I know I should be studying, I murmur to myself, bringing the blanket up to my nose and my feet up on to the cushions more. I know I should be getting ahead in my reading for next semester, but I don’t want to!
There’s a whine to my voice. Like I’m nine, instead of 19.
But if I don’t, I think, feeling my breath on my cheeks, the quality of my work might suffer. My grades may drop, and if they drop I might lose my scholarship!
From under the blanket, I’ve started to chew my nails. A bad habit. One Mom would get after me about, but she doesn’t know how hard it’s about to get for me.
Can’t have that. School’s expensive as it is, even with the help my scholarship provides. And still I’m going to have to start working to afford everything on my own next semester.
I bring the blanket down off my face, feeling overheated and a bit irritated at myself.
And I’m not even sure if I can work and go to school at the same time and maintain my flawless academic reputation. Which is why I need to be studying, even if it is winter break, I grumble, deciding there will be no more breaks for me. Not this winter.
Until I see his face on my TV screen — the face belonging to one of my most favorite actors. In that moment, every other thought flies out of my head. Studying. Grades. None of it matters, in the face of such rugged beauty.
He’s an older actor. I can’t remember his name, but I’d know his wrinkles anywhere. The sexy smile lines around his eyes. The way his lips curl just that way when a reporter asks him a personal question. Oh, that’s the thing that always melts me. Combine that with his cool amber eyes (I always think of a Jaguar when I see them), and you have me completely distracted.
Which I am. As I hear him murmur something about how he likes his women smart and driven, I imagine that he’s talking to me. Mariah, he says, leaning close to me, you’re a smart and driven young woman. You work hard for what you want, don’t you? As he leans in further, I imagine I’m smelling his cologne. Like bourbon and marshmallows blended together, but sharper. The collar on his dress shirt caresses my cheek, just before his hand does. I bet you’d like it if you had a man who worked hard for you, wouldn’t you?
On “hard” I realize my hand is down the front of my pajamas, and already buried deep in my pussy. My clit is already rock-hard, and licking at my finger like a lollipop. A light touch sends a shiver through me, despite the layer of blanket. “Yes,” I murmur.
Oops. Guess masturbation is the option that’s going to win out. Thanks, famous actor.
In my head, said famous actor has taken off his suit jacket and tossed it nonchalantly to the side. On his chest, he wears a trio of gold necklaces — the perfect addition to his dark silk shirt. He closes the distance between us again, beginning to pull away the neckline of the shirt I imagine I’m wearing with just his touch.
In my mind, his rough-around-the edges fingers begin to eagerly seek out my bra, and the nipples underneath. All your other boyfriends have been just that, haven’t they? Boys. As I imagine him saying this, I feel part of a bra melt away. Bend away, as his fingers caress a full, plump nipple, rising to meet him. They’ve been too interested in playing their little video games, haven’t they, Mariah?
At these words, I imagine he’s the one who pinches my naughty fat nipple, not me. I pinch it again, imagining he chuckles at the squeal I give. Oh, you’re so much more fun to play with, Mariah! Such a thirsty girl!
I rub my fingers in and around my clit, with more attention. More deliberate strokes. I keep to one side of my clit, knowing it’s more sensitive than the other. Already, even after just a few stronger rubs, and a bit of tapping near the head, I’m feeling that delicious itch. That hot, almost rashy sensation I get when my clit gets bigger, and my pussy lips fatten.
They didn’t want to play with me, sir, I say, enjoying how my pussy is sucking on me. Holding onto my fingers, the way I wanted to hold onto my boyfriends’ cocks. But we never got that far. They were all good boys who thought I was too “forward.” After a while, I gave up on trying. But you want to, don’t you?
I dig my fingers deeper into my wet, drooling hole, and up the tempo on my penetration. My acrylic nails give me an extra bit of smoothness and texture, and I lean into it. I let it stimulate individual ridges and places along my lips.
You’d like to fuck my virgin pussy, right? I flick my hot and heavy clit, crying out at the surge of pleasure that goes up through my belly. It’s nice and tight for you, sir. I increase the speed of my finger movements, adding another finger this time.
