by Pratt, Lulu
In truth, I’d screwed myself over. I should’ve anticipated Carter getting all defensive and tight-lipped. That was his whole gig. But then, aren’t I allowed to have needs as well? Sure, it was — or would’ve been — just a one-night stand. Even then, I was entitled to know a thing or two. Like, for instance, what the situation was with Henry’s mom. How had I become so attracted to a man who wouldn’t tell me diddly-squat? Me, the most wide-open book in the world, who loved engaging, talking out feelings, the whole nine yards! The irony!
There were just too many secrets. When those start to accumulate, then it’s hard to concentrate on the sex. Good sex is all about openness, communication. How could we have any fun if I couldn’t trust him to talk about his feelings?
And besides… if I was being really honest with myself, I knew that a part of me — I can’t believe I’m admitting this — a part of me wanted, well, more. Carter wasn’t a one-night stand guy. He was a ride-into-the-sunset kind of guy. He was long-term. I even got along swimmingly with Henry.
To be frank, he was the sort of man I pictured myself settling down with. He was #hubbymaterial. Hot, kind, polite, loving beyond all belief. Could I have sex with him just once and then forget about those cheekbones and dark eyes? I didn’t know if I was that strong, that casual.
These were too many questions, each of them bigger than the last. I’d crashed in Rough and Ready that morning, and suddenly I was thinking about marriage. How had my life been turned upside down so fast?!
Jesus, it was frustrating. I followed Carter’s instructions — even though I didn’t want to do anything he told me to do at that point — and went around the side of the house, unlocking an iron gate and storming into the front yard.
Just get some sleep, I told myself. You’ll feel less confused in the morning.
That was a good plan. Even if I knew, in my heart, that I’d be consumed with thoughts of him sleeping so close by, possibly only in his underwear. I resisted the urge to run back into the house and scream that I didn’t care about his secrets, I just wanted that body.
I threw open the door of the Airstream and let my eyes adjust to the relative darkness. It still wasn’t that late, as we were on an early schedule as kids Henry’s age eat, and sleep, early.
Nevertheless, Jo-Beth was fast asleep, tucked under the covers and snoring up a storm.
I shook my head. How had she managed to go to bed without dinner? Shit, I should’ve bought her something. On top of everything else, I was a bad friend. Oh well, I’d just have to make it up to her in the morning.
Grabbing some PJs from my bag, I quickly disrobed in the corner. Even if Jo-Beth hadn’t been awake, I wouldn’t have bothered hiding my body. We were completely open and comfortable with one another — hell, I’d seen her go to the bathroom more than once. I’d tried to object at first, but eventually I just gave in.
The T-shirt I chose was about three sizes too big for me, with a gigantic grinning Mickey Mouse on the front. It wasn’t classically sexy, but the way it skimmed the top of my thighs, just barely covering my pussy, felt illicit. And though Carter had retired for the night, my body, namely my crotch, was still on high alert. Every little touch felt special, stolen.
I didn’t feel like waking Jo-Beth, so I decided to brush my teeth without turning on the tap in the Airstream, and I didn’t know how long the water had been sitting in the tank. I also didn’t feel like going back inside that house, though I would’ve liked the chance for Carter to see me so disrobed. So I took the toothbrush and toothpaste from my bag and began to brush my teeth, working vigorously on my shiny whites. When I’d finished, I opened the trailer door and spit onto the ground outside. Not exactly ladylike, but desperate times, et cetera.
One quick disposable make-up remover later, and I was all set for bed, even if my mind wasn’t exactly feeling sleepy.
I climbed in bed next to Jo-Beth, making sure not to disturb her sleep. Frankly, there was no danger of that — she could sleep through a tornado and not wake up until she’d gotten her eight hours. I envied her abilities.
The pillow beneath my head was soft, but I couldn’t seem to sink into it. I shifted back and forth, trying to get comfortable, but nothing was working. All I could think of was Carter. It wasn’t fair. He’d ruined my waking hours, and now he was ruining my sleep time. Shouldn’t there be some kind of law against that? It’s certainly more egregious than jaywalking.
