by Julie Solano
“Pistol, you and I both know that this is not what you meant when you were reassuring my dad that I was in good hands.”
“Oh, loosen up and have some fun for once. We’ve been dating for like three months and you haven’t even let me go past second base. Am I so unattractive to you that you don’t want me to touch you? Cuz I know there’s plenty of girls who would jump at the chance to have me as their date . . . and I’m sure they’d be just fine with a little snuggling.”
At his harsh words, I feel myself start to stiffen and pull back a little. Kaitlyn, be nice. You know you’ve missed him. Give him a chance. Besides, you spent all this time getting ready. You actually look hot for once. This is going to be a great night. I try to convince myself not to walk away right there. When I tune back into what he’s saying, I hear Pistol continue on.
“I mean, doesn’t it make you feel kind of weird that I’ve done more with girls I’m not even dating than I have with you?” He wraps his hands around my shoulders and holds me out at arms length, grimacing down at me like he’s trying to solve a complex calculus problem. “I thought things would be different tonight being that I’m still taking you to the dance . . . even after what your brother and his sidekick did to me the other night.” He shakes his head looking bewildered, “I thought you’d at least try to make this a little fun for me. Don’t you want me to have a good time Babydoll? Come on . . . you owe me that much . . . let’s get to it.”
His approach with me right now has me off balance, and I’m ready to turn an about-face and high tail it back to my house. I can’t believe he’s trying to guilt me into acting like one of the Cha Cha girls. I don’t even know how to respond to him at this point. Good grief, this guy can turn from romantic to sleaze bag in five seconds flat. Despite his handsome appearance, I’m completely turned off by his presumptuous attitude and incessant groping. What happened to hand holding and sweet kisses on the forehead? I guess I should’ve stuck with a nun dress.
Despite my hesitation, I get into the truck with Pistol and we head to the dance. Once again, I find myself combatting his fondling hand. He’s managed to slip it around my left leg, and has worked his way up to the point where I am getting way too uncomfortable. I’m just not feeling it with him after the disrespectful scene on my front porch. His fondling is getting under my skin, so I cross my legs and turn them toward the door.
His tongue clicks with frustration, and I try to distract him by turning up the radio and shouting, “I love this song.” Really Don’t Care by Demi Lovato is blasting through the speakers, and to be honest, I really don’t care what song it is, as long as it gives me a reason to bounce around and fend off his attack. I begin to snap my fingers and flail my arms down low by the stick shift to block his ever-growing tentacles from making their way back to my leg.
“What are you doing, Kaitlyn? You’re bouncing around like a yo-yo.”
“You told me to loosen up Pistol,” I laugh. “ . . . just trying to do what you said.” I plaster on a fake smile and continue snapping my fingers and springing up and down in the seat.
After a few minutes, we come to an abrupt stop in the gym parking lot. The jolt forces me to slam my hands to the dashboard and stop my dancing.
“We’re here,” he mumbles.
I don’t acknowledge the hard landing, or the fact that I almost flew through the windshield. All I want to do is get out of this car and get a little distance between those hands and me. “Cool,” I shout, hopping down from the truck and shutting the door too quickly for him to make another move. I practically run up the stairs, letting Pistol lag behind a few steps. My shoe slips off and I have to pause for a minute to put it back on when I hear the patter of his boots rush up behind me. As I stand up, he grabs my waist and spins me into him.
“So, Cinderella, are you going in there without me or something? You didn’t even wait for me to lock the truck.” A look of defeat spreads across his face, “Look Kaitlyn, if you don’t want to be here with me, I can take you home right now,” he whines, then pauses with a look of contemplation. “Look, I’m sorry I came on too strong. I just thought with the way you dressed tonight, you were open to a little more . . . action.”
Guilt overcomes me. I guess I did go out of my way to try to shatter the nun image tonight. It’s my fault he wants to touch what he can almost see. I mean, this thin layer of fabric stretched around me is pretty revealing. Not to mention, I am his girlfriend. I at least owe him some physical contact. I know we’re in an awkward place in our relationship right now, and normally I’d be fighting my hormones to stay in the “Good Girl Zone,” but tonight it’s just not there.
