Skid Marks and the Selby Slammers

by April Ryder

  I jabbed my bestie in the side and asked, "How much?"

  "What?" he mumbled. "I told you I'm not a male escort."

  "No," I said, "how much for me?"

  "You want to be an escort?" he asked.

  "Wait, what?"

  "I think you'd make a good escort. Lots of men like girls with curves. It's a niche market."

  "If it's a niche market then it's not lots of men," I pointed out. "And I meant how much would you pay me—"

  "Ew. I'm not paying you for sex."

  "To work for you," I finished.

  "Oh."

  "I think you made my migraine worse."

  "What are you currently earning?"

  "Twenty-five dollars an hour."

  I felt him shrug beside me. "I'll have to look at my sales income but I might be able to afford you."

  "I should have said more, shouldn't I?"

  "Too late now."

  "Well then I want pancakes too. Lots and lots of pancakes. Mmm…pancakes."

  Dammit, now I really did want pancakes. It wouldn't happen though. After a migraine I had to have fried food. KFC was my usual go-to. Perhaps it had something to do with potatoes or maybe the grease but whatever it was, it helped. I was not going to question what worked. That and because I liked the chips, they put chicken salt on them. Mmmm…chicken salted chips.

  I missed practice. At least I had a valid excuse. If you thought leaving skid marks on the rink was bad, puke was an even greater sin. Although it was perfectly acceptable on game day. Pretty had some strange ideas on strategy. Anyway, Kilty came over after practice to see how I was holding up.

  The doorbell buzzed and I opened the door to find Kilty holding the ear of a pimply-faced teenager.

  "What the…" I asked and let my confused look finish that question.

  "This," Kilty said while giving the boy's ear a twist, "is Andrew."

  "Andrew?"

  "I'm your biggest fan," Andrew said with a wince.

  "He's your biggest fan," Kilty reiterated before relinquishing her hold on him.

  As usual it took my mind a moment to catch up. When it did I yelled: "Dick pic!"

  The boy winced again.

  "Oh my God! Why did you bring him here?"

  "I didn't," she replied. "I found him loitering in the hall. You look like shit by the way."

  "Migraine," I said and it explained it all. But I still felt I had to add, "There was projectile vomit."

  "Ew."

  "Cool," said Andrew.

  We both glared at him. Boys are weird.

  "How old are you?" I asked.

  "Eighteen," he said with faux confidence that neither of us believed him. "I'll be eighteen in four months."

  "Your biggest fan is a high schooler," Kilty snickered.

  I sent her my death glare and she snorted once before falling silent.

  "Hey sixteen is legal!" the boy unnecessarily reminded us.

  "That's so not the point," I told him. "You posted a dick pic on my door. Do you know how gross and creepy that is?"

  "I was told chicks like it when a man does something different and bold when he tells her how he feels."

  Chicks, really?

  "Four things. One: I am not poultry. Two: that was like child pornography. Three: I already have a boyfriend."

  Kilty and Andrew stood there both watching me like they were waiting for something else.

  "What?" I asked.

  "That was only three things," Andrew pointed out.

  "He's got you there, Skids. And out of curiosity, which one of them is your boyfriend?"

  "What do you mean which one?" Andrew asked, turning to her.

  "She has two guys literally fighting for her."

  "No I don't," I snapped and regretted it. A migraine relapse was threatening.

  "Well look at her, she's worth fighting for," Andrew said with such conviction that it was kind of sweet, but only kind of.

  "Thanks Andrew," I told him, and put a hand to my forehead. "But you're a bit too young"—not to mention eager—"for me."

  "I'll be eighteen soon," he reminded me.

  "Still too young." And stalkery.

  "What about next year?" he asked. "I'll be at university next year. I won't be living at home anymore. I'll be a man and can take care of you. Please, just give me a chance. I'll worship you like the goddess you are."

  Kilty's mouth had dropped open at Andrew's unabashed plea to consider him a boyfriend candidate next year.

