by Jillian Dodd
A couple hours later, the punch we brought is gone, and everyone is feeling good and worn out from playing in the surf. We decide to go back to the house, chow down some sandwiches.
After lunch, I tell Dawson, “I'm kinda tired.”
“Oh, come with me.” He leads me into the bedroom, then out one of the sets of french doors to a screened porch with a big padded hammock blowing in the breeze.
“Best place in the house for a nap. Come on.”
We snuggle up in the hammock. I put my head on his chest. We kiss for while and then fall into a happy sleep.
I'm awakened by him stirring in the hammock. My face is right by his neck, so I kiss it. Other than my kissing him at the football game, I really haven't been initiating stuff with him. I'm mostly letting him kiss me. But after his comment, his feeling like Peyton didn’t really want him, I figure, he needs to feel wanted. So I'm kissing up his neck, my leg’s tossed across his.
He says, “You realize we just slept together.” He laughs.
“Yeah we did.”
He runs his hand like he did in the picture. Gently pulling my hair off my face. Says, “I think you need to keep doing that.” Pulls me on top of him. I kiss gently down his neck, teasing him, driving him nuts, I'm hoping.
I sit up, my knees still straddling him. Then I lean down, kiss down his neck, down his chest, run my hands in a little tickle down the sides of his abs.
He can't take it. He moans, grabs me, and tries to flip me over. He apparently wants on top of me, but uh, yeah, I think he maybe forgot we are in a hammock because he rolls up over the side of the hammock. The hammock flips, he falls onto the floor on his back, with me falling right on top of him.
“Shit,” he mutters, but then laughs. “I'm real smooth, huh?”
I reply with a long, deep, slow kiss.
Then he manages to flip me over, pinning me against the floor under his weight. He's kissing my neck, down my chest, moving his hips against mine, untying my bikini top, taking in what he sees, kissing what he saw, and my body is enjoying this. And the way he is moving his hips, how's he's maneuvered himself between my legs, how I'm hot, my body is ready for him. And I know he wants me. But we said we were gonna take it slow, and this, wonderful as it my be, is moving a lot faster than slow.
“Dawson,” I manage to breath out.
“Hmm??” He smiles at me, kisses me.
“Uh. I thought we were gonna take things like slow.”
“Maybe we should rethink that.”
God, he's dreamy.
I squint my eyes at him.
He kisses me again, says, “No, you’re right.”
But what he says and what he does are two entirely different things. He's kissing me deeply again, running his hands through my hair, across my back, each one of his hands covers each one of my butt cheeks and pulls them in tighter towards him. Slamming my pelvis into his, his hardness is pushing on what little there is of my bikini bottoms.
Shit.
“Dawson”.
“Don't worry, Keatie. We're not. Not yet anyways.” (Is this the first place he says Keatie? He didn’t tell her why!)
Then he gets up, snatching his hardness away from me. I’m left lying on the floor, my body saying, But wait!!!!! Your brain may have been saying no, but your body majorly disagrees. Get him back here!!!!!
But I let him pull me up, instead of pulling him back down on top of me.
“Let's go get a drink, see what everyone’s up to.”
We drink more, eat more, relax more, kiss more, swim more, hot tub more, and drink more Kool-Aid.
We are both a little tipsy, well, maybe kinda drunk. And I’m feeling a little naughty. I drag him back to the bedroom and start attacking him.
I’m taking off his polo, undoing his shorts, sliding them off him.
He stops me, “Keatie, we talked about this. We’re not gonna do it drunk. We’ll wait.”
I laugh, “Yeah, you’re right.”
Then I drop down on my knees in front of him, look up at him in question, and he says, “Uh, well, that’d probably be okay.” (I’m sure it would be, Dawson.)
Sunday, September 4th
So um, last night.
Too freaking early
Wake up to sunlight streaming in the windows. Look at the clock. It’s freaking sunrise early.
I feel a bit fuzzy, confused about where I am, and thirsty. I look down and see I slept in my bikini.