Off in the distance, I hear the laughter of Chelsea’s friend, Peyton. When I shoot a quick, side glance in that direction, I can see a group of girls surrounding her. Among them is CJ in all her hog-tying glory. She’s standing next to her date, Ty. Her long, silky hair falls down to her elbows. She shakes it back and forth, whipping it out of her eyes and off her shoulders. I recognize her shimmery, silver dress from the rack of skimpy dresses at the boutique. Her matching stilettos give her height over the other girls in the crowd, especially Chelsea, who’s slumped over on crutches, as a result of last night’s cheerleading fiasco.
I don’t know why, but jealousy suddenly overtakes me. There’s no way I want this cowgirl to sink her spurs into my boyfriend anymore than she already has. Instantly, I grab Pistol’s hand. “Sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I’m really excited to be here with you tonight.” I plant a huge kiss on his plump, pink lips, and draw it out long enough for Chelsea’s group to catch the whole show. I can hear the clicking of their high heels getting louder as they move in our direction. The clicking takes a momentary pause, then continues on toward the gym. Pistol doesn’t even notice them walk by. Mission accomplished.
After a couple minutes, we stop to come up for air. Though I don’t feel the intense electricity that once rocked every nerve ending at his touch, his kisses are pleasant, and I still find him incredibly attractive. We pull away and Pistol shakes his head back and forth, shooting me his crooked grin, “Whew, now that’s what I’m talking about, Babydoll. I think we’re finally on the same page with where we want this night to go.” He holds me out, both arms extended, looking me up and down. He releases the caged breath he’s been holding, interlacing it with the words, “You are so hot.” He reaches to the back of my head and runs his fingers through my hair, giving it a little grasp, and pulling me into his chest. Pistol leans in with another passionate lip lock that fills my core with heat and leaves me gasping for air, “ . . . and let that kiss remind you that you’re all mine. Now that you know who you belong to, we can go inside.” He takes possession of my hand and we enter the dance.
The music is blasting, and people scatter among the room checking out the decorations. Someone has obviously gone to a lot of trouble to bring the feel of the stadium inside. The gym floor is decorated in green AstroTurf and lined out like a football field, with towering balloon goal posts adorning the North and South ends. Red, Gold, and Black stars dangle from the ceiling. Huge blow up footballs are interspersed among the stars, suspended on invisible lines. The East and West sides of the gym are lined with benches that have been brought in from the field. Large Gatorade coolers sit on the food table, and football helmets are overturned, holding chips and other snacks. Off in the corner sits a photo booth, which is getting its fair share of attention. Lights whip around and splatter against the walls as the disco ball shoots their reflections in every direction.
The music is loud, which doesn’t make conversation easy. That doesn’t seem to be a problem, since Pistol isn’t talking much anyway. He’s scanning the room checking out the surroundings as he tugs on my hand, pulling us through the crowd. As we make our way to the other side of the gym, a bit of nervous energy has overtaken me. It seems as though Pistol has high expectations of me tonight; expectations beyond what I can deliver. On top of that, I know that I’m not all that fun as a da
nce date. Unlike the majority of my classmates, grinding isn’t my thing, so I try to dodge the dance floor whenever fast songs play. Luckily, a slow song comes on first. As the lights dim and music slows, Pistol pulls me into the middle of the floor. He holds me so close I can barely move my legs. I struggle to find a place to set my feet. I try to create a little distance so I can maintain my balance, but he clings tighter. “Just work with me here, Babydoll. Relax. I want you to feel what you do to me. I’ll do the work.” I try to loosen up, just enough that I don’t trip and fall.
Again, I feel his hand creeping up the back of my leg. My face flushes with embarrassment as I feel the bottom of my dress slide up. I really don’t want to upset Pistol, so I hope that the protective cluster of people surrounding us blocks the view of his hand moving way too high up the back of my thigh. As we sway back and forth, I scan the gym to see if any of my friends are here yet. Please be here Jenna. I think to myself, hoping like heck she will come to my rescue. This is way too close. It’s making me feel slutty and I don’t like it one bit. As I scan the crowd, I see the Cha Cha girls over by the Gatorade. Even in the dimly lit gym, the reflection of the disco ball illuminates their blistered faces. I’m not sure how many girls are afflicted, but by the looks of them rubbing up and down on the goal posts, I know there’s at least fifteen. They’re doing their best to mock strippers on a pole, but I know the true story. Those girls are scratching a nasty itch.
“Crap,” I jump as Jenna runs up behind me and pokes my sides.
“Gotcha!” she laughs. “So, are you having fun yet?”
