by L. B. Dunbar
I’d watched Elma watch Thor. I couldn’t say she liked him, but she lusted after him, and that’s what I needed from her. I wanted girls to look at me like they looked at him. I believed it would help me complete the personal metamorphosis I was trying to make. While kinesthesia involved the body, I needed to also change my mindset. I was book smart. I liked to read, write, and wonder as a child, but I needed to be street smart, sex smart, and Elma was going to be the book I studied.
She hadn’t agreed to formally date me as tutoring lessons, but she didn’t push me away when we entered class, and I took that as a start. However, she ditched me as soon as I asked the professor for clarification of some reading material on the syllabus after class. I didn’t know anything about Elma Montgomery, other than the address on the receipt I received for paying her tuition bill. She didn’t live on campus like me. I had a townhome a few streets away, which I shared with my best friend, Creed McAllister.
Named after his parents’ favorite band, Creedence Clearwater Revival, he hated to explain his name. One too many hits of pot and a pregnancy resulted to people who were eventually considered married by common law. They didn’t believe in the formality of governmental issued marriage. I found his parents refreshing. He found them embarrassing. We’d been friends since freshman orientation. With bleach blond hair that hung just below his jaw, and a sculpted body like mine, he looked like a surfer out of water, displaced here in the valley.
Promising to meet him at a party near campus, I hurried home to shower and dress in my signature long sleeve shirt and jeans. I styled my hair to keep it down and donned my glasses. While I was ready to ditch them as part of the developing me, I couldn’t reveal myself yet. I needed more time.
I entered the party to find the place packed with students, wall to wall people standing. I didn’t do well in crowds. It made me feel even more inconspicuous. I hovered as I tried to push my way through the throngs of people with drinks in hands and false smiles on faces. I bumped into one girl, who ceremoniously spilled her drink on my shirt, then blamed me.
“Watch where you’re going,” she blurted, as she forced her red plastic cup in my direction, unnecessarily. Thankfully, the glass wasn’t full, but my shirt was wet nonetheless. I found my blond haired friend in the kitchen area, where the crowd was thinned but the counter heavy with bottle after bottle of hard alcohol. My eyes narrowed on a bottle of Jack. I could use a nip to take off the edge. My workout should have relaxed me, but with my mind racing over thoughts of Elma, my body was tight.
I was reaching for the bottle, when a hand swiped it off the counter.
“Hey,” I yelled in time to face Theodore Thurston. Thor. His green eyes danced as he stared into my glasses. He curled the bottle into his arm like he was tucking up a football.
“Get your own bottle,” he laughed and walked off with his arm around the brunette girl from class earlier in the day.
I stood staring in disbelief when Creed stepped into my view.
“What happened to you?” He eyed the wet spot on my shirt with his gray glare.
“Someone knocked into me.”
“What was that?” He motioned over his shoulder as Thor exited the kitchen through a sliding glass balcony door, with the girl and the bottle in hand.
“He’s an ass,” I stated, as I ran a hand through my hair, then felt the heaviness of product.
“You look uptight,” Creed said, addressing me when he turned to face me. “Relax,” he stressed. Creed and I were practically the same build, which made him the perfect sparring partner.
“Yeah. I’m not feeling this party,” I replied, looking around at the nameless people in the small space. I didn’t do well in small spaces either.
“Didn’t you workout?” Creed questioned, his gray eyes narrowed on me, knowing the answer to his question. “Let’s get you something to drink.”
“That’s what I was going for when….” My words faltered. My thoughts drifted as in walked Elma Montgomery, looking even more so like my nightly dream. She wore a short skirt with a fitted shirt, and every curve of her body hollered for attention. Her long blonde hair was curled and bounced as she entered the room. In response to someone’s comment, her laughter rippled sound waves straight to a body part that should not stand up at attention in such close quarters.
When some guy looped his arm around her waist, then ran it across her ass as he stepped away to get her a drink; I bristled. Elma didn’t flinch but I saw the slight stiffness as she attempted another laugh to cover the awkwardness. Without thinking, I stepped forward while she waited by the door, and the guy neared the counter.
“Hey, Elma,” I said, trying to sound cool, natural.
“Abel?” she squeaked, looking side to side and straightening off the doorjamb. “What are you doing here?” she asked, looking to her left again as if someone might see her talking to me.
“It’s a party.” I tried to be casual, but her embarrassment was beginning to show, and it was upsetting to me.
Her eyes travelled up and down my body. My reaction couldn’t be helped. It responded in kind to the scan of those blue eyes. My jeans tightened further.
“What happened to your shirt?”
“Oh,” I said looking down, and wiping at the wet spot “I bumped into some girl.”
The random guy returned and offered Elma a drink. As she took the cup, I eyed it.
“Do you know him?” I asked, my voice accusatory.
“Excuse me?” Elma’s lids blinked in confusion
I nodded in the direction of the senior who stood next to her, taking a sip of his drink. His eyes narrowed at me over the white rim of the red plastic.
“We’re getting acquainted,” he replied after he took a pull from his cup. Elma was raising hers with a smirk when I reached for it and yanked the cup out of her hand.