Jo-Beth snored again, oblivious.
And then, for the second time that day, my hand wandered down to my crotch, the soft fabric of my worn T-shirt shielding me from direct contact.
Shit, what was I doing?
I flicked an erstwhile finger up against the fabric, just to see what it felt like. Was this comfort? Was this relief?
I brought a second finger down, and plucked again, still on top of the T-shirt. A fizzle of flames tore through me, and then silence. Memories from only moments ago, of Carter next to me on the blanket, prone and open, filtered through my brain. Those snippets were followed by images from the afternoon — my bare body inside his yellow walls while his brown eyes turned away, his lighter brown hands passing me a towel. He was colors. He was pleasures.
He’d just pissed me off, though. I was conveniently leaving out that part of the story. He’d bolted from me like I was a noxious fume, desperate to steer clear of my toxicity. Was it wrong to masturbate to a man who wanted nothing to do with you?
And then, for the second time that day, I gave in.
My fingers tugged my T-shirt up then lunged for my clit. Jo-Beth slept soundly on. Good. I needed this release. And there were no secrets between us, right? This wasn’t sexual. It was just taking care of my basic needs. I knew this was at least a little wrong, but so long as she didn’t wake up, no one would ever be the wiser. This could be my dirty secret.
I clamped one hand over my mouth, ensuring I wouldn’t repeat my more, uh, extreme noises from earlier. The other hand went to work.
With practiced skill, I found my clit and began to strum, delicately at first, and then with more vigor. While my little session in the shower had been desperate and fast, this felt like a symphony. There were patterns, rhythms, feints and false starts. I was engaging my pussy in a complicated art, one as old as humanity itself.
What would Carter have done on that blanket next to me, if I hadn’t asked the question about Henry’s mother? Would we still be talking? Would we have moved to his bed? Oh, but if only I could see that man naked. I rethought my earlier firm ground on “needing openness and communication.” Who needs morals when you have the hottest man in the world writhing on top of you?
My fingers sped up their complicated pas de deux, and a heat was surging in me. I moved my instruments down further, to my tender opening, and slid them inside. It only made me hungrier for more. My small, dainty appendages could never fill me up the way I desired. They could never fill me up like Carter.
I quickly turned to see if Jo-Beth had awoken, preparing myself for the inevitable lecture I’d receive. Instead, she remained cozy and content. Damn, that girl can sleep.
It was all the reassurance I needed.
Carter. The word pierced my mind. Carter.
I focused on him, his body, his lips, his voice. My fingers migrated back to my clit. Several minutes had passed. Maybe five. Who was to say? I was lost in my own little world.
Carter.
The strumming intensified, built, changed. This dance had gone on long enough. It was time for the finale. Maybe then I could finally get some goddamn sleep.
Pushing my body further and further, I squeezed my eyes shut and tore at my pussy like a wild animal, frantic. The sheet rose and fell atop my hand. Jo-Beth didn’t move. I was in the throes of passion, and she in the throes of sleep.
Stay quiet. Stay quiet.
And then, though I’d been edging, trying to build to my completion, the orgasm came all at once, like the sun dawning over the horizon, bright light consuming my body. My bac
k arched, hips shooting to the ceiling.
It went on and on and on. I was lost in my own pleasure, determined never to return Earth-side. It would just be me, my fingers and my pussy from here on it.
Well, and maybe Carter. Not that he wanted to get on board.
My orgasm receded, the strangulation of energy dying down. Sweat had dampened the collar of my T-shirt, and the wetness between my legs was seeping through the sheets. I felt slightly bad for Jo-Beth, not that she’d so much as stirred. To make my penance, I shifted so that my thigh was entirely in the ‘wet spot.’ It was already cooling, making me shiver.
I couldn’t believe I’d jacked off to thoughts of Carter twice in one day. But more importantly, I couldn’t believe that it hadn’t really worked. I was no less horny, no more satisfied. I was exactly as frustrated as before, only now, I felt guilty for masturbating next to my sleeping friend.