I give her the “My Best Friend Already Knows the Answer to That” look.
“Ahhh. Ok.” She turns toward my boyfriend smiling, “Hey Pistol. I hear they spiked the Gatorade on the far side of the gym. Would you mind investigating to see if that’s just a rumor?” she flicks her head in the direction of the farthest cooler where the Cha Cha’s are standing.
“Seriously?” he looks excited. “Sure, I’d be happy to go check them . . . I mean . . . IT out.” He looks at me asking, “Are you okay here for a minute, Babydoll? I’m going to see if I can hook us up with a drink.”
I smile at him and give him a nod of approval, “I’ll be here with Jenna.”
He leans in, giving me a soft kiss on the top of my head and meanders across the room.
“Okay Kaitlyn, what’s going on?” Jenna asks after Pistol heads off toward the crowded cooler.
“Okay, I know he’s really hot, and I’m incredibly attracted to him, but I can’t handle him tonight, Jenna. He’s expecting me to take our physical relationship to the next level, but I can’t go there with him. Letting him kiss and hold me the way he has been tonight is sending him the wrong message, and I don’t know how to draw that line without pushing him away. Not to mention, I don’t want to upset him. He’s my boyfriend and date, and I owe him a good time . . . especially after the boys beat the heck out of him the other night; but gosh darn it, it’s like fending off an octopus. His hands are all over me, pulling up my dress, holding me so tight I can’t even breathe. I’ve only been here for twenty minutes, and I’m already exhausted.” I let out a deep sigh, and try to catch my breath while I still have a chance.
Jenna crinkles her face, the way she does when she’s thinking really hard. “Well, first of all, you don’t owe him anything. However . . .” she looks over toward Pistol, “if you’re done with him, I can see someone who’s willing to take on the challenge.” She points in the direction of the Gatorade cooler by the far door.
I look over to see that Pistol has made his way over to the girls. He’s definitely locked eyes with CJ who is giggling mercilessly, and holding him on the shoulder. Seeing CJ with her hand on my boyfriend’s shoulder ignites some conflicting feelings. I might be confused about putting my own hands all over him, but rage bursts through me when I see another girl trying to steal my guy.
Heat blanches my face as I watch the interaction between CJ and my boyfriend. They look awfully comfortable together, so I can tell they’ve been this close before. A surge of power shoots down my arms and I reflexively ball my hands into fists at my side. I feel like Popeye after swallowing a can of spinach. I gaze toward them anxiously, wondering how to react. There is obvious chemistry between my boyfriend and his roping partner, and it looks as though she’s willing to give him what I am not. However, I resist the urge to stalk over there and peel her hand from his shoulder. My eyes are monitoring the scene unfolding by the cooler when I peer to the right and catch a glimpse of Brody walking toward the group. He’s accompanied by one dangling Chelsea Cat, who appears to have fettered herself to my best friend.
I momentarily shift focus from Pistol and CJ to Brody. At first glance, my stomach does a little flip, and I feel a burst of adrenaline launch into my limbs. I’m surprised at the intensity of my body’s reaction to Brody. He looks stunning, dressed in slacks, a light button down shirt, and slender tie. He’s incredibly handsome and classy looking, but appears mis-matched holding onto Rashy-Chelsea in her uber-revealing, trashy, red, toddler dress. Though my handsome cowboy stands right next to him, I’m drawn to Brody, and feel a tinge of jealousy that I’m not the one on his arm. I struggle to understand why I have completely dismissed Pistol and CJ, and my mind and body are absolutely entranced by my best friend. Though I’ve tried to beat it away, my attraction to Brody has gotten stronger since the bridge . . . even if I have been beyond angry at him for accepting Chelsea’s invitation to this dance.
I see Pistol do a sudden duck and turn out of CJ’s hold as Brody approaches with Chelsea on his arm. I can see Brody address him, but I don’t see Pistol respond. He turns back toward the cooler and begins to fill two cups. Brody’s eyes follow Pistol as he comes back toward Jenna and me.
“Here you go, Babydoll. Sorry it took a while, the line was really long.” I take the cup from Pistol, disregarding his little fib about the line, and look beyond him to meet Brody’s distant gaze. I’ve watched him track Pistol’s movement up until the moment he reaches me. Once he is at my side, Brody’s eyes drift from Pistol and lock on mine. He gives a tiny smile and nod, tipping his cup in my direction. Pistol takes a drink from his cup, releasing a smacking sound. “Well, no need to worry about spiked punch, this stuff is pure sugar water,” Pistol sighs with disappointment.
