“This is my fifth can.”
“Oh.”
“And,” he adds, “that was my third tequila shot.”
I burst out laughing. Alcohol really makes me too bold. “You can’t get it up.”
“Well …”
“I can make you.”
Even with my shit for brains when it comes to being sensible I can’t stop this time, unlike how Nate and I both usually know where to back off when we’re making out. I haven’t even begun that and I’m quivering with the need to jump his bones. I’m not the type to allow myself to look weak, but I hate what Donovan did to me before, to let those stupid thoughts from years ago control me. They won’t. I won’t allow it to take over me again.
Nate rolls the empty can to the side and presses his lips into a line, looking serious. He’s trying really hard not to laugh.
“I’m a guy. I know how my body works. You girls think it’s some robot worked by a remote. Seriously, I’m so horny with you in that skirt and still can’t get it to do that.” He gestures to me from head to toe. “And even you, the hottest girl at this party, cannot change that fact.”
“I bet I can.”
Nate opens his mouth to banter back, but I get on my knees and shush him with a finger to his lips. He’s either shocked or turned on because I feel his breath shudder under the finger pressed to him.
I trail that finger down his chest and then reach under his shirt to rake my nails down his chest. He shudders twice in the span from his pecs to his pants line.
I bite my lip and wink, a silent promise I’ll win. Looking around, we’re cut off by enough darkness and space from other clumps of people chatting or lazing around, but still, it’s risky. I nudge him back into a shadow and he drags the chair back a few feet. We’re still not completely out of sight. And I love that thrill of power.
Nate settles into the chair, eyeing me, waiting for my next move. I settle back on my heels, thrusting his knees apart to sit inside the gap. I know he likes naughty, so while I get his shorts undone I mouth fuck you, grinning at his lips. All he does is look through me, in some trance or dream, fluttering his eyelids and unconsciously thrusting his hips at my fingers undoing his pants. When I open his fly, his almost-fully-erect cock is painfully obvious. I want it so bad it hurts waiting to pull it over the elastic.
Holding his gaze, I stick my finger in my mouth and suck it. I trail my finger, wet with my saliva, down the length of him, and what do you know? He springs to full length, although he was damn close before. I cover his cock with my mouth and tug a couple of times with my lips, and then circle him with my tongue.
I feel his hands on either side of my head, and before I start I look up at him through my hair, with him still occupying my mouth. I do it because I know it looks slutty and that it’s exactly what Nate is turned on by.
I’ve known Nate for too many years, and I know many things about how he thinks, but he sums this up pretty well. “Fuck, Kalli.”
He sits there with his trembling thighs touching the sides of my arms and his hands trying to push through his drunken state to find my head and pat me lovingly or push me down, or something that will show how excited he is.
And then I plunge down. I deep throat his length. There’s enough quiet to hear a soft sound, so I take him as far as I can go and make a gagging noise. I know my gag reflex won’t actually work, so I gag myself again, both times receiving the prize of Nate shuddering in a breath and moaning.
“Don’t,” he warns.
“It’s okay,” I say, “I can’t stop fucking you with my mouth, not even to breathe properly.”
To that he shuts up. I get off even more when I hear the track change and people cheer, knowing we’re doing this so close to getting caught.
When I first feel him pulsing beneath my tongue, I pull away. His frantic hands grab to find my head and push down to save the climax.
But I say, “Say it.”
He looks confused for a moment since this isn’t at all what’s on his mind, but then he remembers and replies, “You can. You can get me up drunk.”
At that I start again, and even in this state I make him pulsate, then blow in my mouth with a few sucks and tugs taking his length.
2
He knows I’m ten, so why is he looking at me like that?
He’s been looking at me over the table. Mummy is weird again and her breath and clothes smell weird, so she doesn’t notice.
She never notices.
But I do. He’s been looking that way ever since he started coming here and I don’t like it.
I look that way at a pretty dress behind a shop window. I want it so bad, and I’d do anything to buy it, but the most my mummy can afford is for me to twirl with it in the change rooms. But I always have to put it back and walk past it.
He looks at me like I’m that dress.
3
Scout stumbles over the threshold and drags me in through my front door after the party.
I latch onto her arm and pull her into me with a bear hug. I know what she tripped over. It’s that damn nail that’s sticking out of the floorboards that Mum keeps promising she’ll get fixed. At times like this I wish I lived on uni campus but it’s not required and I don’t have the money for that. Luckily, Scout and I are sloshed from grog, and her toe will only start throbbing tomorrow.
Afternoon.
“It didn’t even hurt!” she cries out.
“It will,” I say, but I don’t think Scout notices as she reaches for a non-existent bottle then settles for her mobile phone. She starts tapping away.
“You know that’ll only be garble, Scout,” I tell her, holding my wobbly body up using the walls. “I’m just gonna check on the twins.” I navigate to the end of the house to check on my four-year-old brothers, Seth and Tristan.
She mumbles something that I don’t hear, but it might have been, “What?”
Something feels off. I can hear noises from their joint bedroom. Mum can be up late if she’s out with Betsy or on a bender, but by this time of the night/morning, she’d be sleeping.
