by Ney, Sara
We’re both still awake, the mood calm. My nerves are shot, body sated from a mouth-induced orgasm.
There were actual, important things I wanted to discuss with her before she got down on her hands and knees and sucked my dick. Things I wanted to discuss about our relationship.
I owe it to myself to get the words out. I have to stop being a pussy.
“What are you thinkin’ ’bout?” I find myself saying, and then I groan, because it’s such a dumb fucking thing to ask. So cliché. I don’t know a whole hell of a lot, but I do know it’s the one thing you’re not supposed to ask someone. What are you thinking about right now? The trap question so many of my friends have fallen into that’s started so many fucking fights with their girlfriends.
And here I am asking it.
“I’m thinking about…hmm.” She shifts beside me, rolling to her side so she can face me head on, tucks her arm beneath her head to prop herself up.
Her face is beautiful as she regards me; like a fucking angel, pink cheeks surrounded by a halo of blonde hair. I catch some between my thumb and forefinger and rub the silky strands together.
“I’m thinking about how I like being here with you, and it’s nice just lying here, not talking.”
Yeah—it is. Usually I lie here alone, staring up at the ceiling. Night after night, by myself.
“And I’m wondering if you meant what you said about spending time with me in the romantic capacity.” She giggles.
“Yeah, I meant it.” I release the hold I have on her hair and stroke her smooth cheek. “Why you laughin’?”
“Romantic capacity—it sounds so official.” “I s’pose.”
“Don’t get all salty—I’m just teasing. It’s cute.” Her index finger extends, and I watch it boop the middle of my nose. “You’re cute.”
“Just cute?” Jesus, listen to me, fishing for compliments. Who am I?
“No—you’re sexy. I like the noises you make.”
“What noises?”
She giggles again. “Your sex noises.”
We didn’t have sex, so I’m not sure what she…Oh. Ohhh. The sounds I made when she was blowing me! Ah. I see. I try not to blush but fail. I can actually feel the heat rising to my face.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mm hmm,” Charlotte hums, that index finger trailing down my breastplate, between my pecs. I flex without meaning to, dammit. “I love your body. I know you probably hear that all the time, but I do. You’re so strong.”
Oh fuck.
My dick twitches.
“Is that the part you like? That I’m strong?”
Her hands caress my muscles, and I want to purr like a goddamn kitten.
“I feel so…safe lying here with you.”
Well. Shit.
Not what I was expecting her to say—not when I’m six foot three of solid meat that can cut through a defensive line and press four hundred pounds of weight.
I make her feel safe.
Cool.
“My size doesn’t intimidate you?”
“No. No, sir. I like it too much to be intimidated by it.” Her finger traces down my sternum.
“Huh.” Imagine that. I’ve been accused of using my size to intimidate people, and the psychologist at my high school once told me I had to knock that shit off. I’ve been huge since I was young—hit six feet by the time I was eleven, so…I’ve been taking advantage of it ever since. No shame.
Charlie yawns, patting her mouth with her perfect, petite hand.
“Tired?”
We’ve barely talked. “Getting there.”
“Do you want to spend the night?” It’s a big move for me, inviting her to sleep over.
Charlie cocks a brow. “Are we actually going to sleep?”
“Yes? I’m fuckin’ tired—what else would we be doing?”
Charlie’s laugh tears through the silence. “Wow, I have my work cut out for me here. I’m no nymphomaniac, but use your imagination for once, would you? What else would we be doing in a bed besides sleeping, Jackson? Think about it, you goof.”
Shit. I’m an idiot.
“Do you really just want to sleep? Because if you do, I’ll have to try hard to keep my hands from wandering south of the border.” She gives her brows a creepy wiggle.
“Yeah, we should probably sleep.” The last thing I want is for her to think I’m taking advantage, or that I asked her to spend the night so I could bang her. Even though she knows I’ve never screwed anyone, I’m not trying to make her think tonight’s going to be the night.
Although…
My mind can’t help but go to that place. That naked, sweaty, orgasmy place.
