In all the sex talk, I’d forgotten that Jake had returned home drunk the night before. “Oh. That.” I peeled off my jacket and threw it over the railing.
“I know it was stupid, Ma. It’s not like I do that all the time, I swear.”
“Well, I realize you’re eighteen. And I know that I’m in a bit of denial, but I can’t say I wasn’t shocked when I saw you and Watson at the door,” I replied, sitting down on the couch and muting the television.
“Mom. I love you, you know this. But you’re still writing my name on my lunch bag like I’m seven years old. I’m a legal adult. I know that I’m not twenty-one, and it was stupid of me to think—”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I interrupted him, thinking back to Watson’s words in the car.
His head bowed, unsure if he should be grateful or not for the change of subject. “Yeah.” He shrugged.
“Why haven’t I ever met her? What does she look like? Does she have a name?”
“That’s why, Ma. I haven’t told you because I knew you’d have a million questions.”
“Of course I will! My only son has someone significant in his life. I’m actually a little disappointed you haven’t told me about her before.”
“All right.” He sighed and walked back toward the couch, sitting tensely on the edge of the cushion. “What do you want to know?”
“What’s her name?”
“Jenn.”
I nodded. “How long have you been dating?”
“Almost two years.”
“Two years! Jake, that’s like, an eternity for two kids in high school!”
“Yeah, but I don’t know what’s going to happen next year. I mean, I’m sticking around here to go to community college, and she’s moving to Washington state. I doubt it’s gonna work.”
The disappointment in his demeanor was obvious. He likes this girl. “Have the two of you had sex?” I asked, clearing my throat, bracing myself for his answer.
“Yes, Mom. I don’t think there’s anyone in my class that’s hasn’t. Well, except Watson. Poor bastard.”
My eyes shot open and tried to calm my heart from beating so damn fast. Oh, god. I’m going straight to hell. I can’t tell if my heart sped up because he said Watson’s name, or because of hearing that my son was no longer a virgin.
“Watson?” I asked nonchalantly.
“Yeah. But I think he’s saving himself for some college chick.”
All the butterflies stopped flapping their wings and died mid air, crashing to the pit of my stomach. Yep, a special place in hell for me: now I’m disappointed.
Wait a minute! Focus. We’re talking about Jake and his virginity! Not Watson and his!
“Did you use protection?” I asked, feeling my face burn at the embarrassment of this conversation.
“Of course! Don’t get upset, Ma. I took Sex-Ed. I know this is the first time you and I ever really discussed it, but I was able to figure it out.” He winked. “It’s just sex. I’m not gonna ask the girl to marry me or anything.”
I swallowed. “I don’t know how I feel about you taking this all so lightly.”
“That’s such a chick thing to say!” He laughed and rose to his feet. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. But guys are a little different when it comes to that. Our virginity is something we want to get rid of, not something we cherish. Sex is sex—no matter when, how, what, with who, or how old we are when we do it. You gotta start thinking like a guy, and stop thinking that every time is gonna be something special. Sometimes it’s just…sex.”
I didn’t know what to think or how to feel. He was right, of course. But I am a chick. The way he spoke made me think he’d been doing it for a long time. Almost a pro—certainly more advanced than his own mother.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I mean, I’m sorry that your father isn’t here to talk with you about these things, too.”
He exhaled and brushed his hand through his hair. “I’m not. Dad left both of us, remember?” Sitting down next to me on the couch, he put his hand over mine. “And I think it’s time you get out there again. You know, start dating. Something. I just want you to be happy.”
He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close to him. “It’s been years, Mom. And I haven’t heard you cry yourself to sleep in months.”
My head jerked up. He heard me?
He rubbed my shoulder. “It’s okay, I get it—it was hard on both of us. But I think if you’re ready, you should try. Just…try.”
Chapter Six
After looking through my middle school yearbooks the next day, I had a plan in mind. I went to the mirror, and after applying my makeup just like Mona had showed me (adding a few details of my own), I styled my hair and grabbed my keys.
