Jax gazed at me, his smile broad. “This is the best. He stood up, walked to my chair and, towering over me, hugged me. “Thank you.”
My cheeks burned hot. I never enjoyed having attention on my art. Did they really like it or were they just saying that? It felt like they were examining a part of me, like they were peering into my soul. “I’m glad you like it. Happy birthday, sweetie.”
The five of us enjoyed the rest of the evening, eating birthday cake and playing Scrabble (Troy won) until finally we were all yawning. This was such a far cry from my years in Santa Fe where I had spent my evenings getting high with my friends, and then rising with the sun for another day of painting, followed by another night of waitressing. Watching the way Troy and Lydia looked at each other and being part of their family made my throat constrict. I had always wanted that.
When the evening ended, Jax walked me out to my car while Lydia stood at the door, waving. Jax hugged me and I inhaled his scent, a mixture of sea air and musk. His blue eyes shone bright. “Thanks for the present, Roz. It really is the best.”
“You’re welcome, honey.”
The screen door slammed; Lydia left Jax and me alone in the dark.
I don’t know if it was the excitement of how much he had loved the painting, or the fact that I hadn’t been close to a man in a while, but suddenly, I wanted to touch Jax. I reached out and hugged him again. He clutched me close. His breathing sped up as his hand trailed to the small of my back, making me gasp. I pulled away. His eyes searched mine and he swallowed hard.
I cleared my throat. “Okay, then, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” I made for Ol’ Betsy, but Jax was ahead of me, holding the door open. As I sped home, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his body had felt against mine.
Jax
A few days after the party, I was at home, lying on my twin bed watching a rerun of Buffy the Vampire Slayer—don’t laugh, Sarah Michelle Gellar was hot—when everything changed.
I’d been getting ready to jack off, and had a porno magazine in my lap. Forget about Penthouse, that was for amateurs. This magazine was more hard core. I’d been able to buy it at a place in downtown San Diego, one with triple X in red neon on the front window. I paged through the magazine, my heartbeat speeding up. The pictures showed red hot photos of sexy ladies with their legs spread, a splash of flesh and pink. I had my sweatpants on; that always made things easier. It surprised me when I heard Rosalyn’s car pull up.
“Hey,” she yelled, coming through the front door. “Anybody home?”
I quickly stashed my magazine under the mattress.
“In here,” I yelled.
“Hey baby,” she said, “Just doing a little laundry.” She flung a blue mesh laundry bag onto the foot of my bed. “Your mom won’t mind will she? It’s either here or the laundromat, and that place gives me the creeps.”
She dropped down on the bed next to me. “Scoot over. What’re you watching?”
“Buffy.”
“Oh, I love this show,” she said, clapping her hands together. Then she got up to start the laundry and bustled into the kitchen, making herself at home. I could hear her getting stuff out of the fridge and pouring something into a glass while I laid there and tried to cover my hard-on.
She returned to my room and fell onto the bed with me. “Scoot over,” she said, then grabbed a joint from her bag, and handed me a lighter. “Where’s Tyler?”
“Where else? Practicing with his band.”
“When’s he coming home?”
I shrugged. “Couple hours.”
Her gaze roamed the room, and she glanced at the window. “Your mom and dad won’t be home from work till after five, right?”
“Right.”
“Groovy. Make sure you open windows and light some incense before they get home. Wouldn’t want your folks mad at me,” she said. She nodded toward the lighter. “Do the honors, will you?” I flicked her purple lighter, and soon the room filled with the skunky aroma of marijuana. She took a deep toke, held her breath, and let it out in one steady stream. “Damn, that’s good,” she said falling back against the pillows.
My bed was small. With the two of us jammed together, I felt the heat of her soft skin against mine, inhaled the sandalwood scent of her, felt her hair brushing against my shoulder. She took another two tokes and then sat up. “Got to save this for later. I’m starting to feel woozy.” She bent over and crushed the joint out on the side of one of my free weights then stashed the joint in her purse.
