Single Player: Humor, Love, Breast Cancer and a Gaming Girl...

by Nicole, Jamie

  Suddenly I’m feeling extremely vulnerable. Vulnerability leads to panic attacks. Panic attacks lead to gland stimulation. Gland stimulation leads to me being sweaty and gross. Plus, I’d swear on my X-Box that when my adrenaline is pumping like this my hair grows faster and now any second I’ll have to go shave again and then I’ll have proven to us both how crazy this whole thing really is and… well, he better act fast here or I see this going from sexy-town to crazy-town in 0.2 seconds flat.

  Understanding me the way he does, he gets up from the bed and approaches me calmly, as if he’s come face to face with a cornered, shaking Chihuahua (If you’ve ever watched The Dog Whisperer, you know those things are terrifying and unpredictable!). His every move is methodical and calculated. Slow and steady. Suddenly I feel like his prey and the penetrating look in his eyes is the weapon he’s using against me, morphing the way that I feel one slow heart beat at a time. I can feel his intentions in all the serious parts of my body in an unusually delicious way and I think I like it. Nope, I LOVE IT!

  My palms begin to feel hot. Their steady heat spreading up my arms, through my shoulders and down the center of my body. I can almost feel my pupils dilating and I can see that his already have. Where his eyes are normally a light whiskey they are now a deep bourbon bordering on black. Suddenly I’m aware of my wet hair and the way the water is dripping one droplet at a time down the sides and back of my overheated neck, and I think he notices as well. If you look close enough, I think you’d see an white hot electric current pulsating between us, bright, sexy, and pure enough in its coloring to appear like a perfect diamond reflecting off the sun with its intensity.

  When he gets within one foot of me he stops. I’m visibly shivering. I’m tingling in every piece of my flesh, hyper aware of where he may choose to touch me first. I keep reminding myself that this is Ashton, my Ash, the guy I’ve taken care of and who’s taken care of me since we were the tender age of seven but right now, he’s more. More than my friend, more than a rocker dude, definitely more than the douche I tease him about. He’s more because I am going to give him something tonight that I never thought I’d be capable of giving away, myself.

  I’m deftly aware that this will be one of those moments that become part of a very small catalog of important firsts; first tooth, first word, first steps, first day of school, first car, first kiss (which belongs to him as well), first “time”. It’s only fitting that this belongs to the two of us, seeing that he’s been alongside me for so many of the other big milestones of my life. Through them he always kept me safe, happy and feeling secure, and I know this will be no different. He will make sure this is good for me and he’ll protect me like the friend that he is, my best friend.

  His eyes flicker to where the knot of my robe is tied halfheartedly at my hip. One yank of the fabric and I’ll be exposed to him in a different way than I’ve ever been before. Sooner than he can do it, I surprise myself with my own boldness and pull the fabric loose with a single menial tug. The front separates only slightly and the cool air instantly hits my warm flesh and sends my body into hyper-drive. Still I don’t move and neither does he. Both of our chests are rising and falling visibly, rapidly as our nerves and hormones begin to rocket through our bodies at alarming rates. I never knew I had jet powered hormone infusers. Holy crap, it’s fantastic.

  He breaks the heady silence between our explosive breaths when he asks in a husky voice, “Is there a list of rules? Like the ones I just read on that website, or are we not going to worry about them right now? I’m fine either way. This is your show.”

  He’s serious. He wants me to be the one in control of the outcome of our coming together. He knows that if the control is not firmly placed in my hands there’s a strong possibility that things will take a nasty turn between us and we both know that is not the outcome that either of us wants. He’s proceeding, only he’s wisely using caution.

  My tongue is adrift in a sea of horniness and hormones so I quickly say, “We’ll do rules after. Right now, I just need to feel…”

  My words are halted by the sudden force of his lips coming down on mine. His hands are at my neck, cradling my skull with such intensity that I can feel his body’s vibrations through his fingertips. His lips, they are steadfast, soft and erotic in their ability to move me with their talent. The last time I kissed him all I could do the next day was worry that I’d ruined his favorite new pants, now I’m just worried I’ll never feel this again. With him. With anyone. But, this is not the time for worry, for second guessing. That’s the purpose of this entire expedition, to release control, feel pleasure for the sake of pleasure alone. I can only hope that a side of capital Y-Yes’s and horrifically loud O’s will come with this order.