But. I don’t have condoms.
The guys do—the communal bathroom has a whole drawer full of them.
But I wouldn’t even know how to put one on.
Shut up, loser. How hard could it fucking be? Get a grip.
My dick twitches when Charlie runs the tip of her finger around and around my areola; it’s firm beneath my t-shirt.
“I don’t have pajamas.” No, she doesn’t, and I don’t have any for her. My t-shirts would be ginormous on her.
“You can borrow something if you want.” How the hell did we go from me wanting to talk to her blowing me to me inviting her to spend the night? Jesus, I work fast.
The whole thing escalated quickly. But I’m ready for it.
I think.
“You really want me to spend the night? Seriously?”
“Yeah—I think I really do.” And I realize I mean it. I’ve never slept next to anyone, just Pops those times we shared a hotel room for an out-of-town football game growing up when I played for an elite traveling team.
He’d get a double, and we’d share a bed. Or, I’d sleep on the floor next to it. Builds character being humbled, he’d say.
You’ll appreciate it someday, and besides, I’m payin’ for the goddamn room. Someday you’ll repay the favor.
What will it be like sharing a bed with a girl? Will I roll over in the middle of the night and crush her? Will I snore and wake her up? Shit—will she snore and wake me up? Kick me all night, tossing and turning?
I size her up. “How do you sleep?”
She considers the question. “On my back? I think I sleep like I’m in a coma—at least, my blankets are usually in the same spot when I wake up every morning. I can usually just flip the covers back into place without remaking the entire bed, so…yeah.”
“All right.”
“Why? What are you like when you sleep?”
“Honestly, I have no idea.”
“Guess there’s only one way to find out.” Charlie rests her hand on my shoulder. “Are we sure we’re not rushing this?”
No. We’re definitely rushing it. It’s too soon.
I’m not ready for it.
But I’m going to fucking suck it up; I’ve known her for weeks already, and chickening out is the coward’s way. If I was one of my friends, I would have fucked Charlie by now, not invited her to spend the night. Anyone else would have let her suck him off, fucked her, and kicked her out.
I’m doing this entirely the wrong way and don’t freaking care.
If my father found out, he’d tan my hide…
Your father isn’t here. No one is.
Just you and Charlotte.
And ten other dudes, but who’s counting?
“The bathroom isn’t private, but I don’t think anyone will bother you if you want to go use it real quick. Most of the guys are still studyin’.” Enough chicks come through here that you learn to ignore them—although, if someone has to take a piss, they’re going to tell Charlie to get the fuck out of the bathroom.
It’s ours, not for the use of random women, and that’s how we treat it. Like a private sanctuary for taking shits and showering, not as a glam room for hook-ups.
“So it’s okay if I go freshen up or whatever?”
“Yeah.” I shift on the bed, sit up. “Why don’t I come wi
th you and stand outside the door, just in case. I don’t need you gettin’ hassled.”
Charlie smiles at me like I’ve been sent from heaven. She’s sweet—goddamn angelic. Her rosy cheeks and that little dent in her cheek flirting with the insides of my stomach.
“Thank you.” When she scoots off the bed, she pecks me on the lips before hopping onto the floor and sliding her shoes back on. Makes for the door, glancing over her shoulder to see if I’m following.
I rise. Push down my semi-wood with a shrug; not much I can do about it. Lead her to the bathroom and give the door a tap before pushing it wide open. It’s empty, and clean—the cleaning people were here this morning, scrubbing the kitchen, floors, and shared bathrooms.
Breathing a sigh of relief that the place isn’t disgusting (usually there are pubes all over the toilet seat), my hand rests on the brass doorknob, poised to pull it closed behind me so Charlie can do her thing alone.
“Let me know if ya need anything, ’kay?”
“Mmkay.” She beams up at me, pushing a strand of silky blonde hair behind her ear. “Do you have a toothbrush I can borrow?”
“Sure—I mean, no. You can use mine if you don’t think it’s gross.