The skies were blue and my attitude had shifted. I was so happy I’d visited with Mona yesterday and spoken with Jake last night. It was about time I started living life. After all, it was just like Mona said, ‘You’re divorced, Christine, not dead.’
These new purple jean stirrups and Michael Jackson black T-shirt I found at the second-hand store were just what I needed. I loved that the shirt still had its original glitter.
People on the street were noticing me. I saw the heads of twenty men—and even some women—whip around to get a second look as I passed. Has no one in this town seen a beautiful woman before? I smiled wider. And I have twenty-four hours to prepare for my…rush delivery.
Passing a coffee shop, I couldn’t resist the aroma of fresh beans and popped in for a Skinny latte to go. I was thankful that the line was short and the barista took my order immediately.
“What are you wearing?”
I turned, startled at the deep voice—and even more startled when I saw who it was. I barely recognized him with the dark tan and dirty T-shirt. On Friday night he was wearing a jacket, and I never noticed the strength in his arms.
Realizing Watson had asked me a question, I looked down at my clothes.
“And is that a banana clip in your hair?” he added. “I think my mom wore one for her eighth grade school photo. She talks about the eighties all the time.”
Proud of my new hip style, I replied, “Why, yes it is!”
He gave me a lopsided smile and furrowed his brow. After shaking his head, he gestured for me to join him.
I reluctantly obliged. “It’s good to see you again.”
His glance traveled to my shirt, screwing his smile into a snicker. And I suddenly felt a thick sweat on my forehead. Could Mona have been wrong? Oh lord. I must look ridiculous.
“You’re very…unique, Ms. Cole.” He folded his book closed, setting it on the table as a gesture to continue our conversation. I snuck a look into his backpack, which lay opened on the floor. The cover of The Joy of Sex was one you never forget, and there it was, resting among other books in his bag.
“Don’t let me interrupt you—” I began.
He waved his hand dismissively after briefly pointing toward the book in his hand. “The book isn’t for school.”
I glanced at the title: Computer Programming.
“I figured that since I don’t know what I want to do after I graduate, learning this stuff would be a good start no matter what I choose.” He smoothed his lips together and rubbed his palms on his thighs. Moving like melting butter in a frying pan, he glided from one position to the next. In my daze of wondering what that tongue would feel like against my private parts, I bit my bottom lip and stared straight through him, allowing my fantasy to get the better of me.
The buzz of the air conditioner above our heads kept me in a four-second trance. But in those four seconds, my thoughts traveled to unimaginable places—where not only did he have three fingers buried inside me, but I could actually feel his nose on my clit when he insisted I ‘fuck his face.’ The dream that had been haunting me for the past two days crashed into the forefront of my mind. His lips, that tongue, the things he could do to me. And he was safe: innocent like me. Not like men my age who had e
xperience—more experience than me. I’d only had sex with three men my entire life, and it’d been years…
Wait! What the hell am I saying? This is an eighteen-year-old boy sitting in front of me! This whole need to fornicate is really messing with my morals! And I’ve said the word ‘fuck’ twice in the past two days! I need to get out of here at the first oppor—
“Are you ready for the graduation ceremony?” he asked, after the uncomfortable silence lapsed.
“Yes, er… I mean, totes magotes!” I choked out awkwardly.
Chuckling, he whispered, “Christine…” and stretched his hand across the table. His fingers touched mine and sent a wave a tingles down to my toes. “…Just be yourself.”
I nodded, and after I cleared my throat, I said, “Did you get that tan at the beach yesterd—” I cut myself off, closing my eyes briefly in embarrassment. Could I make it any more obvious that I’m checking him out?
He chewed the inside of his cheek momentarily before his reply. “Yeah,” he said, smiling. “And I work for my uncle on weekends. Landscaping.” He swept his hair from his brow and wiped his palms on his jeans. His jeans. They were distressed, sitting down low on his hips. One knee bent his leg under his chair, and the other leg stretched out toward me. Watching him, my eyes inched upward, toward his groin, where his hand now rested. Strong hands, tan, slightly dirty—
“Ms. Cole?
