Tousle Me

by Lucy V. Morgan

  “Wow,” I say as I sit down. “Feels really…authentic in here.”

  He gives a knowing smile. “I think it’s fitting. I’m the noble knight, deflowering my virgin.”

  I catch a waft of musky sweat. “It even smells authentic.”

  “Suit of armour will do that to a man.” His upper lip shudders, revealing his canines. “Gosling, I have something else to tell you.”

  “S-something else?” I bristle with heat as he settles beside me, his outstretched fingers splaying across my stomach. “Another secret…?”

  “Another. Awoooo!” He gives a little howl, and then flashes his teeth again. “A very…primal secret.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “You’ve read Twilight. You know how this goes.”

  “Actually, I haven’t read it,” I say sagely. “It’s very 2010. I’m more of a rehashed Twilight fan fic kind of girl.”

  “Oh.” He clicks his fingers absent-mindedly. “I guess this will be a little more of a shock for you.”

  I attempt a smile. “Is this about your penis?”

  “It is not about my penis.” He pauses. “Although it does explain my hairy balls.”

  “Oh God.” I sit up, my hand flying to his cheek in sympathy. “Do you have, like, polycystic ovaries or something?”

  His eyes dart left and right. “Erm. No.”

  “Well phew!” I force out a laugh. “So what is it?”

  “I…I…” He lowers his Google Chrome green eyes so his shadow grows large in the candlelight. “I’m a werewolf.”

  Uh.

  Um.

  So is Eminem coming, or what? Because my singing voice, much like everything else of mine, is surprisingly competent. My rapping leaves a little more to be desired, but I could do something dark and edgy about cupboards.

  Oh crap. Cupboards. Where’s a cupboard when you need one?

  “A werewolf?” I whimper.

  The tent is silent. Candles flicker, making the light inside the drapes falter and throb. I try to force more words but they won’t come.

  Hunter swallows loudly. “Of course I’m not a bloody werewolf!” He guffaws, rolling around and clutching his belly.

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Oh yeah. Yeah, it is.”

  “You just won my trust and you want to mess with it like that?” I squeak.

  “For the sake of a practical joke? Absolutely.” He holds up his cell, which has a flashing red light in the corner of the screen. “This is totally going on YouTube.”

  “You’ve been hanging around with that fucking unicorn too much,” I grumble.

  He puts on a high, singsong voice. “Worth iiiiiiit.”

  I feel tears prick the corners of my eyes, and I fold in on myself, drawing away. Strangely alluring mean Hunter is back and I’m not sure what to do with him. “So—so this is what you brought me here for? So you could make a video? Not for…”

  “Wait, wait, wait. Gosling. We’ll get to the sex now, I promise.” He begins to unbolt his armour. “Just give me about forty-five minutes to get out of this.”

  “But it took you three seconds to put it on,” I say, frowning.

  “I know.” He shrugs helplessly. “Turns out that was rushed for convenience.”

  So we spend the next forty-five minutes talking about how much we’ve missed each other while Hunter gets undressed. I explain about my heartfelt conversation with Enid, and then relive the tragedy of Cognac Façade losing the X Factor; Hunter talks about his new recipe for flapjacks and how he sent every last smithereen of Kanye West CD from his metro rose room to feed starving kids in Africa, because they’re so hungry, hey, they’ll eat anything.

  Just as Hunter reaches his boxer shorts, gives me a satisfied smirk, and takes a step back toward the blanket, a fight erupts on the other side of the entrance drapes.

  “Get yo’ ass away from here!” Labron hisses. Then it sounds like a foot lands somewhere painful. “Dang it, Captain Purity, you shall not pass!”

  I put my head into my hands. “Oh, great. Should have guessed.”

  Hunter slaps his fist into his palm. “I’ll take care of this.”

  “Hunter, no! No more violence today.” I reach out to him. “Let Labron do his job.”

  “I…I don’t know…”

  Labron grunts as he lands more punches. The two shadow figures duel on the other side of the tent, black shapes who offer way too much in the way of racist joke potential.

  “You know what’s in that tent?” Labron yells. “Consent! It is the tent of motherfucking consent! Your services are unrequired, hombre!”

  “But…but I can smell the untouched bajingo,” the captain whines, executing a perfect ninja kick as his cape billows behind him.

  “That is a nasty ass line, and you’ll take it back before I kick your bajingo into touch.” Labron leans forward, hands on his knees. “What the hell’s a bajingo?”

  Captain Purity throws himself to the ground with a manly groan. “I can’t say it! Mommy will wash my mouth out!”

  “Oh Lord.” I peek out from between my fingers. “This is ridonkulous. We’re never going to do it.”

  “Fear not, gosling.” Hunter wanders over to a cool box and pulls out something yellow. Then he peels back an edge of the entrance drape and hurls the crescent-shaped object through.

  “Creeptonight!” Captain Purity shrieks. “Oh, why must you torment me so?”

  Labron growls with frustration. “Dude, it’s a motherfucking banana!”

  “Is it? IS IT?”