  With the restraint of a lion in front of his defeated kill he pulls apart our desperate lips and stares at me and I back at him. We’ve just kissed each other stupid. I believe this kiss just permanently wiped out the memory of that first kiss from many drunken years ago. I don’t believe anyone else on this planet has ever shared a kiss like this one before. It’s impossible, or surely I would have heard about it, like, in the news or on Wikipedia. I feel like we should call Ripley’s believe it or not to see if a kiss can be displayed somehow in their museum of awesomeness, titled “Best Kiss in the History of the Known World.”

  “Holy crap, Hot Pants… I…” Ashton speechless is something I’ve never witnessed before. He’s always got some nonsense to blather on about, but right now he’s just rubbing his thumbs back and forth along my enflamed cheeks, my head still cradled in his palms, his eyes watching me, scrutinizing my reaction to see if I’m all right. Is he alright I wonder?

  “Is “it” better than that? Because, if it is? I don’t know if I can take it.” I’m dead serious; my body feels like it may implode from the delicious pleasure surging through it. Anymore may be overkill.

  “I don’t know if I can, either. I’m being for real, Cee. I feel like a chick right now. My toes curled. My freakin’ toes just did that thing you girls say. They curled. I’m afraid I won’t make it past the kissing… holy hell. I think my leg may have kicked up.”

  I smile. He smiles.

  He slips his hands from beneath my wet hair and slowly drags them down the front of my robe where it is still lying open, careful not to touch my scorching skin just yet. His strong hands grab a hold of the robes lapels and hold on, waiting for, I don’t know what? If he’s trying to torture me or if he’s afraid of this intensity between us, well so am I and yes, I’m tortured, get on with it already. But, seeing as he’s just been scared straight and I’m in need of a release, I’m preparing to make a big move. Otherwise it’s entirely possible that I’m going to have some kind of sexual-frustration-induced panic attack, and that, my friends, feels like it has the potential to be the apocalypse.

  “I want you to touch me, Ashton. Do it. Do it now!” My pleading pays off. He quickly obliges…YAY ME! Woo Hoo for begging! It works!

  His right hand starts first. It slowly releases its strong hold on my robe and finds its way to my aching skin. His left feels encouraged by the right’s progress and follows suit. His touch… I could die happy right now, it’s that good. His eyes are watching as his hands track across my flaming skin, burning me, mapping me out with their desire.

  Those glorious hands begin to rub small circles in time with one another, from the top of my chest down over the “girls” and to the soft skin of my outer ribcage to beneath, where I’ve grown heavy with want. I’m clearly panting and I can see that he is too. Especially considering that the robe I’ve been wearing is now slowly but steadily sliding down my forearms and about to hit the floor.

  As the robe meets its mark and lands around my feet in a cotton-pooled puddle, he stops. His hands cut short their aching decent momentarily and I notice a pensive look in his eye, as if he’s taking mental notes on places he’s been and places he’s yet to explore. I giggle when I see him bite the corner of his lip like he does whenever he’s
working out a problem. His eyes shoot up to mine, still enflamed with desire. I stop giggling.

  “Is something funny, Hot Pants?” He’s very stern. Mmmmm… me likey.

  “You.” I’m stern back. Though right now I’m only interested in being the student to his very well-educated teacher.

  “Me?”

  “Yah. You. When you’re working something out you always bite your lip right there,” I say, rubbing my index finger softly over the now-wet corner of his bottom right lip. It’s so soft. I never knew that until now. I thought I knew all of him. Not… even… close.

  “I’m trying to decide a plan of action. You need an action plan in times like these, ya know? I’m going for optimum pleasure here. There are so many places on your body that’ll bring you that pleasure, and I want to be the one to show you what you’re capable of. I need to show you and I’m not sure where to start. Stop interrupting my action planning. It’s serious.” He’s serious.

