“You were really calm out there. I apologize for my roommates.”
She turned to me, kneeling fetchingly on my bed. “That was… surprising. I don’t know how I feel about it. I’m glad you didn’t get in a fight with them.”
“I felt how excited you were when they took your picture,” I said. I held up my hand.
She looked down. “If you say so.”
“Tell me about it,” I urged. “Don’t hold back. I want to know everything you feel.”
“Even if it makes me sound sleazy?”
“Especially is if makes you sound sleazy.”
Emmeline might have been comfortable getting naked in my apartment, but I was self-conscious getting naked in front of her. To buy a little time and courage, I crossed the room and took her in my arms.
She lay back against me, stretched across my body, like she had done in the hallway. In time, I would learn that that was one of her things. She liked to be stretched out at a man’s mercy, and completely open with herself. Her elongated, bare torso invited me to lay hands on her—so I did. They glided lightly over her skin, exploring all the curves I’d memorized while I was friend-zoned. The ribs, the muscular clefts of her stomach, the v-shaped muscle pointing to her crotch. The breasts were waiting for my touch—but you don’t just grab breasts like hers. You work up to them.
“Every now and then I play a game with myself,” she said. “When I’m going somewhere, like to a friend’s dorm, or to a meeting, I pause before I open the door. I think to myself, what if I had to have sex with whoever is on the other side of that door? Could I do it? Could I walk in and fuck them?”
“Wow,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever played that game with myself.”
“I don’t know how I started. I think it girl-talk at summer camp. Every now and then I remember it, and I make pretend decision about whether I’ll fuck whoever is on the other side of the door. And then I walk in.
“It’s always a rush to see who I’d be fucking if the game was real. Especially if it’s a group of guys. That’s scary for girls sometimes, because they always look you up and down. They know each other, they’re buddies, they have secret signals—and you just know they’re somehow communicating about you. And you wonder which one is going to be the rapey, inappropriate asshole—there’s always one in each group. You try to neutralize them first, by getting them on your side. There’s a whole procedure.
“But if I’ve already decided to fuck whoever is on the other side, I can just return those looks they give me. It gets us through that uncomfortable period when they get used to looking at me, and I get used to being looked at by them.”
That was the first time Emmeline had even come close to acknowledging she knew how beautiful she was. I suppose she’d have to know. The world gave her constant feedback.
When women mention how men make their lives difficult, it always leaves me tongue-tied. “Have… have you ever, uh, done that? Walked in and fucked a group of guys?”
She gave me an ungentle slap on the shoulder. “No, I’ve never just walked into a room and fucked a bunch of strangers. You ass.”
“But it’s fun to think about?”
Her eyes dropped meekly. I slid my hand down to her crotch.
“Don’t try to lie, I have a lie-detector here.”
“It’s fun to think about,” she said, and indeed she was getting wet. “But until today I didn’t know… I guess I wasn’t sure… I hadn’t thought about it.”
“About guys looking at you?”
“Yeah,” she said quietly.
“Does it turn you on?”
She gave a little shrug. “I guess. I certainly didn’t care that your roommates saw me. I didn’t mind the pictures. Or even the Facebook thing. I was just stunned that I was about to have an orgasm in your hand, just from seeing them look at me. I mean what the fuck, girl? What’s wrong with my wiring? Why can’t I go eek like a good girl, and try to cover up?”
“You are a good girl.”
“Apparently I’m a kind of pervert.” She glanced up at me. “Don’t grin. I’m still dealing with this new knowledge. I don’t know what it means. I think I always sort of knew, but now I really know. I thought maybe every girl was like me, and they just controlled their feelings better.”
“You just like being perfect, Emmy. And you like people to think you’re perfect. Look at it this way: having an easy turn-on button is another way you are perfect. It’s your way of being awesome. Your killer app. Give yourself a chance to get used to the idea. You’re going to have a lot of fun with it.”
As encouraging speeches went, this was not my best work. But give me a break. In one hour I’d gone from talking a friend into promising to wear short dresses, to making that friend into a girlfriend, to finger-banging her in the hallway of my building, to showing her off to my roommates, to cuddling her naked on my bed while she engaged in some sort of psychology session. None of those activities allowed any blood to leave my cock, so I was thinking with the B Team.
Still, she seemed a little comforted, until— “Trapper! You pulled my hand down when I tried to cover my chest! You showed me off to those guys, didn’t you? That was your first instinct—to keep me from covering myself up. We’re going to have to talk about that later.”
“Erm,” I said. Apparently I would have a psychology session of my own, soon.
She glanced up. “They didn’t really put me on Facebook, did they?”
“You don’t know my roommates,” I said grimly. “I’m sure they did. Are you pissed?”
“I don’t mind,” she said stolidly. Then brightened. “Those pictures get flagged right away. They’ll be gone in an hour. They’re inappropriate.”
“Highly inappropriate, based on how we were interrupted. But probably awesome.”
“We need a copy of those pictures,” she said suddenly. “Before they’re yanked offline.”
I pulled my laptop out of a pile of clothes next to my bed.
There followed an uncomfortable silence when the computer woke and displayed a dozen windows full of porn. Emmeline gave an amused snort as I frantically closed all of them before they could start moving and groaning at us.