“Huh?”
He laughed. “My face is up here.” He gestured to his eyes. “And I asked you a question.”
“I’m sorry. My mind must be somewhere else right now.”
“Yeah. I’ll bet.” Shaking his head, he scratched his hair backward again, sending a whiff of his deodorant my direction. As if my senses weren’t on high alert with this boy already, now I had the scent of crisp, clean man and freshly cut grass making my head swirl with anticipation.
Feeling a bit ashamed, I swung my head downward and scratched the side of my neck. I looked toward the window as a safe haven of escape.
“Are you playing hard to get, or are you afraid of something?” he asked.
He’s reading me like a fucking book.
Feeling the slickness glide up as I crossed my legs, I closed my eyes tight. The desire was bubbling over, sending waves of euphoria from my knees to my lips. It felt so right, and it made me feel sick. This boy was probably in the same situation as me: a little lost, a little scared, and sick of fighting the primal urge that makes us human. And no matter how much my body was reacting to his words, his scent, his appeal, and a pair of the sexiest lips I’d ever laid eyes on, the simple fact still remained: I was too old, and he was too young.
A lump rose to the back of my throat, and as I opened my eyes, I forced my reply. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But even I didn’t hear the conviction in my own words.
He bit his bottom lip and leaned toward me. “I’m guessing it’s the latter of the two. You’re afraid of stealing my innocence, aren’t you?”
“I should go.” I tried to stand, but he grabbed my hand from across the table. “What?” I snapped. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, you don’t know anything about me,” I added breathlessly.
“I know that you sing Tori Amos songs when you think no one’s listening. I know that you tug at your lip—like you’re doing right now—when you’re nervous. You use those disposable razors; the ones you can buy in packs of ten. And you use strawberry lotion after you take a bath. Fucking hypnotic, strangling, consuming, strawberry lotion.”
My mouth hung open and my mind cluttered with thoughts. He’s eighteen, for crying out loud! How does he know what to say? Oh god. Those rough fingers, and that messy hair. No! It’s just wrong! His eyes searched mine as his pupils dilated. Briefly, they flickered down to my lips as I saw his eyelashes sweep over his cheeks. He looked back up again and visibly swallowed. The moment was closing in on the both of us. Something was going to happen, and it was my responsibility to stop it.
“I can see it in your eyes,” he whispered, tilting his head to one side and showing me just how easily he had me pegged. “It’s simple, Ms. Cole. We crave the things that are forbidden.” Adjusting his position on the seat, he shifted his legs and leaned into me. “There’s a little part of all of us that wants what we can’t have. No matter how right it feels, there are a million things running through our heads that tell us it’s wrong—that it’s wrong to want it.” He slid back in his seat, leaning away from me now. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was squirming. “It all depends on what part of you is gonna win—your mind or your body. Which one is stronger?” He smirked, slammed back the last sip of his coffee, and stood.
After he grabbed his book from the tabletop and tucked it into his backpack, he leaned down and rubbed his nose against my ear. Breathing a hot breath, he added, “I’ll be patient.”
And just like the night in my car, he was gone faster than I could retort.
Virgin, my ass.
Chapter Seven
I didn’t know when my sparkling new spatula was going to arrive that next morning, but I paced around my house, curious as to how this was all going to play out. What was I supposed to wear? What was I supposed to say? Hey, Mr. Delivery Man. Wanna take off your pants? Or Hi there. You up for some fun? No matter how I planned it in my head, the words weren’t flowing naturally. I had to tap into some sort of smutty side of my subconscious, but it’d been so long since I’d attempted to seduce a man that the part of my brain that was responsible for such things was misfiring.
Perhaps if I answered the door naked, he’d just take that as a clue? Oh, god! What if it’s a different guy today? Or a female!