  “Forgive me,” I state, seriously lifting my arms out to my sides and exposing myself further to him, showing him I’m on board with this very exciting action plan that he’s currently developing. I never knew Ashton was this thorough. Thoughtful, yes, he’s always doing things to show me he cares, but I had no idea he could be so painstakingly methodical, especially about this. Methodical is my new favorite word. Methodical rules!

  The moment he’s ready to proceed I can see it in his eyes. They lift slowly back to mine and he’s wearing that mischievous, knowing smirk that I know so well on his very naughty lips. As I lower my arms to my sides he reaches one of his hands out and slowly slides it around me, cupping my bottom before squeezing it. Hard. Whoa! I felt that in a very serious place. He smiles at my reaction and I bet he knows the place I felt that, it was for sure part of the pleasure plan. Obviously the reaction I gave was the one he was hoping for so he continues on and leans in to kiss me, there is a God. Then I hear a noise that I know all too well and it is the opposite of romantic.

  Master Chief just vomited. Well, Bloody Hell, Harry Potter! Vomiting has officially become my nemesis.

  Ashton hears it too and before I know what’s happening he’s run past me into the living room, leaving me quite naked and, I think, literally on fire. If you could die from passionate flames of fire, I’d be screwed. Oh wait… no… I… WOULDN’T!

  I grab the now infamous robe off the floor at my feet and slide it on while walking down the hall toward all the commotion. I can hear Ashton interrogating Master Chief about the mess that’s all around him, trying to come up with a brand new action plan, not that those have a great track record thus far.

  Ashton’s grumbling obscenities under his breath as I enter the dimly-lit room. I stop and search for robbers, because no way did one dog do all of this! Ashton’s got his shirt sleeves pushed up past his well-toned forearms while he furiously scrubs at the nasty puddle of vomit Master so thoroughly created on my largest area rug.

  Looking around, I easily find the culprit laying his sour belly out on the cold floor, looking for relief amidst the piles of chewed up tampons that are scattered all around him. Apparently Ashton bought the jumbo-sized economy box the last time I sent him out for them. He was thinking ahead so that he wouldn’t be sent on that errand again for a while, but jokes on him… looks like I’m about out.

  He looks up as he senses me watching him and the look on his face is that of complete frustration mixed with a healthy dose of defeat. I can relate.

  Grumpily he says, “Master needs to be seen by the vet. There are enough empty wrappers here for a small village and I don’t see enough of those stick thingies to match up evenly. We need to know if there are any more stuck inside him,” he says pointing an anxious finger at Master. “I don’t know how safe it is to wait and see if they pass on their own.”

  It’s clear by the look on Master’s face that he knows he’s in trouble - and he is - but we’re both worried about him right now, so his scolding will just have to wait until after he’s been seen by the vet. He looks miserable enough as it is. I imagine a stomach full of cotton will do that to you. As I think about it, I start to feel a sense of urgency about Ashton getting him to the doctor.

  “You know what? I’ve got this. You don’t mind do you? You know, taking him in?” It dawns on me that if Ashton wasn’t here this would be a very different situation. But he is and that’s where my mind needs to stay for now. He is here.

  “You know I will. I’m sorry about… ya know… not finishing things back there.” He looks as bad as I feel right now and believe you me, compassion isn’t the only thing I’m feeling, ouch! I’ve heard of the illusive blue bean but now I know it’s for real.

  Ashton scoops up my giant dog as if he weighs nothing and heads for the front door. Master Chief looks happy to be so close to Ashton (I know that feeling well) and like he may puke again at any moment (I kinda know that one, too). I wish the vet could fix my dilemma, but that’s neither here nor there. Ash is the only bean fixer I have.

  Thankfully my dad’s VW Bus is here and not at Ashton’s place or we’d be calling my big brother who does not at all approve of Ashton and I’s friendly sleepover parties. He’d probably see all the sexual tension in the air and go into a fatherly rage on behalf of our dear dad, as well as for every other dad on the planet. Though I’d like to remind you that he currently LIVES with HIS girlfriend!

