by E. K. Blair
I know it bothers Kason when I drive over to his place alone, so I feel a little bad for not calling him to let him know I’m headed that way. I just don’t want him to worry. Plus, I’d like to surprise him when he gets off work.
I park my car, which sticks out like a sore thumb next to the old, rusted Buick that’s propped up by two cinder blocks in the next space over. Grabbing everything out of the front seat, I head up the stairs and knock on the door.
“What’s all this?” Sharon says when she lets me in.
“Beauty day.” I set everything on the small kitchenette table. “How long until you leave for work?” I ask, taking in her old sweats and oversized sleep shirt.
“A little over an hour.”
“Perfect.” I start to unload the bags, and she comes to stand by my side to see what all I’ve brought. “The sand and salt haven’t been good to my hair, so I figured we could both do one of my treatments today.”
She picks up a box and gives it a puzzled look. “What are these?”
“You’ll love them. They’re charcoal pore strips.”
“Charcoal?”
“Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”
She helps me in the kitchen while I measure out the olive oil, coconut milk, and other ingredients to make the hair treatment. I notice her eyes are sunken in and her skin has a weird sickly color to it. When I ask if she’s feeling okay, she shrugs it off, claiming lack of sleep. Something tells me it isn’t exhaustion, but I let it go and pull out a chair for her to sit.
“I’ll do your hair first and then you can do mine.”
I stand over her with the plastic bowl and start brushing the mixture onto her coarse hair.
“Are you excited about your senior year?”
“I am. It feels weird since I only started at the school two months before last year ended. I still feel like the new kid, and I hate that feeling.”
“You’re a sweet girl. I can’t imagine it being difficult for you to make friends.”
I slather on more conditioner and opt not to tell her about the unwelcoming girl committee I try to avoid. “Walking in last year without knowing a single soul was horrible. At least now I have Kason.”
“I’m sure he feels the same about having you. It’s always been a little hard on him knowing he doesn’t belong at that school. It’s a huge gap between here and there, but you’ve been able to help mend that for him.”
On the outside, Kason fits in well. He’s popular and gets perfect grades, but his mom is right; I can’t imagine how uncomfortable it must be for him to immerse himself in a world that’s nothing like the one he lives in. No one would ever suspect this to be his life. But that’s what I love so much about him. He doesn’t let fear stand in his way of bettering himself. He understands that he will be afforded more opportunities graduating from South Shore High than what he would at his neighborhood school, and he doesn’t take that for granted.
When I finish applying the treatment, I cover her hair in plastic wrap, and we switch spots.
“Have you two made any plans to do something for his birthday?”
“He never mentioned his birthday,” I respond in total surprise. “When is it?”
“He hasn’t said anything?”
“No.”
I sit still as she dips the brush in the bowl before returning it to my hair.
“August twenty-third,” she notes. “I can’t believe my baby will be eighteen.”
My mind starts racing with ideas of what I could do for him, but then again, maybe he doesn’t want me to do anything. I wonder why he hasn’t told me yet, but before I can dwell on the reason, Sharon distracts me, saying, “I can remember when he turned six. His favorite thing to eat was buttered toast, so when he woke up that morning a year older, he wanted to make his own breakfast. I was still in bed, but I could smell the toast. He rushed into my room with two pieces, one for him and one for me.” She starts to laugh while she continues working on my hair. “I should first tell you this, if the butter melted on the toast, he would always want more because he had to be able to see it. Well, I took one bite into his birthday toast and nearly choked.”
“Why? Too much butter?”
“Too much Crisco!”
“Eww, gross!”
“He thought the tub of Crisco was butter. I don’t even know how many layers he spread on that had melted, and for some reason, he didn’t notice the taste.”
“You didn’t tell him?”
She can’t stop laughing at this point, and I’m giggling right along with her. “Adaline, if you could’ve seen his proud smile for fixing the toast, you wouldn’t have had the heart to tell him, either. So, we sat there and ate the toast.”
I picture him in my head, a little Kason celebrating his birthday with a slice of toast and wonder if that’s why he hasn’t told me he’s about to turn eighteen. I wonder if his birthday has ever been celebrated beyond toast in bed. The thought alone weighs on my now sullen heart.
After she finishes, we tidy the kitchen and set the timer. With our hair wrapped in plastic and pore strips stuck to our noses, we sit on the couch and chat. She tells me more silly memories about Kason when he was a kid, but with each funny story comes a little bit of heartache. Hearing about his childhood and how vastly different it was from mine isn’t easy. It only brightens the spotlight on how rough he’s had it.
I can tell from how his mom speaks about their past that she doesn’t see it the same way I do. Probably because she doesn’t know any other way. This is the only life she’s lived, and although these are happy memories for her, I wonder if they are for Kason. Because Kason sees the difference every day. He may live here in this apartment, but his life is mostly lived in South Tampa. It’s where he goes to school and where all of his friends are. His mother isn’t involved in that world at all. And knowing how hard it was for him to open up to me about this part of his life he keeps secret only goes to show that he’s probably more affected by all of this than his mom is.
