I know there’s no way I can finish out the day without going crazy, so I skip my last period, P.E., and pedal home as fast as I can, fueled by my growing excitement about commencing the second weekend of Wes and me as a couple. I luxuriate in the world’s longest, most thorough shower and spend forever on the phone with Amy, trying to decide which bra and panties set I should wear. We settle on my white cotton with lace trim.
My hair is done, my makeup’s applied, and my pink sundress is on by six o’clock, an hour early. I count away the final minutes while I sit in front of my air-conditioning vent because I’m sweating in anticipation of seeing my boyfriend. My boyfriend!
I say a quick good night to my parents, assuring them I’ll be back by one, and I dash downstairs without giving them the opportunity to say more than “Goodbye, be careful!”
“I will,” I call back.
Wes is right on time. Just seeing his blue Explorer turn the corner onto my street makes my stomach flip.
When I climb into his passenger seat and proclaim, “Why, hello there!” he responds with a quick “hey”
and a blank expression. Then silence. I’m suddenly completely disoriented. We tongue-kissed for three hours straight last Saturday, and he wrote me five beautifully cheesy e-mails since then. So why does he
look like someone died? Was the other night a fluke?
After three blocks of deafening quiet, Wes mutters, “So, where do you want to go?”
“Oh. Um, I’m not sure.” I force a weak grin, trying to salvage some of the good feeling I had all day. But now that he mentions it, I’m not sure what tonight is supposed to be. Does he want to go grab a bite to eat somewhere? Or does he just want to make out again? Or neither?
“Um,” I continue, “I mean, we can do whatever. We can get takeout and watch something at my place, but my parents are home, so we can’t…well—”
“My parents are home too, and I’m not hungry.”
“Well, I don’t know, then.”
“I think I know of someplace.”
I want to ask him where, but he looks weirded out, almost upset, so I don’t want to pester him with questions. Instead, I sit back in the seat and stare out my window, watching the ugly strip malls race by and bracing myself for the worst.
Fort Myers hugs the Gulf Coast, so there are a ton of docks. Some of them are really fancy with big yachts lined up in neat rows, and others are old industrial sites that can get pretty sketchy. Wes pulls into the parking lot of a dock that’s definitely one of the latter, and we’re the only ones here besides a few scraggly seagulls. Maybe Wes does want to make out. Or maybe he wants to tell me it’s over, and he chose a secluded spot in case I make a scene.
After he parks, I break our four-mile silence. “Not to be a drag, but you’re sure this place is safe?”
“It’s not like we’re in the South Bronx, Dom.”
“I know, I know. But still.” Dad’s always reminding me how Fort Myers has a significant crime rate for a midsized city, so I’m a lot more conscious of these things than the average suburban teen.
Wes says, “Paul told me he sets off sparklers here sometimes and that no one ever comes by.”
“Okay. I guess it’s fine, then.”
More silence. Just the hum of the engine. He’s not touching me. He’s not even looking at me. That’s it.
He’s not into me anymore. I want to die.
“Dom?” he says, staring straight ahead.
“Yes?” I choke.
“I actually barfed this morning I missed you so badly.”
“What?” I burst out laughing, utterly relieved.
Wes looks down at his lap and shakes his head. “This week was torture. All I wanted was to be alone with you again, to make sure it was real. I can’t believe I’m somebody’s boyfriend.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” I make a mental note that when Wes looks sad, it’s not necessarily because he’s upset with me. He’s distant and withdrawn because he misses me, not because he doesn’t.
Then I muse, “It’s strange, Wes, I…I feel like we should be going out to dinner and a movie, a traditional date or something. And that we should be, you know, talking. Talking about us and stuff and making plans. But we’ve been talking for weeks, and now that we’re alone…”
Wes turns to me and looks into my eyes. “I don’t want to talk, Dom.”
With that, he turns off the engine, and my body switches to autopilot.
