So, once again, I relied on the help of my part-time girlfriends. We went shopping, stopping by the two consignment shops and three thrift stores in town, because Cheri and Michelle knew I wouldn’t drop a shitload of money on a dress I’d only wear once, with or without my dad’s guilt money.
And I have no idea to this day how I managed to let those girls talk me into it, but I wound up buying a dress that was totally not me, not in any way, shape, or form. Without their influence, I would have gone my whole life without wearing something like that damned dress. But there it was—a pink number with accents of fuchsia, semi-formal, so the length stopped somewhere mid-calf. It was snug too, and it had little spaghetti straps.
It might not have been me, but the damned thing turned Decker into an animal.
I felt a little awkward, but I learned two things that night. One was that I never wanted to wear pink again. The dress looked vaguely like vomit—I wasn’t a huge fan of pink anyway, but this dress color wasn’t even baby pink. Trust me—it was puke color. The second was that I could attract a lot of male attention by baring a little skin. For the first time ever, the boys at my school (yes, plural) saw my shoulders and legs. I’d never worn summer clothes to school, or they might have seen me in shorts and a tank top before then. Instead, they were seeing me as they never had before—and I had, once more, somehow captured their fascination. I felt their eyes on me—not just the boys, but the anger and hostility of their girlfriends. Some girls, like my friends, would cry and moan and groan over the concept of being under a microscope. Others might relish it. Me? I didn’t give a shit. It felt a little strange at first, but then I decided they didn’t matter.
Yeah, I know that’s a pretty mature thing for a sixteen-year-old girl to think, but you forget. I was not only an only child, but I was also strictly around adult company for all of my childhood and a good chunk of my adolescence. It wasn’t until I was a young adult that I was around people my age, and I never quite fit. I was okay with that. I saw what a lot of the kids at my school did and thought on a regular basis, and I was perfectly fine being who I was.
That said, I did learn a valuable lesson that evening, and that was this: if I wanted to get a man’s attention (partial or otherwise), it was easy to do. Appeal to his basest instincts.
Yeah…it all came down to sex.
And that was what Decker and I planned to do that night anyway—I was ready to try again, having healed from our first time the week before, and I wanted to see how it would feel when I wasn’t being ripped apart from the inside out.
His parents were home, and I thought my mom was out doing something again—only she wasn’t. We got to my house a little before midnight, and mom was watching some romance movie on TV. It was kind of sad. She asked us to sit with her for a while, so we did. I was on the couch next to mom, and Decker sat in dad’s old chair. Mom said, “Don’t you look handsome, Decker?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Summers.”
“I can see why Kyle likes you so much.”
What. The. Fuck? Was my mom turning into some weird cougar? I was dumbstruck, and I could also tell that she’d thrown Decker for a loop, but he didn’t miss a beat. He was as charming as ever (well, as charming as a horny seventeen year old can be) when he answered. As a matter of fact, he was on repeat, uttering a phrase he used in my house a lot, probably to avoid weird conversations like the one my mom was veering toward. “Thanks, Mrs. Summers.”
Then mom focused her gaze on me, and just by turning her head toward me in that proximity, I was able to smell the wine on her breath. There wasn’t a bottle in sight, so I didn’t know if she thought I wouldn’t know or if she’d simply polished it off and tossed it in the trash to maintain order in her house. “Didja have fun?” Oh, there was a slight slur too, and her eyes were a little glazed, all signs I hadn’t noticed at first.
No, my mother was no alcoholic, but my dad had fast-tracked her on that path when he’d left. She was going to give a drinking problem a good shot. I wasn’t going to call her on it, though, because, in spite of the fact that she seemed pathetic, she did have my sympathy the more time went by. This was a woman who’d given her man everything, had sacrificed the dreams of most women—to have a four-thousand square-foot home complete with manicured yard and a kitchen full of the latest appliances in cool stainless steel and bright whites, a bedroom with a king-size bed replete with designer bed coverings and satin sheets, and all the Julia Child-Martha Stewart-Rachael Ray bullshit we’re programmed to believe, desire, and obediently consume. I actually missed a lot of that growing up on the road, but my mom had talked about it. A lot. I remembered sitting on the beach at night looking at the stars or huddled around a campfire in the mountains in mid-July and hearing mom talking about her own childhood and growing up. She’d always had dreams, but they became rooted in my father, and she would have followed him to the ends of the earth, would have done whatever he’d asked of her.
