by Jess Bentley
These panties are definitely different. I want to look at them again, but I don't need to, I can still see them clearly in my mind. Shiny and blue, creased down the center so I could just see the hint of the separation of her lips. Just enough to imagine that she was wet, that she was actually slippery and ready for me already. A brilliant tease, considering how much time she spent convincing me that wanting to touch her lingerie was something of an abnormal fetish on my part.
Then I didn't hear from her for a few hours, until later in the day. She asked if I liked her story from earlier in the morning. The one where she talked about undressing me, getting her hands on me. I told her right away that I did like it. Then I wondered if maybe I should've been more calculating in my response.
What am I supposed to do? I don’t really understand what kind of game this is. If it's Trina, maybe she's testing me to see if I'll pay more attention to her this time? Showing me her panties to show that maybe she's willing to compromise as well?
But if it's not Trina… then I don't even know. What's the game? Just randomly sending texts back and forth with a stranger? For what purpose?
Almost on cue, my phone buzzes. I'm sure I'm really feeling it this time, so I slide it nonchalantly out of my pocket, noticing that Ron is completely enthralled by the football game on TV.
Now you send me a picture, it says.
I squirm slightly.
Why should I do that?
…
Because we are having fun, she says. Fun is good. Right?
I cut my eyes at Ron, making sure that he's not paying any attention to this.
Yes, I admit. Fun is good.
So send me a picture.
But I'm not wearing panties, I joke.
Even better.
Ron coughs into his hand, and I tuck the phone back into my pocket, semi-certain that she'll text me back fairly soon. A picture? I don't know. But then, what's the harm?
“So, hey, I wanted to ask you,” Ron begins, his eyes fixed on the television as though he doesn't want to look at me. His stiffness and discomfort make me instantly wary.
“Shoot,” I tell him.
“Yeah… not really sure how to say this. Do you remember Kelly? From my office?”
I reach back in my memory, trying to place a face with the name Kelly. Any face. Young face? Old face? Somebody with wavy hair, I think. I get a mental image of frizzy, thick hair, held back by a comb with a pink plastic flower in it. A pretty face, sort of doll like and pale, with freckles across the nose. Plump and appealing. Friendly and kind.
“From the block party?” I ask, fairly certain I've got the right woman. “She made a pie?”
“Yeah, she's the office pastry chef,” Ron chuckles. “Nice girl. She was asking about you.”
I shake my head, wondering if there's something I’m supposed to remember about her. “She needs a bodyguard? Private investigator or something?”
“No, dude,” Ron sniffs irritably. “Like, asking about you. You should take her out.”
“Oh!” I bark out. The volume of my voice takes me by surprise. “Kelly! You want me to ask Kelly out?”
He holds his hand out in midair, then lets it fall palm-down on his thigh.
“She thinks you're cute.”
For just a second, I try to imagine it. Sweet, freckled Kelly. She reminds me most of a baby seal, the kind you see in videos lying on their back, floating playfully downstream.
“Yeah, I don't think she's my type,” I mumble.
Just to try it out, I try to imagine bending Kelly over the arm of the sofa and slapping her ass until she squeals. Nope. Kelly is not that kind of girl.
Then, just for grins, I try to imagine her sending me a picture of her panties via text. Probably full coverage, utility panties. Strike two.
“Well, what is your type? Trina? I don't think that's happening.”
“Never say never,” I quip. “There might still be something there.”
He raises his beer to his lips again and then glances at me over the top of the bottle. “Oh yeah? You serious?”
I shrug. “There might still be… you know, a chance. Maybe. There've been… some signs.”
Ron sighs through his nose. “If you say so,” he says noncommittally. I hear the caution in his voice. He never really liked Trina all that much. “I thought that ship had sailed. You didn't seem too broken up about it, what changed your mind?”
Send me a picture, the words pop back into my head. That kind of playfulness would definitely change my mind. I'm intrigued, I have to admit. It's so unlike her, I want to follow the thread and see where it leads.
“Just keeping an open mind I guess,” I sniff, but as I tell him he's already cast his attention somewhere else.
My attention is somewhere else too. Dahlia and Bunny will be back soon, so I need to act pretty quick. A picture… of what? Of my junk? I don’t want to do something effeminate and strange like sending her a shot of my nipple or anything like that. That sounds kind of stupid.
Grumbling some excuse, I get up from the sofa and head to the back hallway. Just thinking about those blue panties already has my dick halfway hard and I figure why not? If she is serious, let's see where this goes. She initiated this whole thing, so it's time to get real.
I duck into the bathroom, flipping on the lights and looking around. As soon as my fingers snap open my jeans my cock is out, thick and hard, bouncing in the palm of my hand. I snap a quick photo and look at it, scowling. It looks huge, veiny, pretty impressive if I do say so myself. I have never taken a picture of my own dick before, and there is something sort of awesome about it.
