by Brill Harper
“I’m sorry!” I yell, still staring at his cock. It’s huge. And I’m saying that while porn stars behind him on a seventy-two-inch screen are wanking their huge cocks. Mr. Webster...Conner...is porn star big. “Oh my God.”
I don’t know what else to do. So, I run. Back up the stairs. Back into my room, closing the door gently because I cannot deal with waking up the kids right now. I pace for a minute. Then I sit. Then I pace.
Everything is changed now.
Mr. Webster is not just the handsome man I work for. He’s not just the beloved brother of my best friend. He’s not just the neighbor who needs help.
He’s sex personified. I will never see another cock again without remembering his. I sort of thought my first look at a man’s penis would be during a tender moment. A sweet, treasured memory.
Instead, my first showing makes me feel unsettled by the brutal, primal feelings stirring inside me. Like something in me wants to be dominated. Used. Taken.
I shake my head. This is crazy talk. I saw his dick. Okay. So what? Move on, brain. The next time I see a man’s cock, it will be inside a tender, loving relationship moment and this weird feeling will be gone and I won’t even remember this night.
Right.
I move to the window and push the lace aside. I can see my bedroom at home from here. The window is dark, of course, since I’m over here. But I can’t help wishing I’d made a different choice. That I was there instead of here. Awaiting doom.
This is bad. How do I face him tomorrow morning? Does he think I was pulling some stalker-like move? Ninja-watching him watch porn? Or maybe he feels bad. Like he’s corrupting me. It’s not his fault. It’s his house, after all. He has so little privacy. I shouldn’t even be here.
Except he does have the privacy of his own room, and I’m only here because he needs me to be.
He’s got other needs, too, it would seem.
So why was he jacking off to porn in the living room instead of his own room?
And why did he say my name?
I’m almost done flushing hot and cold when he knocks on my door.
I seriously cannot do this right now. “Um. It’s not a good time,” I answer.
There’s a heavy pause. “We need to talk. About what just happened.”
“No, no, we don’t. Everything is fine.” Does my voice sound weird? I think I sound too chipper. It’s definitely too chipper. I sit on the edge of my bed, my back rigid like I have a steel pipe for a spine.
“Cassidy, I’m coming in.”
I pull my pillow into my lap, covering what isn’t really very risqué sleeping clothes, but I feel exposed. Which makes no sense. I wasn’t the one with my dick out.
“I apologize,” he says. He’s only wearing sleep pants, and they’re tented up pretty far since I interrupted him before he could finish, and apparently, getting caught did not diffuse his situation. It does not look comfortable.
I need to move my eyes away from the mesmerizing snake in his pants, so I bring my gaze up. It crawls up his torso slowly. Too slowly, honestly. But his abs lead up to a rock-hard, wide chest covered with a tribal dragon tattoo.
“Cassidy,” he interrupts my thoughts of my tongue tracing the dragon and I am pretty sure my face is on fire.
Oh my God, this is so inappropriate. Then I laugh. Because this is ridiculous, and I am ridiculous for worrying about my inappropriate thoughts when he was the one watching gangbang porn and flashing his dick.
I need to pull it together. I clear my throat, try to sound mature and civilized. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
I bring my gaze to the pillow in my lap as looking him in the eye is so not an option right now. Try to be a grown-up, Cassidy.
“The DVD player in my room stopped working. I shouldn’t have been watching that in the living room. That was bad judgment on my part. I’m sorry if that made you feel uncomfortable.”
I shake my head comically fast. “No, no. No problem. It’s just porn, right?” Chipper again. Way too chipper.
“I guess I just don’t want you to think I’m some kind of pervert. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable here.”
“It’s your house. You can watch porn in any room you want.”
“I should probably get rid of it. I don’t want the girls to stumble on it.”
“Well, as they get older, you might want to keep it out of their reach. But I don’t think you’re the only parent with porn in the house. It’s fine.”
