Sykosa, Part I: Junior Year

by Justin Ordoñez

  He’s opened one for her and it tastes good going down.

  “Can we try something?”

  “What?”

  “I wanna try the thing where we lock arms and then drink from the bottle.”

  He’s disappointed. He’d hoped she meant to try something with his penis, but he notices that locking arms will give him a bird’s eye view of her breasts. He does love her breasts. So much so he can’t both focus on them and drink. They mess it up and she laughs. Subsequent tries are also a disaster, but they figure it out when he grabs ahold of her butt to hold himself steady. She’s enthused by his hand and how it grabs her butt. No shame. Smack! Grab her butt. Eventually, the attempts to drink topple her to the blanket. On her back, her head is leaned to the side, as he’s on his side, they stare each other in the eyes while he again tells her how beautiful she is.

  During this, his hand exposes her stomach, then his palm gently moves all about it. It stretches all the way around to her back, splits her breasts and caresses her neck, then follows a path along her side to her knee, to return to her stomach and brush up against the underwire of her bra. It’s kind of a tease. And it’s a bit frustrating after a few minutes, as her breasts have become enraged by his denials, but it’s helped by his long kisses. Even those only work less, as his conquest is now her skirt, which when returning from her knee, he either A) drags it up one millimeter, or B) reaches deeper into her thighs.

  It’s starting to get to her. She thinks dirty thoughts.

  Like, what if she made his face her pillow? Would he like it? Should I say that? Instead, his hand gets so close to her vagina that she contracts. She knows what to say. “You’re not supposed to touch that.”

  He smiles. “Oh, yes I am.”

  He kisses her.

  She waits until he’s done before responding. “Huh-uh, not unless I say.”

  It’s almost too late. His pointer and middle fingers trace the outsides of the turquoise. He gets so deep he feels the fabric’s edge. She looks up—his elbow is at a hard angle and the last she sees of him is his wrist. Oh, my God, a boy’s gonna touch my vagina. The anticipation mixed with the fear, or the blackness, mixed with the desire almost causes her to kick her hips to help him out. But, she forces the energy into her stomach—where she restrains it, including her breath, while his hand fully distributes itself upon the entirety of her twat.

  He kisses her again while he holds her.

  It feels like he’s about to boost her onto a chair.

  Then, it feels like a million miles per hour.

  She moans. “Uggggggggggggggggggg-h!”

  She covers her mouth in embarrassment.

  She had no choice. He “tugged” at her and…

  It was the right part to tug.

  He looks her in the eyes. Then, he tugs again.

  “Mmmmmffffffphhhh!”

  And he tugs again and again.

  Her neck snaps. “Ohhh—HHHHhaaaaahhh!”

  He gets it. And continues.

  It weakens her hips and her legs wobble, opening. He moves on the invitation, and she welcomes it, if she could speak. Or concentrate. His tugs are uneven. They put pleasure deep in her vagina, then around her inner right thigh, her tummy, her left arm or…well, sometimes they don’t do anything at all. He tugs and she feels nothing. Either way, it’s too scattered, and it’s… She grabs his wrist, then with force, moves him north an inch and left a centimeter and… Oh, much better. That’s much, much better. More like a dome, encasing her hips, radiating like warm, tingly pulses. Soon, it’s not localized enough, so she drags him two millimeters down, a tad right, a tad left, right again, and again, right, there, there, right there right

  There there there there!

  “Oh, Tom. Oh, oh, ah, oh.”

  He had no idea she was a moaner.

  “I told you you’d like it.”

  “Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Oh, Tom. Tom, ugh.”

  “Just keep going? Like this?”

  It’s so good she forgets about her directions and just throws back her arms. In all the times she’s… “Oh, ah! Ahhhh! Ugh! Ugh!” …masturbated, she’s never felt… “Ko. Ka. Ah! Ah! Ah! a-H!”…like this, it’s never been… He decides he’s a professional now and digs behind her panties where his finger rubs her like a floor waxer. It hurts and he lost the spot. It’s gone. Along with the pleasure in her body. It just turned off. Or reset. She doesn’t know. But, he’s not done. Too happy, he’s touching her pussy all over, every part of it, including when he nestles his fingers against her entrance, like he might finger her. I take it back, that feels good. But, she takes hold of him, then looks at him in a way that says it’s over. “You can stop.” He retrieves his hand and she closes shop, wrapping his fingers in her own.