But I also remember that women joke that men are always taking pictures of themselves in bathrooms. I read some dumb article somewhere about how many men have no imagination. They spend time naked in the bathroom, so they're constantly snapping pictures of themselves in the bathroom. Half the photos on Tinder is guys taking a picture of themselves in their bathroom mirror, apparently because it's only mirror they own. The other half are pictures are taken inside their cars with mirrored sunglasses and seatbelts on and everything.
Scowling, I decide to abandon the bathroom. The least I could do is appear even slightly more creative than the average jackass who's sending dick pics across the Internet, right? I zip myself back up and step out into the hallway, listening for half a second to make sure Ron is still watching the game. Then I try the first door and enter, closing it quietly behind me.
To my surprise, this is Dahlia's room. I must've gotten turned around. Here I am, in her space.
The first thing I notice is the smell. A dizzying combination of maybe hairspray, maybe perfume, maybe just her natural scent. It's light and soft on the air, bathing me instantly.
The thrill of being in her personal space, where I definitely should not be, makes my dick even harder. I unbuckle my pants, shuffling over to the window to get the last streams of daylight. Holding the phone away from me, I snap a few pictures as my hand closes around my throbbing cock, afraid to touch myself too much or I will explode all over Dahlia's pretty floral bedspread.
It's almost too much for me, and I have to bite my lip to keep from stroking myself to completion. It's so tantalizingly close, I know I could come right now, just sitting on the edge of her bed, feeling her presence all around me. This room is saturated with her. Her panties are in a neat stack somewhere in those drawers. Her long, smooth body has been between these sheets. Her fingers have stroked every object in this room.
And I can't help it. I can’t hold back. I fist myself brutally, tugging my cock almost too hard, biting my lips together to keep from moaning. Half blind, I yank a few Kleenex from the box next to her bed and come into them almost instantly, groaning too loud in this sacred space.
Panting, half spent, I know I've got to get out of here. I can't just jack off in Dahlia's room with her coming home any second. I stuff the gooey Kleenex into my pocket and pull myself together, zipping up my pants and looking
around to make sure I didn't dislodge anything else in her room.
Dizzy and breathless, I reach for the door, eager to get back to the living room as soon as possible. Half a second after her door is closed behind me she suddenly appears, almost crashing right into me. I step to the side and past her, narrowly avoiding ending up with her in my arms.
“Just looking for the head,” I mutter, humiliated and trying to escape as quickly as possible. “Excuse me, sorry.”
I rush out of the hallway, red-faced and still far too turned on. The smell of Chinese food is thick in the air as I duck into the kitchen, opening the freezer and yanking out the bottle of vodka. It’s so cold that the outside of the tumbler frosts instantly when I pour myself a shot, but I down it in one gulp anyway, then immediately pour myself another.
Chapter 9
Dahlia
I can see Bunny moving around in the diner, her head sailing back and forth between booths. I keep the car running, ready to get going.
She's quick about coming to the car this time, apparently having listened to my snippy lecture the other day. As she throws herself into the passenger seat, I see her hand instantly go out for my phone and I slap the back of it lightly.
She flinches, drawing her hand back in and looking hurt.
“What?” she pouts. “I just want to check in on my new favorite soap opera: As The Dahlia Blooms.”
“Put your seatbelt on.”
She does as she's told, buckling the strap over her skinny little hips. “You seriously don't want to show me? How did the panty picture turn out? What did he say?”
“I don't know… nothing, really.”
“Oh, come on!” she huffs. “He must've said something! Wait… are you serious? Did he really not say anything at all?”
I pull the car into the stripmall with the China Fountain restaurant.
“Here, can you go get it?” I ask her, handing her my debit card. “Just sign my name. I'll wait here.”
“Wait, you're being serious here? You're not going to tell me anything at all?”
I halfway turn toward her, instantly softening when I see her sincere pout. I guess she really is disappointed and I wonder why I am being so territorial.
“Okay… fine. Just go get the food,” I suggest. “Then I'll get you all caught up.”
She practically skips out of the car and into the restaurant, dashing back out with two large plastic bags in her hands that she drops into the back seat before sliding back in next to me and buckling her seatbelt once again. Then she claps her hands lightly under her chin.
“Okay! Tell me all about it!” she squeals.
I pull back out into traffic, happy that I don’t have to look directly at her. It’s all so strange and ticklish in my mind, just think about it makes me blush fiercely.
“Well first, I want to say that I did not appreciate you telling him about that dream I had.”
“About the… oh, right!” she sighs, remembering. “Well, it was a good dream. Hot.”
Slowing at a red light, I flip on the turn signal and lean forward to check cross traffic.
“But it was a secret!” I remind her. “I thought we had like a pact or something. And then you just went ahead and laid it on him, right off the bat like that!”
“Fair enough, it was a super-secret sex dream. But then again, what if I hadn't?” she counters.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She sighs through her nose, drumming her fingers impatiently on her knee. “Dahlia, tell the truth. What was your real plan there?”
“It wasn't my plan. It was your plan, remember?”
“Exactly! And the moment that I turned my back on you, you were going to wimp out, right?”