Dawson walks out of the bathroom, board shorts on, looking sexier than ever.
Maybe I should pull him into bed with me.
“So the early bird gets the surf. Us guys always go out and surf at sunrise, then we come back and eat a huge ass breakfast. Come with us. Or do you want to sleep some more? The girls always sleep in.”
“I slept in my swimsuit?”
He sits on the bed next to me and grins, “Yeah, you remember last night? You were pretty tipsy, maybe drunk. I don’t know. I haven’t been around you enough yet to be sure. You were kinda naughty though. Do you remember that part?”
“Yeah, I do, but then it gets kinda blurry, not because I was drunk, more because I was just so tired. Yesterday was a long day.”
“You were tired. You told me Kool-Aid makes you tired and you needed sleep. Then you snuggled up next to me and crashed. Maybe even snored a little.”
“Oh, God. That’s embarrassing.”
“Naw, it was cute. And I would have never guessed you, Miss Independent, as such a little snuggler.” He grins, then looks kinda sad when he says, “Peyton never wanted to snuggle. She always said it hurt her neck, or she got too hot.”
“I’m really not a snuggler.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“No. Brooklyn used to complain I wouldn’t snuggle with him. But it always made me feel kinda claustrophobic.”
“Well I don’t know about that, all I know is you were glued to my side all night, my right arm is still numb. So if you wanna go, get dressed and meet us down there okay?”
“Okay.”
I get up, pee, brush my teeth, throw on a different bikini and a rash guard, spf my face, pull my hair back into a ponytail, grab my flip flops and head down the beach.
He’s just getting the boards all down there when I get there.
We surf, get some decent waves and boogie board a bunch.
It was fun. I made Dawson tell Riley what he was doing wrong, he grudgingly agreed, then looked like a proud parent when Riley rode a big wave all the way to shore. He ran over to him, high fived him, and was like, Riles, dude, that was awesome.
And he wasn’t kidding when he said they come back and eat a big breakfast. I don’t think I’ve seen this much food consumed in one place. Growing boys apparently can eat a whole freaking lot. The cook, Margie, brought out plate after plate of bacon, eggs, pancakes, fried potatoes, biscuits, gravy, sausage, and they must have drank three gallons of milk.
I sat there eating my egg white omelet just watching the frenzy. Oh, I did eat some of the fried potatoes and had some perfectly ripened raspberries on top of yogurt. I had worked up quite an appetite myself.
Riley said to me, “Dude you need to eat more, we need to fatten you up a little.”
Dawson, lifting the fork to his mouth stopped and said, “Naw, she looks damn good in a bikini, perfect if you ask me.”
And that like made my whole day.
We’re walking over to play tennis when Dawson says, “So um, last night.”
“Yeah, it was great. The sunset was amazing, and the partying, and hot tubbing. It was all fun.”
He kicks his racquet gently with his foot, ‘Uh, I was sorta referring to after that.”
“After that?” And I’m thinking after that we went to bed. Ohhhh. After that. “Oh. What about it?”
“What about it?” His eyes get big, like I could be so nonchalant about it. “Hands down. The. Hottest. Thing. Ever.”
He’s so cute, and so excited about this. You’d think we were talking
about cars or xbox or something. But what did Grandpa’s ranch hand say about boys? They have two moods, hungry and horny. And if you see a boy without an erection, you should go make him a sandwich. That made Grandpa laugh, and Grandma say, Keatyn, don’t you dare listen to them. You tell them to make their own damn sandwiches.
I say, “Really?”
He suppresses a big smile. “You. Down on your knees. Uh, yeah.”
And I’m pretty surprised by this, considering his summer in whoredom.
“Hmm. Well, good. Does that mean you’d be okay if I wanted to get down on my knees again sometime?”
Dallas walks up behind me. “And just what were you going to do down on your knees, Kiki?”(Dallas, calling her on it. He is very observant and knows what’s up. Always. Except later, with Chelsea, but that’s another story.)