Three fingers. What I imagine my favorite actor’s cock size might be.
Oh, yes, Mariah! says the man of my dreams, in my mind, sucking on both of my nipples that he’s freed from the shirt and bra. I’d love to play with your hungry, young pussy. He’s unzipped the fly on his fancy slacks, and reveals a long, straight cock. The ridges and veins in it are as exciting as they are unnerving. I press my thumb into the body of my clit, rubbing furiously.
Almost immediately, I feel my toes beginning to curl. My back beginning to arch against the couch.
I’ll be happy to give it some experience points. It all plays out so wonderfully in my fantasy. As he speaks, I watch him stroke his long, muscled member. He bends it a bit while stroking. More ridges and veins appear, and his balls suck in seductively. Just turn around, Mariah, and leave the driving to me.
Obediently, I present myself to him. I don’t see what I’ve leaned against, but it doesn’t matter. I shove a fourth finger in my already-stuffed pussy, imagining it’s his large stiff cock. I rock into my fingers, imagining he’s pulled me into his hips, slapping my ass.
With this thought, and an extra finger in me, I feel the tremors starting. I feel my lips and hips shaking, and I imagine he does too. I imagine he feels it and says, Good girl, Mariah. Take it all in.
In my head, I imagine that my fingers, make up the ridges in his shaft. I ride them, feeling every change. Every contour. Every inch, he says, filling me with his full-length. He presses into my womb, making my belly ache.
Oh, good girl! Gently, slowly, I imagine he pulls back some, letting my pussy enjoy everything all over again. Good girl, Mariah. I imagine my movie-star boyfriend pumping me vigorously. I imagine him moaning. Groaning. Oh, such a lusty pussy, he says, I don’t know how your boyfriends passed this up!
Fuck my lusty pussy, I whine, feeling my body twist and tremble. Like a slingshot, a last bit of tension builds up before releasing. Like a cork from a wine bottle, my pussy contracts, forcing my fingers out.
The moment my acrylic nails leave my lips, I cum. It’s hard and spasmodic. I squeal, imagining his thick cock unloading a white Christmas on my ass cheeks. He lets it run in and over my asshole, bragging about how he’s just taken my virginity and is seeing the proof right in front of his eyes.
I cum a second time, feeling my bladder and tummy tuck in and then jolt out. As they do, I feel a glob of something wet and warm slide into my pajama bottoms.
I let it sit there, feeling delirious. Satisfied.
As I come down off my buzz with a few deep, happy breaths, one thing has become clear to me. I need a man older than those I’ve been half-heartedly trying to date. Someone with more skills in the bedroom than high scores in his video games.
I’ll get on OkCupid, I think, pulling my soaking wet hands out of my pants and out from under my shirt. I’m gonna do that tomorrow, and find a man who’s worthy of me. I grin, still smelling cologne. After I’m done studying, of course.
Chapter 2 – Paul
I’m in a car zooming down the highway. My brother Alex is driving. His friend, and my abductor, Jordan, sits shotgun. We haven’t been driving long. Only a few minutes. But it’s long enough for me to know we’re not just going to a local bar or strip club. We’re heading on to too big of a freeway for that.
But that’s fine by me. I’ve been to enough bars and clubs over the past several weeks, dating just about any girl who’ll let me put
my hands on her.
It’s all to forget about her of course — to forget about commitment and what that used to mean to me — but it seems my brother and his friend have other ideas.
“So” — I fold my arms behind my head — “now that you’ve succeeded in dragging me out of my house and stuffing me in your fucking car, mind telling me where we’re off to?” My question is mostly directed at Alex, who I can see in the rearview mirror.
“It’s a surprise,” he tells me. I hear the smile in his voice, and see it reflected in his eyes. They have those stripper-pole-elf twinkles in them.
While part of me appreciates his attempt at being coy, another part of me hates it. It still wasn’t my idea to go on a road trip today. “I don’t like surprises.” Not after what Darla put me through, I add silently.
