AREA 51

by Helena Hunting

  “Just watch yourself, Balls. She’s a sweet girl, and her ex was a dick. She hasn’t really done a lot of playing the field.” Alex punctuates this with a pointed look.

  It’s as clear a warning as I’m going to get. I’ve been waiting for it, to be honest. Miller’s said the same thing pretty much constantly since Lily and I started hooking up.

  Miller gives me a not-so-subtle elbow to the ribs, his own version of I-told-you-so. I don’t say anything for the rest of the ride to the bar. I’m not in the mood to catch any more shit.

  Waters and Westinghouse must come here a lot, because as soon as we walk in, one of the hostesses welcomes us, then flits away to get a table ready. She seems flustered by our unexpected arrival. She must apologize six times for not having his usual table available. Alex reassures her it’s not a big deal, and that we didn’t expect to be out tonight. He must come here with Violet because she asks about her, too.

  I could handle this a lot better if Lily were here rather than back at Waters’ place. Without me.

  I wait until everyone else is seated before I take my spot at the end of the table. I immediately start in with the texts to Lily.

  “Dude, put your phone away. You’re gonna see her in a few hours. She’ll be here all week,” Miller mutters.

  “Easy for you to say. Sunny’s moving here in a month. All I have is a week, and then who fucking knows when I’ll see Lily again.”

  With Sunny moving to Chicago, it might very well mean I’ll see more of Lily, but it’s not a guarantee. There’s always the possibility that she’ll find a real boyfriend—one who does more than get her off in bathrooms or laundry rooms.

  The idea makes me panicky enough to consider cabbing it back to Waters’, grabbing Lily and her things, and taking her back to my place. But I don’t, because Miller’s already looking at me like he’s got something to say about the way I’m acting.

  And honestly, even I get that I’m being a little weird about this whole thing. I just didn’t expect my reaction to seeing Lily tonight, or hers to seeing me. Now all I can think about is getting her alone again so I can capitalize on all the naked time I’m planning to have with her this week.

  I keep checking my phone while we’re watching the game to see if Lily’s as annoyed about this as I am, but there are no responses to my messages. She’s having fun with the girls while I’m here with blue balls.

  We’re in a pretty private section, but we still don’t go completely unnoticed. A couple of girls come over and start chatting up Lance, who’s sitting across from me. I do my best to ignore them, but man, they’re all over him, and he’s tense as hell. Eventually he takes a phone number from one of them and sends them on their way. We’re sort of trying to work by watching the game and planning strategy for when we play these teams.

  “Not interested in bunny action tonight?” I ask.

  “Action, yes; talking, no. If they’re still here later, I’ll get them to put their mouths to better use,” Lance says.

  He’s not joking either. Some of the stories I’ve heard—both first and second-hand—about Lance’s antics with the bunnies make my sex life seem weak. And it isn’t.

  By the time the first period is over, I’m resigned to the fact that it’ll be a while before I can see Lily. This gives me more time to plan my attack when we get back to Waters’ place. I know the layout of the bedroom we’ll be staying in, since it’s the one where we first had sex months ago, back in September. We have to make out in the bathroom at the very least, just for nostalgia.

  I give up on staying sober and order a second pint, then a third. Near the end of the third period, Alex gets a call from Violet. It’s not a regular call, though. Instead she FaceTimes him. She’s clearly drunk, as I can hear her from the other end of the table. Her question filters down to me. Jesus. Is she asking about blow jobs? I hear a mention of lollipopping, and then Alex passes the phone to Miller with a shrug.

  The game goes to commercial break, so I can hear better when Violet asks Miller if he likes blow jobs. Wow. Talk about open. I would never ask my sister that, mostly because I’d then want to murder the guy she was dating. It’s probably a good thing she’s halfway around the world and I can’t police her boyfriends.

  Miller’s response is just as much an overshare, which Waters doesn’t like. There’s some wrestling over the phone and some reassurance from Violet that since Alex just admitted to liking blow jobs, it’s hypocritical for him to be mad at Miller for saying the same thing. Miller’s probably had a hell of a lot more women on their knees than Waters’ has, but no one needs to point that out. Miller’s caught enough flak over his not-so-pristine past with the bunnies; he doesn’t need more.

