Ask Me Anything

by Molly E. Lee

  And I didn’t want to.

  I held her against me, locking both arms around her until there wasn’t an inch of space between us. I flicked my tongue along the roof of her mouth, and she whimpered, sending all my nerves flying. I rubbed my hand up and down her back, my fingers grazing the bare skin of her hip where the shirt had ridden up.

  Amber sighed between my lips, arching into me once again, only this time…

  She gasped, breaking our kiss enough to look at me.

  She could feel me.

  Feel my desire.

  And as she surveyed me, her eyes churning with want and love and need, I held absolutely still.

  “Dean,” she whispered, her lips inching toward mine. “I want you.”

  I wetted my lips, the breath in my lungs tightening. “Are you sure?” I asked, reaching up to cup her cheek.

  She nodded. “I love you. I’m already yours and you’re already mine. DC, right?”

  “DC,” I said, my voice shaking as I gently rolled her to her back. I planted a quick kiss on her lips, the buzzing current between us like an unbreakable chain.

  My fingers shook slightly as I reached for the hem of the shirt she wore, but she smiled at me as I hiked it up and up until it was over her head on the floor behind me. She hadn’t bothered to put her bra on after the shower, and the sight of her…

  “You’re stunning,” I whispered, leaning over her, trailing a soft line of kisses over her skin. My lips grazed over the small globes of her breasts, and farther down. I reached the sweats she wore and flashed a look up at her. “Amber?”

  “Yes,” she said, her breaths coming fast as she arched off the bed, making it easier to hook my fingers in the band of the pants.

  I slid them down slowly, my fingers lingering on the soft skin of her legs. Soon, the pants joined the shirt on the floor, and not long after, so did her underwear.

  A groan slipped out of me at the sight of her, and she rose up, grabbing the end of my shirt and pulling it over my head. She kissed my chest, my abdomen, as I kneeled there, and I’d never been more grateful for my morning workouts in my life. Especially when she trailed her tongue along the seam of my pants, before flashing those eyes up to mine.

  I read the intent in them easily enough. She was done with slow, and so was I.

  I quickly hopped off the bed, ridding myself of my pants and boxer-briefs, and quickly rifled through my nightstand drawer, retrieving the foil packet from the box I’d picked up after we’d returned from the concert. I would never pressure her, but I was never going to be unprepared again.

  Tearing it open, I looked at her again, lying on the bed, watching my every move. “Are you—”

  “Yours, Dean,” she cut me off. “I’m sure. I want this. Want you.”

  The words, the confirmation that we were in this uncharted territory together, soothed the nerves as I rolled on the condom. How could I be nervous when the girl of my dreams was ready to give me every piece of herself and me the same for her?

  I climbed back into the bed and gently settled myself between her knees. I took my time, kissing the line of her jaw, the seam of her neck, before working my way back up to her lips. She moved underneath me, her body seeking mine like it was an instinct. I ran my fingers through her hair with my free hand, my other arm holding me up enough to look down at her. And I never lost that wild gaze as I slowly, gently slid inside her.

  Her brow furrowed for a moment before she sighed.

  And this time when she moved, she moved on me.

  With me.

  Rolling her hips while I slid in and out, our bodies flush, the heat of her skin soft and slick against mine.

  I kissed her despite our gasping breaths.

  I drank in the taste of her, swallowed those delicious sounds she made.

  The connection between us tightened, strengthening as our bodies crashed against each other. As she arched and met me move for move, like we were made for this. Like we’d been doing this all along.

  When her legs locked around my back, when her nails dug into my shoulders, when she let out the sweetest damn sigh I’d ever heard, I lost myself in her. Watched her as she flew apart in my arms.

  And I held on.

  Held on so tight I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to let her go.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Amber

  I couldn’t stop smiling.

  My cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

  Dean glanced my way from behind the wheel, and I tried and failed miserably to act like I hadn’t been staring at him, cheesing like I’d just met Tom Hiddleston at Comic Con.

  “You know,” he said, turning down the street that would lead us to Jake’s house—where we’d left my car last night. “You’re dangerous when you look at me like that.”

  I feigned shock. “What do you mean?” Everything inside me was giddy and overwhelmed with happiness.

  “You could get anything you want from me with that smile.”

  “Oh,” I said, rubbing my palms together. “What a useful weapon. I wonder what I should request first?” I tapped on my chin. “Maybe your vintage Super Nintendo?” I laughed when he gaped at me. “Or perhaps your ticket to the TOC?”

  He kept one hand on the wheel while the other flew to the center of his chest. “Wicked, Pixie.”

  I chuckled, shaking my head. “Never,” I said as he parked behind my car lining Jake’s street.

  He hopped out, opening the door for me before I could get a chance.

  “You could be that wicked,” he said. “And I’d still love you.”