“You’ll like this surprise, yo,” says Jordan, turning around in his seat. As he does, he lights up a cigarette. By the sweet smell, it’s one of those expensive ones. With less nicotine in them. “Think of the place we’re taking you to as an early Christmas present.” He pauses, looking at my brother for backup. For a moment, it looks as though they share an inside joke. Eyes back to me, he says, “Better than what that hoe Darla gave you, man.”
I sigh, turning my eyes back to the rearview mirror.
My brother’s gaze meets me there. “Trust me, my brother.” His eyes soften. “Think of all this as an opportunity to get out. Get away from typical watering holes and basic bitches. Where I’m taking you, you’ll think you died and went to Heaven.”
He flicks on the radio, bringing up a bit of jazz. Maybe to relax me. Maybe to get me in some kind of mood. Whatever the reason, I’m suddenly surrounded by saxophones and softly beating drums. “Just sit back and enjoy the next few days. Jordan and I have your back.”
“You are the only straight guy I know who likes jazz,” I tease him.
But something about the music and Alex’s words relax me. The entire aura of the car melts tension from my shoulders and lower back. Places I didn’t even know were so fucking tight until they weren’t. “Whatever you say, Alex. I’m counting on you.” I prop my feet on the back of his seat, making sure he feels a bit of jiggling. “Don’t fuck this up.”
After that, we all just sit back and enjoy the music. The roads are clear for the most part, so driving is smooth. Effortless. We travel like that for what seems like fucking hours.
Somewhere in the middle of it we change from jazz to classical rock, but the biggest change comes in the scenery out the window. I begin to see more snow and ice. More hills. But finally, after what seems like another hour or two, I see mountains.
Not just any mountains, though. The best mountains for skiing. The ones in Aspen, Colorado.
“We’re going to Aspen,” I say, straightening up in my seat and feeling legitimately excited for the first time since this road trip began. “For a ski trip.”
I look to Jordan, who seems content to make me work for it.
“Not just a ski trip,” he says. “It’s more than that.”
“But you’ll have to wait and see when we get there,” adds my brother, switching on his headlights for the darkening road. “I’m not telling you any more than that.”
***
When we finally make it up and through the mountains and to the ski resort, I’m ready to get out of the car and get a drink. It seems Alex and Jordan feel the same way, as they immediately drag me with them to a bar inside the main lodge.
As we make our way through the lodge and toward the darker, seductive embrace of the bar, I see beautiful women everywhere I look. They’re all in their winter coats and boots, making me think of fuzzy snow bunnies. But cuter. Sexier. Their faces are all glowing with a bit of cold air, exercise and alcohol.
And that’s when some part of my brother’s secret mission dawns on me: the girls. The women.
Just as I have this realization, the three of us duck into the bar and swim upstream to a cluster of seats close to the bartender. As all three of us take our seats and peruse the drink menu, my brother finally lets me in on his secret. On his reason for dragging me here two days shy of Christmas. “By all the pretty women swarming this place, I’m sure you have a good guess as to why I brought you here, right?”
I nod, deciding on a shot of tequila, and then take a quick glance around the bar. There are lookers here as well. Blondes, brunettes, a few redheads — all with hips and tits and asses to die for. Even some dark-haired beauties with laughter as sweet as honey, and smiles as sparkly as the snow outside. But I’m not interested in any of them. “To get laid?” I ask, finally answering his question.
The bartender brings Jordan a rum and Coke, and my brother a German-imported beer.
“You don’t need just a fuck, man,” says Jordan from over his straw. “If that was enough, we wouldn’t need to take you here to get your mind off your ex.” A pause, while he sucks down a bit of his drink. “You need an experience.”
“And we’re gonna help you get it,” chimes in Alex, delicately eating the foam from the top of his beer.
I take a look at the girls sitting around the bar, flitting in and out of shadows and neon. “Nah,” I say. “None of these girls are gonna do it for me.” Right on cue, my shot of tequila comes and I knock it back. “I’m 38. I don’t need or want another queen.” I grimace, savoring the burn of tequila in the back of my throat. “Some bitch who’s going to demand shit from me.”