Ilean over and kiss Wes on the mouth. Then I crawl onto his lap. Soon we’re Frenching and holding each other just like we did on my couch last week. I love how comfy and familiar everything suddenly feels between us, but I think we’re both a little nervous too, especially Wes. His palms are really sweaty, so he keeps having to wipe them across the cloth upholstery.
After beeping the horn by mistake, which for some reason elicits gut-splitting laughter from both of us, we migrate to the backseat and continue kissing. The windows are darkly tinted, so I feel invisible to the outside world, as if we’re in our own private little cave. It’s impossible to get comfortable, though. Wes is so tall he can barely move without knocking his head and feet against the door handles and window controls, and the seat belt catches keep digging into our thighs and torsos. Wes mentions the backseats can be moved, so we shift them forward and spread out in the expanded trunk space. This is the first time we’re actually lying down together, and it definitely makes everything seem a lot more sexual.
I guess Wes feels it too because soon he’s nibbling at my ears, which is actually really nice, like an unannoying kind of tickling. I had no idea that area of the body was so sensitive. Then without warning Wes bites my neck.
“Ouch, ooh!” I whinny.
“Oh, sorry.” He pulls back. “Crap, I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry, Dom!”
“No, it’s okay. I liked it, really, just a little bit softer, maybe,” I try to reassure him, not wanting him to clam up again. “Um, you can do it again if you want.”
“Not if it hurts you.”
“Well, if you don’t, I will!”
I summon up all my impulsiveness, lean over, and gently gnaw at the depressed area over his left collarbone. It tastes…like nothing in particular. Maybe slightly salty.
“Mmmm,” he says, “that is kinda nice. Good pain.”
“Yikes!” I lean back. “Are we entering into the realm of S and M already?”
“I’ll just call you Dominatrix,” Wes says before lightly biting me again on my neck, then high on my chest. Soon I feel his hands start to explore my back. When his fingers reach the zipper of my dress, a part of me wants to say we should stop. A very small part. One that is easily ignored.
“Wes?”
“Yeah?” he practically pants.
“Do you want to…?”
Wes freezes up and spurts, “Do I want to what?”
I sit up next to him. “It’s okay if you want to take off my dress.”
I hear him swallow nervously. “Yeah?” he breathes. “Do you want me to?”
I don’t know where my audacity comes from, maybe from having fantasized about this moment for so many weeks, but I get up on my knees and unzip my sundress so the top part is hanging over my waist like an apron. I can almost feel his blue eyes piercing into my chest.
I slide my left forefinger under my left bra strap and ask, “So, I guess you’ve never tried taking one of these off a girl before, huh?
“Of course not.” He smiles. “But I can try.”
I lean toward him and we kiss again. Both his hands are on my back now as he reaches for my bra clasp. I can immediately tell he has no clue. He starts to tug on it a little, then move it up and down.
“Ouch,” I squeal as his nails dig into my skin by mistake.
“Sorry. I’m such a loser. It’s like trying to get out of Chinese finger cuffs.”
“You just haven’t had the practice. I’ve been taking these things on and off since I was eleven.”
<
br /> “Can you show me how? I mean, if that’s all right.”
“Um, yeah, that’d be fine.”
I reach my hands behind my back. “You just grab the two parts and pull them together a little.” I unhook my bra but keep it on. “Voilà.”
“How did you do that? Hook it and let me try again.”
He reaches his arms behind me and starts fumbling some more, but soon he’s exclaiming, “Hey, I got it!
I got it!”
My back is bare, but my bra’s still hanging on my shoulders concealing my breasts. Light from the distant dock lanterns penetrates the windows, casting a delicate blue sheen over us. We grin at each other softly, as if on cue. I get another sudden rush, like I know this is a moment I’ll remember forever.
“Go ahead,” I whisper, stunned this is actually happening.
Wes gets up on his knees and grabs both shoulder straps before indelicately yanking off the bra. I wish he had been a little more gradual, to make the moment last.
“Wow, Dom!” His eyes widen like saucers.