“Look for seashells, what else?”
Dawson chokes down his Kool-Aid laughing.
But as soon as he walks away, I have to ask. “I don’t get why it was so hot. I mean I’m sure you’ve done that like a million times.”
“Uh, Peyton didn’t really like to do that either. Thought it was gross basically.”
“And the whoredom?”
“Oh, well, it was just different. I actually like you, I didn’t ask you to, and it was like a surprise.”
“And you like being surprised?”
“Like that? Hell yeah. Although I’m a little concerned about how you are so, uh, good at it. Have you done that a lot?”
“Um a lot, yes, but only with Brooklyn. Brooklyn was the sum total of my experience before I started school. And I don’t know, he’d always get high and just was like do me, and I had a huge crush on him, so I would. You know, I can see now why my mom says you have to date a lot of guys, so you know like what’s good or bad in a relationship. Like you said you worshiped her, then dated her. Same with me, I did stuff with Brooklyn cuz I crushed on him. I wanted him to like me. I did that for you because I think you like me.” (I’m glad this got the ax. This would have made me hate B.)
He grabs my hand, “I do like you. A lot. And you’re right, we both thought our past relationships were so amazing.”
“And they weren't really, were they?”
“No, not really. I’ve been sorta kicking myself for spending so much time whining about me and Peyton, when it really wasn’t all that good. At least it doesn’t compare to how I feel with you. It feels so much more balanced. Even Riley was like, Bro, I don’t remember when you’ve been so cool, nice to me, happy. It made me feel bad, I have been kinda a jerk to everyone lately.”
I smile. “Not to me.”
We sit down on a bench next to the tennis court.
“So Keatie, any idea when you think you might want to? Like do other stuff?” He looks up in the air. “Never mind I asked. Sorry, last night gave me a preview, and I can't wait. I mean, I can wait. I will wait. We should probably wait. Like for as long as you think you want to. I just wondered when you think you would wanna, like wait until we decide to go out, or after so long of hanging out, or I mean what are you thinking? Like some girls seem to have lots of rules about when they will do it. Like we have to be going out. Or we have to go out for at least a couple months, or he has to tell me he loves me first. That kind of stuff.”
“Well, I waited over a year with Brooklyn, but I don’t think I would wait that long again. I’d say I don't wanna plan it. I think we’ll both just know when it’s right. I didn't plan last night it’s just I wanted to, so I did.”
“I like that.”
I can’t help but grin at him. I love that I can talk to him about all this. You would think it would be awkward, but it’s not at all. It makes me like him more.
“Yeah, I know, and I hope we both like it when it goes further. I think the reason girls give themselves rules about it is because their bodies really want to, but it’s kind of scary. Like say we did it last night. I would worry you what you think about me. Like if you think I’m slutty, if you would still have any respect for me, if you would ever call me again after. If I made you wait until you told me you loved me, I would be afraid you told me just because you wanted it. It’s hard to know when it’s right. I made Brooklyn wait for a long time. Like almost a year, from the first time he talked about doing it. And that kind of makes me mad because my mom kinda led me to believe if you waited it would be better. But obviously waiting didn’t insure his love. So who knows?”
“Yeah, Peyton made me wait seven months. And then after we did it she felt bad, or didn’t like it, or something, and it was another two months before I could get her drunk enough to try again. So how long are you thinking for us? Like have you thought about it? Is it bad I’ve thought about it a lot? Do you even want to be with me?”
I run my fingers through his hair, kiss his cheek. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it. Well I did, but then we kinda got in the fight thing about the pics being on facebook, but then you were sweet again, and yesterday, I’m pretty sure my body was voting for let’s do it right now.”
“Really? That’s hot. So like how long then?”
“Oh, I'd say depending on how things go somewhere between now and the next month or two.”
“Okay. I think I can do that.”
He grins at me, runs his hand across my shoulder, kisses me.
“Ready to play some tennis?”
“Sure, but you’re gonna lose.”