  “Goddammit, Captain Purity!” I yell. “Stop trying to create your own subplot!”

  Hunter chews his pouty bottom lip as he sinks down. “You know, he has more issues than a newsagent. His backstory is probably killer.”

  “But this isn’t his story,” I complain, sulking. “It’s my story. And it’s finally my time to do it.”

  Hunter chortles to himself. “Okay, okay. I can take a hint. Make yourself ready, gosling, and remove your clothing. For in just a few short minutes, you will experience the might of the WOMOC.”

  Now that’s what aaaaahm talkin’ about.

  I hurry to shed my leggings, t-shirt, Uggs and underwear. You’d think I’d be nervous, being naked with a man for the first time, but you’d be forgetting that I had a half bottle of vodka around an hour ago, and that kind of thing makes the sex flu take over. I’m done with fear and panic. I’m paging Dr Penis, right about now, and my virgin alarm is blaring so loud that there are probably bats in Transylvania with blue balls.

  Hunter takes the opportunity to pull off his boxer shorts. The WOMOC bounces free, disturbing gravity somewhere in the universe, and subsequently altering space and time in a pocket dimension where Juniper Armenseabass writes the foreign policy and hobbits are sold as slaves.

  “Somebody’s been using his helmet polish,” I breathe.

  He puts his hands on his hips and inspects his girth palooza. “How sweet of you to notice. Now.” He crawls forward to give me a kiss. “I shall ready you as is custom for our times.”

  “Oh Hunter.” I whimper into his neck. “Two minutes of basic fingering?”

  “You took the words right out of my dirty, dirty mouth.” And then he kisses me.

  Mmm. Mmph. I mean, I can’t breathe through his tongue too well, but it sure feels nice when he puts a little force behind it. Not sure why he’s flicking my nipples; they aren’t dominoes. Ouch. But hey, now his fingers are going down to—OHMYGODTHEYREINMYHOOHA.

  “You have the tightest little pussy I’ve ever had the pleasure of fingering for two minutes,” Hunter says, his voice tinged with caveman lust. “In fact it’s a hundred percent the best vagina I’ve ever looked at, ever ever ever. I used to think I’d had some nice fanny, but just one look at this stunning contraption and I see how wrong I was. The rest of them are shit.”

  I don’t say anything, mainly because the feel of his fingers in my hundred-percent-perfect hooha is enough to turn my
sex flu into, like, sex cancer. Or maybe sex AIDS.

  “Okay.” He pulls his digits out and wipes them on the blanket. “That’s your lot.”

  “I love my lot,” I cry, desperately. “I want more, Hunter, show me more!”

  “Oh, I’ll give you more.” He climbs over me again, his WOMOC settling at the gaping wet mouth of my snatch. “So much more. Tell me…have you ever had relations with a tube of Pringles?”

  “No,” I pant. The fuzz of his balls is quite tickly, and I’m struggling not to giggle. “But I imagined that it would be just like that with you.”

  “What flavor were the Pringles, when you imagined?”

  “Uh…I don’t know.” I stare at the roof of the tent, blinking furiously as if it will make me think of an answer. “Sour cream and chive?”

  “Oh baby. Oh gosling. That’s it, here we go…”

  So this is losing my virginity. This is sex. I’m all braced for action and currently, it’s like slapping a moist chorizo against my right nostril. Doesn’t have to go…in? Or is that just one of those lies they tell you, like how anal sex can’t get you pregnant? (It totally can). I shift my hips around while Hunter grunts and furiously bashes the WOMOC against my pink palace. I wonder how long this lasts for, or if I’m supposed to be feeling, like, more. I wonder—

  Oh SHIT

  SHIT

  UNEXPECTED ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “Bloody balls cor blimey twat wank bastard tits!” Hunter moans like an animal in pain as he rams himself in and out of my weeping chasm. “Noncey pansy fuck fuck turd mangle teabag!” He grips a handful of my hair. “Oh, gosling. Oh GAWD.”

  I lie beneath him, feeling confused. And in pain, but also feeling quite nice, and wondering about the thin line between pleasure and pain all the books talk about, and whether this is it or that my thrush results are just wrong and I’m absolutely infested. With disease, that is. Not cock. Although technically I am currently infested with cock.

  Hunter stares down at me expectantly and then gives one of my nipples a flick.

  “Oh!” I make myself cry. “Uh…do it to me, big boy!”

  “Oh yeah. I’ll do it to you,” he growls.

  “That’s it, big boy,” I go on, my confidence growing as my jelly bean begins to throb pleasantly with each thrust. “Biiiig boy. Sean-a Paul.”

  He pauses. “Whuh?”

  “I…uh…I want it all,” I moan. “Give me every last inch, you filthy fucking fuck!”

  We both look very surprised at that one. But hey, I’ve been having sex for like, a minute now. Pretty sure that makes me an expert.

  And then I do properly cry out because he takes that give me every last inch thing literally, and seems to have even grown a few inches bigger to mark the occasion. With his big wrecking balls bouncing away too, I’m starting to see what he meant by Extreme Pelvic Makeover. I kind of liked my labia though—what I knew of them. I’d prefer to not be split down the middle like a KitKat when all this is over.