My eyes zero in on a particular girl, who’s drinking a little pink Martini, something my ex would’ve ordered. “What I need is a girl who is submissive, yet feisty. And I don’t think there’s any girl here that fits that bill.”
I order another tequila shot.
My brother pats me on the back. “You let us worry about that, bro.”
My second shot comes and goes as quickly as the first.
“We’ll help you find the right girl, yo.” That’s Jordan, and he’s halfway through with his rum and Coke. “By Christmas, you’ll be jingling all the way.”
Chapter 3 – Mariah
From somewhere under my earthquaked blanket and couch cushions, my smart phone rings. Probably my mom. She always gets a little more intense with her phone calling just before the holidays. Especially now that I no longer live at home.
But I’m lucky. It’s not Mom. Grabbing my smart phone from its hiding place and turning it over, I see my friend Jane’s name plastered across the screen, along with her picture. One she took at the beginning of the semester, with her sweater and gloves on.
I answer, glad I’ve had a bit of time to collect myself from my masturbation
session. “Hey, Jane! What’s going on, girl?’
A sugary-sweet giggle. “I was calling to ask you the same thing, lady! What are you up to? Studying?” The way she asks this, it’s almost as if she knows what I was really up to.
“A little,” I say, blushing. I still can’t believe I imagined my favorite actor fucking me from behind, and then unloading his cum on my ass cheeks. I mean, it’s not new that I masturbate. I just usually don’t masturbate in that much…detail. With that much reckless abandon.
“Well, stop it,” she says. Again, it’s almost like she knows what I was just thinking about instead of listening to her. “You can study some other time. It’s Christmas break. Time to have fun with your friends.”
I’m about to debate the finer points of school work and good grades with her, but I quickly decide against it. Even if she cared about college as much as I do, money isn’t a big deal for her. It never is. If I were her, I wouldn’t even have to be thinking about getting a job next semester. I could just focus on my classes, knowing my rich dad is going to take care of everything.
“What are you doing over break? Anything exciting?” Jane’s question pulls me out of my thoughts. Again, I get ready to answer, but from the sound of her voice over the phone, Jane’s already excited about something else. “Because I just got off the phone with my daddy, and he’s be
ing generous as usual.”
I roll my eyes. Usually when Jane says her daddy’s being generous, that’s her way of saying he’s “paid her off” again. In other words, he’s thrown money or a gift at her in lieu of actually being there for her. Spending time with her, which isn’t strange anymore. It used to be, when I wasn’t aware that anyone’s parents could be so hands-off, but not since I’ve gotten to be good friends with Jane. At least in her case, I’ve learned money can buy happiness. Hers. And her daddy knows it.
“…bought me a ticket to Aspen! To the ski resort there where we went last time,” says Jane, as I bring my attention back to her.
“Great,” I say, imagining she’s going use this as an excuse to buy a whole new skiing ensemble. “Have fun.”
“I’m not going alone, silly.” Another sweet giggle. This one has me imagining candy canes and gumdrops. “You’re going with me,” she says, as if she’s already made up my mind for me.
“Oh, no,” I say. “I couldn’t…I mean, I have studying to do for next semester.” I let myself ramble, because it’s easier than imagining I might actually have free time and enjoy it. “I have to get ahead in this book for my humanities course before classes start again.” Believe it or not, I have my syllabus within reach.
“No,” says Jane, like I’m nothing more than a bad little puppy who made a mess on her rug. “No way, Mariah. Daddy can’t use the ticket he bought.” Her voice loses some shine. “Says he has to work.”
A pause. In it, we both know what her dad’s really going to be doing when he’s “working” over the holiday. Seeing his mistress.
Jane’s voice pops in again, right on cue. Her energy is right back where it used to be as she says, “So, you’re going, honey! You’re coming with me to Aspen.”
I wish I could tell my future as well as Jane can. I wish I could just make a snap decision and go, but I can’t. I already made a promise. One I can’t break. “Listen, I wish I could go with you to Aspen, Jane, but I can’t.”
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