I walk down the hall, able to make out the wooden letters spelling “Seth” and “Tristan” on the farthest door. I focus my gaze, and now I’m alert, everything seems clear. They’ve either turned up the volume or I’m realising how noisy Woody from Toy Story really is.
I make out the photograph of the only family portrait on our walls. It’s the one I paid to print and frame out of my student savings. I’d bought it out of jealousy because it hurt going to Scout and Nate’s homes and always seeing family portraits everywhere—walls, side tables, key chains. In our house, Mum prefers more fun stuff. Like whacky Picasso drawings I don’t get. And mid-nineteenth century poses of women baring their asses. I don’t know. It’s all about fun for Mum and I suppose we three kids aren’t that.
At the twins’ door, I’m suddenly so sober I can feel my heart pounding in my ears. I put my weight into sliding the knob down carefully, sidestepping into their room. Before I have time to contemplate sneaking up to their bed, I see they’re on their tummies, legs swaying above and hands cupped in their palms, enamoured with the movie on the screen.
“Hey boys,” I say. I flop on the end of the bed. I think relief has sapped my energy.
“Kalli!” Seth screams, “The part. Watch, watch.”
“All right, but you gotta shush. Mum will go wild if she knows you’re up.”
Our mum, though a drunken high mess of a woman at times, still has enough brains to put my brothers to bed before nine, so Seth and Tristan awake at three am is odd. I hope to hell she fell asleep by accident.
Seth is first to answer my test question.
“Mummy isn’t here.”
“She went out?” I ask, studying both of their faces for any lies.
“Yup,” Tristan chimes in. “We started watching Toy Story when she left.”
“This is Toy Story,” I correct.
These twins are similar in looks and brains. I s
wear they can read each other’s mind, which is what they do now, sharing a look.
“Kalli …” Seth gives me such an earnest gaze. It breaks my heart knowing these kids are more mature than our mum at times like this. “This is number three.”
The twins explain that she’s with Betsy. I add, internally, and getting high. Apparently, she hired the usual sitter. However, Mum must have lost track of time. It’s no wonder the sitter left. I doubt she was paid for this long, or could work until now.
Seth and Tristan, my baby brothers, have been left to watch back-to-back Toy Story movies that will hopefully keep them distracted or put them to sleep until an adult gets home.
Shit. Fucking shit.
“What happened to the sitter?” I say, enquiring what actually happened.
“Amanda left.” Seth says, poking his head above the covers.
“When?” I say, gazing into his grey eyes. I want to cuddle them both but I reek of alcohol, and I’m sickening myself feeling so irresponsible and messy.
Seth thinks, answers, “Toy Story 2.”
I look back to the TV and estimate this one is probably around the one-hour mark. The sitter must have left after putting on the second movie, around 12.30 or so.
I tell the boys they stink, which they do. Tristan doesn’t care, but Seth tends to be self-conscious—a first for this family—so he agrees to come have a bath. Tristan loves Seth and follows.
All three of us strip. I felt awkward the first time we bathed together, but when I’m drunk and over-tired and it’s this time of the night, and my twin brothers are four? It’s just not awkward. I slide off their pjs and underwear and slip off my dress while the bath fills. It’s only average size but it has a curtain surrounding it so the boys sit on the bottom with the bubbles and their LEGO and truck figurines and I stand.
I shampoo and condition their heads and they love getting their fingers into the suds and trying to make them expand as much as possible, which I told them, if they rub fast, will make one of them the winner.
They do this now while I stand there, hands frozen in my hair, and stare at the water beading off the tiles. Watching the droplets race down the walls as if competing against each other. Some droplets join and become heavy, picking up speed. Others are lonely and take too long to drop to the bath bottom.
On my right, Seth taps my leg and I shake my head back to here and get us dressed. By this stage, the boys’ shoulders are sagging and they mumble their words, which are laced with sleep. These twins can get over-tired quickly and then it’s crazy trying to get them to sleep, so I skip story time, tuck them in and take the couch cushion I’ve positioned between their beds to sit on until they’re asleep and won’t notice me leave.
I slide the knob into the latch silently on my way out. I finally call Mum, but she doesn’t answer on call one or by number three so I give up because I know how that situation pans out, and waking up with my mobile imprint in my hand only ruins my morning when I remember.
Scout will be my distraction for the night. My best friend. The only adult I can rely on, besides Nate.
“It’s never rude when you’re having fun. Remember, life isn’t about being boring,” Mum always used to tell me.
Noticing Scout’s transferred to my room, I walk there and lower myself next to her, sliding onto the mattress so it doesn’t bounce, but she’s awake still.
“You mmm …?” she starts asking, but mumbles off and hums to herself in her drifting state. I keep my lips shut since the only thing I’m capable of is a shrieking sound and punching something out of frustration about how the night turned out.
Knowing me well she gets my hips, lines them up with hers, and bear hugs me from behind. The moment feels like the same sort of relief I felt when I had stepped off the bus from school camp, awaiting my ride home, back when Mum noticed things like that.