Why?
Because she had been stupid enough to fall in love with him.
That shit was never going to happen to me. No way in hell, because now where was my mother? She was teaching music lessons out of our home, a house she couldn’t afford on her own, and she’d been applying for extra work at the local grocery stores…all because my dad had decided to test-drive a new model.
Fucking bastard.
Yep. No way in hell was I going to set myself up to have that rug pulled out from underneath me. So, for that, my mom had slowly garnered my support and sympathy. I would have liked to have seen her display more strength, but, I realized, that was not my mom. Mom was doing the best she could with the tools that life had given her, and the fact that she hadn’t completely crumbled under the pressure was in itself amazing.
That said, I still didn’t plan to accept her hitting on my boyfriend. So far, she was just being a little weird and bordering on inappropriate. “Yeah, it was fun, I guess.” But we’d had other fun plans—ones that mom was presently ruining.
“You kids want any popcorn?”
Decker, ever polite—his parents’ wet dream, I tell ya—responded with “No, thanks, Mrs. Summers.”
“A Pepsi then?” He smiled and shook his head. When her gaze happened back to me, I did the same. “Beer?”
My mother was diving off the deep end and close to cracking her skull on the bottom of the pool and drowning. “No,” I said, perhaps a little too firmly, and I glanced at Decker. I could read the look in his eyes—he wouldn’t have minded a beer, found it cool that my mom had offered, but he was still feeling just as weirded out at I was. Instead of making things less awkward as time went on, mom was increasing the anxiety level in the room with every word that flew out of her mouth.
“Well, just finish watching this movie with me then. It’s The Notebook—have you ever seen it?”
I shook my head and so did Decker, and mom patted my thigh before resting her back against the couch. “Then you’re in for a treat.” She started yammering on about what had happened already, after pressing the button on the cable remote so it would start playing again. She paused so that we could actually watch the movie, but then it was as if she was actually looking at me for the first time that night—my hair up (something I never did), pink lipstick, that ugly dress—and she said, “Kyle, you look absolutely beautiful tonight. We need to get pictures of the two of you.”
In the barfy travesty clinging to my frame? No way in hell was I going to have that captured for posterity. So I lied. “We took pictures before the dance.” Well, it wasn’t entirely a falsehood. We’d taken an extreme close-up selfie and posted it to Facebook before we walked in the doors of the high school gymnasium.
Mom acted halfway disappointed, but I suspected she was relieved inside. After all, if her breath was any indication, she wouldn’t have been able to hold the camera steady enough to get a good picture. No way. “Well, I want one.”
I nodded and smiled and turned my face to the television. Mom was making me uncomfort
able, and I thought maybe the vibes would settle if we were quiet. It wasn’t half an hour before mom’s head rested on the back of the couch, and just a few more minutes before her mouth dropped open.
She was asleep.
I looked over at Decker. He was thinking the same thing. Hell, his cock had probably been hard since before we’d walked in the door. He’d likely been counting the seconds.
I pursed my lips and nodded at him. We stood in unison. We tiptoed, and, even though I wanted to sprint across the room to the stairs, I maintained my calm and walked. Besides, I wasn’t used to wearing heels and, with my luck, I’d break my ankle. Nope, I’d take it slowly.
I was impressed with Decker’s control. He didn’t even place a hand on my back. As our feet hit the bottom stairs, the TV grew silent. I froze in my tracks and turned my head to see mom pointing the remote at the television. “You kids behave yourselves,” she muttered before lying down on the couch, tucking her arm underneath her head.
Holy shit. It was almost as if mom was giving me permission to fuck. Let the games begin.
Chapter Ten
I believed mom had no idea in her drunken haze just what she’d done, but we weren’t questioning it. I could tell from the look in Decker’s eyes that he doubted any of it was real, but it didn’t stop him from racing me up the stairs.