A key rattles in the lock, and when the door opens, Kason looks at the two of us in both horror and amusement.
“What the hell are the two of you doing?”
“Beautifying,” I respond simply.
“I love you, babe, but nothing about this picture is beautiful.” He walks over and gives me a gentle peck, which is followed by a sniff. “Why do you smell like Italian food?”
Sharon laughs. “That’s the olive oil. Adaline shared her secret hair treatment with me.”
He looks at me with an adoring smile. “She did?”
The timer goes off, and I pop off the couch. “Time to rinse, but first, let’s take the pore strips off.”
Kason follows us into the kitchen, asking, “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“Because you would’ve told me to stay put until you got off work, and I didn’t want to sit at home any longer.”
“I hope you set your car alarm,” he teases.
“It’s set, Mister Boss Man.”
Sharon and I peel off the pore strips, and Kason cracks up when her eyes start watering.
“You’ll get used to the sting after you’ve used them a few times,” I tell her before I start washing her hair in the kitchen sink.
Once it’s clean, she runs her fingers through the wet strands, and smiles. “Wow, it’s so soft.”
Kason looks at his watch. “Mom, you need to get ready for work before you’re late.”
“Shoot, you’re right,” is all she says before disappearing into her bedroom.
“When she leaves, you can wash your hair in the shower with me,” he says, tugging on his sweat-soaked shirt.
I pinch his side. “I don’t think so. The sink will be fine.”
He helps me unwrap my hair, and then takes his time washing it with the shampoo, all the while making jokes. When he’s done, I grab the towel he offers and twist my hair in it. As I finish wiping drops of water off my neck, his mom emerges from her room with her w
aitress uniform on and her hair dried.
“I cannot believe how much better my hair feels,” she exclaims, and when I turn to Kason, he’s looking at her in amazement.
“I’m shocked.”
“Me, too,” she says and then gives me a hug. “Thank you, dear. I really needed a girl’s day.”
She rushes to grab her purse, and with a goodbye and another thank you, she’s out the door.
I boast my proud smile to Kason. “Like I said, it’s called beautifying.”
He walks straight to me, lifts me in his arms, and hugs me. “You made her whole year, babe.”
“It was only a little hair treatment. No biggie.”
“I can tell she likes spending time with you.”
“I really like spending time with her, too.” He buries his face into my neck and starts nipping playful kisses. “Eww, you stink.”
After setting me back on my feet, he peels off his work shirt and heads to the bathroom. “Give me ten minutes.”
The door is cracked when I hear the shower start, and I head into his bedroom to towel-dry my hair a little more before tying it in a bun. I lie on his bed, always feeling close to him when I can smell him on his sheets, but I’m not able to get too lost when he hollers, “You took my towel.”
I step into the bathroom, and when I modestly hand him the towel through the shower curtain, he rips it wide open, making me jump back in surprise.
“Kason!” I turn around and cover my eyes.
He chuckles for a moment. “You can look now. I’m covered.”
Peeking over my shoulder, I find him stepping out of the shower with the towel in his hand instead of wrapped around his waist. “Oh my god.”
He grabs my arm before I can run out of the bathroom, picks me up, and sets me on the counter. With his towel now wrapped around his waist, he wears a mischievous smirk. “Why are you so shy? It isn’t like you haven’t seen me naked.”
“That’s different, and you know it,” I chastise.
“So, it’s okay if we’re in my bed?” His hands run slowly from my knees to my thighs as he steps between my legs, taunting me. “It’s okay if we’re touching each other?”
My cheeks heat, and I give a tiny nod.
His voice drops. “Touch me then.”
I slip my hands over his shoulders and then wrap my arms around his neck, his skin is still wet from the shower, and he kisses me. There’s hardly a day when we’re together that we aren’t physical with each other, and a part of me is starting to question if he needs the affection more than I do, even though I find myself needing it a lot.
It’s unexplainable, the way he makes me feel when we can share moments like this. Lately, when we come down from touching each other, it almost seems as if he needs more. I don’t deny him, because I love him, but I wonder if he wants more of the little we share since he’s experienced and used to getting more out of girls.
My lips spill all along his neck, and when he whispers, “Can we try something new?” I grow timid.
“What do you mean?”
He picks me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me into his room and lays me on the mattress.
We continue to kiss as his hand slips down to my shorts and unbuttons them. He’s sits on his knees and pulls them off my legs, and then I watch him as he tucks his fingers beneath the hem of my panties and starts dragging them down my legs. I close my knees bashfully and sit up.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to taste you.” His words come out with confidence, contrasting my nervousness.
“No!” It’s one thing for him to touch me, but to have his mouth on me—like that—for him to see me so up close, it rankles my self-consciousness.
Kason crawls over me, lowering me back onto the bed, and I stare into his eyes with trepidation, muttering, “I don’t know.”
“Tell me why you’re so nervous with me.”
“Because . . .”
“It’s me, Adaline. It’s just me.”
“I know.”
