Lost Cause

by Callie Sparks

  Sex parties?

  Yeah.

  And you partook of them, even though you were underage.

  Yes, under commune rules, you were an adult at twelve.

  You said there was no one else your age there?

  No. Peony was the next oldest, and she was six years old when I first got there. And there was Jason, who was eighteen when I got there, so five years older than me. He was pretty much my best friend there. Also kind of a mentor.

  Did you do regular best friend things?

  Yeah. We played cards, tossed around a ball every once in a while. He was competitive, and so that kind of rubbed off on me.

  With . . . ?

  You know, getting work and chores done. Also, during the parties, there’d be a contest. How many women we could get off in a night. I’d always win, which killed him.

  You would?

  Yeah. He wasn’t jealous, though. He just told me I had a gift. Some fucking gift. I told him he could have it. As a kid I’d aspired to be an engineer. Or an artist—I wanted to make things. I didn’t want that to be my calling in life, because I still had a faint hope of getting out, and if that was my calling, it meant I belonged there.

  That scared you.

  More than anything.

  Did you ever tell him you wanted to leave?

  No. He, like all the rest, was there because he wanted to be. He lived for pleasure and wouldn’t understand not wanting that lifestyle. Looking back, they were all sick fucks. I’d still consider him the closest thing to a friend. He looked after me. Because of my “gift”, I was highly sought after. If a woman wanted me to pay her a visit and I wasn’t up to it, he’d make excuses for me.

  Did you have sex with Jason?

  Sex was something we just did. Like I said, filling a hole.

  So that’s a yes.

  . . . Yeah, if he initiated it. The problem was, the more I tried to fill that hole, the deeper it got.

  #

  The next day, I wake up, feeling that gnawing desire. It’s a familiar feeling, but it’s never been this intense. I get ready for my shift at the Sticky Toad, all the while thinking of him. When I pull into the parking lot, I laugh because his bicycle is still there. It wasn’t even locked up, and nobody took it. I pick up my phone and take a picture, then text it to him with a caption, Guess what?

  He comes back a few moments later, showing me he’s already gotten the hang of texting. Told you nobody wants that POS.

  Then: How’d you sleep?

  I smile and text: It would’ve been better with you there.

  He can interpret that any way he likes. It’s not like we’ve never slept together. We’d camped out in the treehouse during quite a few of the hottest summer nights. My parents let me do it because my room was stifling in the summers, and the air up in the treehouse was cooler. I’d tell him on the walkie-talkie, and Noah was sometimes able to escape out and join me. At first, we’d both sleep like crap because we were so busy talking, but eventually we’d get cold and we’d move closer together. In the morning we’d steal inside before anyone woke up.

  When he texts me I need to see you again, I know exactly how he’s interpreting it.

  And that makes me very happy.

  Then I look up at the Sticky Toad and groan. I can already smell the bacon grease drifting out of the screen door out back. My stomach rolls. Have to work. 

  Then I’m bringing you lunch.

  I can’t say no to that. I spend the entire time counting down the minutes until my shift ends. It’s unusually busy, too, because there’s some craft beer festival setting up along the main street, so a bunch of vendors come in to get early breakfast before the event begins. I barely have time to look out the windows, but when I do, all I see are crowds of people. I don’t even have a chance to text Noah to let him know I’m not sure if he’ll find a parking space.

  But when I pull off my apron and step outside, he’s standing next to his bicycle and grinning. “Hi, you,” I say to him as I approach. I get a little misty-eyed when I see he’s brought a picnic basket. Only Noah would be that thoughtful.

  He holds up his driver’s license. “Ta-da,” he says. “I’m official. One of your dad’s friends took me. I’m like, a real adult, now.”

  “Don’t get too excited. This real adult stuff is overrated,” I tell him.

  We walk together toward the lot, where he’s parked. He throws the bike in the truck bed and points toward the main drag, where the majority of the crowds are concentrated. “What’s going on here?”

  “Beer festival. If you’re in the mood to get wasted.”

  He shakes his head, then takes my hand and leads me along the canal. We meander along the rail trail, leaving Lambertville behind, until we get to a grassy spot between the river and the canal. He reaches into the basket and pulls out a blanket. “’Sokay?”