  Eventually the phone is handed to Lance and then to Westinghouse, who seems to have some fucked-up shit going on in the bedroom based on the content of his conversation. I try not to take the phone when he hands it to me, but I’m not left with much of a choice.

  Violet’s face comes into view. I’m mostly looking up her nose. She’s sitting on the living room couch. I can hear the other girls in the background, but I can’t see them. She takes a slurpy sip of her drink. “Balls.” A hip thrust follows, and she sloshes wine over the rim of her glass. “Do you like blow jobs?”

  I can’t answer this question straightforwardly or honestly—not without sharing a lot more information than I’d like to. I run a hand through my hair and try not to think about my last blow job, which was an insanely long time ago. “They’re all right, I guess.”

  Violet slow-blinks several times. “They’re all right? All right? Are you telling me that having a woman’s lips wrapped around your cock while you fuck her mouth doesn’t do it for you?”

  I have a sudden, vivid image of Lily on her knees with those incredibly luscious lips wrapped around my cock—me holding her hair, guiding that sweet, perfect mouth. It’s quickly shattered when Waters dive bombs over Miller, nearly knocking over tables in his haste to get the phone out of my hand.

  There’s chastising from Waters and some laughter from Miller, but neither drowns out Lance’s snarky comment: “Is this about your Frankenweiner, Ballistic?”

  “Shut the fuck up, man!” This time it’s my turn to launch myself at someone. And Lance is my target, even if he is at least twenty pounds heavier than I am. I knock over his pint, spilling beer on the table. His chair hits the ground with a loud bang as he jumps up to avoid the spill, and Westinghouse, who’s sitting beside him, pushes back with a screech.

  I take Lance in a headlock. “That’s under the damn cone!”

  “Get the fuck off me, asshole!” Lance punches me in the kidney.

  I drop him, and he stumbles into another chair, knocking it over, too.

  He charges me, face red, eyes wild—the way they get when someone rams into him on the ice. He slams his shoulder into my chest. He’s like a damn bull. It’s a good thing there’s no one at the table beside us, because it almost goes over.

  Miller grabs Lance by the back of the shirt and pulls him off me. “Calm the fuck down, you two. You’re gonna get us thrown out.”

  “Stop touching me!” Lance shoves Miller’s hand off and paces around in a circle, his head down as he breathes hard, rolling his shoulders.

  Our waitress comes by to check on us and find out what all the commotion was about. Lance adjusts his shirt while Waters assures the waitress we’re just playing around. Lance mutters an apology, and so do I.

  When all the chairs are righted and we’re sitting around the table again, Lance’s brow furrows. He’s still red-faced and agitated.

  And I’m still pissed at him. “Thanks a lot, man. Lily didn’t know about my fucked-up junk until now.”

  “Aren’t you screwing her?”

  Waters makes a sound from the other end of the table, like he disapproves of the terminology.

  “Yeah.”

  “So she’s gotta know about the accident then, aye?” Lance seems confused.

  “I haven�
��t told her about that.” This is hella uncomfortable.

  “What accident?” Westinghouse asks.

  “Balls took a skate to the groin when he was a kid.”

  Both Waters and Westinghouse frown like they’re trying to figure out what the big deal is.

  “I wasn’t wearing a cup,” I supply to help them along.

  Westinghouse’s eyes widen. “Holy fuck.”

  “So, like—” Waters making a chopping motion.

  “Yeah. Pretty much. But it’s all still there, and it all still works. There’s just a lot of scars.”

  There’s some uncomfortable shifting as they put it all together.

  “I still don’t get it. So you do what? Make Lily blow you in the dark?” Lance asks.

  Leave it to him to ask the questions I don’t want to answer. Him and Violet. “She hasn’t done that.” I take a huge gulp of my beer.

  There’s silence around the table. I can feel their eyes on me.