He leans against my door and thunks his head against it. “It doesn’t feel fine. I feel like I’ve ruined everything. I just...it’s been a long time for me. I was just letting off some steam. I’m so sorry that you...well, I’m just sorry that it happened. If you don’t feel comfortable...”
“No, I’m fine. Really. Everyone watches porn.” Smooth, buttercup.
His eyebrows raise. Great. When I said “everyone” I didn’t mean me. I mean, I do sometimes, I guess. But I wasn’t trying to insert myself into this situation any more than I already am. Nor do I want him thinking about me watching porn. This is so wrong.
“So you don’t hate me?”
“Of course not, Mr. Webster.” He groans. “I mean Conner.”
“Okay, good.”
My God. The beast in his pants is still hard. I realize that when this conversation ends, he’s going to go to his room and finish. He’s going to have to. I can’t stop thinking about that now. Him coming.
I don’t know if size or hardness has anything to do with semen and virility. But at this moment, I’m imagining that when he comes, it’s not in trace amounts. I need to stop the mental picture of him coming hard, ejaculating ropes of fluid. Erupting from that helmet-tipped cock.
“Are you okay, Cassidy? Your face just got really red.”
“I’m...fine.” So not fine.
Conner tilts his head and smirks a little at me. “Fine, huh?”
He’s teasing me. I bite my lip. I have always prided myself for being mature for my age. Why am I acting so silly? I let out a deep breath. “We’re being absurd, aren’t we? I mean...we’re two adults living in this house. It’s safe to assume that since neither of us get out much, we’re going to have to meet our own needs occasionally.”
Conner’s eyes darken. Is he imagining me meeting my own needs? Is that...does he like that?
This is very new territory for me. I lack experience. While I may feel more mature than others my age, sexually I’m behind. It’s a strange dichotomy, feeling twenty-five and fifteen at the same time. An old soul yet naïve. Also, most girls my age don’t use the word dichotomy in their internal thoughts. I don’t think.
I’m hopeless.
“I know you’re legally an adult, Cassidy. But in my mind, you’re...”
I deflate a little on the inside. It’s not Mr. Webster’s...Conner’s... fault that he doesn’t understand how I’ve spent my whole life feeling trapped in a body too young for my tastes. That also sounds ridiculous. I know this. But nobody has ever taken me as seriously as I think they should. Not until Sandy. She didn’t treat me like a kid. She saw who I am on the inside. She never patronized me.
And then after she died...I lost that support system when I needed it most. Because now I need to be the most mature I’ve ever been, and I’m still not taken seriously. She’s gone and her kids need me. It’s hard to have the weight of the world on my shoulders when most people treat me like all I care about is 1D fanfiction and the newest contouring highlighter. Everyone acts like I’m just a great babysitter. I think the only people who really understand that I’m more than that are the girls. They sensed something was wrong when their parents died, but of course they didn’t understand what or why. But they did know, right away, that my role in their world had changed.
To the world, I am a teenage babysitter. But to those girls, I’m more. I thought maybe their uncle understood that, too. He says it enough, that I keep this family together. But when the chips are down, he retreats to trea
ting me like the kid that comes over for a few hours a week and does her homework while the girls nap. Not the woman holding this house together by sheer acts of will.
“I know I’m young, but I think I’ve proven I’m a mature, capable person.”
“Of course, you are. This house wouldn’t run without you. I know that. I’m guilty of relying too much on you. But even though I see you acting more mature than me most days, you’re still young. It’s not an insult.”
“It’s not like you’re over-the-hill, either.”
God, his penis is still huge. “I feel like it lately. I hope I didn’t shock you too badly. That movie...it was kind of hardcore.”
I remember that woman and all those cocks. Of course, I blush. I can feel it. My face is burning. “It was a little, yeah. But it’s okay. I’m not shocked...too much. I’ve watched porn before. I know it’s just fantasy.”