  I nod dumbly. He’s asking me? Gabe’s idea of a romantic date was getting me drunk so I could give him a blow job while he drove 100 down Route 95 in his BMW. Something I’m embarrassed to admit that I actually agreed to, because it sounded rebellious and exciting. Now, it just seems so . . . stupid.

  We sit down, side-by-side, and it’s so perfect because the sun is shining and the insects are buzzing around us and the river is as bright as a mirror. He pulls out sandwiches, chips, bottles of Kiwi Strawberry Snapple. I have to laugh because I lived on that stuff when I was a kid. Now, it’s so sugary that I prefer unsweetened stuff. But wow, he remembered. I shouldn’t be surprised; he always had the most excellent memory. So I pop off the cap and take a sip. “This is so nice of you,” I say.

  After lunch, he reaches into the basked and pulls out a small paper bag, which he offers to me. I reach inside and pull out a bullseye caramel.

  And that’s enough to totally melt me.

  I take him by surprise by tackling him, rolling him onto his back and kissing him. He’s far sweeter than anything on this blanket, and meanwhile, I smell like bacon grease. When I realize that, I try to back away. “I’m sorry, I smell like bacon.”

  But he holds tight to my waist, his fingers dancing at the hem of my shirt. “So that’s why I want to devour you.”

  “Then do it,” I challenge.

  “Little Ari-Bari. You are not so innocent anymore.” He lifts his head from the blanket and his open mouth makes contact with my throat. His tongue shapes circles on my skin. I gasp.

  “Trust me, I’m far from all-knowing when it comes to this,” I murmur. “I mean, that . . . whatever you’re doing there. Wow.”

  He laughs into my skin.

  “Less laugher. More tongue,” I scold.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he responds, and oh, my God, whatever he’s doing, I can feel it down to my toenails. It’s everywhere, hitting every nerve ending in my body and making them all tingle in unison.

  I tilt my head back to give him better access just as a family cycles by on the bike path. I tense. He notices it immediately because he stops and straightens, then helps me up to sitting. His tongue leaving my skin is like a big hole opening up inside me. I can’t help but pout.

  I can see there’s something on his mind, something he’s not sure he should discuss. He rubs the back of his head and says, very innocently, “So, Gabe wasn’t . . . you and Gabe never . . .”

  “He was a terrible lover, if that’s what you’re asking,” I tell him. “I’m sure that comes as no surprise to you.”

  He looks out across the river and shrugs.

  “But, part of that might’ve just been me,” I start, embarrassed, pulling up a blade of grass and shredding it between my fingers.

  He shakes his head. “Not possible.”

  “Well, um. No, it’s possible. I’ve never been with anyone else. And,” I pause. Am I really going to admit this? I take a deep breath and let it out. “And I don’t think I can . . . I’m not capable of . . . uh . . . you know.”

  I wait for him to laugh, or look shocked, or something. But his demeanor doesn’t chan
ge. He’s still leaning back on his elbows, looking at the river. “You’re telling me you’ve never come?”

  I nod.

  “Not even . . . you’ve never tried to . . . yourself?”

  I shake my head fervently. “Oh, that would be . . . I mean. Pointless. Sort of? I mean, I totally get by, without it. It’s not like I think I’m missing anything.”

  Oh my God. Stop babbling already, Ari.

  “Not pointless,” he says softly. “You don’t know the power of the dark side.”

  I shrug. “Maybe.”

  Then he rolls over onto his side and grins at me. “All right. Twist my arm. I’ll help you see what you’ve been missing.”

  I burst out laughing. “What! No, no, no thank you,” I say, smoothing out the fringe on my pink denim skirt. “I mean, I love you to death, Noah. But we only just found each other again, and I’m not ready to have sex with you.”

  He grabs my wrist and pins me to the blanket. “Who said anything about having sex?”

  He lets me up so that I can roll on top of him and straddle him. I can feel him, hard, between my legs, which almost makes me reconsider the sex thing. Holy cow, what am I thinking? This is Noah. I need to get my mind out of the gutter. “Um. You mean, you weren’t?’