“Hey, what’s this you got here?” she said, pulling my dirty magazine out of its hiding place. “Hot and Ready Cougars,” she read.
“Gimme that,” I said, grabbing for the magazine.
“Wait! I need to check it out.” She held the magazine out of reach and quickly flipped through its pages, revealing the centerfold, which fell open to a lewd photo of a hot babe with her legs spread. She let out a low whistle.
“I said, gimme that. Roz, I’m not kidding.”
She jerked this way and that as though this was some kind of game. Laughing, she said, “Why, Jax Priest, have you been looking at dirty magazines?”
My face grew hot.
She sank back against the pillows. “Here’s your magazine.”
I wrenched it away from her and threw it onto my brother’s bed, where it opened to a photo of a dark-haired beauty bent over a Harley Davidson, her boobs making contact with the leather seat and her private parts on display. Rosalyn covered her mouth and giggled.
I couldn’t wait for Rosalyn to leave. I’d never been so embarrassed. “Don’t you have to get home to Leo?”
“Why? Laundry’s not done. Besides, it’s so much more fun here.” She moved her hand to my crotch. “It looks like handsome Jackie Boy has got himself a good ole hard-on.”
When her hand touched my cock through the flimsy material of the sweatpants, my heart raced and my head went into another stratosphere.
“You been holding out on me babe. Didn’t know you had such a nice one.” She traced her fingers lightly over the outline of my erection.
My experience with women up to that point was minimal. I had just turned eighteen, but there hadn’t been any real action with girls. I had some pretty good make out sessions under my belt, and had even come in my jeans a few times during those sessions (that was embarrassing), but I hadn’t had sex with anyone yet, or even a hand job.
“You mind?” she said, cooing and stroking. “Let’s see what you got under there.”
I leaned my head back against the pillows and watched as her hand moved beneath the fabric. My breathing came fast now. “Oh baby, you’re nice and hard. Can I stroke it?” I didn’t think I could talk if I wanted to, and slid down the pillows a little, my pelvis reaching up toward her hand. Her hand felt warm, soft, and firm as she stroked. My heart went wild, and about ten seconds into her touching me I came all over her hand, my stomach and my sweatpants.
“Well, look at what just happened,” she said with a smile.
She walked into the bathroom and came back with a towel. “Here you go sweetie.”
Then she hopped into bed with me like nothing had happened, dug through her bag for her joint, and lit up again. She took a long toke then exhaled. “Good weed. Bought it from a dude down in the Gas Lamp District.”
“What are you doing hanging out down there?” I said, my head still buzzing from the surreality of what had just gone down. “That place is not safe. You need to take me with you.”
“Okay, honey, I’ll make sure to take my bodyguard next time.”
We watched Buffy. While Rosalyn transferred her laundry to the dryer, I quickly jumped up, removed my wet sweatpants and changed into jeans, then lay on the bed again.
What did Rosalyn want me to say? What should I do? She hopped on the bed again, and we watched another episode of Buffy while Rosalyn smoked one joint then lit another. I didn’t know what to do, so I turned up the volume on the TV. Rosalyn smoked so much pot that her eyes
got droopy and finally closed.
I checked out her sleeping body. My gaze roamed over her perky breasts, and her yoga pants that were so tight I could see the outline of her crotch. I started getting hard again and knew if I wasn’t careful, I would come right then and there. I wanted so badly to reach out and touch her breasts, feel her hair. I forced myself to think about math problems and the wrinkled old ladies who worked the lunch line at the school cafeteria.
“Oh! I must’ve dozed,” she said, jolting awake when the buzzer on the dryer sounded.
She jumped off the bed, gathered the laundry, and stuffed it into the bag. I tried not to look at her, but out of the corner of my eye, I spied her sexy underwear and bras. She flung the bag over her shoulder, leaned over the bed, and put her index finger to my lips. “See ya later, sweetie.”
And just like that, she was gone.
