“I think that’s very admirable of you.” He smiles and gives me an approving nod. “That’s one of your best qualities, Lo: your loyalty. If you care about someone, you have their back, and that’s not something that can be said about a lot of people our age. You’re a good friend—to everyone, not just to James.”
“Thanks,” I proudly reply.
“So be his friend, be proud of him and all that, but don’t try to turn him into your boyfriend. We’ve both seen that he doesn’t do particularly well in that role, and there’s no reason to try to change him when you already like him the way he is.”
It’s true. James has never been very good at playing the part of the doting boyfriend. He’s “dated” lots of girls, but that usually just means he slept with them, wanting nothing beyond sexual companionship. I’ve watched several of them try to transform him into a faithful boyfriend, but it always ends in disaster. Once, during spring break, he had sex with a random girl in his pseudo-girlfriend’s hotel room when she suddenly walked in and caught them in the act. According to legend, he told her to join in. The whole time, she thought she was a big shot for taming The James Laird, ultimate player. It was only when she saw them going at it that she realized her definition of boyfriend was a lot different from his.
“You’ve got a point,” I concede. “He’s awesome as a friend. He means the world to me, and he’s like family. I know he sucks at relationships because he can’t keep his dick in his pants, so I definitely need to drop this whole thing and focus on what’s ahead of me.”
“Exactly!” he says. “You guys are always going to be close, that’s a given with all your history together, but you can be close as friends.”
“True,” I say, smiling.
“See? Problem solved.” He chuckles and tips his glass to me before taking a sip.
We chat about school and summer plans as we chow down on our meals. Naveen’s whole family is going on a lengthy trip through Europe to celebrate his graduation and acceptance to NYU, and he’s completely psyched about it. I can’t blame him. It sounds amazing. My summer will be a lot more low-key. I’ll be here, probably working some kind of summer job to save up a little cash, then packing up and starting life anew across the country. Of course, there’s always the possibility of a visit from James once I’m all settled in, but I don’t want to think about that because it conjures up images of us cuddling in a dorm bed and me surrendering to the immense temptation of having him pressed against my body.
I feel a lot better about the situation by the time Naveen and I part ways. I need to let go of all this James stuff and focus on the potentially bright future in front of me. I assure myself that I will do just that as I get back into my car and pull out of the parking lot.
Chapter 13
James
“HOW COULD YOU?”
“You’re a fuckup; you always have been.”
“I just can’t believe you’d do something like this.”
“As far as we’re concerned, our youngest son is dead.”
I gasp for air as I jolt awake, those hurtful words still echoing in my brain. I’ve probably only slept about five hours in the past three days. Every time I close my eyes, I see my mom’s disappointed face, the vein in my dad’s forehead bulging with rage, the pattern on the kitchen floor tile blurred through my tears, the ornate metal on the screen door as I stood on the porch and felt the impact of my parents’ rejection. I’d hoped it would stop hurting by now, but that dull ache is always there in my heart. I fucked up big time, but there’s nothing I can do about it. We’re way past the point of reconciliation, and I’m trying to get used to knowing that my parents will never talk to me again.
As if that wasn’t depressing enough, I miss Lola. I miss her a lot. I didn’t feel this bad when I was with her—when I listened to her breathing after she fell asleep next to me, when she held my face in her hands and whispered comforting words to me…when her nipples firmed up as I kissed the side of her neck. She smelled so good. Her skin was so smooth. Her ass was so firm. She was panting a little bit through those full, pouty, kissable lips. She wanted me. Her body couldn’t lie. No matter what she said, there was no denying that she wanted me in that moment. Fuck! I wanted her too—so fuckin’ bad! If just her words made me feel so much better, imagine what her body could do.
I get that restless, antsy, agitated feeling again, the one that makes me feel like I need to burn off some of this nervous energy. I hate being jittery, and I need to mellow out, but my options are limited. Last night I tried jerking off, but that wasn’t cutting it. I need more. Aside from a lengthy, emotional conversation with Lola, there’s only one thing that can cure this condition.
