My Soon-To-Be Sex Life

by Judith Tewes

  A cheerful looking girl handed Roach a ten-dollar bill. “I’ll take a CD, please.”

  “That’s ten fifty,” Roach said, withholding the CD.

  The girl looked devastated. “But I only have ten.”

  Roach was hard-core. She was about to hand the bill back to the girl. I couldn’t stand it. I dug into my pocket and gave Roach two quarters. “It’s half a buck, I’ll spot her the change.”

  The girl’s face lit up. “Oh! How wonderful. May the Lord bless you.”

  I flushed, uncomfortable with the gushing and the blessing, and the general politeness when I had such rage boiling under my civil outsides. To Roach I hissed, “Gotta go wiz.”

  I left the table for a much needed potty break and a quick call home.

  “Monty? Everything okay there?”

  “Who the hell is this?”

  I sighed. “It’s Charlie, you know, the kid who lives in your basement.”

  “Yeah, yeah, don’t get snippy. Do you need something?”

  “No…”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No…”

  “Then stop bugging me, I’m catching up on my soaps.”

  He hung up. I stared at my phone in disbelief. Despite his confusion, his forgetfulness, the old guy could still run a DVR. Life was odd.

  Unwilling to go back to work so soon, I wandered, killing time, but after a while I began to feel judged by the portraits of the saints. Nature was calling anyway. I made my way to the washrooms, eyeing the line up with a groan.

  I stalked to the front of the line. “Hi there, I don’t mean to butt in, but I’ve been manning the merch table for hours and I really, really have to pee. Can I scoot in?”

  The girls at the front huddled tighter together, blocking me out.

  “Hey!” I made eye contact with the girl who was short fifty cents, but I sold her the CD anyway. “Nice way to pay it forward.”

  Before I could get warmed up, a booming voice came over the hall PA system. The show had started.

  “Gather, Brothers and Sisters! Let us make a joyful….noooiiiise…”

  I had no idea they’d get the joint jumping like a hip-hop concert. The girls outside the washroom screamed and scattered. I met up with Roach and we made quick work of stuffing all the merch into the band’s glorified Tupperware. One of their minions swooped by on a scooter-trailer and within ten minutes the gear was gone.

  “Come on.” Roach dragged me away from the main doors and over to a lone security guard standing by a non-descript set of stairs at the far end of the hall. She flashed him a pass and he stepped aside.

  We charged up a short flight of stairs and entered a dark hall, careful not to trip over the network of chords and cables duct-taped to the floor. We were backstage, sort of, more like in the wings. We had a side view of the band, slamming their instruments to hell and screaming into their mics. I couldn’t believe the crowd, on their feet, jumping into the air. They even had a mosh pit.

  My heart thrummed to the pounding base and knock of the kick drum. The vibrations so strong I felt them in my fillings.

  Roach danced like a maniac, belting out the lyrics, shooting me looks that said, do you get it now, do you feel it?

  Well, I didn’t feel it, not the way she meant.

  But I felt…something.

  I grabbed Roach’s hand and together we surged in to the air. We laughed. We danced. We closed our eyes and let the music, the energy, the crowd take us to some other place for awhile.

  Whatever it was, it felt pretty damn good.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  The band house, a narrow two-story home in the older, artsy part of town, was lit up like a pack of matches. White Christmas lights outlined every plane and angle of the gabled roof, as well as edged the gingerbread-house windows. Cars lined the street for blocks in either direction. Music blasted from every gap in the weather-stripping drifting on the cool air, begging the neighbors to call the cops.

  These guys knew how to throw a party.

  Shrieks of laughter and gusts of ear-splitting tuneage greeted us as Roach opened the door without knocking. Sloping piles of coats and heaping mounds of boots lined the porch. We dumped ours on top in a game of random garment Jenga.

  Roach easily navigated the tight halls, made tighter by music equipment plunked down in the most inconvenient places. We soon entered what would have been a more open space, and on any other day might have been a living room, but now served as a kind of mini-concert venue, with masses of people occupying every square inch.