  "Um…" I said totally at a loss. "Maybe—"

  His grin was huge when I said that. I could see his eyes light up in hope and I knew I had to quickly find a way to rein him in.

  "But no more stalking or dick pics. That's not how you win a woman's heart."

  "I promise! And thank you, you so won't regret it. I'm going to show you and everyone that I'm worthy of you. Like I said, you're my goddess."

  "We'll see. I can still say no. And no more dick pics."

  "I only had the one pic."

  "Wait, what?" I asked. That didn't make any sense, surely he could just take more pics of his dick…

  "It's not mine. That's my brother's. He gave me his old computer before he moved out. I found it on there. I also found all these pictures of naked women with big—"

  I almost stopped him as he held his hands out in what I thought would indicate giant breasts, but he outlined a rather large and curvy invisible woman.

  "Big women are so hot."

  "Uh, lover boy," Kilty said before pointing to his pants. "You're pitching a tent in public."

  Andrew blushed and stammered, "I j-just. You're my p-perfect goddess."

  "Um ew," Kilty said and gave my biggest fan a shove down the hall. "See you next year, Andrew!"

  He waved at us—mostly me—before awkwardly walking away. At the end of the hall, he stopped and called back. "I love you my goddess, and next year I will prove to you that I am man enough to worship you!"

  "What the what?" I said to Kilty after my young stalker had left.

  Kilty stared at me, looking me over from head to toe and back again. "What is it about you that drives the boys wild? You're like the Pied Piper of hotties."

  "Wait, you think Andrew is hot?"

  Kilty shrugged. "I think he'll grow into it. In the meantime, you have derby homework. Come on goddess, we gotta watch some crazy girls skate in circles around the Wicked B*tches."

  I let her into my apartment and we spent the next couple of hours watching the enemy stick it to the team I had first competed against, the Wicked B*tches of West Auckland. A team that had it in for me from the beginning all due to a misunderstanding. Someone had recorded the audio of me enacting a fantasy shower scene in the women's changing room and I'd called out my then-crush's name: Jake. Long story short, the recording had been found by his then-girlfriend. She pooped on my welcome mat and in his car and then came after me during the derby. We sorted it all out during halftime and parted ways with my body intact.

  As for the recorded derby? It wasn't pretty. This was the first time I had ever seen blood spilt at a match. I hope it wasn't a harbinger of things to come.

  Friday came without any further incident. I had spent Thursday recovering—read that to mean lazing about in my pajamas with Adam—and even managed a skate just to make sure I was still in shape for the match. Because we were competing at a different venue, Kilty had arranged transportation: two shuttle buses to pick us up from the Selby Sports Centre and to drop us back after. Which meant I'd have to have a very early dinner with Jake.

  "I haven't eaten this early since I was like twelve," I said as Jake pulled a seat out for me. For our second date he had decided to take me to Molly's, an Irish pub. I like Irish pubs. They tend to have the best pub food. The only thing I don't like about them is I'm never sure which toilet I'm meant to use as male and female are written on the toilets doors in Gaelic. So far I've always guessed correctly, but my luck could change. It depended on how much alcohol was involv
ed.

  Jake gave me his winning smile and I just about melted out of my chair and under the table. I knew where those lips had been this past weekend and they would hopefully return to those same locations sometime soon.

  "That's not my fault," he reminded me.

  "Stupid derby starting at stupid seven p.m. and the stupid shuttle picking me up at six-thirty p.m.," I muttered quietly.

  If he heard that childish response he ignored it and waved the waiter over. Unlike our last dinner date, he ordered for me. Normally I'd be a bit put out by this—girl power!—but his choices for me were what I would have ordered if I hadn't been afraid of the price. Even an Irish pub can be pricey!

  I studied him while he ordered. Looking at him now I would never have guessed he had been involved in a fistfight. The bruising on his handsome face had faded and in this light I couldn't make them out at all. His easy killer smile hadn't dimmed, although I'm sure it would if I brought Rick up in conversation.

  A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead and my fingers itched to brush it back and run my finger through his thick mane and drag his face into my cleavage before letting him take me, right here on the table.

