Steamy Dorm

by Kristine Robinson

  Jordy then leans closer to me in the bar, as I tentatively reach for a second plate with raw shrimp on the top of a rectangular sushi roll. “Well, Clarissa. I've got some free time if you do. Why not come over to mine and practise your singing with my guitar? I'd like to hear for myself.”

  She gives a dazzling smile, and my already gooey insides melt further, along with the conviction that Freddy is probably already planning my funeral. Her leg bumps into mine, and it stays there, and I'm hyper aware of the fact that she's pushed onto my knee. I'm also hyper aware when again, with a sultry smile upon her lips, she brushes her fingers across the top of my hand, running them over my wrist, stirring the little hairs there. Her smile is killing me. It speaks volumes of what she plans to do with me, and I know for a fact that I'm not imagining things. This girl is attracted to me. Possibly not as attracted as I am to her, because she's gorgeous, but something is definitely happening here.

  I know we're in a restaurant, and people are watching, but I want her to continue moving that arm, and she does, making her fingers glide to my shoulder, run over my cheeks and across my breasts. “Are you okay, there?” She says, and I glare at her. Does it look like I'm fucking okay? Because I already knew this was a bad idea, because being in her proximity gives fuel to my imagination, sparks up the shards of desire deep inside – but already, I just want her to take me, restaurant or not.

  She leans forward, and whispers in my ear, “I look forward to hearing you... sing back at my home.” Something sharp nibbles at my earlobe, along with a hot haze of air, and I shudder, electricity snaking inside me, hitting everything. It feels so good, that I close my eyes, a drunken sensation swimming over me, as she takes the opportunity to close her lips on my neck, and exhale air slowly. My leg twitches against hers, and I curl my hands into fists. There's someone watching us, and she wears an expression of disgust, but for some reason, that turns me on more, knowing that we're not hidden.

  I do, however, think that maybe too much public display of affection might get us kicked out. So, reluctantly, I withdraw from Jordy's affections, removing her teasing lips from my neck, breathing heavily. I'm a little dazed, and willing to let her do anything to me at this point. She scrutinizes me with those striking eyes of hers, bright green in the restaurant light, and the gleam of sun through the windows. She's exhilarated, and adjusts her knee more, until it's pressing directly between my thighs, just above my arousal spot.

  She knows what she's doing.

  So, because I'm an idiot, I end up following Jordy back to her home. I let her know as much that my best friend is not impressed with the idea of me going home with a pretty woman, and Jordy simply answers with, “Well, you're coming over to practise singing with me. No harm in that, right?” Her twinkling eyes, however, suggest a different story. The kind of story that gives those little stomach flutters. It doesn't help when she adds, “And, well, if anything extra did happen... you don't always have to tell.”

  Ah, fuck me, Jordy. You need to stop being so irresistible.

  Her apartment is neat and ordered, not the messy sprawl I anticipated for someone who lives a “musical” lifestyle. She doesn't have much in her house, really – no funny ornaments on the shelves, or empty wrappers on the tables. She does, however, have a humongous bookcase with a lot of books. I spot Terry Prachett, Neil Gaiman, Brandon Sanderson and Lois McMaster Bujold, nodding in approval at these amazing and prolific authors. I consider the dragon erotica I have tucked in my backpack, and feel a little self-conscious.

  Jordy tells me to make myself at home, and takes her guitar which is leaning by the side of a leather sofa. I do some quiet vocal exercises, making sure I don't sound like a drowning cat. My hands shake noticeably, and I sit on them as Jordy checks the tuning of her guitar, appearing so at home with holding the instrument, that I want to take a picture of her as she tweaks a string.

  “What song will you try out?” Jordy again fixes me with those intense eyes. I'm mesmerized by her attention, and also by the hint of bare flesh she displays just above her hip line. She's taken off her combat boots, which reveal panda patterned socks, which make me smile. The socks are adorable, and remind me of my hedgehog ones back home. I continuing enjoying the presentation of flesh offered, wondering how smooth it might feel on my palms. Presently, I remember that she asked me a question.

  “Uh,” I say, thinking for basic chord tunes, “Do you know anything from Florence and the Machine?”