• • •
I should want to sleep but Mum is sure to roll in, figuratively or literally, in the next hour or so and I need to catch her before she sleeps or else she’ll forget the night ever happened. Scout is next to me. Twisting to see her face, I note her expression is slack, her breaths soundless as she rests. The sheets fold over her like a set director has placed them to look pretty, not like they’ve been literally slept in. I want to be like her now, but I also want to own this mad sensation firing up inside me. How could Mum do that? After Seth and Tristan were born she stayed clean for us and for her husband, Chester. It wasn’t for long, but still. That’s one year pre-birth and one post-birth—but who am I kidding? I know Mum’s type.
Addicts: their addiction is a facet of them. Remove that facet and they waste away until they don’t have anything left to fight with. Their addiction is the only thing to bring them back.
“Hoe,” I say through grit teeth.
Scout pushes my shoulder down, mumbling as she wakes. She nudges me to face her. “That’s rough.”
“She is,” I confirm. “If you’re gonna get high, why not at least pay the babysitter enough to look after your little boys?”
Scout sighs. “Oh, her.”
Scout knows our family, but I suppose not being here, living with her, growing up day-in-day-out with us means she doesn’t know all. So I tell her what happened.
“I am a hoe, though,” Scout says afterwards.
“No way. You know I’m kidding with you when I say stuff. I only say it because we’re close. I never mean it. You care about … people.”
“I kissed the hottest chick tonight. I care about her.” Scout shimmies up the headboard of my bed and punches a pillow into position under her elbow, resting her head in her palm. “You shoulda seen her. Legs up to here. Massive boobs.”
“D?”
“DD.”
“Well,” I say. “That’s … that’s too big, anyway, right?”
Scout and I can subject hop without much of a link between topics. For us, it just flows.
“Kalli,” she says, “I’m your bestie. I love your Bs because they are perky and the best size—”
“Bet you could throw hers over your shoulder,” I say while she’s still talking.
“—and we both know Nate loves your boobs a lot.”
“This he does. Gotta tell you some gossip about him. But you.” I stab Scout in the chest with my finger. “Answer my question.”
“It wasn’t a question.” She has a straight face for those words but then she breaks out in a grin. “But why would I throw them over my shoulder? I sucked them until they rashed up.”
“Yu—”I suppress my “yuck”. Scout likes girls as well as boys, and it’s not her sucking on them that weird me out but the thought of me doing that.
“Anyway,” she says shifting on her leant elbow, “what did you do with Nate?”
“I sucked his cock.”
Scout’s mouth explodes with air. Literally, she bursts into hysterics and I don’t bother reeling her in. The twins’ bedroom is far enough away, and I’m again feeling drunk enough to not know if she’s too loud.
“I did. It was a bet thing anyway.” Why not? Suck your best friend’s cock for a bet. “You sucked some random girl’s tits.”
Scout tips her head in a touché way. “But I like her.”
“I don’t like him. And he’s not even my best friend, you are. So be quiet and satisfied.”
“I’ll make sure not to tell him that, Kalli. But this crosses a line. Are you going to date him or something?”
I make an icky face. “No way.”
“He’s not like you. Shit, Kalli. Both him and I are not like you. We get real messy when we cross that line. Just don’t expect it to work out so well for him.”
“I kiss you.”
“You like guys though, not girls. There’s a fine, but defining difference there.”
“Ah, boy. You’re soft. It’s fine. I know it’ll be fine because he was piss-ass drunk. He may not even remember.”
I lean in, hold her cheeks in place and kiss her lips. “See? I j
ust kissed you, too. I’m not going to pretend my world has changed because I kissed my female best friend or gave head to my male friend. I have bigger concerns.”
I make a mental list: Mum’s a druggie, the twins’ dad has to be reminded to see his kids, I don’t know how I’ll ever pay off my course debt, I have to work part-time, study and mother my little brothers.
Yeah, I have bigger issues.
“Oh but the best part—” lie “—was finally hooking up with Donovan.”
She takes the bait.
“Dono-who?”
“Donovan Xander. That guy in some of your lectures and who you see at parties?”
“Yup.”
“Better kisser than I expected. I didn’t give him much credit going in but he obviously gets around. He was great. He even wanted to take me somewhere private—”
I stop there because I can’t explain the reason why, and don’t want to initiate conversation beyond “I can’t”—even with Scout. For some reason, I leave out the part about him having a girlfriend (maybe, probably). I leave out the part that he’s just another guy.
It’s not that I’m a Strong Woman and I-Don’t-Need-No-Man and such. And it’s not that I’m so picky I’m waiting for Mr Right. I had one boyfriend when I was almost fifteen and stupid, and he went around telling our high school year that I jerked him off, for only $10. Both were not true, and it only reinforced what I knew about boys.
Maybe it’s ‘cause Scout is drunk but she takes my words the wrong way.
“Aw, Kalli. Maybe one day. Maybe one day you’ll allow him to take you to his room alone.”
No, that’s the thing; that will never happen. With anyone.
The air is getting hotter between us as we huddle together, breathing heavily. It’s a mix of alcohol from our drinks during the party coupled with the stuffy feeling that puts me on edge.
“It was a one off.”
“It might be nice to see where this goes. You’re lucky to have so many people wanting you, free to be with whoever.”
Being Kalli Page 2
