The Road to You

by Piper Lennox

  “No,” she says, firm and a little angry. “I’ve never had sex. But I was also saying I’ve never done that.” She points to the screen, where another girl is panting that she’s close.

  “Wh— Orgasmed?” I look at her so fast, my neck cracks. “You’ve never had an orgasm?”

  If she was blushing before, she’s close to spontaneous combustion right now. “No, okay? I’ve never....” She can’t even make herself say the word.

  “So...so hold on,” I sputter, sitting straight up, trying to wrap my head around this news. “You’ve never orgasmed. Okay. But...you’re a teenager.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So, you know...don’t you masturbate? Eighteen years and you expect me to believe you’ve never touched yourself?”

  “God, Blake,” she says, pulling a face.

  “You’re the one that brought it up,” I remind her. I point to the porn. “You’re the one who wanted to watch Spring Break Slut Fest, remember?”

  I can’t tell if she’s more embarrassed or angry. “Fine,” she snaps, slamming the remote on the coffee table. She sighs. “Look, I...I’ve touched myself before, yeah. But no. I’ve never orgasmed. I don’t know why. I’m just one of those people that can’t, I guess.”

  “Everyone can orgasm.”

  “No, they can’t,” she counters. “I read it in Cosmo.”

  I roll my eyes. This isn’t the first time she’s used that magazine as definitive proof in an argument, but whatever. That’s not important right now.

  “At least,” she adds, “I don’t think I have. How do you know?”

  I laugh. “Oh, you know.”

  This, apparently, is not the answer she was looking for. I clear my throat and stop laughing.

  “I meant what does it feel like, when you.... Or is it different, for guys and girls?”

  “I think it’s basically the same,” I say, although I’ve never actually thought about this. “I don’t know how to describe it. It’s...just this really intense, really good feeling. Probably the best in the world, to be honest.”

  I expect her to laugh at my description, not believing me, but when I look at her, she’s hanging on my every word.

  “Huh,” she says, sitting back against the couch cushions. We go back to the movie, and I finish my soda as a girl on screen gets her ass slapped. The noise makes us both jump, it’s so sudden.

  Under the blanket, as hard as I already was, now I’m basically concrete. I promise myself a nice solo session later, after Mel’s asleep.

  Mel

  I can’t believe I just told him that.

  I’ve never told anyone that before, actually, but I damn sure never thought I’d tell Blake. It can’t be the tequila, only two shots in. Maybe the rain is making me tired, screwing with my brain.

  The wind whips the tall oaks outside. Suddenly, it’s dark, and we’re both so shocked we don’t even get up to find a flashlight.

  He’s quiet; I think he’s fallen asleep. But then, in the weird silence of his house, that undertone of the storm, he says, “Truth or Dare.”

  “We’re a little old for that, don’t you think?”

  “You’re never too old for Truth or Dare.”

  My eyes start to adjust. I can see him picking at the tab on his soda, his mouth open just a bit as he concentrates. I’ve never noticed how full his lips are for a guy’s. They’re like this perfect shade of pink, the kind of pink you’d order if you were painting your house or something. A pink you’d never get sick of seeing.

  “Truth,” I say, shrugging. Why not? We might as well have fun while the power’s out.

  “Okay.” Blake sits up. In the dimmest glow from the skylight, I see him smile. “Was Bastian really bisexual, or was it just a rumor?”

  I laugh. “I don’t know, but I think it was true. He stared at a lot of guys when we were going out. He’d pretend he was reading their T-shirts.”

  He cracks up, and I feel good that I’ve made him laugh. It’s weird, because normally, I wouldn’t even think about it.

  “My turn.” I take his soda and sip. “Truth or Dare.”

  “Dare.”

  This is typical. When we were kids, I chose Truth because it’s easy and painless: you just rip off the Band-Aid and say it. With Dare, you never know what’s going to happen, and the anticipation alone is a killer.

  But Blake is still shy, like when we were kids, and doesn’t like divulging secrets. He can’t even lie if someone asks a question he doesn’t want to answer; he’s got a terrible poker face.

  “Okay, I dare you to....” I pause, thinking. “I dare you to show me that boner you’ve been trying to hide since I put on the porn.”

  I can’t see his skin turning red in the darkness, but I know it is. “I’m not showing you my dick,” he balks, like I’m breaking the rules of the game or something.

  “Not your actual dick,” I laugh, “just quit covering up like it isn’t obvious. It is.”

  He grumbles something and throws the blanket onto the floor between us. A flash of lightning shows me that, yes, his shorts are seriously tented. And I’ve got to admit it to myself: that bulge is way bigger than I would’ve guessed.

  Shit, I think, realizing I’m staring right at it. I tear my eyes away as he says, “Right. My turn.”

  “Truth.”

  “Would you ever let me give you an orgasm?”

  I have to stare at him, searching for his expression in the dark, trying to decide if he’s serious. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was wasted. “What?” I whisper.

  He shifts his weight around on the cushions. “Orgasm,” he repeats. “Would you ever let me give you one?”

  To be honest, just hearing Blake say the word “orgasm,” not to mention in the context of giving me one, turns me on. I’m shocked, but not as much as I probably should be.

  I feel a warmth begin between my legs, then even more so at the realization that I’m wearing Blake’s sweatpants and no panties. All of a sudden I get a chill, this electric sensation all through my body, at the thought of him actually giving me an orgasm, whatever that feels like. The thought of him undressing me, touching my bare skin....

  “I’m not answering that,” I say softly, then, louder, “That’s an unfair question.”

  “What? How is that unfair?” He gets up and grabs a lighter, passing over each of the tealights on the coffee table and mantle. One by one, they cast a gentle glimmer across the room, making the shadows sway and jump.

  It’s romantic, I realize, but shake it off.

  “Because...because you’re really asking two questions,” I say, bullshitting as I go along. “First, you’re asking if I’d ever let anyone give me an orgasm, besides myself, which I already told you I can’t, so...whatever. And second, you’re asking if I’d let that person be you.”

  “And? Would you?”

  “You can’t ask two questions. I change my mind, I want Dare.”

  “Fine.” He falls back onto the couch, only this time, he’s much closer. Our legs are touching. Our shoulders are touching. The armrest is on the other side of me, and I’ve got nowhere to go.

  I’m not sure I want to.

  “I dare you,” he whispers, “to let me give you an orgasm.”

  About the Author

  Piper Lennox is a romance novelist who believes in love at first sight, happily ever afters - and all the steamy moments in between. She lives in Virginia with her husband Freeman, their three children, and a Siberian Husky too smart for his own good.

  piperlennox.com

 

 

 
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