  The décor was inspired by your friendly neighborhood Ikea catalogue, but not inspirational. No crosses, crucifixes or other religious objects were displayed anywhere, unless you counted a bong propped up in the corner of an armchair. Someone had etched “holy grail” into the smoke-stained glass.

  Preston, Rory, and Bram stood in a semi-circular formation, dead center of the room. They were surrounded by a gaggle of their Brothers and Sisters. At first I thought they were praying, and began to bow my head out of respect, but then I realized, nope, not praying - they were shot-gunning beer.

  “Chug, chug, chug…” The congregation Gregorian chanted as the three guzzled the amber liquid of the gods.

  I know the concert should have been enlightening enough, but this little shindig wasn’t the hand-holding, kumbaya-singing after party I expected. Somehow I didn’t think it was what Mr. and Mrs. Dunmore expected when they’d agreed to extend Roach’s curfew to midnight so she could “partake in youth ministry activities.”

  Roach stepped into the throng to congratulate her man for holding back his vomit and planted a long kiss on his lips. Preston pulled her in close, inciting catcalls. Yeesh, hail the victorious hero.

  After the power smooch, Roach bent and dug out two cans from one of the many coolers around the room, all overflowing with booze and ice.

  “Catch,” Roach called and I extended my arms out as a reflex. I caught the beer in what had to be an act of God. “Everybody, meet my best friend, Charlie!” Another cheer from the crowd and then Roach cracked a can open for herself. Had we followed an albino rodent down a laundry shoot to another dimension without my noticing? Who was this girl?

  Preston dipped his chin in acknowledgement of my existence, and that, as they say, was that. The couple soon got swallowed by the crowd and I stood alone in a sea of the self-righteous and highly intoxicated. Catastrophe was imminent.

  With my introduction to Roach’s new band of merry gentlemen complete, it was time to fend for myself. Sucking back glugs of beer, I made for the back wall where I’d seen a free butt’s worth of couch. Since the locals had revealed their true colors I determined the night would flow like any other night at a house party. Sex, drugs, and – I tilted my head, straining to hear the lyrics of the current tune – Christian rock and roll.

  What a freaking tragedy.

  But there I was with the rest of them, rolling in the hypocrisy, because while I had enjoyed Divine Wrath’s live show, their CD just didn’t do it for me. Polished, without a hint of mosh pit. The fact that they had it playing on an endless loop at the party?

  Pure purgatory.

  Finally arriving at my destination, I sat, and immediately sunk much lower that the girl on the couch beside me. In fact, my sinking sucked her down as well. Her tall girly drink pitched backward, drenching her Divine Wrath tee. She screeched and bolted for the washroom, holding her dripping shirt away from her body.

  No wonder such prime real estate had been free.

  “Sorry,” I called after her, smacking the offending couch. “No springs.”

  A slow clap from the far end of the couch, the springy end. “Charlie, you just managed to do what I’ve been trying to do for the last fifteen minutes,” an amazingly attractive guy said.

  And he knew my name. Then I remembered Roach had introduced me to the world a few minutes ago.

  “You called Stephanie Cohen off her prey.” Mr. Tall, Dark and Hot held out his hand.
“I thank you.”

  I shook his hand, what else was I supposed to do, lick it? Believe me, I was tempted. I set my empty can aside. What was in that stuff? Pheromones? I gestured to the difference in our heights. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

  He gave a tug and I landed practically in his lap. “I’m Gavin and I’ve been watching you all night.”

  “Really?” Butterflies filled my stomach as his hand slid to my hip. “’Cause I just got here.”

  “Right.” Gavin gave a low laugh, followed by an over the top leer. “But from the moment I saw you, time stood still.” He wagged his eyebrows. Grinned.

  Cocky bastard.

  This was one I wasn’t sure I wanted to tangle with. I was sick of players. Sick of playing, really. I shifted, about to slip away, but as I moved a curious expression slipped across Gavin’s features. His grin had turned to a self-deprecating smirk. He gave me a salute like he’d suspected I was bailing, and conceded it was his loss.

  Definitely not the actions of guy sure of his success.