  “She doesn’t like to suck cock?”

  “She’s offered. It’s not really my thing.” I’ve just told them far too much.

  That gets me more strange looks, so I excuse myself to the bathroom so I can stop having this embarrassing and shitty conversation. I have some hang-ups about blow jobs, and I think my reasons are completely valid.

  No one pushes me to talk more about it when I come back to the table, which is good. Lance has disappeared to the other side of the bar where those girls came from. He chats them up for a bit and gives us a wave when he’s on the way out the door with both of them. Once the game is over, we settle the tab and head for the SUV.

  Waters falls into step beside me. “You gonna crash at my place?”

  “You cool with that?” If he’s not, I’m calling a cab and taking Lily home with me.

  “You’re always welcome.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Just be real careful with Lily. She hasn’t had the easiest life, and she’s a little…sheltered. I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

  I almost choke on the sheltered part. I have a feeling Alex’s perception of Lily is based on his high school memories, ’cause the woman who gets naked with me sure as hell doesn’t act sheltered. I reserve my comment on that part and respond to the first statement. “I’m not gonna hurt her.”

  “I can’t imagine you would on purpose.”

  There’s a lot more space in the backseat since Lance isn’t with us. I’m a little antsy, and the closer we get to Waters’ place, the more anxious I become. The whole FaceTime conversation about blow jobs had to have started somewhere. Lord knows those girls are way worse than we could ever be with the shit they talk about.

  Violet has zero filter, and who the hell knows what Westinghouse and Charlene get up to with that weird conversation tonight. I’m a little worried about the ideas those two may have put in Lily’s pretty, clever head.

  Lily’s offered to kiss my dick on more than one occasion. Over the years I’ve perfected my excuses for why a blow job isn’t a good idea—like, my dick will taste like latex, and then I won’t be able to kiss her. Or I don’t want to come in her mouth, or she can do that another time. Those work amazingly well. I then proceed with additional distractions, taking her mind off me and putting it back on her.

  It’s also never actually become a real issue, because I haven’t hung out with anyone long enough for her to figure out there’s more going on than me being super considerate.

  I have an entire week with Lily, one in which I plan to have an excessive amount of sex. There’s no fucking way I’m going to make it through a whole week without her seeing my dick. She’ll want to shower with me. I’ll want to have sex in the morning, the mid-morning, the afternoon. It can’t always be dark.

  It’s going to be impossible to keep hiding this from her. And for the first time in my entire life since this shit happened to me, I’d actually like it if I didn’t have to hide it. But if what happened the last time a chick got a load of my fucked-up dick happens with Lily …I think I might be wrecked all over again. I don’t want to consider too closely what that means.

  We pull into the driveway, and my anxiety kicks into high gear. The blue balls I’ve been rocking all night haven’t gone away, but my dick is as limp as an overcooked noodle.

  I’m the last one in the door, and I hang back, surveying the scene. Empty wine bottles litter the coffee table, along with takeout boxes. An abandoned Scrabble board sits in the middle, though I’m too far away to see the words.

  All the girls have flushed cheeks. Lily’s reclined on the couch in a pair of worn jeans and a T-shirt, heavy-lidded and loose-limbed. She smiles at me, and I return it, but all my worry on the ride here is suddenly amplified.

  It doesn’t take long before people start disappearing upstairs, and then it’s just me and Lily. I’m so fucking nervous, and I don’t even really know why. She’s drunk for sure. I can dim the lights and make her feel good tonight. I’ll worry about the rest later.

  She’s the one who comes up to me. She’s the one who wraps her arms around my neck and whispers in my ear about going to prison. We’ve been bantering back and forth all week about pussy prison. Jesus Christ, do I ever want to go.

  Lily takes my hand, her slightly fuzzy gaze questioning as she guides me up the stairs to the room we first fucked in. I’m slammed with all of those memories as soon as we step inside. That seems so long ago now. It’s hard to believe it’s already been five months. That’s way longer than I usually let things go on with any bunny. But then Lily isn’t a bunny, so the same rules haven’t applied.