He steps into the room and sits in the desk chair. “I can’t imagine you enjoying that movie, though. It was pretty raunchy.”
I’m going to have to keep pretending I can handle this conversation like an adult, aren’t I? He’s actually talking to me like a friend, not a kid. Thirty seconds ago, that’s all I wanted. Now, what I want is to giggle and pull the covers over my head.
I am such a contradiction, I don’t even understand myself.
But as awkward as the topic is, I miss having someone just to talk to. Sandy and I talked all the time about everything. And it’s not like I have a lot of time to talk to anyone else now that she’s gone. I have some college friends, but their lives are so different from mine. And since I go to class online and spend the rest of my waking hours taking care of the girls, I don’t have a lot of time to socialize.
“I, um, usually prefer to read erotica than watch porn. But sometimes...”
Next time without the “um” and you might almost pull this off.
“I’ll give you some top-secret info into the secret life of men. If your boyfriend ever tries to get you to watch porn with anal, it’s part of a bigger plan.”
I laugh. “I don’t have a boyfriend, as I’m sure you know since we practically live together.”
“Yeah, I don’t have a girlfriend, as you know.”
Queue silence that lasts one beat too long.
“Your life has changed a lot. Sandy used to talk about you, you know. All your conquests. Maybe you’re the one who needs a night out of the house.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not going to lie. I miss getting laid regularly. But, the lifestyle I was living...I don’t think I miss it as much as I think I do.” He scrapes his hand across his stubbled chin. I wonder what that feels like. What it would feel like rasping against my skin. I forget he’s talking and have to pick up the conversation in mid-sentence. “—that doesn’t make sense, does it? When things are out of control here—meaning whenever the twins are awake—I wonder what happened to my life. How different it is now. But I guess, if I think about it, I don’t think I could just go back to it. I just realized how empty it was.”
“Am I watching you have an epiphany right now?”
He chuckles. “I guess you are.” His face gets serious again. “This life is hard, but it’s full.” He looks up, right at me. “But you...you’re too young to be locked away in this house.”
“I don’t feel locked away. Maybe it’s because I was already here so much, before the accident. My life didn’t change as much as yours did. I spent a lot of time here, with Sandy and the girls. Jake worked so much that he wasn’t home as much as he wanted to be. So, I would hang out, be an extra set of hands. And be company for Sandy. I don’t think I’m sacrificing as much as you think I am.”
“You shouldn’t be sacrificing anything at all. You’re eighteen. You should be carefree and letting the boys fight over you.”
“I don’t...even before the accident, I didn’t have boys fighting over me.”
“That doesn’t make any sense to me at all. You’re smart and funny and kind.”
“Mr. Webster,” I say, using his last name very deliberately, “how many women have you fought over because they were smart and funny and kind?” His lips press into a firm line. “Guys my age find me boring. And truthfully, I’m not attracted to them, either. They’re too immature.”
“So, go out with older guys.”
Our eyes meet. Clash really. Like he can’t believe he said it. Like he didn’t think about the ramifications of saying it out loud while he’s still sporting a hard-on and I’m on a bed.
Say something.
“I will.”
Not that.
“After things calm down here, I mean. But right now, I don’t have time. For men. Um, for dating. You know what I mean. I’m busy here.”
“I don’t want to take advantage of you, Cassidy.”
And there it is. It was couched in “the right thing to say” about me working too much as his nanny. But we both know the underlying current is more important.
“I wouldn’t let you take advantage of me, Conner. I’m not naïve, at least not as naïve as you think. I can make my own decisions.”
The air grows thick and a new kind of tension hums between us. An awareness.
“I should go. The beasts will be up before we know it, and we both need some sleep.”
I nod. “Goodnight, Conner.”
He stands, and I don’t think he’s any less hard than he was when he came in. He can’t hide it, so he doesn’t try. “Goodnight, Cassidy. Sweet dreams.”
“You too.”