“I want to be closer to you.” He runs his hand down the side of my neck. “Are you scared?”
“A little.”
“Because it’s new for you?”
I nod, mildly embarrassed, but I know he understands me, and when his hand drags down lower and squeezes my breast, he asks, “Were you nervous when I first touched you like this?”
“Yes.”
He palms me. “And does it make you nervous now?”
“No.”
“And what about when I touch you like this?” he says when he parts my knees and gently rubs me between my legs.
I gasp, clutching on to his arms and shaking my head.
He lowers his chest as he continues to move his fingers along me. “Close your eyes.”
My breathing struggles to keep cadence with my increasing pulse, and when he spreads my thighs wider and his head drops to me, I battle between wanting to push him away or to pull him closer. I reach down, needing his comfort, and he holds my hand tightly, lacing his fingers with mine before I feel the warmth of his tongue sliding along my seam.
His breath is hot against my flesh as he loves me in this new way, and I completely give into him, melting and splintering all at once. I squeeze his hand in mine as my eyes fall shut, and I’ve never felt more in love with a human than what I feel for Kason. When he touches me like he is right now, I just don’t feel it on my skin, I feel him in the blood that’s racing in and out of my heart as it pumps wildly for him. He’s in my veins, claiming me with his love, and there isn’t a single part of me that wants to deny him of that right.
She’s fucking perfection in my mouth the way I knew she would be. She has a death grip on my hand right now, but I also know that if she didn’t want this, she would have let me know. So, even though I feel the hesitance in her thighs she’s clenching against me, her tiny gasps tell me she’s okay.
I bury my tongue inside her and imagine it’s my dick when I reach down, pull the towel off me, and touch myself. Normally, just the thought of Adaline is enough to get me hard, but for some reason, I’m not. I jerk off while I continue licking and sucking. Her body squirms, and she has me so worked up right now. My balls ache, screaming for release. The intensity is so strong that I can feel it crawling under my skin, but frustration taunts as I try to get an erection.
“Kason.”
God, she sounds so fucking sweet when she moans my name.
After a few more strokes, I give up and use my hand to pleasure her. The second I slide my finger inside her, she arches her back off the bed. I watch her from between her legs and imagine what it would be like to have sex with her. Would she move beneath me the way she is right now? Would she make the same sounds? But no matter how much I fantasize, my dick remains limp and useless even though I’m horny as hell.
She’s so sincere with me, trusting that I’ll take care of her with each step forward we take in our relationship. She isn’t like most of the girls who’ve hit on me at school, eager to make out because somehow they’re misinformed, thinking physical and emotional intimacy goes hand in hand, so they’re quick to give it up.
Not Adaline. This girl threw her heart at me before she ever considered the physical stuff. And it doesn’t matter that I have her legs spread open right now, she isn’t one who would give herself flippantly to me. That’s how I know she truly loves me in return. She gives beyond what a guy like me deserves, and she does it so perfectly.
I love that I’m the one who gets to witness her learning what her body likes and discovering her sexuality. My girl is so innocent and sweet, never faking her pleasure to appease me. She’s always honest. The first time I fingered her, she wasn’t able to orgasm, and since then, she still has a difficult time. So when she pulls me up to her right now, I know she can’t get there. Only once have I made her come. I’ve jerked off to that memory so many times because it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
She lifts her lips to
mine and kisses me, moaning into my mouth as her tongue tangles with mine, tasting herself on me. Without thinking, I settle my hips into the cradle of her thighs, and her whole body freezes at the skin-to-skin contact.
“Kason,” she panics.
“Sorry.”
I back off the bed, grab a pair of athletic shorts from my dresser, and pull them on. When I return to her, she already has herself under my sheets. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and she’s timid as I wrap my arms around her and tuck her in close to me. She’s the same way after each time we try something new, but it doesn’t usually take long for it to pass.
Scooting us down on the bed, I turn to my side and meet her eyes. Her smile is soft, and I kiss it, greedy to taste her happiness. We linger in closeness for a while before she eventually drags her lips from mine and nestles her head under my chin. I pull her still damp, bright blonde hair down and run my fingers through it.
“Can I ask you something?” she murmurs.
“You can ask me anything.”
Her hand trails across my abs. “Why haven’t you mentioned your birthday coming up?”
“How did you know?”
“Your mom.”
I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “It isn’t that I didn’t want you to know. It just isn’t a big deal to me.”
“Has anyone ever made it a big deal?”
“You mean like giving me a party or something?”
“Yeah.”
She tilts her head back, and when she looks at me, I shake my head. “No.”
There’s a hint of sadness in her eyes, and it comforts me to know that she cares about the fact that I’ve never had a birthday party—something so trivial. It isn’t anything I can say I’m upset about, but clearly she finds it important.
“It doesn’t bother me.”
“Maybe not now,” she says gently. “Did it when you were younger?”
“I guess I didn’t know anything other than what I had, which wasn’t much.”
She sits up and looks at me with wishful optimism. “Would it be okay if I wanted to do something for you?”