“It’s gross, but I’d rather not have bad breath. Haha.” She pulls the cutest sour expression, followed by a long pause. I strain to hear her muttering. “In any case, my mouth was on your dick—does it matter if I have my mouth on your toothbrush?”
Wow.
Wow, wow, wow.
“Uh…good point? My toothbrush is…” I lean into the bathroom, reaching for the closest drawer. Yank it open. “Here.” Hand her the blue toothbrush, along with the toothpaste. “All my shit is in here and on the top shelf in the closet behind the door, like towels and stuff.”
“I love how you say stuff. It’s so cute.”
I laugh—she’s so weird. “How do I say it?”
“I don’t know, like, stuuf. I can’t describe it. All I can say is that it’s adorable.”
Oh. Well in that case. “Stuff.”
Charlie shifts on the balls of her feet. “Give me five minutes.”
“Duh! Sorry.” I back out of the room, pulling the door along with me. “Knock if you need me.”
I hear her laugh through the door as I lean against it, back pressed against the wood. I cross my arms and ankles, standing vigil like a guard. The water runs. The toothbrush gets tapped on the sink.
I try not to hear her pee, but it’s impossible—the walls are thin, and the hall is quiet, so I’m relieved she doesn’t take a dump. I’d never be able to look her in the eye otherwise.
The toilet flushes.
While Charlie is washing her hands, a door at the end of the corridor opens and out walks Carlos. We regard each other, and both his black eyebrows shoot to his hairline.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He doesn’t mince words.
“Waitin’.”
“For what? Since when do we wait for someone to finish taking a dump to use the bathroom?”
A laugh escapes my throat. “I have a guest.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but his brows shoot higher. “A guest? Is it Charlie? The cutie who was here carving pumpkins?”
Another laugh. “Yes.”
“Is it okay if I giver her a nickname, like George? Frank?”
“No.”
“Right.” Now he’s standing next to me. “What’s she doing in there, shaving her pussy bald?”
“No, she’s brushin’ her teeth.”
“She brought her own toothbrush?!”
“No. She’s usin’ mine.”
“That’s asquerosa. Disgusting.”
“Tell me how you really feel.”
“You know, I can hear you,” Charlie calls through the door with a laugh—thank God.
“Sorry,” Rodrigo calls back, but he shakes his head at me. “Not sorry. It’s disgusting, sorry bro.”
“I can still hear you.” At least Charlie is giggling as she turns the sink back on. “I’m ignoring you now—you can keep talking about me!”
“I like her,” my friend says.
“Same.” He continues standing next to me, watching the wall—as if Charlie is going to materialize so he can entertain her with his wit and charm and good looks. “You can go now,” I tell him.
“Don’t really have anywhere to be.”
“Then why’d you come out of your room?”
“’Cause I was bored, amigo.”
“Please go away.”
“Why? I like Charlie. I wanna hang out with you guys.”
I stare at him, hard. Is he fucking serious? “Carlos, I’m not… You know how I am. This is a big deal.” I can’t be more eloquent than that, can’t speak any more plainly. If he doesn’t walk away before Charlie comes out of the bathroom, I swear I’ll have a stroke.
“I’m just giving you a rash of shit, buddy. Calm down—your face is so fucking red.”
I can feel the heat covering my entire body, not just my face, blood pressure surely shot up past what’s considered healthy. Simply because I have a girl in my house and she’s about to spend the night.
“Maybe this was a mistake.”
Carlos puts a lip to his finger, hissing, “Shh, she’ll hear you!” He steps in closer and puts his paws on my shoulders, squeezing his palms into my muscles—hard. “Listen to me: relax. Take a deep breath. You earned this, mi hermano.
Relax.”
Relax. I can do that.
“She likes you. You.” Now his palms give me a resounding smack in a show of solidarity. “You got this.”
I got this. “Right.”
“Have your balls shrunk? Why you being such a pussy?”
“Fuck off!”
My roommate laughs. “That’s the fighting spirit. Put on your big-boy pants and bone her tonight. Take one for the team— no one else is getting laid.”