  I’m broken out of my imaginary fight with my brother by the sound of my car revving up and somehow finding the traction to screech out of the driveway. All that’s left for me to do is sit, wait and finish cleaning up Master’s tampon vomit. I am so over sitting and waiting, but that’s the life of the agoraphobe. Sit… wait… sit… wait…

  ***

  The door opens two hours later and in crawls Master, head down, eyes weary. I’ve been online playing with one Mrnotsosmall@all for the last hour-and-a-half and when I see Ashton drag in behind my dog I feel my first tinge of guilt due to all the flirty fun I’ve been indulging in since they’ve been gone. I clear my throat and tell Mr. I’ve got to cruise. He clears his throat back and asks in an apprehensive tone if tomorrow I’d like to meet back up. Hiding my happy face I look the other way and whisper my assent, murmuring, “Same time, same place,” before clicking off.

  “I’m going to go.” Ashton’s pissed. He won’t make eye contact. He threw my keys on the entryway table as soon as he noticed I was wearing my headset and is already turning to leave, ready to walk home even though he’s so clearly exhausted. Separately, none of those things are good signs. Together, they’re devastating to The Plan.

  “Wait! Ash? Don’t go.” I sheepishly walk towards him, feeling a bit of panic about where we go from here because I’m certain that I do not want him to leave here mad at me.

  “Can’t you stay? I mean shouldn’t we talk about you know, all the stuff from before? Maybe set up some rules for it and try again?”

  I can’t help but sound shy and maybe even a little pathetic because that’s exactly how I feel. Problem is, my newly acquired desperation around Ash has turned things weird between us and I don’t do well when I’m feeling weird.

  “You know what, Cee? I know you’re trying to make this okay and I really want it to be, but right now I’m tired and honestly I feel hung over from all the earlier unrequited lust. I’m not used to that feeling (low blow).

  I’m really trying to not be jealous of that gamer-guy and I’m also trying to figure out this thing you want us to do.” At this point he’s opened the front door and is talking from the threshold. “Believe me, it’s better if I leave. I need to think and truthfully, so do you. This whole situation is really fucked up and I don’t know if I can do it. Any of it.”

  He looks me over one more time like he’s trying to memorize me and then he turns, quietly shuts the door behind him and is gone. It only takes me a moment to realize that his coolness may just be scarier than his hot temper. I wish he’d slammed the door.

  “Come on Master, off to
bed we go. You and mommy have a lot to discuss tomorrow concerning your bad behavior earlier but right now, I’m exhausted.” He huffs in agreement and nuzzles alongside me as we head to our room. I look at my bed and sigh. Tonight was supposed to be a marathon of awesome, instead it will go down in first-time history books as a classic example of what an epic fail looks like.

  As I lie down next to a furry male instead of the toned, fleshy one I had planned for earlier, several things spew (bad choice of words considering my night) forth from me in a despairing groan of frustration. I’m struck by a lightning bolt of premonition right between the eyes. My Potter senses are tingling, trying to alert me of the danger to come.

  A picture of Ashton walking home strikes me in clear Hi-def quality as if I’m head down in Dumbledore’s Pensieve, searching through the dreamlike thoughts of this clearly ominous premonition. I see him. He’s strolling along the concrete sidewalk, stepping over cracks, his beautiful head down deep in thought, allowing his casually messed hair to blow freely in the breeze with his strong hands shoved deep into his pockets. I sigh at his apparent ease and then, I see his eyes. His eyes tell me what I need to know. He’s contemplating.

  Until tonight I’ve always known his thoughts and he’s always known mine. We shared our contemplation, never ashamed of our own vulnerability or of the other’s judgment. Then I say one simple thing, “I want your sex”, and it changes everything. My desperate need and his inability to fill it may be at last, our undoing. I was hoping he’d own a piece of my soul, become the Harry to my Voldemort and maybe become my own personal Horcrux, the owner of a fragile, delicate, broken part of my spirit.