  That I could relate to. Instead of standing, I bent forward. Placed my fingers over his mouth, let his breath warm my skin. The drone of music and scattered conversations faded. I traced the line of his lower lip, watching Gavin’s pulse throb in his throat.

  He was a bit dazed, waiting to see what I did next. And what was that going to be? I shook my head at the hint of doubt skirting the edge of my mind. I wasn’t committing, just testing the waters. In a fluid move, I straddled his hips and ignored the roar of approval from the crowd of kids around us.

  “Don’t talk, just do.” I leaned in and kissed him.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  A while later Gavin and I were getting along like a Christian band house on fire. Shirts off. Jeans unbuttoned. Bodies entwined.

  Don’t worry, we’d moved far from the madding crowd. My soon-to-be sex life wasn’t fodder for the masses, or their post-it-on-YouTube cell cam trigger fingers. I’d learn my lesson the hard way thanks to Ty.

  Gavin had ensconced us in one of the upstairs bedrooms. The stuff we were doing, rubbing, tugging, groping and kissing was…okay. Nothing made me want to pull from Gavin’s embrace, or jump out of his arms screaming, I don’t do that sorta thing, but on the flipside – nary a goose bump in sight.

  Testing the waters had progressed to full submersion. Things were getting close to the point of no return. Flickers of unease gradually intruded. Flashes of another face looking up into mine. Other hands sliding over my skin.

  Eric’s face.

  Eric’s hands.

  My movements slowed. I worked a bit of distance between my flesh and Gavin’s.

  I realized, there, on that unforgiving futon mattress, that this was what I’d been waiting for. All my criteria were being met. At. This. Moment. Zero emotional involvement? Check. Passably hot guy? Double check. Opportunity without pressure? Bingo on that one too. Gavin hadn’t said no when I’d climbed into his lap, but he certainly hadn’t expected such a bold move.

  He’d just followed my lead.

  Everything I thought I wanted was being handed to me on a futon platter and I wanted no part of it. Because the guy I really wanted was Eric.

  From the beginning I’d wanted full ownership of losing it, but now I realized, I wanted more. I wanted to be fully alive and loving every second. I wanted to feel more than lust. To give myself, to be vulnerable. Raw. Real.

  I paused for air.

  Gavin stared up at me, waiting for his next cue, as I kneeled over him. Half his face was in shadow and the other half glowed a psychedelic blue, thanks to a lava lamp on the bedside table. Impressive that his gaze stayed fixed on mine and not my boobs.

  “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” He propped himself up on his elbows.

  Was I wearing a neon sign?

  “Is that a problem?” I fussed with my hair, arranging strands to strategically hide my nipples without all-out hiding behind the bed sheets.

  “I’m sensing it might be…you want to stop, right?”

  I flopped down, stomach first, burying my face in a pillow. “I’m sorry.” My words were muffled, but I knew Gavin heard.

  He pulled the sheets over us. “It was too soon anyway.”

  I turned to face him. “I didn’t think it could ever be too soon for a guy.”

  He laughed. “The body was willing, believe me, but…I broke up with my girlfriend right before the show. Usual story, she was jealous of the attention I got from girls. You know, because of the band.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m their sound tech.” Gavin explained. “It’s not just the Brothers the girls go crazy for. The roadies do alright.” He shook his head. “But me? Never. Not once. I love Sara. Tonight was supposed to be special. We were going to watch the meteor shower.”

  I nodded sagely. “Of course, isn’t every girl into space anomalies?”

  “Okay, sarcasm, I know it when I hear it.” He sighed. “But that’s just it. Sara is into constellations and worm holes and, well, it was sort of our thing.” Another of his low, dry laughs. “I’m half naked with this sexy girl, and,” he held up a hand, “don’t take this the wrong way, but all I can think about is her. I had every intention of forgetting Sara existed. Just get totally shitfaced and get…” He trailed off.

  “Laid.” I finished the sentence for him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then we should get back out there.” I sat up, reached for my bra abandoned at the foot of the bed. “The night is young. You can find some other girl to make you forget the lovely Sara.” I pulled my hoodie on.

  “No way.” Gavin swung from the bed. “I’ve got a better idea.” He dressed, and then pulled me off the bed. “Want to see some real rock stars?”