Had that really happened? Was it a dream? Rosalyn hadn’t given any indication of flirtation before. I’d been crazy attracted to her, but she was strictly off limits. Rosalyn was my mother’s friend. Holy smokes, my mom would totally freak if she found out about this. How super bizarre that of all the guys a sexy lady like Rosalyn could’ve had, she chose me. Me! I knew it was wrong, but Jesus fucking Christ that was hot.
I laid in my twin bed, and it took forever for my stomach to stop that crazy flip-flop thing, for my head to stop buzzing and my body to stop tingling.
So that’s what it feels like when it’s good.
Even though I knew it was taboo, I was so excited that I wanted to share it. That was the first time a real live woman (woman!) had touched me sexually. I was dying to tell Tyler. But I couldn’t. What had just happened was top secret, between only Rosalyn and me.
I smiled, clasping my hands over my chest, my heartbeat a happy, steady thrum. I stretched my arms over my head like a cat, feeling satisfaction course through me.
The rest of that day, all I could think about was the next time I’d get Rosalyn alone. I’d been so blown away by the incident that while she was there, I could barely move. But the next time we were together, I promised myself, I’d come up with something to say, something clever to convince her that we should go a little further.
But would she let me?
Rosalyn
What was wrong with me?
Blame it on the weed. Blame it on the fact that Jax had been lying there in that twin bed when I walked in with one of the most obvious hard-ons I’d ever seen. Blame it on the fact that no one was home or that it’d been a very long time since I’d been so close to a good looking male with an athletic body. Blame it on Jax’s goddamn blue eyes.
When I walked through my front door the phone rang and startled me so much that I jumped.
“Hello?”
A beat of silence then Jax’s tentative voice said, “Um, hi Rosalyn. Um, what’re you doing?”
My heartbeat sped up. “Jax, now is not a good time. How about I see you later?”
“Rosalyn, I just wanted to say …”
What had I done? “Jax, honey, I gotta go.” I hung up the phone so hard that the telephone bell clanged under the weight of the receiver. My body was suffused with heat, sweat dripping down my spine as I paced the small living room in circles. Where the hell did I put my bong? Finding it in the kitchen, I hurriedly filled it with my sacred herb, and took one long, ragged pull, holding the smoke so long I thought I’d pass out. The phone rang again, and I considered unplugging it, assuming it was Jax, but when I answered, it was Carissa.
“Hey, there,” she said. “How’s the surfer girl?”
I collapsed on the sofa, and Leo jumped in my lap. My hands shook as I held the phone, my palms sweaty. “The surfer girl is …” Tears pricked the back of my eyes. I took another toke.
I was quiet for so long that Carissa finally said, “You still there?”
I squeezed my eyes tightly. “Yes, I’m still here. Hey, I got a kitty.”
“You did! Where’d you get him or her?”
I smiled. “Him. Jax found him out back one night when we were …”
“When you were what?”
I tugged at a loose thread on my skirt. “When, um, after dinner, and …”
Carissa’s voice was cautious. “Roz, is something wrong?”
“Why would anything be wrong?”
“You sound kind of weird. Are you sick?”
I pulled harder at the thread until the skirt puckered up. “No, I’m not sick. Why would you think something’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. You sound … different.”
I sighed theatrically. “I’m just tired. Been working too much, going to school; my whole schedule’s way crazier than it was in Santa Fe.”
She chuckled. “I hear you, sister. So, tell me about your kitty.”
I petted Leo, who was curled up on my lap, purring. “He’s the sweetest. Jax found him all alone by the trash cans one night. No mommy.”
“Jax?”
“Yep.” I was happy Carissa couldn’t see my face because I felt my cheeks flush.
“What’s he doing over at your house at night?”
“Um, just … helping out with stuff and …”
“And, what?”
“He’s been helping me get settled and stuff. You know, hanging pictures and … you know, like that.” All I wanted to do was hang up the phone. “Carissa, I have to go because …”
“You’re still hanging pictures? Haven’t you lived there a few months? Hey! How did Jax like the painting?”
My voice was monotone. “He loved it.”