  Jordy shakes her head. “Noelle doesn't like her, or enjoys trying to sing in that range. You're a soprano, then?”

  “Yeah,” I answer. I chew my lip, at a loss for what to try.

  “What about any of our set tunes? Like Web of Lies.” Jordy begins to demonstrate the first heart rending notes of the melody that I heard them perform last Friday, and I close my eyes to listen.

  “Yeah. I can try that. I... kind of know most of your songs.” And what I mean by that is I know all of them. By heart. Lyrics and all.

  I'm not a stalker. I just like the songs.

  “Awesome.” Jordy is excited as she restarts the tune, and I'm so anxious, that when it's my cue, I squeak the first two lines, and hit one terrible off-note. I slip into embarrassed silence.

  “It's okay,” Jordy says, soothing me like a troubled animal. “Take a few deep breaths. It will help you to be less nervous. Don't restrict your vocals so much, either. Remember, breathe from the diaphragm.”

  “Yes, mother,” I mutter, still crimson as she lets out a trilling laugh. “Give me ten seconds, then again.”

  Forcing the knot out of my lungs and stomach, I once more utter the notes of Web of Lies. This time, I don't sound like a gargoyle, though I sing the tune two octaves higher than Noelle, in my typically girlish soprano. As Jordy keeps playing, and I don't stumble over the words and neither does she stop me to tell me how awful I am, my confidence grows. Dipping through the chorus, and finally grinding the song to a natural end, Jordy stops strumming.

  “Girl, you can sing!” she exclaims. “That was incredible!” Jordy drops her guitar and hurries over to where I'm sitting on the sofa, and she shakes me by the arms. “I was so scared you'd be awful when you started with that horrible scratchy wailing noise, but you surprised me! that was so good!”

  “If you keep praising me like this, I'm gonna die of embarrassment,” I say, grinning and blushing at the same time. Our eyes meet, hazel to blue, and I see hers are fully dilated. The glow of excitement makes her beautiful, and her hair is splayed about her cheeks as if blown in a strong wind. Jolts of electricity ripple through, and I feel the beginnings of a lady boner.

  Oh no, I think. I'm frozen like a rabbit caught in headlights, and I want nothing else but for Jordy's lips to touch mine in that moment. I'm hopeless. I knew this was going to happen. I knew I wanted to come here and have things develop into something more. She's been in my mind often.

  It doesn't help when Jordy, having fallen silent in the charged atmosphere shared between us, reaches to tuck a strand of red hair behind my left ear. Her fingers brush my cheek, soft and warm, and a shiver rakes my spine. We continue staring for a few seconds longer, as if both of us are waiting for the other to make the first move. At this distance, her body odor is strong, and I catch whiffs of strawberry and mown grass, both for me the scents of summer. She is a summery person, with that blonde hair, and I'm thinking to myself that yellow and red goes well together, and imagine what our hairs will look like sprawled out on the bed, as we lie next to each other.

  Fuck it, I think. She's here in front of me, and I'm not going to let her get away. I make the first move, pressing my lips into hers, and yank her into me, so she's sprawled on top, and we're attacking each other's lips. Bolts of arousal ripple from me into her, and I gasp into her mouth as she wedges a knee once more between my thighs, and presses hard into my crotch. I let out a moan, and she growls, now burying her face into my neck, licking, kissing and lightly sucking at the skin. The sensation is intense, sending m
e mad with desire, and I claw at her hair as she pushes her knee into me. She grins as she feels me scratching at her, then pushes me back, using her strength to overpower me, and without much ceremony, unbuttons my jeans, so her hand can plunge in there, and the suddenness of it shocks and excites me, and I'm sopping wet from her taking charge. Asserting dominance remains one of my biggest fantasies, though I like picturing myself as the one taking charge. I like being in that position, but Jordy on top of me, her voice husky and alluring, and her hand delving into the gap of my jeans, worming past my panties to touch my core makes me shudder.