Yes, because I was in those stupid heels, he beat me.
When I got to the top, though, his hand was extended out to me in a gentlemanly fashion, and I took it, glad we could have some time alone like we’d planned. When we got the door open, Decker kissed me hard on the lips, an indication of how frustrated he’d been feeling. Ah, but we still had to get our damn clothes off.
We were quiet but smart about it. He took off his clothing and I took off mine, and in a fraction of a minute, we stood facing each other in nothing but our underwear. I was wearing a strapless bra that felt odd, because I wasn’t used to wearing one, didn’t think I’d ever want to get used to that feeling. I’m not sure why we didn’t get completely naked, but I think we realized that, in spite of feeling desperate, we could make it a little longer. His erection made his shorts tight around him, and seeing him that revved up for me made me all the more excited. As much as I’d thought losing my virginity had been the moment I’d been waiting for, I realized now that this moment was the one.
I nearly tackled the boy, colliding with him and almost laughing as his dick jabbed me, but he lowered me to my bed in seconds and kissed me with fervor. I tore his shorts down and grabbed his ass in my hands while he kissed my neck before doing me the same favor of ripping off my panties. In mere moments, he was inside me.
Goddammit. I was still sore.
But then…then it changed. It didn’t feel too bad. I nipped at his neck and could tell he wasn’t going to last very long, so I tried to enjoy every second, now that it felt more enjoyable.
When he did come, he rested his head on the pillow next to mine, and thoughts began racing through my brain. First off, had he actually been turned on by that stupid dress? Well, yeah. Duh. I’d already ascertained earlier that evening that men liked a little flesh peeking out. I had no idea that extended to my boyfriend who’d already seen me naked. It might have been that other guys had been ogling me and he knew I was all his…but the fact of the matter was that I had learned something important.
The second was…
“Decker, did you put a condom on?”
Beat.
Another beat.
Mutter: “Oh, shit.”
I sat up as best I could with his dead weight on me. “What do you mean, ‘Oh, shit’? Are you fucking kidding me?” Oh, my voice. My mom was still in the house. I ratcheted the volume down before continuing. “Decker?” Don’t fall asleep on me, motherfucker. We have shit to discuss.
“Sorry.”
“Sorry? Is that all you have to say?”
He managed to lift his head. “Why are you getting all bent out of shape? Aren’t you on the pill?”
“Well, yeah, but don’t be fucking stupid. You gotta cover all the bases.”
He kissed my cheek then. “You’ll be fine, Kyle.”
I slapped his arm but it was ineffectual because of the angle. I had no leverage. I was angry, though, and I hope he got the message from my tone. “Don’t be a stupid ass, Decker. What would happen if I did get pregnant? Are you ready to be a father? ‘Cause I’m sure as hell not ready to be a mom.” Maybe I never would be.
He blinked once and swallowed, and the look in his eyes finally reflected the seriousness I thought they should. “You think there’s a chance?”
I tried to chill a little but my voice still sounded strained. “I hope not, but let’s not be dumb.”
“I’m not.” Uh, yeah, he so was…but at least he was wising up. I felt my brow relax and I inhaled slowly. “Sorry. Won’t happen again.”
“Thank you.”
He didn’t drift off this time, probably because I’d gotten his blood pressure to spike. When he left later, I put on a pair of panties (that promptly got wet because of his indiscretion—I wondered how long that would last) and a t-shirt to walk him out. Yeah, mom saw me before she dropped her head back to the couch and I really didn’t care. I knew, from what she and dad had said, that they’d done similar things back when they were kids, and look at them now. Neither of them had any room to point fingers at me.
And she didn’t say a word when I kissed him good night and watched him walk out to his truck. I was walking back up the stairs when I heard mom finally mutter something.
Oh, I dare you. A short pause to let myself get back to calm. “Did you say something, mom?”
She sounded younger then, almost like one of my friends. “Do you love him?” The lilt in her voice just about broke my heart.
I started walking back up the stairs before I replied. “No.”