  "Are you all right, Princess?" Jake asked, interrupting my latest fantasy. "You're blushing."

  "Uh," I managed before ratcheting up the scarlet level. I used the prettily folded napkin as a makeshift fan to help cool myself down.

  "What was that about?" he asked, but the slightly smug look on his face made me wonder if he already knew. I wasn't naive enough to think I was the only woman he had that effect on.

  "It started with me wanting to brush your hair back off your forehead and then the next thing I know I want my fingers in your hair, your face in my breasts, and for you to take me on the table."

  Wait, did I just say that out loud?

  The waiter—who had snuck up behind me—uncomfortably cleared his throat.

  "Uh…" I said, and watched horrified as he set our drinks on the table.

  Jake waited for the poor man to leave before responding. "I like the way you think, Princess."

  Oh thank God.

  "But we'll have to save that for later. You've got a roller derby to win. After that I'll lay you out on your dining table and dine out on you."

  Gaaaahhahaaa. My nipples, which had already come to attention during my fantasy, ached. My pussy throbbed, and clamping my legs together only made things worse. How could I eat after he promised me that?

  He put down his drink and leaned across the table. I licked my lips just in case he was coming in for a kiss. Instead, he whispered, "Maybe we should get started in the bathroom. Relieve the tension you're feeling so you don't cum in front of our waiter. I'm very open-minded when it comes to sex but I don't want to share you with anyone."

  Speak of the devil…

  The sound of a throat clearing made me cry out in frustration, "Oh come on!"

  "I didn't hear anything," he said with a face so calm I had to believe him. He turned to Jake and in a lower voice suggested, "Try the bathrooms upstairs, they aren't in use until later in the evening. You still have at least five minutes before the chef is finished with your meal."

  "Five minutes?!" I cried as we raced up the stairs to the highly recommended bathroom. Jake gripped my hand as he led the way. Even he paused when confronted by the Gaelic door labels but then I wonder which one you use when you're a heterosexual couple…

  Jake made a decision and ushered me in. His pushed me against the basin and deja vu tugged at me. Okay, it didn't tug. It was very damned obvious that I'd been in a very similar situation not too long ago with a certain dick.

  His lips sought mine as we hastily untucked clothing and pawed at each other.

  "You smell so good," I murmured against his skin.

  "I taste good too," he reminded me.

  I couldn't help the moan that escaped my lips. He was so right. He was tasty. And addictive. "Better than Pringles," I agreed.

  "I hope so."

  Whoops, don't compare men to potato chip products. It's not sexy.

  "Like…cake," I said struggling for a sexier food group. "Chocolate cake."

  "Better," he said as his hand snaked under my shirt directly for my heaving breasts.

  I yelped when he squeezed my nipples. "Too sensitive," I told him, but didn't pull away. In the short time I'd been with Jake I'd learned that sometimes a little pain can feel so damned good.

  "Pity. I want to taste them too."

  "Well maybe we can"—and then he slipped a hand in my knickers—"do that instead. Ohhh Jake."

  He sealed his mouth over mine and swallowed my moans as he slipped his fingers inside me. I slowly thrust my hips forward and at his encouragement, fucked his fingers. I rode him hard and fast, totally at odds to the slow, sensual pace from the previous weekend. At the last moment he introduced his thumb to my clitoris and I came violently in a public bathroom.

  "One minute left," Jake rasped, his voice strained with need.

  He pulled my knickers over my hips and turned me around. I heard the crinkle of foil as he produced a condom and quickly rolled it over his cock.

  Oh my fucking God.

  "Oh my fucking God," I moaned as he rammed his cock balls-deep into my pussy. My nerve endings still fizzled from the orgasm I'd had just thirty seconds ago and now he was forcing himself into my tight pussy. I bounced with each thrust, helpless but loving it as our skin slapped loudly together.

  Jake's fingers dug into my hips as he pushed me away and back, slamming into me from behind, again and again. I pressed my hands flat against the wall above the basins and came dangerously close to banging my head against the mirror. I glanced at his reflection and was shocked to see the wild, angry face of the man who had been nothing but tender and kind to me.