  She wastes no time, and her fingers collect the pooling wetness down there, and slide inside. I groan and open my legs wider, and she adjusts herself so that her long fingers are buried to the hilt. I expect her to start thrusting, like a guy would, but she doesn't. Instead, she makes a beckoning motion with her two fingers, and pushes against the inner walls. The sensation is insane. She's hitting my g-spot, and I don't think I've ever thought about pleasuring myself in this way before, or that I can manage the angle solo. She certainly can, and she does it with aplomb, tapping my g-spot. I can't help it. I gasp and throw my head back, no longer able to wrest control from her, too consumed by pleasure and chemicals to bother doing anything else other than to let her guide my body to climax.

  I don't know how she does it, but every word she whispers, every kiss and touch serves to drive me crazy, begging for more – and she complies by speeding up the pace of her fingers as they squish into my g-spot, and something builds up inside. It's stronger, far more intense than my masturbation of a few days ago, and when the orgasm finally unleashes, it's a monster that sinks into my bones and leaves me breathless with bliss and pleasure.

  She eases out of me and does up my button, before staring at me with one eyebrow raised. “Are you okay down there?”

  “Shut up.”

  In a few more moments, I'm sitting up again, and I'm willing to start exploring Jordy, though she appears content to just tease me about how fast I came.

  Then, the door bangs open.

  We leap apart as Noelle storms into the room, boots clomping on the wooden floors. Instantly, the Goth girl's face goes from neutral to scowl. “What's she's doing here?” Noelle jabs a finger at Clarissa, and my eyes examine the black roses on her arms. “The waitress?”

  “Noelle, can you knock? Please? This is my house,” Jordy retorts. I don't see any alarm or shame in Jordy's features, though I'm struggling to hold back a burning slash of shame. Barely five minutes before, we'd just finished one venture into sex, and then the girlfriend turns up.

  It's one way to bring my soaring high into a crashing low.

  “That's never been an issue before,” Noelle shoots back.

  “It has. I've told you this. Millions of times. You keep ignoring me, and it's pissing me off.”

  “Sorry,” she says, not sounding sorry at all. Noelle then directs a filthy stare at me. “Make the waitress go. I've something to tell you about you know what.”

  Noelle's abrupt dismissal leaves me fuming on top of my shame. Does she have to act like I'm her worse enemy? I know I'm not the nicest person around, but I swear that this girl has had it in for me from the start. I don't think she saw anything or heard anything, but maybe my expression is enough to warn her to my intentions.

  I get up to leave, even as Jordy says, “Knock it off. There's no need to be such a bitch.”

  “Thanks for letting me jam out,” I say to Jordy. I decide not to mention about the sushi, thinking that it probably won't help with Noelle's attitude, since she probably already expects something is up.

  Part of me wonders if I'll get away with this. Part of me hopes. Because I want to see Jordy again. I want to feel her on me again.

  “No problem. I'll see you on Friday.” Jordy goes to see me out, and apologizes to me, before she closes the door. Before I'm even down the steps, I hear them both at it in a screaming argument.

  Though my heart swells at the idea of meeting Jordy again on Friday, despite the serious explaining I'll need to do with Freddy, it sinks at the idea that I've just caused them to have a massive argument.

  I don't think Noelle would ever be okay with us hanging out together, regardless of whether we were doing the nasty behind her back – or even if Jordy tells her straight off the bat. The bad thing is about me is that I don't care. I want to keep flirting, and seeking out more intimate moments. I want to see where it goes. And, most of all, I'm curious about what Jordy will feel like wrapped around my fingers, how she must taste down there. Part of me even has a hope that maybe their relationship is so bad that they break up. They don't really sound like a couple right now, with the way they hiss venom at each other.

  What kind of person does that make me?

  Certainly not a good one.

  On the bus back home, I get out my awkward dragon erotica, and turn to the first page. Nothing particularly erotic happens in the first chapter, and when I arrive back home, to my dismay, I realize I'm still horny. There's only one way to deal with that – and I handle it in the shower. It's annoying, in a way. I'm not usually this horny so often, but right now, my mind and body can't cope with the new influx of emotions, of what Jordy is making me feel. It's out of my control, and I have to physically squash Freddy's warnings, just so I don't end up guilt tripping myself into a ball of misery. I don't want to be in that place. I don't want to think about Freddy's disappointment, or Noelle's accusing stare. All I want to think about is Jordy there with me, by me, inside me. My impromptu singing session with her as well makes me reflect on starting up singing again, just so I can have more opportunities to sing with her, to make her look at me with those amazed eyes, and congratulate me on how I sound.