“Hey,” she screeched.
“What’s in this?” I asked, staring down the guy whose expression changed from guilt to anger in an instant.
“Back off, man. Get your own girl,” he said lowering the glass.
“I have one.” I nodded in the direction of Elma, whose mouth fell open. Staring in disbelief between the gorgeous blonde he wanted and me, the randy guy was suddenly upset that Elma wouldn’t be the one getting him off tonight.
“Tease,” he muttered, as he shook his head and raised his cup for another drink.
“Excuse me?” My throat rolled.
“Abel,” Elma warned.
“I said. She’s a tease.”
My arm shot out. Gasps were heard. My fist landed on the plastic cup and alcohol sprayed everywhere. I saw his hand rise, but I was pulled out of the way as the swish of air brushed past my ear. Elma had rolled her body around the doorjamb and was dragging me down a narrow hall.
“You pussy,” a deep voice followed us, and I tugged back on Elma to return to the potential fight.
“No,” she hissed and continued to yank on my arm, leading me into a bedroom before slamming the door and twisting the lock.
“What the hell do you think you were doing?” she accused.
“I…”
“You ruined everything.”
I stepped back. Her words were a punch to the gut.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, lowering my head in shame, as I’d often done in the past.
“Don’t be sorry,” she demanded then let out a huff of air in exasperation. “I just can’t…”
“Do you even know what was in that drink?” I looked up at her.
“I don’t care,” she sighed.
I stepped toward her.
“Well, I do.”
We paused for a moment. A stare down ensued, but I was taller than her, towering over her. She breathed heavily, like she’d been the one ready to fight.
“Why do you care?” she asked, the edge coming off her tone.
“We have an agreement.” I couldn’t give her more than that.
“An agreement?” Her voice faltered; her h
ead tilted like she was thinking. “I didn’t agree to anything.”
“Yes, you did. I paid for a tutor.”
“You wha…” Her eyes opened wide. “You don’t own me now.” Her voice cracked as bitterness filled it again.
“I don’t want to own you, Elma.” I stepped back from her as she crossed her arms in defense. It was a bad move for her, as it pushed her large breasts upward and my body strained. My dick was struggling for release against my zipper. I was turned on by her presence more than I’d ever been wound up in a dream of her.
“Look. I appreciate what you did. I owe you. I get it, but maybe we need to establish some ground rules.”
“Rules?” I questioned.
“Yeah, like number one, don’t interfere with my dates.”
My mouth opened in shock.
“Were you on a date with him?”
“No.”
We were at an impasse again. I was confused. The lightbulb took a moment to click.
“Did you plan to go home with him?” Anger growled out of my voice.
“I…I just needed to get close to him,” she sighed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s Thor’s best friend,” she responded, ignoring my question.
Cade Preston. I don’t know why I didn’t recognize him. Great grandchild, somehow triple removed from the founder of Preston University. He was collegiate royalty, but it wasn’t his prestige that worried me.
“Thor,” I hissed under my breath. Elma remained in front of me, arms still crossed in defense. “Fine. Lesson one. Now, I need to go home with a girl, too. And you need to teach me.”
“Which girl?” she questioned as her eyes opened wide then narrowed. I’d like to think she was jealous of me, but I doubted it.
“Anyone that’s willing,” I replied crassly. Her arms slipped to her sides and her hands fisted.
“All the same,” she muttered, but loud enough that her point was made. She was lumping me with other guys our age. I was ready to defend myself when she reached for my shirt. Struggling with the top button, I swallowed hard before my voice caught up with her motion.
“What are you doing?”
“Rule two,” she replied. “Thou shall earn a respect for fashion.”
I was so distracted by the work of her hands that it didn’t register with me what she was fully intending.
“This shirt makes you look stuffy. Too smart, which I assume you are. Not to mention, you smell like a distillery.”
Once unbuttoned, she tugged at it to untuck it from my jeans. My body jostled like a child’s but in my jeans was nothing childish. I was so hard it was painful. I feared even the slightest of accidental touches, and I’d be wet in one more spot on my attire. One place much more embarrassing than a wet shirt. Her hands caressed over my shoulders, harshly, but the touch took my breath. It could have been sensual had she desired me. My mind imagined her as my lover in haste to rid me of my clothing. It was a ridiculously romantic idea and a dangerous one. My dick strained in the confines of tight denim.
She tugged the sleeves down and struggled as they each caught on my biceps.
“What the heck?” she grumbled, as she had to use two hands to remove one sleeve and then the other. I wasn’t helping in the least, enjoying the show of her wrestling with my clothing and the temptation of her undressing me. Once removed of my shirt, she stepped back and stared. My t-shirt was white and it clung to me between the size of my body and the dampness of liquor that seeped through my Oxford. Her eyes dilated. Black filled the blue space and she licked her lips. Her attention gave me confidence.
I stepped forward.
“You have tats?”
I stepped back. Shit. Tattoos were like a tag. It would make me recognizable, and I wasn’t ready for that any more than the removal of my glasses. I instinctively reached for the edge of my t-shirt sleeve and tugged it down. I didn’t think the marks on my arms were low enough, but I always wore longer sleeves to cover them. If the t-shirt rose in her hasty disrobing, then it was possible the intricate art of water symbols showed.