“Eww! You did not just use the words ‘bone her’!” Charlie cackles through the bathroom door beyond my back.
“Goddammit, Rodrigo! Get the fuck out of here.”
“I’m going, I’m going.” His laughter fades as he makes his way down the hall, retreats down the stairs to the lower level.
On cue, the bathroom door behind me comes flying open, and I spin. She’s wearing the same clothes she had on before, but her hair looks combed, face scrubbed a shiny pink.
My overnight guest is grinning from ear to ear, clearly amused by my teammate’s antics. “I can’t say I’m not sorry I had to hear that. Bone her? Really?” Charlie breezes past me, brushing my shoulder and glancing at me over hers. “I’ll wait in here while you, you know—get your own business handled.”
She winks before disappearing into my bedroom. My door clicks shut.
I stare a bit too long from my spot in the hall, finally walking into the bathroom and going through my own routine. Take a piss. Brush my teeth. Wash my balls with a towel. Pull open the second drawer down and gaze into it.
Gold wrappers. Black wrappers. Blue, red, glow-in-the-dark.
Should I grab a condom, just in case?
I reach down, fingers closing around a gold one. Release it, letting it fall back into the drawer. Stand and stare down a little longer.
As I bite my lip, the penis inside my pants throbs. Still, I give the drawer a nudge with my knee until it closes.
Charlie doesn’t want to have sex with me tonight—assuming she does makes me the biggest kind of douchebag. We’ve only been on one date; what’s the rule about sleeping with someone?
Three dates? Five? Six months?
Fuck, I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out the hard way that she has no interest in…boning me, despite the fact that she just sucked on my cock.
Said cock thickens.
Shit.
I glance down at it. Is this normal behavior for a dick? “She just sucked you off, asshole. Calm down.”
Great. Now I’m talking to my penis—definitely not normal beha
vior.
I splash some cold water on my face and dry it off; that’s not part of my nightly routine, but I’m stalling, afraid to go back in my bedroom, heart rate still accelerated.
I take my pulse, counting the seconds and beats.
“You’re gonna live. Relax, amigo,” I say to my reflection. Run a hand over my scruff. “Damn, you couldn’t have shaved before she came over?” Too late now. If I get out the razor and cream, she’ll wonder what the fuck is taking so long.
Inhale. Exhale.
In and out. Out and in.
“What are you waiting for, you pussy?” Damn. If I acted like this before a game, I’d be kicked off the team so fucking fast my head would spin.
I screw around for another couple of minutes before heading to my bedroom. Give a few raps on the door with my knuckles before slowly turning the handle and pushing it open.
Charlie has all the lights off except one, the small lamp on my bedside table, its dim glow casting a light no brighter than a single candle would.
She’s in bed.
Not wearing one of my shirts.
Her shoulders and arms are bare, comforter pulled up to her chin. I can make out a pair of white bra straps; they’re lacy and stark against her pale skin. Blonde hair falls over one shoulder.
I gulp.
Step all the way inside and shut the door behind me, sliding the deadbolt to the left. “Um, I’m not lockin’ you in or nothin’—I’m lockin’ everyone else out.” I feel the need to explain. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah, I don’t want anyone walking in while we’re trying to, you know—sleep.”
Is she being sarcastic? I can’t tell.
I walk the few paces to my dresser, pull it open—though, do I really need a shirt? Shouldn’t I just go to bed without one tonight? The tit-baby in me is tempted to text Rodrigo and ask, but he’d just give me shit for it.
I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it up my torso. Fold it into a neat square. Set it on my dresser.
Now the pants. On or off?
I’m wearing boxers under my mesh athletic pants, but are those enough? It’s underwear—is that weird?
My stomach forms a knot, a pool of indecision, uncertainty, self-consciousness and regret that has me wanting to vomit all over my bedroom floor.
If I don’t get my head out of my ass and in the game, I’m going to be filming the sequel to The 40-Year-Old Virgin.