  I'm a bad person, really, but I also know I'm human. The heart wants what it wants.

  Chapter Three

  It's Friday again, and I've finished the book (it didn't have any dragon erotica, it just happened to be a misleading blurb, which disappointed me more than it should have). I've also informed Freddy about going over to Jordy's house, even though I didn't want to tell him at first.

  “Did you two have sex?” Freddy gives me a disapproving stare as we linger in the backroom of the Café.

  “No!” I protest, and let out a huff of annoyance. “Not that I wouldn't complain about it or anything, but no.” Only a slight pang of guilt goes through me for the blatant lie. Freddy doesn't catch me out on it. He sighs, clasping me on the shoulder, hard enough for me to grimace since he has a monster grip, the kind that could probably crush bones. For a second, I think he's going to squish me to a pulp. “You do know I'm only giving you this advice to protect you, and not because I'm being spiteful, right?”

  Maybe he caught onto more than I expected. He's not a complete idiot, and he does know me inside out. I nod as I tie on my apron, and tuck my hair into a tight ponytail. My shoulder throbs from where he squeezed, and I can't but think that sometimes I'm more lucky than I realize, that we had chosen to stop hitting each other on the heads with our Hot Wheels cars in Kindergarten, to decide that might be better off as friends.

  “Not to mention that you have that slight issue of going for the taken ones. I know I can't stop you – but just be careful. And talk to me. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I reply, flashing him a grateful smile. I'm also glad he's not mentioned about locking his Netflix account. I'm two episodes away from the end of Stranger Things. I would have begged on bended knee for him to forgive me. He will find out, sooner or later. It's just hoping there will be an appropriate time to tell him.

  It's not long into my shift for when the acts start. I'm serving drinks to what seems like a boisterous crowd tonight, and sweat beads up on my brow from the effort. It dies down after the tables are packed up, and the staff are allowed some breathing space. The first two acts don't do much to the blood. There was a girl, overweight, with an acoustic guitar, who sat with the guitar positioned over her lap, and sang Someone Like You by
Adele. She sounded nothing like Adele, and her voice wavered throughout the performance, but she held promise, and I could tell she likely sang really well when not quavering in fear. The second act was another band straight from mom's garage, trying to sing Duality by Slipknot.

  What is with these bands thinking that mashing their instruments randomly is supposed to be good music? I think, watching as the lead singer moshes his ludicrously long and unwashed hair. I can't help my disdain, because I've never found that type of music appealing at all. Some metalheads in the crowd whip along to it however, holding their second and fifth fingers up, with the rest folded back.

  Jordan DeWitt comes into the Café late, which doesn't give me the customary time to sneak up and slide her a drink on the house. I notice, with a huge jump of my heart, that's she's alone when she checks in, and doesn't head to the stage, even though she should have started her set five minutes ago.

  Freddy and others who are used to seeing Jordy and Noelle perform together also take heed.

  “Think she's running late?” Freddy hisses to me. I shrug, wondering if the argument they erupted into at my leaving has anything to do with Jordy being on the stage alone. Guilt slivers inside.

  The crowd at this point are getting restless. There's a few jeers and shouts, and the stage manager dashes to the staff who are on not serving. “Can any of you do stand-up? We need to keep the crowd from throwing things whilst miss DeWitt gets things sorted.”

  Most of us instantly start to protest, but Freddy leaps for it, and says, “I'll do it. Let me scare them with every single pun that I know. Five minutes tops.”

  Freddy clambers onto the stage, grabs the mic, and begins his awful, dreadful puns that have the crowd groaning and laughing at the same time. Jordy DeWitt, with a mix of panic and despair on her face, spots me, and I know in that moment she doesn't have a plan, and five minutes isn't going to be enough for her to gather herself together. I tell the staff that I'll go and see what the issue is with the act, and I make my way to Jordy, pulling her aside.