And I can’t help but think during tennis that the fact that he’s not pushing me, but wants to, makes me want to even more.
His hormones kicked into overdrive.
11pm
Later after dinner, everyone sat outside, chatting and drinking.
We watched the sun go down from the side deck and at that moment, while I’m wrapped tightly in Dawson’s strong arms, I had a flash of clarity.
This all feels so very right, and I decided that I am going to be quite content without a surfer or a hottie god in my life. Very content. (She’s so lying to herself.)
We moved the party back to the pool/hot tub area, turned the music up, danced around and had fun.
Dawson says to me, “Be right back. I’m gonna grab a couple more beers.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have anymore.”
“Why not? I’m not drunk or anything. Are you feeling it?”
“I’d say I’m feeling it, but no, I’m just maybe a little tipsy. I feel perfect.”
“Okay?” He gives me a questioning look.
He’s not thinking what I’m thinking, so I explain. “I was kinda thinking that I’d like to not get, um, remember how we said if we do stuff that we didn’t want to only because we were drunk?”
He beams, he gets it. “Soooo, you’re thinking us about doing stuff?” I can tell he is quite excited by this prospect.
“Don’t get all excited just yet. I said thinking. But I do wanna do some stuff. Or don’t you?”
He kisses me. “Are you kidding me, it’s all I’ve thought about all day.” He stares at me for a second, figures he better not waste his opportunity and says, “You know, I’ve had about enough of the outdoors for one day, how about you?”
He tells everyone we’re tired and drags me into the house.
Then I think his hormones kicked into overdrive or something.
He’s kissing me, like fast, hard, long kisses. He pushes me up against the counter in the kitchen, then against the wall in the hall. We finally get to the bedroom, where he quickly shuts and locks the door, then pushes me up against it, kissing me, like ravaging me. I say ravaging because I have snuck quite a few of my mom’s Harlequin Romances, and this is the kind of thing I have always pictured.
Always dreamed of.
A boy that wants me so bad, he can barely stand it.
It wasn’t like this with Brooklyn. It was some intense kissing and then a brief, Come on Keats, you’re leaving me, and then up to his room. It was fun and sweet, not this barrage of kisses.
We start frantically undressing e
ach other, kissing, hugging, breathing.
At this point, I think my hormones kicked in too, and honestly I’m thinking, Just do me, keep going, don’t stop. I’ve never felt such desire in my life. But just when I’m ready to speed things up, he decides to slow them down.
He’s wearing nothing but boxers and all that is protecting my virtue is a skimpy lace thong.
He’s kissing me. My shoulder, my chest, my stomach, and then slowly strips away what little clothing is left on me.
I can’t even tell you how hot I am.
After he slowly slides off my thong, he’s back to a full scale assault on my body.
He’s kissing, touching, rubbing, licking, well, everything.
Everywhere.
And it feels very, very good.
I feel like he’s standing outside my front door, knocking on it. No, make that ringing the door bell, repeatedly, and I want to invite him in. I really want to. My body is definitely in agreement with me on this. My body has been pleading it’s case, begging, saying, Please, please, can he please come in and play, be our our friend, make us feel incredible? But my brain is arguing back, saying, You have only know this boy for a little over a week. It took you three years and all summer to let Brooklyn in and now you want to let this virtual stranger in??? Shouldn’t you be in love with him? What if you get pregnant? What if he’s just using you? What if this ruins everything? Then my body yells at my brain and says, Shut up!!!! Seriously, shut up!!! I don’t freaking care if he’s using us, I want him NOW!! Freaking right now!!!
My body wins this round. My brain shuts up for a bit and lets us feel. Feel the electricity running between us, causing every nerve ending I have to practically fizzle and spark. He moves between my legs and, ohhhh, what he’s doing is feeling pretty amazing, and pretty soon I’m trembling and breathing hard with pleasure. And I really don’t think I can take much more. My body screams, OMFFFFFGGGG!!!!! LET THIS BOY IN, NOW!!!!!