  He has a request.

  “Do you mind if I see it?”

  “See what?”

  “I wanna look at it.”

  Oh… Maybe later. She wants to cuddle!

  She shakes her head. “No, come here.”

  For her, that’s it. She may have moved into his bedroom and sent out a thousand signals and hallelujah! for her lack of specifics. She won’t have sex. This was too special.

  He has a different opinion. “That’s it?”

  That’s it? “I let you touch it. You’ve been dying to do that.” His prick presses against her. Oh, yeah. What a poor boy, he thought she would forget him. He’s so cute! She sits up and acts goofy. She feels goofy. It’s strange, but… She wants to jerk him off! She wants to see him squirm, moan, then come all over the place. She can’t wait. So she gives him a determined look as she rolls her sleeves up her forearms, then collects her hair in a tail that is held in place by a tie from her wrist. She smacks like the bubblegum of a truck stop waitress. “One handjob coming up! Come on, off with yer pants!”

  His head hits the ground with a thud. His expression looks like he knew this would happen and he’s fed up with her. He wonders why he is so unlucky with girls.

  He releases her hand.

  “Are you pretending we weren’t gonna do it?”

  Never mind, maybe she doesn’t want to jerk him off.

  Just like before, she’s reset.

  The goofy energy has become pouty. And the blackness has become large. I’m letting him down. After last year, after all he did… I need to be better. I need to. Her fingers met in her lap. They pick at her nails. “It’s not you or anything.”

  He asks a dumb question.

  “Do you have fun with me?”

  It hurts her feelings. Why’re you implying? “Yeah, I do.”

  He talks like he didn’t hear her. “I mean, when I was at your house, and we were at your bedroom door, or in the field… I want you so much. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone.”

  That’s so sweet. “I’ve seen that sometimes—”

  He interrupts her. “Are you mad at me?”

  What? “Mad?”

  “For what happened… You were having such a good time and then I—”

  She interrupts him this time. “No, Tom. That was great.”

  “It was?”

  “Yes, I had no idea that could even happen.”

  He looks confused. “So, we should do it, right?”

  She tries to see his eyes. He’s hiding them. She adjusts her position so she is closer to him, then she tries to reach him, but it feels like she’s failing. The physical symptoms are here now. She struggles for air. “Tom, it’s not… I just gave you a handjob last week and now we’re at sex? Is that normal?”

  Then, he becomes mean.

  “Sykosa, who gives a fuck about normal?” Her head bows. One of her oversized sleeves un-bunches to her wrist. He stays quiet and counts the stars—pissed off at himself. He shouldn’t have said the f-word. It came out wrong. God, whenever I’m around her, I feel like I just need to apologize up front. He doesn’t apologize, just couples his ankles, one foot straight up and the other skewed left, to straighten out his back. His voice relaxes, and he speaks flu
idly, trying to show it was something beyond his control. “See that in the corner?”

  “See what?”

  “That W looking thing. Do you see it?”

  She fears, if she looks up, the blackness will commandeer her gyroscope and she may fall over. She doesn’t, but she does feel a tad of vertigo looking at the sky. “Cassiopeia?”

  “You know that constellation?”

  She laughs. “Duh, I took astronomy with you last year!”

  He thinks about it. “Yeah, we didn’t know each other yet.”

  The laugh ends up being mutual. After it’s done, she feels the need to cuddle again. This time, he’s receptive, so she nestles into his shoulder and lays one leg over his own. And remembers her trick, Relax. They lay silently. He finishes up one of the beers. She has her eyes closed. He’s gotten her to thinking—visualizing, actually. Of being at her bedroom door, or in the field, or in the cottage, but also of their first kiss, and the first time he told her she was pretty, the first moment she felt herself falling in love and the moment right before she did.