  He smiles slyly and shakes his head slowly, so I have to swat him. He takes my wrists again to stop me from doing it. Then he kisses me hard, and oh, that magic tongue of his makes me forget everything I thought I knew.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this with you,” he groans into my skin. “If this is a dream, don’t wake me.”

  His hands are under my tank-top now. I feel them trailing down my spine to the small of my back, making the bare skin there tingle and flutter like a thousand little butterfly wings. How did he get such skilled hands, when he used to be so awkward and clumsy? His fingers flirt with the fabric there, daring to reach under the waistband of my skirt. I want his hands there, cupping my ass. I want them there and everywhere, but we’re in broad daylight with people jogging by on the trail. He reaches his hands up, gathers my hair out of my face and lets it fall against my shoulder, then we just stare into each other’s eyes for what could be an eternity. Those eyes can make me believe anything. I don’t want anything else.

  Well, except privacy.

  “Okay,” I murmur.

  He pulls back and looks into my eyes. “Okay what?”

  “Show me what I’ve been missing.”

  “You’re . . . serious?” He laughs and looks around. “What, here?”

  I sit up, and he’s scanning around, considering it.

  Finally he jumps to his feet and reaches for me, pulling me up and into his arms. “Are you sure?”

  I nod, chewing on my lip. “But let’s do it quickly, before I lose my nerve.”

  “That’s the problem. I want to take my time with you,” he says. He takes a deep breath, like he’s psyching himself up. “Wow. But okay. Challenge accepted.”

  He takes my hand and leads me down the embankment, into a narrow line of trees between the canal and river. I nearly slip in my worn-soled flip-flops, but he’s never far away; when we get to the trees, he whirls me and backs me up against a tree, looks around, and satisfied, presses his open mouth against my neck. I throw my head back against the tree’s trunk, breathless. We may be in the shade now, but my temperature is a thousand degrees hotter.

  “Your skin tastes like heaven,” he groans. I’m sweating now, and his t-shirt is damp with sweat, too. I tentatively flick my tongue against his ear, and it’s that salty sweet taste that could be my diet for the rest of my days.

  He looks into my eyes, then, with his fingers, brushes them across my forehead. I realize I have my brow knitted in worry, and tell myself to relax. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he tells me softly. “Ever.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t have to think,” he whispers, his voice hoarse in my ear. “Relax, and let me take care of everything.”

  I nod and close my eyes as his fingers trail down my side, past my hips, and to my bare thigh, and those worried feelings melt away. All there is is this overwhelming sense of need as his fingers mingle with the frayed edge of my denim skirt. Then he picks it up, easing it up just slightly over my hips. He gently touches me there, through the thick fabric, and all the while his tongue is making its way down neck, to my collarbone.

  Oh, Lord. I know this isn’t going to work, no matter what he has up his sleeve, but it’ll be fun trying.

  His hand trails down to the fringe, lifting the hem up ever so-slightly, and the tips of his fingers graze the front of my lace panties. “This okay?” he murmurs.

  I know if I speak actual words will not come out, so I just let out an Mmm of approval.

  “Good.” His teeth find the strap of my tank top and drag it expertly off my shoulder, and all the while his warm breath on my skin is enough to drive me wild. I can’t concentrate on everything that’s happening, because there’s too much. His tongue working its divine magic on my collarbone, his hand softly stroking me through my panties.

  I shift my stance, parting my legs more to allow him better access. I want—no, I need him to touch me more. He gets the hint. He hooks up the elastic band and his finger slips inside, grazing the tender skin like a warm breath.

  I let out a moan I didn’t know I possessed.

  “You are so beautiful,” he says to into my skin. “And so wet, Ari. You’re going to come. Are you ready?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think . . .”

  “No thinking,” he scolds, his finger working in small, tantalizing circles. His voice is assured and so fucking sexy. “But it doesn’t matter. Think all you want that this isn’t going to work. You’re going to come.”

  I buck my hips against him as his knuckle makes contact with a sensitive spot, and I squirm as an intense ripple of pleasure shoots through my body.