“I was not going to wimp out,” I protest.
“You were totally going to wimp out!” She rolls her eyes. “If I hadn't jumped you in there with both feet, you would never have done anything. Come on. Admit it.”
I just shake my head, even though maybe she's got a point.
“You know, I just figure the best strategy is always just to go for it,” she muses, staring out the window as we drive through my subdivision. “I mean, I know that you are all caution and baby steps, but I've always subscribed to the idea that immediate gratification is the very best kind of gratification. Just go for it!”
Rolling into the driveway, I notice August’s BMW parked behind my dad's car. My heart leaps in my chest.
“Oh, he's here,” Bunny purrs. “Well, now, would you look at that?”
“Oh, my gosh, how am I supposed to face him?!”
My cheeks go hot, reddening instantly. Bunny gives me a sidelong look.
“You're gonna be fine,” she tells me in a commanding voice. “You own this, okay?”
“I don’t feel like I own anything right now!” I confess quickly.
“Dammit, Dahlia, would you please just stop it?”
“Stop what?”
She slaps her thighs with her palms in frustration.
“Stop acting like such a wimp!” she huffs. “Where's the old Dahlia? The one who never gets upset or ruffled or anything?”
“I don't even know what you are talking about.”
“Yes you do. You always have your shit together, Dahlia, okay? It's one of the things I love about you. So get your shit together. Own this situation. Stop acting like such a nervous Nelly!”
I sigh through my nose, shaking my head. She's right, I guess. I need to get my old self back online. Even I am not comfortable with this tentative, nervous version of me.
“Send him a text. Right now.”
“I've been texting him all day. Let's just go eat dinner,” I sigh.
Quick as lightning, her fingers reach out and snatch my phone off the dash.
“Nope. I want you to send him a text right now!”
“Give me that!” I insist. Luckily, she gives up the phone when I reach for it and does not make me wrestle her to the ground. Because I will. I totally will.
“Fine. That's more like it,” she sniffs. “Now send him a text, Dahlia. Right now.”
“What should I say?” I grumble, considering it.
She shrugs. “I don't know, because I don't know what you sent already!” she reminds me pointedly. “When you sent him a picture, did he send you a picture back? What was it?”
“No, after the picture we just kind of texted back and forth. Just, you know… flirty stuff.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Sexy stuff?”
My chest gets tight. “Yes,” I admit. “Sexy stuff.”
She smiles, looking me up and down. “You like this, don't you?” she says knowingly.
“I don't know if I like it or not,” I lie. Still, I feel how hot my cheeks are. I'm probably bright red right now. “But Lori said more hints about needing us to maybe meet with Kirkman again. So whether or not I like it or not I have to keep going. I have to get that meeting or she’ll know I made the whole thing up.”
Bunny narrows her eyes at me. “No… It's not just Lori. You like this. You're enjoying it. Admit it.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Ha!” she hoots. “You are totally enjoying this! You’re finally getting to take some your cute little pet fantasies for a walk, Dahlia. You're like a secret slut!”
I roll my eyes. “Enough, Bunny. What should I text him?”
“You like it! Admit it!”
I can tell by the serious look on her face that she's not going to give up. In fact, if I don't get her to stop talking about it, there's a good chance she's going to blurt it out in front of my dad or August and really try to humiliate me.
“Fine. I like it. But just a little!”
“I knew it!”
“Now what do I text him?”
She chews on her lower lip. “I dunno… ask him to send you a picture. You sent him one, so that sounds fair. He should send you one too.”
“A picture of what?” I ask, unsure this is such
a good idea.
“Let him figure that out for himself,” she shrugs. “Let him be creative.”
Heart racing, I send him a quick text. He asks me for more information and I just let it go, hinting that he should come up with something. Bunny glances over my shoulder, scanning the text history and sighing happily.
“See?” she says smugly, getting out and retrieving the food bags from the back seat. “I told you this wouldn’t be so hard. You totally got this!”
“Yeah, I guess you're right,” I admit.
It seems like the whole world is sexting each other. I’ve read about it on BuzzFeed and in Cosmo. Some of the exchanges get really hot. Like, blistering hot.
But I never thought I would be the one to do it. I’ve never even had a serious boyfriend before, much less had anyone to sext with. Every time I go to type something, I get something that feels like stage fright. It’s all completely new and I’m making it up as I go along.
But I guess it’s not as hard as I thought it would be, once I get my head in the game. Actually I guess it’s kind of fun. Once I say something, it feels like a tiny barrier is swept away, some imaginary wall. Makes me think about all the other things I could be saying to him, all the things that I've been holding back all this time.
My dad waves over his head without turning around when Bunny and I amble through the front door. I deposit the bags of food on the dining room table. The football game sounds fill the living room, not leaving a lot of room for much else.
I drop my phone into my purse, making sure that it nestles snugly at the bottom so nobody can see any notifications when they pop up. I don't need any kind of embarrassing moments to happen during dinner. Then I head off to the back hall to wash my hands and tie my hair back before dinner.