  She goes back through all her memories.

  All the way until she reaches last year.

  Then, she shuts down.

  Relax.

  “Tom, why did you come behind the chapel a few months ago? I mean, we’d never been close and then you were there.”

  He knows why he came. To kiss her. That’s what he did. He told himself to be a man, go behind that chapel and do it. “I don’t know. Before I went, every time I would see you, I had to have you. You were so stunning and… I mean, I had to… I felt like you weren’t safe if I wasn’t watching you.”

  Well, he’s got a point about that.

  She forgets it. “How did you remember my room so well?”

  “That was easy.”

  It was? “What was your favorite part about it?”

  “Being on your bed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to have sex in it.”

  It makes her laugh. He’s so weird sometimes.

  She gets quiet, satisfied with his answers.

  He’s not satisfied, however. He wants her to continue talking about fucking. If he can’t get any, then hearing her cute voice speak of dicks, cocks, cunts, and cum is a fine substitute. He’d also consider it a personal triumph if he can get her to talk about cock sucking. And if she’d consider eating the cum off her hand after she gives him a handjob. That would, like, make every bad thing that’s ever happened to him okay.

  Also, it’d be nice if she’d give him that handjob.

  He’ll gladly accept it now.

  “What do you think it will be like? When you have it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He interrupts. “You don’t think about it?”

  All the time. “Sometimes.”

  He’s put his hand in his hair. “You’re so innocent. How can you not think of it?”

  That kind of annoys her. Her voice is a crack catty. Also, she has a bit of a headache. “I’m not all that innocent. I’ve seen a porno. I know how it works, okay?”

  Never mind. This is better than cock sucking.

  She watches porn!

  “Which one?”

  A weak ass one, according to Niko. “What do you mean?”

  “What was it called?”

  She’s confused. “Pornos have titles? Like movies do?”

  “Yeah.”

  She laughs again, then lifts a hand to God. “Why would you title a porno? It’s porn.”

  “Well, they come in volumes, like one, two, three. So, like…”

  Her same hand storms his eyes, fingers lined one against the other in the symbol for STOP—not entirely ready to learn the grim reality of pornography and men. “I was getting by fine without knowing the titles.” He has indeed stopped. And she realizes she’s freezing. She rolls the blanket over her, then rolls onto him, so her stomach is atop his, and her chin rests on his breastplate. She looks into his eyes. “What was I saying?”

  He teases her. “You were saying how porn titles upset you.”

  Her face scrunches thin in agitation. “Before that.”

  “Oh, about how you think about sex ‘sometimes.’”

  Oh, yes. That.

  She can tell her discretion is bothering him. She supposes she gets it. And in its own way, this conversation is necessary. It’s clear he needs to talk about sex in this relationship. It’s suffocating him that he can’t, and even when he does, he can’t get a straight answer from her. We can’t do anything together if I won’t be honest. She thinks if she needs to hear the titles, she will. Or answer his ridiculous questions, she’ll do that, too. Plus, it’ll keep her mind occupied by him. That’s a good thing. If he gets the opportunity, she imagines he’ll manage to steal her, like he always does behind the chapel.

  She gives no emotion with her face. “I think about it. I do.”

  “What do you think about?”

  She’s not answering that.

  “What do you think I think about?”

  Here is it!

  “Do you think about giving blowjobs?”

  Yes. “Yes.”

  The following conversation is better stated in a paragraph.

  He asks if she thinks about blowjobs often, if she’d give one on her knees, if she would give one in a car, in a movie theater, in her bedroom, at a party, in a pool, before classes, after classes, between classes, would she swallow or would she spit. He wants to know if she masturbates, how she does it, where she does it, and if she’ll do it for him. Then, he says: “Barely Legal,” “Gangbang Girl,” and, “the one with Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee.” He explains: “The girls do everything.” “The camera gets it.” “It’s called the Money-shot.” “Yes.” “Yes.” “No.” The porn talk goes on until, kinda out of nowhere, he asks if she’s ever gone panty-less to school, would she let a boy give her a breast examination, could he finger her at a dinner table, and would she ever strip for a guy.