I’m becoming overheated with emotion, and I’m relieved to hear that the punch is safe to drink. As I take my first sip, Pop, Lock, and Drop It by Huey begins to blare through the speakers. A flurry of people fly out to the dance floor, including Jenna, who has found her way to Ty. The gym is inundated with grinding teens. I stop looking at the faces of my rubbing, pulsing, dangling classmates, and examine for a moment the dresses; the dresses that Jenna and I had so mischievously rubbed with our brilliant revenge. I’m ecstatic to observe that it’s The Cat Club who are mostly wearing the infected attire. As I watch Kiersten grind up and down on Blake with unfathomable flexibility, all I can think is, Oops, that’s gonna get his face. Next I turn to see Kayla with her legs wrapped around Jesse and I don’t even want to think of where he’s going to end up with the itch.
Just as I watch Melissa slide down the speaker onto Justin’s shoulders, I’m interrupted by Pistol, “Ahem,” he fake coughs. “Come on Babydoll, I said I wanted to dance.” Pistol tugs on my hand trying to pull me out to the floor.
“Let’s catch the next slow dance, Dimples. I’m really not into the grinding thing.” I say as sweetly as possible, wrapping my arms around him and sending him my cute puppy dog smile.
“Kaitlyn, come on. I came all the way over here. Just grind with me.” He looks down at me with imploring eyes. “You have on the perfect dress for it.” He slides his hands down, grabbing the back of my tight little, black dress and snaps it back at my thigh. “It will be fun.” Pistol begs, tugging at me once again.
I’m feeling a little stressed out. I don’t want to upset Pistol, but I’ve made it clear from day one that I’m not a marinade. I don’t
rub myself all over guys, especially not in public. I just wish he’d stop pressuring me. He clicks his tongue, “You’re boring as hell at dances. This is stupid,” he groans, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. The guilt of not grinding with him strikes me hard when I watch him pinch the bridge of his nose and suck in a deep breath.
I can’t take it anymore. I want him to have a good time. “Pistol, if it means that much to you to grind, go ahead. I’ll be here finishing my drink.”
“Really?” Pistol opens his eyes wide, and looks down at me with surprise.
With resolve in my voice, I whisper, “Really.”
A smile spreads across his face when he chuckles, “I’ll be back in a bit.”
Not even three seconds have elapsed from the time I give him permission to the time I watch him saunter across the room to Chelsea, Peyton, and gang. He leans over to CJ putting his face right up against her ear. She nods; he grabs her hand, and pulls her out to the dance floor.
Holy Hell! I can’t believe my eyes. He’s out in the middle of the floor grinding with CJ right in front of me. Her dress is pulled up above her thigh, and I’m pretty sure I just saw him spank her. She’s riding his leg like he’s a flippin’ saddle bronc, bucking, grinding, and sliding all over him. Her hands are holding onto his knee like a bareback rigging, and she’s throwing her head back into his chest giggling. When I told him he could grind if he wanted, I didn’t think he’d really take me up on it. And I sure as heck didn’t think he would go straight to CJ.
Rage overtakes my mind. I set my drink on the table and I bolt like lightning across the dance floor, straight to the feet of the securely tethered “roping team.” With everything in me, I push CJ off of Pistol, roaring, “I believe you’re riding my cowboy.” CJ stands gaping at me in shock as I raise my eyebrows and say, “You’re eight seconds are up . . . now, buck off.”
With the most exaggerated movement I can gather, I throw my leg over Pistol’s, mounting him with an execution that even outshines CJ’s. I start grinding up and down on his leg. “Is this what you want, Pistol?” I boom, throwing a glance over my right shoulder. I watch him as his face brightens. He thrusts against me and gropes at my hips, butt, and chest until I am disgusted with myself. After a full minute of grinding, I shake him off and run to the girls’ bathroom, where I hide in shame. I don’t even look back to see his reaction to me leaving. I cannot believe I stooped low enough to push a girl and get in her face, and I’m completely embarrassed that I had a full audience watching my entire performance. As I hide in the bathroom stall, a tear slips out and rolls down my cheek. I just made an ass of myself, and I ruined everything with Pistol. I never want to leave this bathroom again. Ever.