I reach over the photo of Lola that I moved from the dresser because I wanted her closer to me and pick up my phone from the nightstand. I scroll through my contacts until I find the one I’m looking for.
Tara Morgan has been flirting with me pretty hard since we did our shoot a few weeks ago. Sometimes she’ll leave me dirty voice mails or text me naked pictures of herself, but most of the time it’s just a little sexting. She wants it bad. I know she’s down for a non-work, recreational fuck—she told me almost exactly that after the shoot—so she’s looking like a pretty good option right about now. I type out to her:
Hey, you up?
A few seconds later, my phone chimes.
I could be…
Wanna come over?
Is this a booty call?
Maybe ;)
I’ll be there in 20.
I get up out of bed and stretch, not even bothering to get dressed, aside from a pair of boxer briefs. No point in putting clothes on if I’m just going to be taking them off when she gets here. I can feel myself start swelling with anticipation as I go into the living room to wait for her.
It’s really quiet in here, and I don’t like it. The last thing I need right now is to be alone with my thoughts, but my mind keeps splicing together this unsettling montage of everything that happened. I hear my dad calling me a failure, but that’s accompanied by a visual of Lola’s long legs. I’m a disgrace—the little beauty marks on her back that I got to look at when I zipped up her prom dress. I’m a disappointment—the feel of her thighs pressed up against my body when I was kissing her neck. I’m an embarrassment—the dampness between her legs when I was so close to fingering her. This whole mash-up is really freaking me out. I’m so disgusted with myself over how bad I hurt my family, but it makes me feel even worse to be thinking of Lola as a sexual object. She’s not. She’s special. She’s not just some girl you screw. She’s a girl you fall in love with. Ugh, love. That opens up a whole new can of worms, and I’m definitely not ready to deal with that shit right now.
I’m grateful when there’s finally a knock on the door, and I open it to see Tara in one of those pink tracksuits with Juicy written across the butt. She’s got on flip-flops with it, but her blond hair is curled and she’s got a lot of makeup on, so clearly she got dolled up before she came here, even though she’s trying to act like this is how she looks when she hops out of bed. Her beauty isn’t of the natural variety, like Lola’s, but I don’t really give a shit about that right now. She’s a girl and she’s here. That’s about all that matters to me at the moment. Any port in a storm, as they say.
She grabs me and kisses me, her mouth crushing mine. I wrap my arms around her and kiss her back, lifting her up and carrying her into the apartment. We’re just inside the living room when she pulls back from the kiss and unzips her jacket. She’s got nothing on underneath, and she pushes her silicone-enhanced boobs together and licks her lips at me.
In response, I lean down and take her nipple in my mouth. Her moan is a little exaggerated—we’re not on the goddamn set, Tara—but I know it feels good, so I move on to the other one, teasing and nipping at it.
“I wanna suck your cock,” she exhales in a horny, husky whisper.
I move back and lean against the couch, my hands resting against it near
my hips. She steps over to me and drops to her knees, sliding my underwear down and focusing her eyes on my cock. She pumps me with her fist a few times, then closes her mouth around the head of my dick and starts slurping me down her throat. Tara is known for her blowjobs—she’s got awards and everything—and the girl can deep throat like a champ. Because of my size, a lot of girls can’t really do this with me, so they’ll fake it on camera by using their hands as they suck me, but Tara’s one of the rare ones that can take me all the way until her forehead bumps into my stomach. She keeps me there until she has to pull back and draw in a gasp of air. There’s always this level of desperate enthusiasm to her blowjobs, and it makes them feel fuckin’ unreal, like she’s trying to defuse a bomb and the only way to do it is to make me come as quickly as possible.
“I’m gonna come in your mouth,” I breathe as I push her hair into a ponytail and use it to direct her back and forth.
“Mmm, give it to me!” she says, her eyes flashing up to me before she takes me deep again.