* * *
I got another random call again—same number that had called me before—and, once more, the party didn’t leave a message. I was curious, so I Googled the number and, just as I suspected, there was no information. Probably a telemarketer. Bastards.
The next two weeks were rather interesting—school was winding down, and I considered getting a part-time job of some kind, mainly so I wouldn’t have to be around mom 24/7 during the summer. Decker and I continued to explore our sexuality more and more (meaning we just fucked a lot—now that I wasn’t sore, I was horny as hell and wanted some relief). We found a way to have sex at least once a day. Sometimes it was pretty interesting. We had done it in one of the boys’ restrooms at school at least twice during that two-week period and a couple of times in his truck. We had to be creative.
Mom was going wild too. A new guy every weekend, and she didn’t care if I was home or not—although she pretended to be discreet. She made a half-hearted attempt to talk to me about protection, but I blew her off and told her I already had it covered. I didn’t want to have any touching bullshit mom-and-daughter lovefest. Dad kept reaching out to me too, with the occasional phone call and even a random text or two. That was weird, because dad didn’t do texting. He must have really wanted to get my attention.
And then the caller. He or she was calling at least once a day now. It pissed me off, and I considered blocking the number. Leave a fucking message, asshole! Yeah, I almost changed my greeting to that—and then decided not to. It might have been perceived as rude by people who didn’t know me well.
I was really starting to enjoy sex but wondered if that was all there was to it. I still felt unsatisfied after each session and, on the occasions where we had time to snuggle or chat with our heads on a pillow after finishing, just having his body up next to mine made me ready to go again. I started wondering, having heard of orgasm, if I’d actually achieved one or if there was more to it. I mean…I felt stimulated, enjoyed the hell out of it, but I didn’t feel fulfilled.
I knew some about orgasms. I’d read about them in the couple of issues of Cosmo I’d bothered leaf
ing through. Mom had brushed over that topic lightly during one of our old birds-and-the-bees convos. My girlfriends and I had talked more about it…and I wondered. Even though sex with Decker felt amazing, I doubted I’d had an orgasm. After all, I hadn’t had the writhing, moaning out loud, feeling myself falling apart moments, so I figured it was one of two things: either Decker wasn’t giving me enough time to get there, or he was doing it wrong.
Well, he couldn’t be doing it wrong, could he? I mean…the penis goes in the vagina, and you rub one in the other until they ignite. Okay, so maybe not...but I was pretty sure I was missing something.
A little research was in order.
I wound up finding a lot of information online, and the next time Decker and I had sex, I asked him to position himself higher in relation to me, the idea being that he could better stimulate my clitoris and maybe even my G spot, areas known to induce orgasm. It seemed more arousing but still…nothing.
That night in particular, I went home feeling quite frustrated and on the edge. I needed a release. Yeah, I loved sex, and, hell, yes, it felt good, but I was teetering, ready to explode.
It was time to experiment.
My whole body was tingly and jittery, but I stripped down to nothing and slid between my sheets. I felt a little strange and wasn’t sure where to start, but my mind just wandered to thoughts of Decker. He wasn’t my dream guy, but he was my guy of the moment, the one who’d awakened me sexually, the boy who’d given me a chance to explore a few things. He was a good-looking guy and in great shape and, usually, his kisses got me pretty excited. I knew he wasn’t going to be forever but he was perfect for now, and one thing I knew for certain was that he got me very hot.
It wasn’t long before, awkwardly or not, I was touching myself below. I wasn’t quite sure where or what my clitoris was, in spite of having read all about it, but it didn’t take me long to discover that rubbing myself felt really good. Orgasm or not, what I was doing to myself was something entirely different from what Decker’s dick did. After a while, I was transported to another place, my mind not dwelling on the motion of my finger but instead picturing—oh!—picturing Decker’s face between my thighs, his hot breath and tongue doing this to me. Just fantasizing that he was there made me that much hotter. I wasn’t aware of the perspiration on my forehead, the way my heartbeat had increased, the change in my breathing. No. I was instead focused on how insanely wonderful I felt…and I didn’t want to stop.
Dirty Boys: Bad Boy Rock Star Romance Box Set Page 78