His eyes darken and my nipples tighten beneath my T-shirt. We may have cleared the air, but I think we added more than we took away.
Laid: Chapter Three
Conner
IT’S BEEN A WEEK SINCE the Porno Incident. While that night was awkward as fuck, I think things might actually be better now. Cassidy and I talk more. We’re war buddies in the trench by day, and in the evenings, we’re...friends.
I still want to fill her full of cum, don’t get me wrong. But I like talking to her. I can see why she and Sandy were so close.
I rub my chest over my heart. I miss my sister so much. She’d have been the one I went to for help and advice in any other situation. But she can’t help me now. Thank God she left me Cassidy.
I go downstairs and halt at the sight. Cassidy is smiling at me over her shoulder, then she returns to what she was working on at the counter, hiding whatever she’s doing from my view. She’s still in her pajamas, which I have to admit I like. They aren’t sexy lingerie by any means. A longish T-shirt over a pair of long-john bottoms and fuzzy socks.
I like the way those bottoms show off the shape of her legs. I like knowing she’s not wearing a bra. But what I love is the comfort she has in my presence now. That she doesn’t feel awkward wearing her pajamas in front of me.
I kiss Hayden and Ashley on the tops of their heads. “What you doing over there, Cassidy?” I ask the girls, “Is she hiding something from me?”
They coo and Hayden offers me a Cheerio from her tray. Then Cassidy turns around. She’s holding a plate with a muffin in the center of it. She’s lit a single candle in it, and she starts singing a very off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.” The girls don’t know the words, but they like songs, so they start banging their hands on their trays and chattering along.
I’m overwhelmed with a feeling I don’t know the name of. It’s warm and bright, and for the first time in six months, I am content. More than content. I feel like I am exactly where I need to be, doing exactly what I need to be doing, and a kind of peace steals over me. I can’t stop the smile from splitting open my damn face.
Cassidy finishes the song and her eyes are shining with tears like she’s feeling it too. Whatever it is. It’s big, too big to hold inside. I want to grasp the moment, but I know it’s almost gone.
“Thank you,” I manage. “I can’t think of a better way to start my birthday.” I want to say something cheesy. I want to take her in my arms and just h
old her. Hold this perfect moment before it dissolves and I feel empty again.
She holds the plate up. “Make a wish.”
I don’t believe in wishes. I know you either act on your desires or you don’t. And the man I was on last year’s birthday had very simple desires and he acted on them, fulfilling his short-term goals with ease. He didn’t know what hard was. He didn’t know about grief or responsibility or putting off desire because the long-term consequences outnumbered the short-term achievement.
He’d have wished for a birthday kiss from the pretty girl and then worked his way to more.
But if I did believe in wishes, right now I’d wish for this feeling, this fleeting feeling, to come around more often and stay longer. To keep the pretty girl smiling. To hear the babies chattering instead of crying. To know with bone-deep certainty that I’m the right man for this job I’ve been given.
So, I blow out the candle and wish that I believed in wishes.
The rest of my day goes by in a blur. We’re working on a project for a museum downtown. I’m tired, hot, and grubby when I get home. I know after my shower that it’s my turn to take over from Cassidy. Dinner, bath time, story time, and bed time (hopefully) with the girls so she can study and have the evening free.
When I get out of the shower, I’m surprised to find the girls already eating their dinner.
“It’s your birthday,” Cassidy explains. “You should relax. I’ll take the evening shift.”
Still, I help her with the kids. Four hands are better than two. We work well together. Ashley and Hayden are happy to have both of us at the same time. I take Ashley from Cassidy’s arms when she’s rocked her to sleep. It’s a seamless transition now, so different from when we first started passing babies back and forth to each other. In the beginning, we used to wake them up more often than not when we tried to pass a baby to each other. Then we had to start over. Now, I can read Cassidy’s body language better, and I actually know how to hold a baby. Even the tricky part of putting Ashley down in the crib without waking her is second nature.