“Then why do you sound so down? You have to send me a picture of the painting. Will you do that?”
I was silent for so long that Carissa finally said, “Sweetie, are you sure you’re okay?”
I hadn’t intended for my voice to come out so high-pitched. “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Okay, hon, I’ll talk to you later. Send me pictures of the painting and the kitty.”
We hung up, and all the energy drained out of my body.
I unplugged the phone. Then I settled myself on my meditation cushion and reached for my ceremonial incense burning pot. I chose sweet smelling myrrh.
I placed a round of charcoal into the incense pot, lit the charcoal with a match and sprinkled a bit of the myrrh on top of it. It sparked, cracked, and smoked until the room was filled with the special aroma. I began my chants and prayers. I sat in a lotus position on my meditation pillow and asked the Universe for forgiveness.
Jax.
My head immediately felt woozy thinking about Jax with his sun-bleached, blond hair, how eager to please he was, and how strong. His body was toned, and when I saw his hard-on … And when I touched it and felt him shudder and then come so fast, it was all I could do to not jump him right then and there. Instead I’d reached for my joint and tried to act like the whole thing was no big deal.
What was wrong with me? How could I have done that to Jax? What if someone found out? And oh my God, how was Jax going to react? We’d had such a great friendship so far, and now I’d gone and ruined everything. I didn’t want to talk to him, and there he was, calling me. To say what?
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and started my meditation. I selected the rose quartz crystal, meant for protection and forgiveness, and held it in my hands. Take deep breaths, Rosalyn. I began alternate nostril breathing until my body relaxed. A pleasant buzzing started at the base of my spine and worked its way to my head. I went deeper into meditation, life-giving prana filling my body, and felt a violet aura surrounding me. Then a white light pulsed and grew in my third eye area, and I had a vision.
Jax’s smiling face, those electric blue eyes drawing me in.
My eyes opened. I threw the crystal across the room where it landed against the wall and broke. I reached for my bong. God damn it! Why did I always have to screw up like that? I brushed away tears, lit my bong, and took a deep, satisfying toke.
Better.
I’d be the first to admit that I haven’t always been such a good girl. When I was a teenager, I was, I suppose you could say, a little more into sex than my parents thought was appropriate. But how could anyone blame me? Growing up by the beach, the guys were half naked all the time. The pill was easy to come by.
I’d discovered orgasms when I was around eight years old. Coming out of the pool, my pelvis rubbed up against the metal rail of the ladder. I was wearing my bikini with the pink flowers, and as my pelvis slowly slid against the hard metal, I had the most intensely pleasurable feeling and wondered what was that?
Then another time, shortly after that, I was in the shower. I’d been reading a children’s book about a woman who fell down a well and I wanted to pretend like that was happening to me, so I’d done a shoulder stand in the shower with my feet up in the air. The warm, steady stream of the shower hit me just right, and there was that feeling again. My body shuddered and spasmed, and my breathing got all funny. But it was the most incredible experience. After that, I reproduced the feeling every chance I got.
Sometimes it meant taking off my underwear and rubbing up against the huge purple stuffed elephant that sat on the floor of my bedroom. Other times, I would lie facedown on my twin bed, put my fingers underneath me, and move back and forth until I got that feeling again.
When I grew a little older and started having sleepovers at my girlfriends’ houses, I tried to show them how to do it, because I thought it was kind of like rubbing somebody’s back, that nice warm, comfy feeling. But they all looked at me like I was weird and stopped hanging around me. Sometimes they’d even point and laugh at me in school. I quickly learned to keep my secret to myself.
So maybe orgasms are not the same for every female. I only knew that whenever I felt stressed out, I would make myself come and things always felt better.
When I was old enough that the boys started noticing me, I was thrilled to discover that they wanted to have orgasms as much as I did. But that didn’t work out so well. All the guys that I shared my little secret with were happy to take advantage of me, but then they branded me a slut.
Peaks of Passion: Pleasure Point Series Book One Page 4