  A bunch of us gathered on the roof, huddling around the railing of the house’s widow’s walk, staring up into the night sky. Gavin had convinced Brother Rory to kill the Christmas lights to make the display easier to see.

  “Warm enough?” Gavin asked, grasping the railing for support as he leaned his head back to observe the skyscape.

  “Sure, who needs toes, right?” Honestly, who cared about the weather when we were witnessing something so…profound? Hundreds of shooting stars fell from the heavens above us, streaking through blackness. Couples huddled together, giving hushed oohs and ahhs as the sky flickered and pulsed.

  Amazed, I held out my arms, trying to catch the streaks in my gloved hands. They seemed so close.

  “Thanks,” Gavin said, nudging me with his shoulder. “This is kind of almost perfect.”

  I met his gaze. “Next time, Sara will be with you and you’ll really get your rocks off.”

  Gavin groaned. “You are the most foul mouthed, dirty minded…”

  I grinned. “Don’t waste such flattery on little ol’ me.” Movement out of the corner of my eye had me leaning over the railing and staring down at the snow-covered lawn. Was that…? Shitcrap. It was.

  “Hey, is that chick puking?” A girl said, and soon everyone had turned their attention to an earthly display of teen rebellion gone wrong.

  Roach had exited the building and promptly emptied her guts on the fresh snow. I bolted for the rooftop door.

  “Where are you going?” Gavin called at my back.

  “Gotta help a friend.” I shot him a wave. “Call Sara. Or else I’ll come back and kick your ass.”

  With a bemused and, I have to say it, slightly sad smile, Gavin watched me go.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  By the time I dug through the piles of jackets and boots, located our stuff, pulled my boots and coat on, Roach had toddled off to a less ripe area of the yard. When I finally tromped to her side, she’d dropped onto the snow, to make snow angels.

  “Isn’t it beauutifuuul,” Roach sang as she stared up into the sky. Gavin and his friends were still watching, I could hear bits of their rooftop conversation with the drifts of the slight breeze. Keeping my head down, I pulled Roach into a seated
position and shoved her arms through her coat sleeves.

  Next came her boots. “Hold still.” Awful damn difficult to do with her legs still making angel motions. Appropriately clothed, I hauled her to her feet. She draped herself over my shoulder to keep upright.

  “Charlie, you gotta get me home. I don’t feel so good.”

  “I know. You didn’t feel so good once already.” We weaved past said vomit. I guided us back toward the house and plunked Roach down on the bottom stair at the base of the porch. “I want you to wait here while I go get Preston.”

  “No, you can’t.” Roach grabbed my coat hood in a death grip, cutting off my air supply. “You have to take me. Preston can’t know.”

  I pried her fingers loose. “Know what?”

  “Where I live.” Roach’s bottom lip trembled the way I hadn’t seen since we had the talk, back when I’d informed her Santa and Satan were the same letters, just rearranged, and that probably meant something really nasty was in store for her at Christmas. But, come on, she still believed in Santa at the age of thirteen. What kind of friend would I have been if I hadn’t shattered that illusion?

  “And why can’t he know this elementary fact?”

  That lip tremble again. “Because I told him we lived on campus.”

  I mulled over that one. Boy, she was out of her mind intoxicated. And then it hit me. Campus? As in we were college students? “Roach,” I whined. “Seriously?” I wheeled her around and started us down the sidewalk while meteors disintegrated in the atmosphere.

  Bernie waited less than a block away, shining like a beacon of hope under a streetlight.

  I held out my hand. “Give me the keys.”

  Roach baulked at first, but after a few dry heaves, she forked them over.

  We got in the car, with me behind the wheel, and Roach sprawled out in the back seat, already half asleep. I put the keys in the ignition, started the engine and blasted the heat.

  We both seemed content to sit in the near-silence of Bernie’s muted sputters and clanks as she churned warmth.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, glancing at Roach in the rear view mirror. The mussed hair and smudged makeup could have been from the snow angels, but I had to be sure. What if, while I’d been stargazing, Roach had been drunk, and vulnerable, and… “Do I have to go back in there and do some damage?”