My hips start pumping back and forth, driving my cock in and out of her mouth faster with each stroke. She moans and the vibration from her voice pushes me over the edge. I come hard, my pent up frustration making me spurt down her throat in thick bursts. She greedily swallows down every drop like she can’t bear to see it go to waste. That’s the kind of cock-hungry shit that made her famous. The girl acts like she’ll go crazy if she doesn’t get a dick inside her, and it makes for some pretty fuckin’ wild shoots.
“Go to the bedroom,” I exhale, my voice coming out gravely and rough.
She happily stands up and slides her pants down her legs before walking toward the bedroom. Like most porn stars, she has no tan lines, and she’s purposely swaying her hips a little to make me focus on the wiggle of her ass as I walk in behind her.
“On the bed,” I instruct, “on your back with your legs spread.”
I’m not that bossy with girls usually—they always seem to do what I want without me having to ask them to—but I can get a little domineering in scenes and that carries over into my off-the-clock sex with co-stars. Tara’s into this too, so I know I can run with it tonight.
“Touch yourself,” I softly order when she lies down with her head on the pillow.
She happily complies, one hand teasing her nipples while the other rubs down below.
“Put your fingers inside,” I say, directing her like I’m behind the camera on one of our shoots. “Now lick them off. How does it taste, baby?”
“Mmm, it tastes like I need to get fucked,” she replies, sliding her tongue up and down her fingers. “I want you, James. I want to feel that big cock in my tight little pussy.”
This is so porno. If there were a few lighting dudes and some cameras, you could just assume this was a line from one of our movies. Tara likes talking dirty in her scenes, and I’ll admit that it’s a turn-on. She gets really lewd and starts moaning all these filthy things. It kind of makes you feel like you’re fucking the modesty right out of her.
I start stroking myself as I watch her moaning and writhing on the bed, her fingers working faster and her legs spreading even wider than before. She’s putting on a show for me, and I’m into it. Now this is definitely the kind of distraction I was looking for.
“Please,” she whines, opening her eyes to look at me. “I want your cock so bad, James. Please give it to me.”
I step over to her and grab her hips, flipping her over onto her stomach. She pushes up until she’s on her hands and knees, and I move behind her. The noise she makes when I thrust inside her is like a combination of a moan and a gasp—but if those two things were performed by an overacting soap opera star. I grab her hips and really fuckin’ give her the business. Sweat is starting to drip down my forehead as I pant, and the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, drowned out only by her loud moaning.
“Yes!” she practically screams. “Fuck me hard! Oh, God! I want it! Give it to me!”
I keep going, tuning out her whole production when I glance over at Lola’s picture on the nightstand and feel a huge wave of shame.
“This isn’t going to solve anything,” I hear her voice say.
Be quiet, Lola. I’m trying to concentrate.
“This isn’t going to make anything better.”
Shut up! You shouldn’t even be in my head right now!
“You think sex is the solution because you always use sex to feel better when something bad happens.”
You’re right, okay? Now zip it and let me fuck this girl!
I manage to mute my Lola-voiced conscience and refocus on the moment. Tara is panting and gasping, and I can tell she’s about to come, so I reach around her and rub her clit. She goes off immediately, and I can feel her squeezing me from the inside.
I grab her ass and kick it into high gear, driving into her hard and fast. Sliding my hand inward, my thumb traces a circle around her rear entrance before I push inside just a little bit, shallowly pumping in and out. That does the trick again, and she screams a loud string of obscenities that sounds like “oh-fuck-that-feels-so-fucking-good-fuck-me-harder-oh-fuck-yes!” as I continue.
I’m used to video shoots, and I can hold off coming for hours on the set, but I feel like I should start to wrap this up. With this kind of emotionless sex, it’s more about concentrating on coming than concentrating on not coming, so I close my eyes and focus on how it feels when Tara squeezes and milks me from the inside. For a brief instant, Lola pops into my mind, but I quickly shut her out and open my eyes again, deciding to watch the way Tara’s ass moves as I fuck her.
