Manties in a Twist

by J. A. Rock

  “I’ll play him a song,” I volunteered, leaping up to get my guitar from its usual corner.

  It wasn’t there. ’Cause I’d taken it to my place a few weeks ago.

  I owned two guitars, one that stayed with me, and one I’d kept here so I could play while we were all hanging out. But since I wasn’t hanging out here as much anymore, I’d brought that one home.

  For a second, that empty corner made me so fucking sad.

  “Ha-ha!” Miles smirked. “You don’t have your secret weapon here any longer.”

  I grinned. “I can still block the door.”

  “Staaayyy, Miles,” Gould begged.

  Miles shook his head. “I really do have things to take care of.”

  I went back to the table and sat. “Ryan and I were talking the other night about, like, stress levels. And he says the more you try to prepare for a big life event or whatever, the more you—”

  “Is there anything Ryan doesn’t know?” Dave was maybe trying to say it like he was teasing, but it didn’t work.

  I stared at him for a moment.

  Something was going on here that I was not down with. When I’d first met Ryan, he’d hung out with our entire group, and everyone seemed to get along with him. We’d even made him an associate member of the Subs Club, because he had pointed out that we should have a dom’s perspective in our discussions. Except he pretty much never came to meetings or hung out with all of us. And the others never begged me to invite him to do shit with us the way Miles and Gould and me always wanted to see D, and Gould and Dave and me loved chilling with Drix.

  “Probably not.” I shrugged. “I really like my boyfriend. What’s wrong with that? I love Drix and D, why can’t you guys respect Ryan?”

  Dave looked kinda guilty. “Ryan’s just a little—”

  Gould hit Dave’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

  “Ryan’s a little what?” I demanded.

  Dave opened his mouth again, but Gould glared at him.

  Since Gould was pretty much the only one of us Dave listened to, Dave backed down. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to make this a thing. I was just observing that we’ve got a couple of crazy lovebirds on our hands. Which is cute. I’m glad for you, buddy.”

  But he looked unhappy, and now I felt uncomfortable—not angry, exactly, just . . . deflated or something. “A little what?” I repeated.

  “A little blunt,” Dave said before Gould could stop him. “He barges into conversations and doesn’t think before he speaks, and . . .” He looked at Miles, like maybe he wanted backup.

  Well, that’s ironic, coming from you. I didn’t say it, though.

  “I gotta go.” I stood. “I’m supposed to go to the rock wall in like an hour. With Ryan.” I punched Dave playfully on the shoulder, but it was definitely a little too hard, and he definitely looked like he wanted to punch me back.

  “See you,” he said, all snippy.

  I normally would have grabbed him and hugged him and broken the tension. I didn’t like any bad feelings between me and the guys, but in this case, my feelings were pretty hurt.

  So I just went to the friggin’ rock wall.

  With Ryan.

  That night, I lay on my stomach on the bed while Ryan straddled me and rubbed my shoulders. I closed my eyes and sighed.

  He slid his hand up the back of my neck. “You’re real tense.”

  “I’m sore from the rock wall,” I mumbled.

  “Mmm. You’ve been quiet all evening. You tired?”

  “Eh.” I rolled my shoulder as he dug the heels of his hands into the knotted muscle. “Just had kind of a weird day with the guys.”

  “Wanna tell me?” He rubbed lower, and I moaned.

  “I want . . . I want this forever.”

  “I’ll give you this forever.”

  I panted slightly as he worked under my shoulder blade. “Really?”

  “Or until I get tired.”

  I smooshed my face deep into the pillow and kept groaning. “Oh my God, you make me want to give you millions of dollars.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “Live in an enchanted forest with you.”

  “Sounds pleasant.”

  “Eat buffalo wings off your face . . .”

  He dragged his fingertips down my back in squiggly patterns, and I felt it in my dick. Then he pinched my ass.

  “Ow.”

  He made circles around my tailbone. Laughed.

  “Mmm, fuck.” I wriggled against the bed, enjoying the heat and sting from the pinch. “Do it again.”

  He pinched harder. I rubbed against the bed.

