkward. Or maybe it was just me for feeling like I steered us into uncomfortable territory. So I’d made up an excuse the next day that I had been really drunk that night and I apologized for my participation in that discussion. I told her I was sorry for bringing the blowjob thing up and I’d hoped she could forgive me and we could still be friends.