“Come in me, James!” Tara nearly wails. “Fill that pussy up with come! I want it so bad! I want to feel your hot come dripping out of me!”
Classic Tara Morgan dirty talk. But it’s effective. The filthier she gets, the more it makes me feel far away from the sweetness of being around Lola and all the emotional confusion that goes with it. It’s not such a bad thing, really. Lola’s too good for me anyway. A girl like Tara is more my style, and maybe doing this will help me prove it to myself.
I shut my eyes tight and let loose, giving her just what she asked for. As soon as I’ve stopped coming, I pull out and give her a little smack on the butt, which makes her giggle. It’s cute, but not as cute as the way Lola giggles when she’s being shy and adorable.
“Come on,” I say, nodding to the bathroom, “let’s get cleaned up.”
“Can I stay over?” she says, rising from the bed and throwing her arms up over my shoulders. “I might wake up in the middle of the night in the mood to suck your cock.”
“Well, in that case…” I chuckle.
She laughs and then follows me into the bathroom. After a quickie in the shower, we’re both cleaned up, and she crawls into my bed. I try to cuddle with her in the hopes that it’ll make me feel calm and relaxed the way cuddling with Lola did, but something about it feels off. My annoying conscience chooses this moment to creep up and tell me that I’ve made a huge mistake, that I’m repeating the same bad choices I always make, that I’m using Tara to make myself feel better, that I’m running from my problems instead of facing them—all the painfully true stuff I try to keep out of my mind.
I don’t wake up until nearly noon the next day, mostly because Tara woke me up twice during the night to blow me and ride my dick. I’m still feeling tired as I shuffle into the kitchen and start making some food. Even though it’s late, I decide to cook us breakfast. The girl let me come in virtually every orifice, so the least I could do is make her some fuckin’ eggs.
Everything is almost done, so I go back into the bedroom to wake her up and tell her to grab a plate. I stand in the doorway and look at her sleeping in my bed for a moment or two. She’s pretty, but her skin is too orange, her hair is too blond, her tits are too big and they stick up on her chest as she lies on her back. They’re not like Lola’s tits, which were soft and pliable in my hands. Unfortunately, this comparison makes me feel like a total
dick. I shouldn’t be dissing Tara for not being Lola. Nobody is Lola. Nobody is even in the same galaxy as Lola. Tara’s hot, she likes to fuck, she spent hours fucking me, and I should be psyched about that. A guy like Joey would cut off his own foot Saw-style just to be me right now.
I sigh with lingering regret as I go over to her and gently wake her up, brushing my fingers over her shoulder. She greets me with a too-white smile and eyes smudged from old makeup. She’s not ugly; she’s just not the girl I wish I was waking up to in the morning. I tell her breakfast is ready, and she throws on one of my T-shirts and follows me to the table.
“Wow! This is delicious,” she says with surprise when takes a bite of her scrambled eggs—which I mostly made because they’re easy and fast. Kind of like her.
“Thanks,” I reply. “I like to make them with Swiss cheese from that gourmet market nearby and then add some basil, this assorted pepper mix that they have there, and a few veggies if I have them.”
“I didn’t know you could cook,” she says, enjoying another bite.
“It’s just something I like to do.” I shrug. “I don’t really study it or anything, just kind of a hobby, I guess.”
“I can’t cook for shit,” she says, chuckling. “Boiling water is a lot to ask from me.”
I laugh lightly and stand to get more coffee.
“So did you ever do that trip to see your parents and stuff?” she asks. “I wanted to book you for something the other day, but they said you were out of town.”
“Yeah,” I respond in a low, more somber voice, “I went out there, but it didn’t go well. They found out about the movies, and they completely flipped out. My dad went fuckin’ ape shit, my mom cried; it was a fuckin’ disaster.”
“That sucks,” she says with an exaggerated pout. “I don’t know why they’d get all pissed off about it.”
Vice, Virtue & Video: Revealed (The Vice, Virtue & Video Series) Page 14