  If for some reason you need to know, her responses were:

  Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. Yes. Yes. No. No. No. Doesn’t know. Yes. “I don’t want to say what, but I do use something to help me.” “In my bedroom.” “Someday.” “I don’t get what Barely Legal means.” “Okay, so in a gangbang, there’s only one girl and a lot of guys?” “The Pamela Anderson one? I heard about that.” “Do all the girls have sex?” “And the camera always gets the guy going inside her?” (And since Niko put the thought in her head). “Do the guys, like, cum on the girls?” “On their faces?” (And since the Academy is convinced Niko and her are lesbians). “Do you watch girls have sex together?” “Do you watch guys having sex together?” Then: Yes. Yes. No. Yes.

  She tried to hide her fascination at the porn talk.

  It’s really taboo—so it’s interesting to hear about.

  It also makes her forget the blackness.

  A time later, she unfastens her bra so he can perform a breast examination. In determining her good health, he pushes them, pulls them, circles them, grabs the nipples, jiggles them, enters into a prolonged dialouge with them, and in general, makes a total ass of himself. In order for him to do so, she put her arms on either side of him and lifted herself like she were doing a girl’s push-up. It allows her to lower her breasts onto his face, then per his request, shake them. When he’s done, he looks like he’s gotten the best Christmas gift ever. She feels happy. Santa knows, she wishes she had something that made her that happy.

  Here comes the part she wasn’t expecting.

  She’s convinced—100% positive—that all this has satisfied him and he could have no further energy for sex, so it’s quite a surprise when he says, “We should have sex.”

  Somewhere in her brain, she’s learning. This moment will be the rest of her life, with Tom or anyone. Constantly fighting off advances. Just when she suspects she’s in the clear…pow! Like a train wreck, it’s about his penis.

  She’s putting a bra strap over her shoulder.
“What?”

  He sits up, then stares. His hands are out. “No games. No nothing. Let’s just do it and get it done. It’s too much pressure with all the build up. Let’s just…and be done.”

  She puts in place her other strap. “Tom, I don’t think—”

  He interrupts. “Don’t worry, we’ll do it slowly.”

  You should do it. Stop being selfish.

  She doesn’t listen. “Tom—”

  He interrupts. “I’m serious—relax and don’t think about it.”

  She looks out into the trees in the distance. She thinks about it. And she needs an answer. “Why do you want to do this?”

  “I love you.”

  Such a dirty trick, she’s annoyed. “Tom—”

  He interrupts again. “I didn’t want to say it. I wasn’t going to, but I do. I love you. I loved you ever since—”

  She interrupts. “I know.”

  “Then, what’s the problem?”

  It’s that her headache has been accompanied by a panic that she contains. Why’re you waiting? Just do it. “It’s just…”

  She stops herself.

  She sees his hand. It’s odd. She saw it on her breasts, but she didn’t see what she sees now. The scars. She knows he’s telling the truth. He does love her. It isn’t a matter of that. Nor is it that the blackness is here. The pills… They made her forget it, but they also her made her more susceptible. She’s further along in the process than she realizes. Stop being so useless. These thoughts are only somewhat darker than the pool of blood he left behind that day. And it brings some perspective. What did he say? The games? He’s right. Her behavior only makes sense to her since only she knows of the blackness. To him, she’s screwing with him. As she knows, and he knows she knows, it’s not sex he needs to talk about, it’s last year. He needs to talk about the scars and Donna and Mackenzie and Mike and all the details permanently in his head.

  Like a selfish brat, she hasn’t let him. It’s too painful.

  He’s talking again and holding her hand. “We’re supposed to be together, Sykosa.”

  This isn’t her story. This isn’t her life.

  Actually, it is. I totally agree with him.

  Her face is distressed. “I know we are, Tom, I know it. It’s not about that.”