  “Oh, God,” escapes my mouth. What if he’s right?

  This is where Gabe never cared much. I’m not sure he knew the what’s and the where’s—oh, he’s had ample opportunity to learn, but he had other priorities. And I did, too—we just wanted to get things done, as quickly as we could. Noah always occurred to me as the little boy, fumbling through life. But here he’s not fumbling. He spreads his fingers, making me part my legs more, and says, very authoritatively, “I’m going to rub your clit now. Okay?”

  I think I’m about to lose it. The anticipation is too much. “Do it,” I beg.

  There isn’t a moment of indecision, and he doesn’t need to fish around. He hits the mark with his thumb as instantly as if it were his own body. Slowly, he begins to circle it there as his other fingers gently feather over my slit. I know I’m wet. I can feel the juices flowing out of me, the slickness of his hand against my skin. Sweat glistens on his skin, and I can smell that salty-sweet scent of him. His teeth are gently tugging on my earlobe, now, and I’m powerless to do anything else but thrash my upper body against the tree trunk and let these feeling build inside me.

  “Good?” he asks, dragging his mouth down my neck, tearing me in half.

  My voice is barely recognizable as my own. It’s tortured, desperate. “Fuck me,” I growl, reaching for his waistband. I need to loosen his shorts and get his cock in me, right now. When he skirts away, I grab for him frantically. “Please. I need you to fuck me now.”

  “Nope,” he says casually. Does he have any idea what he’s doing to me? “This is just for you.”

  Then he pulls me close and delves a finger deep into me as his open mouth covers mine. It’s too much. A moan escapes from somewhere deep inside me, and everything inside me is disintegrating—no, coming together. Yes, it’s all coming to a head and I’m going to explode. It starts deep in my belly and radiates outward as his fingers continue to dapple on my clit. And suddenly I’m screaming out, unleashing everything, caught up in wave after wave of pleasure. I throw myself against his sweat-soaked t-shirt, panting hard and breathing in t
hat manly Noah smell. “Oh my fucking God.”

  He laughs into my ear, nuzzling into my neck so that his stubble rubs against my shoulder. He pulls his hand from between my legs, puts his fingers in his mouth and sucks them. “Mmm. You taste so sweet, Ari-Bari. Did you know that?”

  My cheeks flood with heat even though the rest of my body feels suddenly cold. I’m covered in cold sweat, and my teeth are chattering. “No,” I say. I suppose he already knows that Gabe never tasted me, which makes me the sucker, since I’d stayed with him for so long.

  I’m shivering hard, so he wraps his arms around me. “Who knew Ari Baker would swear like a sailor when she came?”

  Suddenly, embarrassment floods in. Had I really asked him to fuck me? I look down and realize my skirt is up around my waist. I fight to try to right myself, and reluctantly, he helps. Then he says, really quiet, “Are you okay?”

  I nod, dazed, then try to climb back up the embankment to the blanket, but he grabs my hand and whirls me around. “Ari?” he says.

  I force a smile, but can’t bring myself to look him in the eyes. “It’s just . . . I guess I was missing something. But I got a little carried away.”

  He traces a finger down the side of my cheek. “You don’t have to be embarrassed around me, Ari. I don’t mind you getting carried away. I’m honored to be the one doing the carrying.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  And you never thought of leaving?

  Oh, I thought of it. I had nowhere to go. Annie told me she’d corresponded with my dad and that he hated me for what I did and never wanted to talk to me again. I felt like an incredible asshole of a son.

  You had very little contact with the outside world, is that true?

  Yeah. When I turned sixteen I started working at a gas station a mile outside of the commune, but that was in the middle of nowhere. I’d bike there and right back when my shift was over, because there was nothing in between but desert. They paid me under the table, and Annie liked it because it made “fun money” for her. She was never able to swear off the idea of having nice things so once a month or so, she and Crystal would hitch a ride into Yuma for a pedicure and shopping. At first she told me that there were modeling opportunities there, but then I realized she was just blowing money. She went through the $15,000 pretty quick. After that, she relied on my gas station money—and sometimes me selling pot to travelers at the station— to keep up her lifestyle.