I heard a door slide shut and the crunching of footsteps up my driveway. Hurriedly, I stripped down naked—for lack of having any other last-minute bright ideas. Running toward my front door, I passed the hook that held my cooking apron. The words A Spoonful of Sugar and Mary Poppins’ face caught my glance, and I slipped it over my head with my heart racing. Just as I was tying it around my waist, I opened the door in a rush, and the regular delivery man was standing with a small brown box in his hands.
He stood about six feet, with a receding hair line. His nose was slightly crooked and his brown shorts hung loosely over his lanky legs. My guess was he was around forty, give or take. One eyebrow shot up when he got a better look at me, and I quickly leaned against the frame of the door, exposing the side of my breast. Involuntarily, my arms swung up over my head as I arched my back and slid up and down, moaning.
Yes, it sounds just as awkward as it looked.
After a brief moment, the brown-clad gentleman sucked air through his teeth, using his tongue as a toothpick. He shrugged. “All right. But let’s make it quick.” He pushed passed me and walked into my living room. Setting the box down on my coffee table, he then unbuttoned his shorts and pulled them down to his ankles along with his white underwear. “Here?”
That’s it? Oh, god! Does he do this often?
I closed the front door and looked around the room, as if the answers I was searching for would suddenly appear. But they didn’t. “Oh, uh…sure. Here works fine.”
He began tugging on his—oh god! Poor soul. This man had nothing to show for from the waist down. I slouched, defeated, and walked toward him. Well, I suppose it’s been almost a decade since I’ve done this—makes sense to start small.
I got down to my knees and attempted to remove the soured look from my face, but only managed to lift one corner of my mouth into a smile. Slowly, my tongue darted out, as it made contact with his tip, and he groaned.
“Oh, yeah,” he muttered, and ran his hand through my hair. He bent over slightly as I sat back on my heels. One of his hands reached down underneath my apron, rubbing my breast, while his other managed to assist with his erection.
Okay, now I have a little more to work with. I fumbled with his penis, trying to grab hold of it and lick it at the same time. But it didn’t seem to be work
ing out too well.
He forcefully grabbed the back of my head, pulling at my hair while his other hand gripped his semi-erect cock. Slapping it against my face, while I tried not to flinch, he spoke softly, “Yeah, Chupa. You like that? You like it like that?” and followed it up with a strange purring sound.
Chupa?
I opened my mouth while he continued thwacking it against my cheek and occasionally grazing the end of my tongue, gaining lubrication.
“Yes, Chupa. My beautiful Chupa. Just like that.”
What. The. Fuck? Is this what men do these days? Have I really been out of practice for so long that I’ve missed an entire revolution of sexual practices? What does Chupa mean?
Fully erect now, he shoved his dick in my mouth as I attempted to sheath my teeth with my lips. With both hands on the side of my head, he began thrusting himself in and out, keeping my head as still as possible.
"That's it, my little chupacabra. Tuck in those teeth, like a good chupa."
I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or simply gag.
His pace increased and I braced myself by grabbing hold of one of his legs—otherwise he was going to fuck my head so hard, he’d knock me down. And just as he was coming, his bitter spray hit my gag reflex and I dry heaved repeatedly, trying my best to hold the contents of my stomach down.
“Hmph,” he mumbled and pulled up his pants. After shivering momentarily, he headed for my door. Just before walking out, he paused without turning around. “Thanks for using Fast Ship.”
I wiped my chin and rolled my eyes. And after locking the front door behind him, I made a note to research Mexican folklore on my to-do list.
That was the strangest, most awkward, and dumbest sexual experience I’ve ever had.
Chapter Eight
“I just don’t think it was the best idea,” I shouted a whisper into the phone.
“What do you mean? What happened?” asked Mona.
“It was a disaster, Moan.” I buried my face in my arm, slouching onto the kitchen island.
Forbidden Fruit Vol 2 Page 44