Oh, if only Carter would put me out of my damn misery and just fuck me already.
CHAPTER 12
Carter
MY ALARM clock went off, and Elvis filtered through its tinny speakers.
I’m an idiot.
That was the first thought that crossed my mind as I sat up in bed, disoriented in everything but the confident knowledge that I, Carter Conlin, was an idiot. I’d had dreams about being an idiot, and now those dreams were infiltrating the waking hours with their irrevocable truth — the one about me being an idiot.
I should never have the left the blanket like I’d done last night. I’d been pissed, sure, but that was no way to handle things. If my knee-jerk response to conflict was to just stonewall the other person and storm out, then what kind of emotional integrity was I passing on to my son?
Feeling like not just an idiot, but a bad father, is not pleasant at seven in the morning. It’s not pleasant any time of day, but especially seven in the morning, when you still have sleep dust in the corner of your eyes.
The second, wholly formed thought that emerged as I threw back the sheets was I have a hard-on.
Not that that was so much a thought as a sudden, visual realization. Through the top sheet I could see a massive tent. My dick was at full-mast, begging for release.
Sorry, little guy. Or, erm, big guy.
There was too much to do. Even in a tiny place like Rough and Ready, being a single father kept me busy, especially the mornings. Henry was on a tight schedule to give him a stabilized routine. That’s what all the parenting books I’d read said, that kids need a ‘routine.’ Helps keep them grounded.
So it was my job to, five past seven, wake Henry up, at which point, we began cooking breakfast together. Not that I usually needed to wake him up. He rose earlier than I did, and when I went into his room, was always sitting up stock straight in his bed, waiting for the day to begin.
Jacking off would have to wait, even though my cock was desperate. Dreams filtered back into my brain, unwelcome but there, nonetheless.
During sleep, Phoebe had come to me. Not literally, of course. Dream Phoebe had climbed into my bed, and without a word, straddled my hips and taken my thick cock inside her. We’d fucked for hours in dream time. I’d watched her arch her back as she orgasmed, her kisses leaving a wet trail along my body, my hands holding her perfect breasts. The remembrance of touching her mussed hair was so visceral that, for one painful second, I wondered if perhaps it really had happened.
But of course not. Not after what I’d said, not after I’d run off. We were finished, through, finito.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and got up. No point thinking about what could’ve been, not when the whole business was done for. I could be regretful on my own time. This was Henry’s time.
Opening the door to my son’s room, I saw that, sure enough, he was up, his legs kicking waves into the sheets.
“Daddy!”
“Mornin’, kiddo.”
I planted a kiss on his forehead, swooping back his hair to make sure it landed properly. We’ll have to cut that soon, I thought. It was getting in his eyes.
“Breaky?”
“Heck, yeah.”
Together, we went to the kitchen. We were a well-oiled unit. Henry passed me eggs from the fridge and bacon from the freezer, and I fried them all up in a jiffy. As I plated the food, our kettle whistled. I paused to tear open a packet of hot chocolate and dispense it into a mug for Henry, pouring the hot water atop the granular bits.
Though Rough and Ready tended to desert weather, Henry had fallen for this idea of hot chocolate being a cool thing that fancy boys did. He hadn’t, however, quite picked up on the notion that it was a wintertime drink. I figured that it wasn’t a battle worth picking.
I dispatched coffee into my own mug — a “Keep Austin Weird” mug I’d picked up from my former life — and sipped at it gingerly.
“Bring me the tray, please, bud.”
Henry, quick on his feet, darted to a lower cabinet, flung it open and pulled out a blue wooden tray. I put two plates of eggs and bacon on the tray, followed by two more mugs of coffee, and then two sets of silverware. This would be my peace offering.
“You can start eating breakfast,” I told Henry. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
He nodded and took his plate and mug to the dining room, jumping into a dining chair that was still too tall for him. One day soon, I knew, his feet would reach the ground. You’ve got time, I told myself. He’s still a baby.
