I thought about her tits and squeezing her ni**les, rolling them between my thumb and forefinger. A heaviness rolled through me. I wanted to have her br**sts under me, and to kiss in a trail down her stomach, then drop my chin between her legs and thrust my tongue into her. I wanted to grab her ass with both hands as I licked her up and down, taking my time, making her writhe beneath me. Her hands in my hair. Calling my name. Sawyer.
The thunder in my loins rolled over, twisting away and then back, as inevitable as the waves on the beach. Up on my toes, now facing the wall with the top of my head next to the light switch, I grasped around on my dresser for something. The box of tissues had been commandeered for the bathroom, so I grabbed the nearest soft thing and shot a payload into it.
After, I unclenched my teeth and shuffled my way back to flop on my bed and catch my breath. I'd just made a spectacular mess on the shirt I'd been planning to wear that night. Perfect.
I took maybe two long breaths before the front door banged and the music started. Spanky had some people downstairs, and that meant it was four-twenty time. And my night was just getting started.
The music was low enough that I could hear laughter above it—female laughter. The sound was appealing, like that of the mermaids who lured sailors to their death on the rocks.
Why was I hiding in my room with my now-limp dick in my hand instead of downstairs enjoying some social interaction?
I tossed the dirty shirt on the teetering laundry pile, got myself put together, and started down the stairs.
Spanky took one look at me and yelled, “Bro! You got that job at London Drugs! Don't give up, it makes me sad. Hang in there, something's gonna pick up for you.”
He had on a ripped shirt he'd cut the sleeves off of, paired with loose cotton pants, navy blue, with stars and moons. To top off this fashionable ensemble, he wore a pair of bedraggled Adidas sports sandals, and white tube socks. And he had the balls to rag on me?
“This is your shirt, Spankmeister.” I tugged the waistband of my boxer shorts up above my jeans. “And these are your gonch I'm wearing. I like how the soft cotton cups my sack, don't you?”
He had two girls on either side of him—the blonde and the brunette, whatever their names were. The girls were young, maybe nineteen or so, and possibly attractive under all the makeup.
The blonde licked her lips and said, “Nice polka dots. Why don't you come sit next to me and let me play connect-the-dots.”
The brunette gave me a shy wave and softly squeaked, “Hi, Sawyer.”
I recognized their faces, but still couldn't remember their names. These were the girls who'd brought me the home-baked pie after Janine dumped me.
“Pie girls,” I said.
The blonde tossed her hair over her shoulder. “We're about so much more than pie.” She wore a thin white shirt with a red lace bra clearly visible underneath.
The three were on the long sofa—the brown, floral-patterned low-rider that had no legs. I took a seat across from them in the vintage gold brocade armchair.
My gold chair had a great shape, and I'd had big plans to learn about upholstery and restore it to its original splendor, but it had smelled like dog and now it smelled like dog and incense, like the inside of a thrift store.
Spanky didn't have one of his pipes, but was rolling a joint on his lap, on the pull-out wood cutting board from the kitchen. He didn't call joints jays or doobies or spliffs, but old fashioneds.
“That's quite the old fashioned you're rolling there.”
“My friends deserve the best, and if I can't give them the best, I'll give them the most.” He grabbed his crotch suggestively.
“No thanks,” I said, laughing.
Spanky had styled his hair into a fauxhawk, the red locks pointed up and making him resemble a one of those crest-headed birds old ladies keep. He leaned over to kiss the brunette's neck. She squealed and nearly knocked the board and smattering of buds to the carpet. They started kissing, and I had no choice but to look away from them out of decency.
My eyes eventually finished the circuit of the room and returned to the blonde. Who wears a red bra under a thin white shirt? This one, that's who.
“Charity,” she said. “That's my name. I'm sure you didn't forget, since I baked you that nice pie, but I'm Charity.”
“That explains why I feel so charitable toward you.”
Her face crinkled. “Huh?” She had a short nose that made her look young, especially making that face. “I'm thirsty. We threw some cider in the fridge.”
Spanky stopped kissing his girl long enough to mutter at me, “Get the ladies a drink, you f**king hipster douchebag with no manners.”
“Choadsmoker.”
I got up with a groan, and Charity followed me into the kitchen like a puppy.
“I have a girlfriend,” I said to her as we looked through the drawers for a bottle opener.
“She coming tonight?”
“No, she's at work. Plus she's got a kid.”
Charity made a face like she'd just smelled something awful. “Tough break. My mom was a single mom. We were always getting f**ked around by guys who said they'd be there for us, but none of them stuck until I got my little brother.”
“Tough break.”
“What's her kid like?” Charity asked.
“She won't let me meet her daughter. Actually, I don't even know if she's officially my girlfriend.”
Charity smiled up at me, all cute and blonde, face full of dimples… sexy red bra… small waist, nice hips. She had taken her shoes off, and even her bare feet were cute, with red polish on the toes. I had no doubt she wore matching red panties under her peach-colored tight jeans.
“I'm a good listener,” she said.
At last I found the bottle opener and got all four bottles open. I moved quickly to the doorway, eager to get back to the living room and the other people. It wasn't that I didn't like the conversation I was having with Charity—she seemed like a nice enough person, but I didn't want to give her the idea I was interested.
I'd never been one of those guys who had to make an effort to avoid the temptation of other girls. When I was dating someone, my loyalty was with her.
For some guys, other girls were like Jell-O. By that, I mean there was an old advertisement for Jell-O that my friends and I had seen on YouTube. In the advertisement, the announcer said that even after a big meal, there was “always room for Jell-O.” Some of the guys I knew felt that other girls were like Jell-O in that there was always room for them. And that blow jobs didn't count.
I had tried to be more adventurous about hookups, back before Janine and I started dating. Spanky and I had just moved into the house, and we threw a housewarming party to immediately set ourselves up as the most hated house on the street. In retrospect, it would have been a good idea to keep a low profile for a few months and meet some of the neighbors, but what did we know?