So, this pretty girl with long, black hair asked to get a full tour of the house. She was loud and demanding, and not really my type. I actually thought she was into Spanky, so I was surprised when she started kissing me in the upstairs hallway. Before I knew what was happening, she had my jeans down, and I found myself saying that corny thing I bet all guys say: “You don't have to do that.”
Why do guys say that? You don't have to do that.
Of course she knows she doesn't have to do that. But you know once that top button gets undone, it's heading one of three ways. Or four ways.
That zipper comes down and as a guy, you gotta say the polite line. You don't have to do that. Ridiculous. Like two women fighting over whose turn it is to pay for lunch. “You don't have to do that, Suzanne, it's my turn to pay for lunch! You paid last week, and you only had a salad.”
In my experience at restaurants, I'd seen that exact scene more times than I cared to remember. I'd also seen my share of pink lipstick on cups that had been through the dishwasher. And chewed-up soggy crackers from babies. But I digress.
The girl with the black hair dropped to her knees and kissed the head of my cock. I said the line again, and she responded by stuffing my dick in her mouth. She felt so hot, and her sucking ironically gave me the shivers. As she power-vacuumed my c**k down her throat, part of me was so embarrassed for her. Who was this girl to give a b**w j*b to some guy she didn't know? And who was I to think that was okay? I was completely single and available, but it still didn't feel right. Well, physically, it felt completely right, which was why I didn't try that hard to stop her.
After I came, she got back to her feet and hugged me. She whispered in my ear, “I'm Janine. Nice to meet you.”
What to do next?
I asked for her number.
So, we went for a date the next night, because I didn't want to be that guy. That guy who gets head from some random chick at a party.
I grew up with a lot of female cousins around, so I had some insight into the female brain, though many aspects remained a mystery.
Janine told me she'd taken something before the party—some tranquilizers her friend stole from her mother. She claimed she was a good girl, and that giving head to a stranger was completely out of character for her.
I wasn't so sure about that, especially since she invited me over to her place for “a rematch” right after our first date dinner. I went to her place because I didn't want to be that guy. That guy who feels guilty enough about a b**w j*b to go on a single courtesy date and spend $48.77 with tax and tip, and then dumps the girl and never calls again.
I felt comfortable around Janine, like I could say whatever dumb thing popped into my head and she'd laugh with me rather than at me. She had a good laugh. I loved her juicy ass and her big, loud laugh.
But I hadn't loved Janine.
I'd said the words, of course, but by now, a year after our breakup, I felt like someone else had said those things.
After she dumped me, I'd been low for day or two, and then I didn't get over Janine so much as I just plain forgot.
When I looked at some girls, I saw the parts rather than the whole. I don't mean the tits and ass, either, but the hair that needs daily straightening with a hot iron, the hand that needs to be held at all times while walking outside, and the eyes, always watching my eyes, trying to see what I'm seeing.
Aubrey had the cutest hair. The first time I saw her, it was wavy on one side and flat on the other side, like she'd slept on it and couldn't be bothered to disguise the fact. And she had that expression—that flat line to her mouth, like her whole life was a staring contest and she was determined not to be the first to blink.
I blinked.
When I looked up at those moon-colored eyes and felt their pull on me, my whole life came to a point, a destination, and it was Aubrey. It had always been Aubrey, even before we met. I'd seen her face a thousand times in my mind, even tried to draw it, but the pictures always came out wrong. This girl in my mind, I'd always imagined her smiling, no trace of sadness in her eyes, but one look at Aubrey and I knew where the lines would go. Aubrey's eyes tilted down at the corners, and her flat frown was like a wrinkle in an otherwise perfect canvas—the wrinkle that made everything come to life with beautiful, sad, precious imperfection.
After I met Aubrey, sometime between our first words and my attempt to kiss her, I fell for her. She was the muse I'd always wanted, the one who could inspire me to work harder and be greater than myself. That angry man who punched people was part of the past, and she was my future.
So, yeah, I was having a party at my house that Saturday, and I should have been having fun, but all I could think about was how much I missed Aubrey, this girl I barely knew. The idea of her moved through the house alongside me like a ghost of wanting.
I felt her presence so strongly, I was actually worried about catching hell for noticing Charity's red bra through her thin shirt. It was hard not to notice.
Back in the living room, I dropped into my dog-and-incense-imbued gold chair, dropped all four bottles on the coffee table, and reached for the fat joint from Spanky's hand. I had to shake myself out of my gloom or it was going to be a very long night.
“Go easy,” he gritted without exhaling. “That old fashioned has some kick. New hybrid blend.”
The cherry sizzled and burned up the paper with my inhale. I let the hot smoke out of my lungs slowly so as not to cough, saying, “When's everyone else showing up? Are we having a party or what?”
My nostrils stung, and I felt sick and calm at the same time, like I was on a boat with my eyes closed.
Chapter Twenty
Charity took the joint from my hand, her cool, soft fingers rubbing mine in a way that felt intentional.
“You're looking at the party,” Spanky said. “Party of four.” He let out his first stoned laugh of the night. His stoned laugh was fifty percent longer than his regular laugh, and was contagious.
“No shit,” I said, which made everyone laugh. A few minutes later, I was laughing too.
We had good music, booze, friends, what more could a person want? We had a pool table right there, and a big dart wall.
I didn't usually blaze, preferring to nurse a few beer instead and stay level while everyone else acted like an ass**le. That Saturday, however, I didn't just accept the fatties when they went around. I demanded my share, despite Spanky's warnings about the potency.
Soon I was pondering the meaning of the word baked.
Baked.
New hybrid, huh? And what else?
My brain lit up like Christmas in the mall. Everything made sense. The whole world fell into place and I understood absolutely everything there ever was or would be.