“It’s nothing,” I said, holding one sleeve down over my bicep. Her hand reached for my other sleeve, but I crossed my body with a soft left uppercut and stopped her.
“It’s nothing,” I repeated softer, wrapping my fingers over hers and lowering her hand. I let my thumb linger on the boniness of her knuckles. Rubbing back and forth, I developed a steady rhythm over the ridges. It was soothing to both of us. She stared at me as I had stepped closer. A soft thud hit the door behind her. I realized she’d walked into it, in an attempt to step away from me.
“What do I do next?” I asked, my voice tender.
“Next?” she questioned, her voice small.
“For the lesson.”
She swallowed and didn’t remove her eyes from mine.
“Can you see without the glasses?”
“Not well, but I can take them off for close range.” I smiled slowly and she licked her lips again. I pulled the glasses off one handed, as I still held her hand with my other. I heard the sharp intake of her breath.
“Lean against the door, over me,” she breathed, while I finished removing my eyewear. I reached upward, holding the glasses in hand, over her head.
“And now?” I whispered. I was holding myself off from her, my lower region desperate to grace hers, but so stiff. It was too much for lesson one. I balanced above her and realized she was several inches shorter than me, possibly more, if she didn’t have on her heels. I liked thinking I could overpower her.
“Just talk,” she said, quietly, shrugging.
I was lost. I couldn’t make small talk.
“Do you come here often?”
She giggled and it broke the building tension between us. Rather, it should have, but I liked her honest laugh so much, it only made things worse for me.
“That’s a terrible pick up line,” she stated.
“Oh, well.” I paused as I felt my face heat. “I was being honest. Do you come to these parties often?”
Her face softened as she realized I wasn’t teasing.
“This year, yes.”
I stared at her, continuing to hold my body position.
“What’s special about this year?” I asked as my eyes roved her face. Her blue eyes dilated. Her pink lips were plump and moist. Her cheeks flushed rosy.
“Thor.”
“Right.” I straightened pushing off the door and pulling back from her. I dropped her hand and replaced my glasses. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared. She remained plastered to the door behind her.
“What’s so great about him? Why do you think you need him?”
“I…I can’t tell you.” Her voice faltered.
“I see.” But I didn’t. I wanted to know her. What was her secret?
“Rule three,” I teased. “Let’s be honest...and friends.”
Her face slowly brightened and a smile crept across her lips, those tempting lips. I removed my glasses and fell against the door with a thump. I resumed my position over her, one arm braced on the door, the other hand reaching for her chin. My eyes traced the contour of her neck.
“Now, friend, tell me why he’s important?”
She was staring at me again, and I let my thumb caress over her lips. I had to feel the plumpness, the delicacy, the wetness. She opened partially and I leaned closer, letting her breath mingle with mine. My eyes were trained on the path my thumb traced over her bottom lip.
“Who?” she breathed. My own lips curled up on one side as I suppressed a laugh and relished the power of distracting her thoughts from another.
That’s my girl, I thought. I decided to take the risk and lean closer. I still didn’t allow my body to touch hers. I hovered over her, feeling the thin vibe between us. I imagined her nipples ripe, lower parts dripping, but that was too much. I would burst myself if my mind got carried away. I needed a sign from her that I could kiss her. Friends did that, right?<
br />
thump – thump –thump
The sudden noise made her jump and I stepped back. She covered her mouth to hide a giggle, and I smiled despite the interruption.
“Get the fuck out of my room!” an angered voice demanded, pounding again on the hollowed door. I stepped back and Elma spun to unlock it. She hardly had it released, when the door slammed inward, and there stood a very angry Thor.
It was Saturday night and the fight was on. I was energized. There was a girl I wanted, but she didn’t want me. I took that lack of reciprocated desire and used it to fuel me. I was tired of going unnoticed. I was tired of being put down. It was my turn to fight back. The ring was my answer.
I had a plan, a goal. I needed to break free of the confines of my world. I needed to break through the glass and prove my worth. It was me against the universe or at least the one that surrounded me. I couldn’t breathe under the constraints of my father. I couldn’t live in the shadow of my brother. I had to make a name for myself. I had to be myself. The me I knew I was inside. I was no longer content with second best. I had to be first.
You’ll never be like him. My father’s voice swam through my head. You’ll always be too small. Weak.
I’d been training for almost a year in secret. It was only me and my coach, who knew my strengths, my limits, and my weaknesses. I wasn’t an accomplished fighter, but I was practiced. This night would be my first underground fight. Everything else had been foreplay. Tonight was breaking my virginal seal. I had to work my way through this level of hell to rise to the top of the pyre: the main ring. The brass ring, the ring where I would prove I was worth something more.
She was going to be my inspiration, my motivation. Her distrust stopped my heart from feeling pain. Her interest in another boiled through my blood. I was pumped while I waited for the call to fight. The tunes in my ears matched the rhythm in my muscles. I practiced punches. Left hook. Right uppercut.