  A warm shudder rippled through me. I fisted his shirt, yanking him down to my level, my lips a millimeter from his.

  “It sounds like I’ve managed to ensnare the second-best hacker in the school,” I whispered against his lips. “I believe I’m drunk on the power of it.”

  He smiled, maintaining the game, never once breaking and kissing me already.

  We could joke all we wanted, but we both knew he had me totally wrapped.

  Dean trailed the tip of his nose over mine, before grazing the line of my jaw. My toes curled in my sneakers, the pleasant soreness between my thighs solidifying that last night was real. That he was real. And the way we loved each other…that was more real than anything I’d ever felt before.

  Strong.

  Consuming.

  Brilliant.

  The kind of simmering chaos I lived for during hacks, manifested in a boy who was beyond perfect for me.

  “Do you have to go?” he asked, kissing the corner of my mouth enough to shoot sparks across my skin.

  “I don’t want to,” I admitted. “But I have things I need to do.” I wanted to tell him I had another blog post to schedule. Wanted to tell him he could keep the deadmau5 shirt and simply ask for his help.

  But I couldn’t.

  Because I would never put him in a position to lose everything. Like I was.

  At least I had him. Despite everything else going on…I had Dean.

  “Busy, busy,” he said, an easy smile on his lips. “I get it. I have…obligations, too.”

  I furrowed my brow, noting the suddenly plagued look in his blue-gray eyes.

  “You okay?” I asked. “Need help with anything?”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked before he smoothed his features. “No thanks,” he said. “I’m good.” He smoothed his knuckles over my cheek. “I’ll call you tonight?”

  I nodded, heading toward my car. “Dean?”

  He stopped outside his opened driver’s side door. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks…for everything.” It was a pathetic use of the word, but I didn’t know how to convey how much he’d helped me. How much him loving me for me meant to me.

  “DC, Pixie.”

  “DC.”

  I sank behi
nd the wheel, not bothering to spare a second glance at the cars still parked in Jake’s driveway. Last night may have started off bad, but it had ended better than I could’ve ever imagined.

  Question of the Day

  Anonymous457 asks: “I don’t go to your school, but I got the code from a friend. Hope I can still post here, and if not, well, I guess just getting it out will be good enough.

  This past weekend, something happened. Something that…shifted things inside me. Perspectives and prejudices and bias and all that stuff.

  As I’m typing, I’m realizing I don’t know what race you are…I guess it doesn’t matter. Maybe that is why this whole anonymous thing works. If you’re a woman of color like myself, then you’ll get it, and if not…well, that’s what I’m getting to.

  This white girl and I have fought almost my entire high school career. I don’t know what started it, really, but it’s been a constant. And I’ve always felt race was the source of our frigidness. We don’t go out of our way to be vicious, but we constantly butt heads in class, in the quad, etc. We’ve never had any love for each other.

  This weekend, while at a senior party, I thought I was opening the door to the bathroom. I was alone—my BFF was busy on the dance floor. Anyway, I opened the wrong door. Walked in on…damn, it’s turning my stomach right now.

  I walked in on a guy—one of the few college dudes at the party—forcing himself on the white girl. It was clear it was forced because…God, her eyes were wide and panicked and she was trying to push him off but she couldn’t.

  I didn’t think.

  I just launched at him.

  I wasn’t stronger than him.

  Wasn’t stronger than her.

  But together, we managed to shake him up enough to get her free.

  I clutched her hand and yanked her ass down the hallway.

  Locked us in the bathroom I had intended to find in the first place.

  I held her.

  We were both trembling, speechless.

  But I held her.

  In that moment, we weren’t enemies.

  We weren’t two races.

  We were women.

  Just two girls who understood how it felt to be powerless.

  We were the same.

  And in that moment, I wondered why we’d constantly fought?

  Was it because I thought she had privileges I didn’t?

  Was it because she was afraid of or judged me because of her own bias?

  Was it the social stereotypes of the world we’ve grown up in that fueled our fights in the first place?

  I couldn’t stop my head from spinning as my soul shifted in those moments I held her while she cried.

  As I felt her fear as real as if it were my own.

  Because it was my own.

  I had a similar situation happen last year.

  I was lucky, though—my brother was with me at the party.

  But still…we were the same.

  Women.

  Fearful of reporting the assault because who knew if anyone would believe us.

  Fighting for the right to be viewed as human and not a prize for those around us.

  Desperate for anyone older than us, or in authority, to stop trying to control or have entitlement to our own damn bodies.

  And it has never occurred to me that we may be more powerful if we stopped fighting each other, and started working together. Not as different races or different ages or different income backgrounds or education levels.

  But as girls.

  Women.

  Us.

  I know that was a long story to get to my question, but I didn’t know how to ask it without the context. You can edit it out.