I think I was expecting to be embarrassed, but I’m not in the slightest. I want him to see me naked, physically and emotionally. In a fit of passion I reach over and hug him tightly, but instead of hugging me back he wedges his hands between our chests and starts feeling my breasts. Softly at first, then a little rougher, like he’s trying to figure out what they can withstand. It’s fantastic, invigorating, freeing. The sensation of his big, manly hands on my skin makes my whole body feel like silk. I’m so glad I never let anyone else touch me there before. It’s as if I’ve been holding out for Wes before I even knew he existed. Still, I think again how this would be a good time to stop for the night, but then he asks if I want his shirt off too.
“Yeah, definitely!” I hear myself answer.
I grab the sides of his polo and start to tug. My breasts are still on full display, and I think he’s a little mesmerized because he’s not moving at all, just gazing. Undressing him reminds me of trying to change a sleepy, uncooperative four-year-old into his pajamas.
“Hey, can you just lift your arms up a little?”
“Oh, sorry, Dom.”
I pull off his shirt, and he looks so good. Of course I’ve seen tons of guys topless at the beach and in magazines and stuff, but I’ve never gotten close enough to actually touch anything. I hesitate, not sure what to do, but then I slowly place my hands on his flat, almost concave stomach. It’s hard and slightly hairy. I can feel it contract as he breathes. I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy reading Gray’s Anatomy or playing Operation again, now that I get to handle a live specimen.
I glance at his face, and he’s just watching me as I explore his torso. Things suddenly feel too serious and I want to lighten the mood, so I poke him in the tummy and say, “Nice six-pack, Gersh.”
“Nice rack, Baylor.”
“Wes!”
I start tickling him under his arms, and he laughs and squirms for a few seconds before rolling on top of me. I love the secure sensation of Wes’s weight pressing down on my body, although it makes taking deep breaths a little difficult. Sometimes he gyrates his pelvis against mine, which would probably feel better if there weren’t a layer of denim between us. Soon the temperature inside the car gets really hot and the windows fog up, so we have to stop for a moment while Wes turns on the engine and the air-conditioning. Then it begins pouring outside, which makes fooling around in the trunk of our cozy vehicular sanctuary all the more exhilarating.
After three hours of nonstop kissing and feeling up, I tell Wes I need a breather, so we lie in each other’s arms in contented silence. I know this is only our second night together, but I can’t stop thinking about sex, what it would feel like. It’d be nice to have some sort of climax to all this physicality, if only to feel
like we’re finished, like we’d done something whole and complete. But that would be a huge step from where we are now. Sex still feels like a fantasy, something that couldn’t actually happen.
“So, what are you thinking about?” I ask him.
“I’m thinking that I love your voice.”
Just say you love me! I’m bursting to say it, but I want you to do it first!
“My voice?” I ask.
He nods. “Now that SQ’s over and you can stay up later, maybe we can talk on the phone at night. It’d be nice to hear you, not my keyboard.”
“Wow, the telephone—what an archaic concept,” I say sardonically. Then I smile at him. “You know what I’m thinking?”
“What?”
“That I love…your anatomy. It’s perfect.”
“Nah.” Wes grins.
“Yes!” I sit up and look at him. “In class, we’re always learning about the body in terms of, you know, breathing, eating, sleeping—”
“Sweating, barfing, farting,” Wes interrupts, laughing.
I laugh too, though this is the second time tonight I’m reminded of bratsitting.
“Yes, all that too. But seriously, if you think about it, the body was made to show affection. Look.” I point to his head. “Hair for me to run my fingers through.”
Next I point to his baby blues. “To make eyes at me.”
I continue to work my way down Wes’s body.
“Your lips, to kiss me with. Your teeth, to bite me with. Your neck, for me to bite. Your arms, to hold me; your fingers, to caress me…”
I skip over his crotch and go right down to his feet. “To push the gas pedal with when you come by to pick me up. See, you’re perfect!”
Wes grins even wider and says, “Dom…I still can’t believe this is happening.”