The air was still a bit crisp. It wouldn’t warm up until ‘round eight, when the morning sun really began to shine down on the concrete. The silver Airstream was dull in these lighting conditions, flat and unaffected. The tray was balanced precariously on my hands. If only I’d arranged it all a bit better, I worried, then perhaps I wouldn’t stand at such risk of dropping the whole load.
A thought stopped me. What if they weren’t up? Lord, it’d be just about the rudest thing as a host to wake up your guests and insist they eat breakfast. What if they were vegetarians? Well, no, I knew Phoebe wasn’t, but what about Jo-Beth? All at once, I felt like an inconsiderate fool.
But there was no turning back now.
Using my bare foot, I banged three times on the door of the trailer, then stepped back.
Well, fuck me again — I was still wearing my boxer briefs. When had I become such an almighty space cadet?!
Suddenly the door was opening, a small voice saying, “Hello?”
I couldn’t see through the blackness of the dark Airstream. “Phoebe?”
“Yes?”
“Sorry if I’m waking you. I brought breakfast.”
The door opened further back, and now my eyes adjusted to make out Phoebe’s form. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and a large T-shirt hung just past the top of her thighs. I gulped and tried to keep eye contact with her and keep from lookin’ at those stems.
She made a go at tugging down her T-shirt, as if remembering how bare-legged she was, until Phoebe appeared to realize that I, too, was wearing next to nothing.
“Nice outfit.” The words were jovial, but the tone was dead serious.
Even in the cool morning, heat tore up my back, and through my cock. Don’t stiffen, I begged my dick. Not now.
It felt silly, being twenty-seven and still not having control over my erections. Or, well, I used to, anyway. Until Phoebe rolled into town.
“Breakfast,” I repeated, lifting the tray up in the air, an offering.
She moved through the door frame, shutting it closed behind her, and walking down the steps.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the proverbial olive branch, our hands brushing as I passed it off. “This looks delicious.”
“No problem.”
What I’d meant to say was, I fucked up last night, we both know it. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Instead, I’d just managed ‘no problem.’ Not exactly a wordsmith, was I?
We stood awkwardly in the driveway, Phoebe in a T-shirt and no pants — and maybe no underwear,
I thought with a strange mixture of guilt and hope — and I in boxers. We certainly made the odd pair.
I cleared my throat. “So, uh, since there ain’t nothin’ to do in Rough and Ready, I thought maybe you’d like to come to work with me. At the auto shop. Unless, ‘course, you’ll be needing public Wi-Fi. The only place to get that is the public library in the next town over.”
“The library in the next town over?” She was skeptical. Such a city girl.
“Yeah, cable companies don’t really come out here. No money in it for them.”
“Gotcha.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll have to talk to Jo-Beth—”
Speak of the devil — the door was flung ajar, and Jo-Beth popped her blonde head out to say, “I need to go to the library!”
Phoebe’s eyebrows went up. “You’re awake?”
“Of course I’m awake, duh. And I need to go to the library to do my work.”
“Jo-Beth’s trying to get ahead of her schoolwork,” Phoebe explained.
“Pass me a plate, Phoebe!” Jo-Beth insisted. “How do I get to the library?”
“Easy, I’ll drive you as it’s the next town over. Just about fifteen minutes. Opens at ten. I have to be at work at nine, so do you mind if I drop you off and you find a coffee shop?”
“Perfect.” Jo-Beth’s head ducked back into the trailer, but before closing the door, she shouted again, “Bring the eggs!”
Phoebe rolled her eyes, clearly amused but not exasperated with her friend’s demands.
“So… do you?” I asked, words jumbling in my mouth. “Wanna come to the repair shop, that is. It’s not much to look at, but what it lacks in décor I’ll make up for in company.”
Her eyes dropped to the ground. “You sure you want me to come? Last night, it seemed like—”
“Please forgive me for last night,” I interjected, anxious for her forgiveness. “I behaved like an ass. It was rude. I’d like to be the perfect host for the remainder of your stay. How does that sound?”
I think we both noticed that I chose the word “host.” It was careful, removed. Totally sanitary.