With the girls dismissed, I opened up my Facebook page—and there I was. Twice. My fucking roommates had even tagged me so it would show up with my name. And it would show up to my Facebook friends. Why did I always friend my professors? Shit—my older brothers! My Dad! My Mom!
Not that anyone would recognize me. I was just a blank, surprised face half covered by Emmeline’s brunette hair.
Emmeline herself was stretched out across me. The picture caught the muscular definition of her arms and shoulders. Her stomach was pure revelation; you could see the ripple of her muscles. Her legs were splayed to the side to hold her up, and her jeans sagged below her hips. My hand in her panties looked degenerate and dirty—and fucking sexy as hell. Presiding majestically over the whole amazing landscape were a pair of the best tits I’d ever seen on that computer screen, better than most porn tits for sure. They were symmetrical, round, high on her chest, and not small in any sense. They jutted out, heavy and tempting, with sky-pointed nipples. And she directly faced the camera, a little smile on her lips. Proof that she had been aware of the camera before the picture.
“This is what they saw when we burst in!” Emmeline whispered. She was smiling again. “How epic is that?”
She pointed to the comments under the picture.
The first one read, “Trapper wins at life.”
Another went, “How does she not have back problems with that giant rack? Are they real? Trapper, tell us! For science!”
“Tell him they’re fake,” she said. “I had a boob job last fall, after a period when I was really sick and I wasn’t supposed to live more than a year.”
Um, what?
I’d have to ask about that later, but right now I was maxed out in terms of being surprised.
“You know, most girls would be shitt
ing themselves over this,” I told her. On the computer, I wrote: “It’s none of your business but she’d like you to know she’s had work done.”
I hit reload and saw we already had an answer: “Knew it! That much perfection is not natural.”
Another reply came up. It was Fred himself, writing, “On reflection I feel bad about posting this. Who is she? And why are you Facebooking with her instead of… you know?”
“Tell him I don’t mind this time,” she said. “But he shouldn’t do that again. People go to jail for that shit.”
She curled against me and kissed my chin, then my neck. She squirmed down out of my embrace and until she was face to face with my crotch. She unbuckled my pants.
I typed, “She says she doesn’t care. But I do. That was seriously wrong.”
Emmeline had my cock out and was tugging it toward her face. She closed her lips over it and gave it a long, strong suck. “For this first blowjob, I want you to come really fast.”
“It’s going to happen so fast, time will temporarily run backward.”
“Oh, and Trapper…” she paused and slid my whole shaft into her mouth, and down her throat. She went back and forth on it, building up some heat and friction on the shaft. She had all these hidden assets that I never suspected: an epic body, a great kisser, a deep throater with the casual competence of a porn star.
“Y-yes, Emmy?”
“I want you to tag me in that picture. Tag it to my Facebook profile.”
“That picture? Tagged to you? But—” I paused to gasp, because she briefly worked my dick ferociously with her mouth. “All your friends. People you work with. Your old high school buddies. Everybody you know…”
“Shit, you’re right,” she paused, yanking my cock while she thought. “It has to look like someone is being an asshole to me, right? I can’t be too obvious. And you can’t tag me because you’ll get in trouble with my friends. I got it! Tell your roommate to tag me. He’s already an asshole.”
“You’re sure about this? You really want me to tell him?”
“It’s just an experiment,” she said. “I’ve never had a scandal before, and I’m twenty. Don’t you think it’s time?”
“But people will save the picture on their computers. There will be a naked picture of you on the Internet!”
“There are others already out there,” she shrugged.
“What!?” Who was this girl?
“I guess that’s sort of a scandal. I’ll tell you the whole story someday. Again, it was about expecting to die soon.”
“I’m so disoriented.” Why was I was expected to hold a conversation while she stroked my cock? It was worse than talking during a football game.
“When you think you’re going to die, Trapper, it’s very clarifying. You don’t puss around with the things you want to do. You don’t sweat details. And also, nothing you and I do together will ever be as scary or painful as being terminally ill.”
“Okay… but…”
“Look, Trapper, I’m not dumb. I know what I’m asking, and I know what I want. Over the next few weeks, I’ll prove that I trust you. But you have to trust me, too.” She gave my dick a shake. “If you don’t get my picture tagged before it’s taken down by the Facebook police, I will not finish this blowjob.”
“Consider it done!”
I messaged Andy the instructions, which he rejected. So I threatened him, which never worked. Then I told him I was getting a blowjob, and if it wasn’t from Emmeline, it would be from him. That worked.
“There.” I reloaded the page, and the image was linked to Emmeline’s Facebook page.
“Nice,” she said. “Have people ‘liked’ it yet? Are my friends outraged?”
“Won’t your family see?”
“It’s just my brother and my dad. And if my dad were on Facebook, I’d be dead already. And so would all of you. Seriously, don’t disrespect me around my dad.”
“Thank you for finally killing my hard-on.”
“I’ll bring it back. I’ve waited a long time for you to come in my mouth.”
Shit. She could even talk dirty.
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Anything for Money: A Sex-For-Hire College Romance Page 20