  “Look at you.” Ryan clucked his tongue. “Ya big whore.”

  I wiggled my ass a little.

  He slapped it. “You like that?”

  Smiling, I lifted my head and hooked my chin over the top of the pillow. Kept my eyes closed. “No.”

  “I think you do.”

  A swat on the top of my right thigh. I hissed exaggeratedly. Hugged the pillow to my chest. “Noooo . . .”

  I wiggled again, waiting for the next one.

  Nothing.

  “Beg me,” Ryan said softly. “Tell me what you’ll give me.”

  I closed my eyes even tighter, trying to keep a straight face. Whispered, “Don’t make me say it.”

  I knew exactly what he was fishing for. And I really hoped he’d get that I, like, unbe-fucking-lievably wanted him to make me say it.

  “Oh, I’m gonna make you.” He ran his hand down my back, and I tensed my legs to keep from coming, because I seriously could go off like a rocket.

  The first dom I ever played with was all like, “Don’t come until I say you can,” and I was like, Dude, I don’t know when it’s gonna happen. It’s like nuclear war. There are protests for peace, and higher-ups negotiating to try to stop it. But someday, suddenly and without warning, it’s gonna occur.

  “You know how it works. You want something, you have to earn it.”

  I spread my legs, and he slid his fingers—not through my crack, exactly, but right along the edge of it, stopping at my inner thigh. I held my breath.

  “Do you want to come?”

  I nodded, my face buried deep in the pillow.

  He traced my balls with one fingernail, and my whole body trembled. “So tell me what you’ll give me.” I heard the grin in his voice. “What you’ll promise me.”

  I didn’t answer.

  He put a hand on the back of my head and pushed my face into the pillow, and didn’t even really slap my butt as much as skim his hand across it, like really sharp. He let go of my head, and I lifted it and sucked in a breath.

  I squirmed against the bed. “Please . . .?”

  He started squeezing my ass—pinching and kneading, bringing a warmth to my skin that made me crazy. I panted, gulped, and tried to hold still as the heat built.

  He moved his other hand between my legs to play with my balls.

  I jerked my head up. “Oh my God. No— Fuck! Am I allowed to come?”

  “Let me think . . .” He ran his finger quickly back and forth along the skin behind my balls while I clamped my teeth around the pillow and shook with the effort of holding back. “Only once I hear what I’m going to get from you.”

  I lifted my head again and took a deep breath. Then I sang, running the words together: “Myfirstbornchildandallmypants, ahighendescortplusacastleinFrance. EverycakeintheUSA, adifferentponyeverysingleday. ThreemoreseasonsofVeronicaMars, twentythousandrealnicecars. A swimmingpoolwithawaterfall andawaterslidebuiltintoyourbedroomwall. I’llgiveyoumylove, I’llgiveyoumysoul. I’llgiveyoumyheartandI’llgiveyoumyh—” I cleared my throat exaggeratedly “—whole . . . life. If you please just leeeeet meeee cooooommmme.”

  He laughed, then trailed off in a sigh. “I love the ‘Promises Song.’”

  I’d actually written it for Gould and Hal, years ago when I’d been trying to get them to blow off work and road trip to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. Obviously it had ended w
ith “please go to Mardi Gras,” not “please let me come.” I hadn’t told Ryan that. The first time I’d sung it for him he’d liked it so much that I’d wanted to pretend I’d made it up just for him.

  “Ryan?” I braced the balls of my feet against the mattress and raised my hips. “Please?”

  He reached around and grabbed my dick, stroking it lightly.

  I pushed my face back into the pillow to stifle a moan.

  “Good?”

  I nodded. “Mhh-hmm.”

  He pumped harder and slapped my ass again. I arched my neck and came with a strangled grunt. Collapsed as soon as I was done.

  He tugged some hair on the back of my thigh. “Hall of Fame?”

  I turned my head to the side. “Almost. I think I need to be more choosy. ’Cause I keep putting all the hand-j’s you give me in the Hall of Fame.”

  He stroked my shoulders. “It’s a big hall.”