  It reminded me of the only other man to have fucked me as hard and as thoroughly as this before. And that man was a dick who I shouldn't be thinking about at a time like this.

  As if he could read my mind, Jake snarled. "I saw you fuck him in the changing rooms."

  "Huh?"

  "I walked in on you," he explained.

  Oh the horror. The shame. There is no way to hide when you're in the middle of having illicit sex in a bathroom.

  "I wanted to be the one to take you. I wanted to be the one to make you scream. Not that asshole."

  "Oh Jake," I said, but wasn't sure what to say next. Suddenly inspired, I told him, "Make me scream."

  "What?"

  "I want you to make me scream."

  "With pleasure," he said and returned to his earlier frenetic pace.

  "And you'll still go down on me tonight, right?" I asked, just in case he changed his mind.

  "Princess, tonight you're going to sit on my face and I'll make you cum until you beg me to stop."

  I moaned when his talented fingers found my engorged clit once more. Two seconds later and I was gone.

  My orgasm was loud and proud. Jake's followed not long after I exploded into itty bitty pieces and then said pieces spontaneously combusted. It was a good thing I had a spare pair of knickers with my gear. These were either singed or soaked.

  It would have been perfect if my sweaty hands hadn't slipped down the wall and into the basins, which set off the automatic taps and sent lukewarm water spraying over me. I tried to flail away from the water attack but ended up hitting—and activating—the hand dryer and scaring the shit out of myself. Thankfully that last part wasn't literal. Somewhere along the way I ended up sitting on my naked butt on the cold floor. Ew, bathroom greeblies!

  Jake had watched the whole spectacle unfold without a word. He looked down at me and burst out laughing. "You're a mess," he said, but held out his hand.

  I blushed but accepted his help.

  "I was tripped!" I cried. "My knickers are out to get me."

  He looked down at the offensive things that dangled around my ankles and innocently suggested, "Maybe you shouldn't wear any. It'd make it easier for
me to take you whenever or wherever I felt like it."

  Oh my God that was so hot!

  A toilet flushed and we both froze.

  "Is it like, safe to come out?" a woman timidly asked from what I now realised was an occupied stall. "It's just my break will be like, over soon and I'm like, new. They don't like it if you take more than like, ten minutes."

  Jake looked at my horrified face and I wasn't too impressed with the chuckles he tried to suppress while I hastily pulled up my sodden knickers and down on the hem of my dress.

  "We're clothed," Jake told her.

  I buried my burning face against his chest and wished I was elsewhere. How embarrassing.

  The door unlocked and I heard the girl hurriedly wash her hands. "Um, that was like, really hot. That's like stuff you only see in movies, you know?"

  I felt Jake nod.

  "Hey, you look familiar," she said and at this I chanced a look.

  A girl a few years younger than me with short auburn hair and dark eyes studied me back.

  "Yeah, you're that chick from the roller derby. And you," she said indicating Jake, "you're like, that guy that started the fight at the hockey game after. Oh em gee, I'm like, in the presence of local celebrities. Can I like, have your autographs?"

  "Wait, what?" I asked, stunned at the turn of events.

  Jake's body tensed against mine, reminding me we still had a topic of conversation to go over later. He really had started that fight.

  Obviously feeling bolder, she continued, "My sister is like, a Slammer too. Ponytail Puller, do you know her?"

  "Yes, I know her," I said.

  Jake shifted his weight and ran a hand nervously through his hair.

  The movement caught the girl's attention and after a moment of staring again exclaimed, "Oh em gee! Didn't you like, sleep with her too?"

  My eyes narrowed. This girl was starting to piss me off and it wasn't just because she said like at least twice every sentence—although that was pretty fucken annoying. The oh em gees also made my eye twitch. What was it with kids today? It might also have something to do with her not shutting up and leaving so I could clean myself up, eat the meal Jake had ordered for me, and then get to the sports centre in time for my lift to the finals.