  I hit the lights out of habit, snake an arm around her waist, and jump onto the bed with Lily facedown underneath me. I’m only sporting a semi, which is atypical when it comes to her, but I’m still distracted with trying to figure out how I’m going to manage the rest of the week, and how long I can get away with her not seeing the problem in my pants.

  “Did you have fun with the girls tonight?” I ask.

  Lily’s giggling and breathless. “Uh-huh. Did you have fun with the boys?”

  “I woulda rather been here with you. Or at my place with you,” I say.

  Her voice is soft and low when she responds. “I’m here with you now.”

  That she certainly is. I stretch out on top of her. She’s all lean body and tight muscles. I stay there for a few long moments, just absorbing the feel of her under me.

  When she turns her head to the side I sit back and find the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head. Brushing her hair out of the way, I press a kiss to the nape of her neck. Her hair smells like the girly shampoo she uses, and her skin is salty and warm. I make a slow path down her spine with my lips, appreciating the soft hum I get in response on the way back up. Lily lifts her hips, pushing her ass against my erection.

  “Randy?”

  I make a noise rather than respond with words.

  “Let me up.”

  “What?” For a second I think she’s not interested in getting her fuck on with me.

  “I want to turn over.”

  I exhale a relieved breath. Turning over I can handle. I prefer being able to see her face anyway. I push up on my arms, and she slithers out from under me in a rush. Maybe I was right about her lack of interest after all.

  Except she unbuttons her pants, shimmying them down over her hips, along with her panties.

  Or maybe I’m moving too slow.

  Lily is naked.

  Lily is perfect.

  Lily is everything I want.

  And she’s right in front of me, yet all I can do is stare because I have no idea what the rest of this week is going to look like. I’m really fucking terrified that tonight is going to be the last night I get to be with her before she finds out I’m defective.

  She slides her palms under my shirt, so I raise my arms to make it easier for her to take it off. Once I’m shirtless she runs her hands over my chest and circles my nipples. I groan, because the ache in my balls is back. Then she follows
with her mouth. Jesus. I’m so fucking horny and stressed right now. There’s too much going on in my head for me to be able to enjoy this the way I should.

  All of a sudden I feel the soft brush of her fingers over the head of my cock. “Can I take these off?” She tugs on the waistband of my jeans. I let her, because the end result—getting naked—is what I’ve been waiting for, but when I try to pull her down to the mattress, she straddles me and pushes on my chest.

  Lily isn’t usually the aggressor.

  “Randy?” Her voice is soft and breathless as her lips touch mine.

  “Hmm?” I skim the gentle curve of her hip.

  “I want your cock in my mouth.”

  There are things that happen that change a person’s world. I’m pretty sure, looking back, this might be the moment I actually start to recognize that I have feelings for Lily extending far beyond what happens in my pants. And not because of the way she chooses to tell me she wants to blow me, but because of what follows that simple, yet powerful declaration.

  Before we take this any further, I think it’s important to go back in time for a few moments, to truly understand why it’s so damn difficult to accept that Lily wants to wrap those gorgeous, luscious lips of hers around my cock.

  My first—and last—failed attempt at getting a blow job happened when I was eighteen. That may seem old, but considering what I’d been through as a kid, and the fucked-up state of my dick, it hadn’t seemed reasonable for me to test out the joys of the BJ before then. Up until I was drafted to the farm team, Miller and I had mostly hung out and watched highlights after games. He’d been getting tons of action from his tutors for a couple of years. My situation was a little different.

  Sure, I whacked off all the time like normal guys my age, but I was highly aware that it took me a shitton longer to reach the end than it seemed to take others, even with all the practice I got. Everything worked, I just wasn’t sure how well, and the few times I’d gotten handies from girls at parties in high school, it had been in the dark, fumbling around, and I’d always helped them out so I could finish. Sex was different. Even with a condom, all that hot and tight and wet made coming a lot easier. Also, naked girl and those soft noises—or loud ones—they made when they were getting close also helped.