  My question is—now that my perspective has shifted—what can I do to fight the bigger battle? The girl and I have already made peace. I’m shocked at how long we talked after the assault…how much we had always wanted to say to each other and never did because we were scared of each other.

  I want to help other girls figure this out.

  I want to inspire girls to stand up for each other and lift each other up as opposed to tearing them down.

  It’s a hurdle, I know. A fucking big one.

  But we have to change.

  We have to.

  Or else our future will be exactly the same as the women who came before us.

  So, any ideas on how I can do this? How I can help create change? You already took your stand, but I’m not a blogger. What can I do?”

  I can’t tell you how long it took me to get my fingers on this keyboard after reading your story. I’ve finally wiped the tears off my face and I’m ready to connect with you. How could I not post your story in its entirety? I would never dare to edit your words, and maybe that is a huge problem in our society—too much editing. With filters or sugarcoated words or authority figures sweeping tragedies under the rug…it all ends with us getting hurt. Because there aren’t enough stories like yours told.

  I’ve also experienced something similar.

  I hate to think of how many girls can say the same thing, and yet, it’s one of the reasons I started this blog. Because I was tired of the patriarchy telling us how to feel about what happens to us, to our bodies. Telling us how to dress, to smile more, to go into certain career fields and not others. It’s completely unfair and I’m so damn tired of it.

  You are, too.

  Not only that, you’ve dug in to the real deep and gritty darkness of the relationships between girls and between women. Despite race, we, as women, have a tendency to claw each other down when we should be building each other ladders.

  I’m in total agreement and awe of you. Your honest and raw story has brought light to my eyes. There are girls here at my own school who I clash with for numerous reasons…and now I’m left wondering why?

  You’re right. As girls, we have it hard enough without adding competition and hatred and judgment to it. Why do we do that? How far back does this go?

  I want change, too.

  And, on this massive, monumental topic, I know I don’t have all the answers.

  I can say that your story inspired me, and I hope it is inspiring every single reader out there who is with us now. Not just the girls but the boys, too. I want you to let these words sink in. Be better than the attacker. Inspire your friends to be better. If you see a frightened girl, help her, don’t look the other way.

  As for you, I hope you speak in a public forum sometime. I would listen to you all day. And I would spread your words to anyone who would listen. I like your mission and I want to support it.

  It’s hard to say exactly how to fight this battle on the bigger front, but I think a good start would be researching our politicians and their policies and find out who has the best one to support the change we want to see in our future. We’re about to be able to vote—if not already. Electing the right people is the first step in being heard on a major level.

  As girls.

  As women.

  And on the smaller front, you’ve already inspired change. Because of your story and your honesty, you’ve posed a question that has desperately needed answering for too many decades too long. Why is it easier for us to tear each other down than it is to build each other up?

  It starts with one woman—like yourself—and has now spread to me. I will make an effort to listen to those who I may have written off before.

  Because you’re right. We’re females, and only we know what it’s like in today’s world.

  It’s time to band together.

  Thank you.

  I hope you continue to be a force for change.

  Please stay in touch.

  In the meantime,

  Stay Sexy. Stay Healthy.

  …

  The question of the day had nearly slayed me
when I’d gotten home. The story had hit me right in the chest and there was no way I couldn’t post it.

  Not when she’d been so brave.

  So honest.

  And beyond that, it was enlightening. Inspiring.

  The hope and inspiration still warmed my chest as I shifted to continue digging through the site’s inbox.

  I read the email three times in a row, certain it was some kind of sick joke. An angry parent with a fake email and a goal to hurt me—scare me into taking down the blog.

  But I remembered TWCrashandBurn from a few months ago. Not only was her handle a cool homage to the cult-classic Hackers—one of my favorite movies—I’d also thought the question presented was relatable and an opportunity to help people who were wondering the same thing. I’d spoken to Mom about it—hypothetically posing the questions about birth control and if “doubling up” was really necessary.

  I never said it was impossible to get pregnant while on the pill.

  I’d given statistics on the accuracy of the pill when used by itself, but I also went on to say that nothing is foolproof.

  You got a girl pregnant.

  Pregnant.

  I snapped my eyes open, the email like walking on thin ice and falling straight through.

  All the blissfulness I’d felt this morning vanished.

  Acid bubbled in my stomach, rolling and crashing worse than waves in a hurricane. The first six emails I’d read for the blog this morning had been hate mail from protesting parents.

  Now this.

  Another wave, and my skin tightened and the backs of my jaws tingled.

  I leaped out of my chair so fast it tipped over. I barely made it to the bathroom before I lost my breakfast.

  Pregnant. My fault.

  What else had I done?

  Who else had I harmed?

  I rinsed my mouth out with ice-cold water before brushing my teeth twice.

  I’m so careful.

  Talking to Mom or Dad, doing more research than I ever had before and combining both to create an answer I thought was perfect.