  I flexed my ass and felt a slight soreness where he’d done all the pinching and slapping. “Question.”

  “Yes?”

  “Do all doms like spanking?”

  He laughed. “Probably not. I’m not, like, nuts about it. But if a guy’s got a great ass, I definitely wanna smack it.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?”

  “Yeah.” I rolled over. “I’ve been trying to learn more lately about what this stuff is like from a dom’s perspective.”

  “Well . . . because it jiggles.”

  “The ass?”

  “Yes. You spank it, and it kind of quivers a little. And some guys, if it stings enough, they clench, and they get these great . . . dimples—I guess?—along the sides of the cheeks.” He traced the area on my ass.

  My breath caught for a few seconds, then I let it out. “What else?”

  “They make noises. Like you did. Either because they’re excited, or they’re having trouble taking the pain.”

  “Do you like noise?”

  He laughed again. “Ummm, I like quiet noises mostly. Like . . .” He demonstrated a little whimpery-panting sound. “But there was one guy who cried every time I spanked him. Full-blown sobs, even if it was a light spanking.”

  “Did you like that?”

  “I thought he was bullshitting. But maybe he wasn’t. I dunno.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m more into breathing.”

  “Breathing?”

  “Yeah. If I hear a guy’s breathing get fast and heavy, that’s my favorite. Or if it hitches a little, like—” He demonstrated again. “That’s the best.”

  “Am I a good breather?”

  “One of the best.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not just shitting me?”

  “Top notch.”

  “I didn’t think I liked spanking much. But when you do it like that, where it doesn’t really hurt . . .”

  He stretched out beside me. “The first time we met, I made it really hurt.”

  Ohhh fuck, it had hurt. But it had been so good. I could still remember the ache of my stomach hitting his thigh when he’d pulled me over his knee. How awkward I’d felt, with my limbs hangin’ down everywhere and the blood rushing to my head.

  “In front of my friends,” I whispered, my face getting a little hot at the memory.

  He stared at me through the darkishness. “Do you like that? Being watched?”

  “Uhhh. I never really thought about it. I always played in the clubs, so I don’t have a problem with it. But it’s not usually a super turn-on.”

  “Did I embarrass you that night?”

  “Nah. It was my friends. So I wasn’t too embarrassed. And I was kinda drunk.”

  He grinned. “You and your friends are . . .”

  “What?” I propped up so I could see him better.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. You guys are so close.”

  I felt a moment of mega-pride, and then I got sort of bummed, thinking about what had gone on earlier today. “They think I’m too obsessed with this.”

  “What’s ‘this’?”

  I couldn’t tell him they thought I was too into him. Or that Dave thought he was a little who-knows-what. “They think I don’t spend enough time with them anymore.”

  He kissed my jaw. “They might just be jealous that you’re really getting your life in order.”

  “Yeah. This is a weird time for me. So many changes.”

  “Miles is making big changes too. Are they giving him trouble?”

  I put my head on his chest. “No, but Miles gets treated different. Because ‘I have more important stuff to do than hang out’ has always been his thing. So no one minds if he misses a Subs Club meeting or can’t watch a movie or whatever.”

  “I can see that. He’s very aloof.”

  “Yeah! He’s all ‘Never share your feelings,’ and people are like, ‘Oh, that’s just Miles.’ He’s such a . . .” I felt Ryan’s heartbeat against my cheek. “An emotional puritan.” I meant for it to come off as a joke, but it was kind of like earlier at Dave’s house—I could hear that little edge in my voice.

  “I did kind of think when I first met him that he needed, like, a joint.”

  I snorted. “And you met him when he was drinking. And you still thought that.”

  “Poor guy. Let’s bake him some pot brownies or something.”

  “I’ve tried.” I paused. “We’re so weird. Like, we’ve always ragged on each other and stuff, but over the last couple of years we’ve been . . . It’s like we’re married, man, the way we bicker. Miles can get really condescending. And Dave’s just . . . so enthusiastic and wants everything to be a certain way. Gould’s kind of an emo Jew, but—”

  Ryan burst out laughing. “Emo Jew?”