I can feel my stomach turn in on itself. I swear, I’ve gotten more highs this week than during my entire life up until Wes. “Well, let me try to convince you of the reality of the situation.”
I snuggle under him and we resume kissing. I can feel his penis pressing through his jeans up against my inner thighs. If we were naked, we’d have been close to having sex missionary style. Almost without thinking about it I drag my right hand down his chest and abdomen until my fingers are over his jeans just
below his belly button. Then I start walking my fingers down even farther. He’s holding his breath and his heart is racing, sending vibrations into my own chest. I feel dizzy and light-headed, like every cell in my body is pushing my arm that final inch. I’m just about to rest my hand on his crotch when a thunderous bang echoes through the car.
Did he just ejaculate?
I pull my hand away from Wes’s stomach as he leaps up, bumping his head on the fuzzy gray ceiling.
“What the hell was that?” he asks, looking to either side of him.
“Um, wasn’t that you?” I figured he convulsed and kicked the trunk door when I touched him. I barely grazed his jeans, but Amy warned me that guys our age can come really easily.
“No,” he whispers sharply. “It was from outside.”
I slowly lift my head and see the dark outline of a man against the back windshield, his fist pressed into the glass.
“Oh shit, oh shit! Someone’s there!” I shriek, my heart shooting out of my chest.
“Relax, stay calm!” Wes says firmly as he reaches for his polo, which I had rolled up to use as a pillow.
I can see the headlines:CARJACKER KILLS HALF-NAKED TEENAGERS.
Wes pulls on his shirt and presses his face to the glass.
“It’s a cop. Fuck! I knew we shouldn’t have left the car running.”
I revise the headline:POLICE CHIEF’S DAUGHTER ARRESTED FOR LEWD AND OBSCENE
BEHAVIOR. STANFORD TOSSES HER APPLICATION.
“Wait here,” he says. “He’s motioning for me to come out.”
“Shit. Be careful,” I whisper shakily.
I throw on my bra and sundress as Wes crawls over me and exits through the driver’s side door. I peer through the side window and watch as the lone policeman talks to Wes and frisks him. Then the cop motions toward me.
As they walk toward th
e rear I smooth back my hair and slip on my sandals. The trunk door opens to me sitting cross-legged with a petrified look on my face. The cop peers inside. I raise my hand in a silly wave. I don’t recognize him from the times I’ve visited headquarters. I hope he doesn’t recognize me and that he doesn’t ask for my ID or last name.
“Are you all right, miss?”
“Yes sir,” I squeak, trying to disguise my voice.
“Come out,” Wes instructs me, his pulse obviously going a mile a minute. “He asked if he could search the car for alcohol and stuff, and I said that’d be fine.”
I quickly hop out of the trunk and take my place next to Wes, who’s looking sheepishly at the ground. I look down also and hold my jacket over my head in an attempt to shield my eyes from the rain, which has downgraded to a cold drizzle. I’m so scared Wes’s brother hid a stash of pot or something in the car back when he owned it and forgot about it. I want to cling to Wes’s arm, but I’m too afraid to move.
After what seems like forever, the cop approaches us and stares us down. “It’s pretty stupid of you to go parking here. What if some rapist or murderer got to you before I did? If you were my kids, I’d ground you for a year. Use your brains next time, got it?”
“Yes, officer,” Wes and I recite in unison as we dart back into the car and tear out of the dock. My thoughts immediately turn to my parents. Dad would blow his top if he knew. Mom would be so embarrassed if this ever got out to the other teachers at Shorr. I know what my grandma would say: How can you have a white wedding now?
“I—I can’t believe that just happened to us,” I stammer, shivering in my damp clothes.
“He was right, though. I’m sorry, Dom. I should have known better.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I’d better get home, though. It’s almost one.”
I open the visor mirror to check my makeup, and I literally gasp at what’s staring back at me. My neck is sprinkled with reddish purple contusions! I break into a giggling fit when I realize I was Wes-inated again. My first hickeys!
Anatomy of a Boyfriend Page 8