  “Am I not allowed to say that? Can I call Jews ‘Jews’?”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “I just never know what words are okay.”

  He laughed again and nudged me with his foot. “You guys’ll get things sorted out. It’s just like you said: a lot of changes right now.”

  “Yeah.” I hugged the pillow to me.

  My two guitars were propped in the corner of the room. I had another vision of my group a couple of years ago. Pot smoke filling Dave’s kitchen, me playing the guitar. The table covered with junk food, and everybody laughing.

  Ryan’s hand trailed down my side. “Well, you guys are still kinda . . . Hal only died a couple of years ago, right?”

  “Little over two years.” Sometimes it felt like yesterday, sometimes it felt like ten years. “He was one of those guys who didn’t care about—whatever. If you were too busy to hang out or flaked on plans or whatever. He showed up whenever the hell he wanted to and would just leave randomly. Like, we’d all be hanging out and then look around and be like, ‘Where’s Hal?’ You didn’t really ‘make plans’ with him, you just did stuff in the moment.”

  “That would drive me crazy.”

  I grinned. “Uhhh, you’re not huge on plans either. I mean, how many times are we in the middle of something, and then you’re like, ‘Let’s go do this other thing right now’?”

  “I’m not like that!” he protested, laughing. “I need structure.”

  I gazed at the wall. At the crown molding he and I had spent hours sponging the cobwebs off when we’d moved in. Thought about the well-dressed hare in our front hall. “Hal didn’t drive me crazy,” I said at last. “Not really. The others got annoyed with him sometimes, I think, but I didn’t.”

  Another silence. He was breathing so slow I thought maybe he’d fallen asleep. Then he said, “Just don’t ever let them make you feel like you’re the one who needs to change.”

  “No. Of course not. They never make me feel that way.”

  I kind of didn’t want to talk about this anymore. I felt guilty for complaining about my friends to Ryan, but also still pretty pissed at Dave. I remembered that look Gould had given him, and it made me wonder what they said when I wasn’t
around. I’d never been very sensitive about stuff like that, but tonight it kind of bothered me.

  I pulled on the corner of my pillowcase. “I think I’m moving on faster than they are.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I miss Hal a lot. But Gould’s still so pissed at Bill, and Dave’s still, like, everything reminds him of Hal. And I just feel kind of . . . He’s gone. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

  Ryan nodded. “Well, people grieve for different lengths of time. There’s no rules.”

  “I know. I’m not blaming them.”

  “Oh, I didn’t think you were. I just meant you shouldn’t feel bad if you think you’re moving on faster.”

  “I don’t.” I paused. “Should I feel bad?”

  “No. I just said that.”

  “Okay.” I shifted. Everything inside me felt kind of sour and sloshy, like I’d swallowed ocean water. “Can we not talk about it anymore?”

  “Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

  “Can we go get our juicer tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, if you want. Our gift card’s not gonna cover that, though.”

  “Credit card.”

  He tipped his head to look at me. “We should be a little careful. We’ve been putting a lot on the card.”

  “Does this mean we can’t get the Geegs salad bar when we go?”

  “Geegs? Is that what we’re calling Giant Eagle now?”

  “Yuss.”

  “Well, we could get salad ingredients for, like, five bucks. Instead of the bar for eight million dollars.”

  “I guess.” I tightened my arms around him until he grunted. Shook him a little. “I want to make carrot juice. And experiment with kale.”

  “Patience. Patience.”

  I kissed his shoulder, right on top of my favorite mole. “Tell me a story.”

  “About what?” He licked my neck, so I murdered him a little bit, very gently, by rolling on top of him.

  “Megalodons.”

  “What do you want the megalodons to do?” His voice was muffled underneath me.

  “Eat some people and fuck some shit up.”

  “All right.” He pushed on my chest. “Stop smothering me.”

  I rolled off him and onto my back, looking up at the ceiling. Then his, like, really fucking pleasant cartoon voice filled the darkness.

  “Thousands of years ago, megalodons roamed the seas. These massive predators would—”