  “Oh God.” He slows immediately. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry.”

  I’m struggling to speak through my rapid breath. “You did. But…it’s strangely alluring.”

  The Grin spreads across his gorgeous face. He tosses his damp hair. “I get that a lot.”

  “You know,” I mumble into his clavicle as he gets back to screwing me, “I’ll be able to look at your…cock…soon…and…ooh! OOH! I’ll be able to…say…I get that a LOT.”

  “Yes you will,” he moans. “Oh yeah. You will, gosling. Honk for daddy now. Honk for daddy!”

  I think that means I’m meant to come.

  Yeah. Hahahaah. Like that’s going to—

  OH MY GOOOOD.

  I am coming. Von coming. It’s like magic! Like voodoo! Hunter is a very powerful wizard after all.

  I’m guessing he’s coming too because he totally gets his Rabies Maddox on and then there’s a pool of love custard dripping down from my engorged girlcore as he pulls out.

  Hunter heaves himself along on his arms and checks on his cell. “Aw, hell yeah!” He beats a fist on his chest. “Three minutes forty two! A personal best. Gosling, I swear…you’re an inspiration.”

  I sit up, my legs still parted, and peer down between them to survey the damage. There’s some blood, though not the rivers of shame I expected. I look a bit like a red cabbage after someone attacked it with a hammer.

  “Are you sore?” he asks, patting my knee.

  “A little.”

  His lip twitches in disappointment. “Only a little?”

  “Uh…” I roll my hips experimentally. “Here and there.”

  “Maybe you’ll get some bruises or something on your inner thighs,” he says hopefully. “They’re always nice to look at.”

  “I know, right?” I tip my head back and take three deep, even breaths. No more tiny ones in multiples of ten, oh no! “Hunter, thank you so much for curing me with sex.”

  He gives a little chuckle. “Paging Dr Penis! You work here is done.” He palms his own crotch fondly.

  “Of course, I can always find more work for him to do…”

  “Oh really.” He drops a line of kisses along my shoulder, making me shiver. “Could some of that work perhaps be…up your arse?”

  “What?”

  “Is that a no?” he says forlornly.

  “It’s not a yes!”

  “But it’s not a no.” His eyes light up like Christmas. “I’ll wear you down with my unpredictably violent and possessive tendencies, don’t you worry.” With that, he gives my aching pussy a little slap, and jumps up. “Get dressed, gosling. I want to present you to the world now I’ve popped your cherry and turned you into a better person.”

  I find myself smiling. How can a girl resist an offer like that?

  * * *

  Hunter leads me through the crowds of jousting spectators. The tournament has long since finished, though he didn’t win in the end; apparently, that’s what happens when you disappear for a boning session after your first round. Not that it matters—the most important thing is that he won me.

  I do feel fresh and new. Well maybe not fresh, not with a trickle of sperm dripping down my left thigh to pool in the crease behind my knee, but you know, close enough, metaphorically speaking. And I guess it’s just something else for my Uggs to soak up. I feel flushed and giddy and a bit like I don’t have a cervix anymore, and actually, I kind of like it. This is what Enid must mean when she says she gets fuckdrunk. It’s the kind of feeling that makes you want to dance in a field of sunflowers beneath a low-slung and atmospheric moon; the kind of feeling that makes you throw silly amounts of money at lottery tickets, or fall down stairs because your vision’s all blurred. It’s definitely not a feeling that says to me you should get super pregnant RIGHT NOW, when I expected it to be more along those lines. Ah, hormones. You so cray.

  “Cammie!” Enid waves to me from the medical tent, and I pull Hunter over by the hand.

  “How’s Archer?” I ask, suddenly worried for him. I’d thought he just had a little fall; nothing to warrant still being with doctors for this long afterwards. “He’s okay, right?”

  She presses her lips together. “Ask him yourself.”

  Enid stands aside to reveal Archer sitting up on a stretcher. He’s changed back into his sweats, and is wearing a thick white neck brace. A small cut bisects his left cheek and his black hair is all over the place.

  “Hey, Cam-Cam,” he says softly. “How you doing?”

  I just got skewered like we were eating barbecue, but it somehow feels wrong to tell him that. “I’m okay. What happened to you?”

  He winces. “Didn’t you see?”

  “I kicked his arse, gosling,” Hunter supplies with a big side of smuggery.

  “Oh yeah. Huh.” I turn back to Archer. “I’m sorry, Archie. About…you know.”

  He tries to nod, but the brace gets in the way. So he wriggles about and then tries again. Stil
l no luck. “Stupid freaking thing,” he mumbles.

  “We’re still friends, right?” I ask. I couldn’t bare not having him in my life; he’s always been there.

  “Still friends,” he croaks. “Hunter…you won her fair and square.”

  Hunter nods, and then nods again. Just to show off. “Oh yeah, I did.”

  Archer’s mouth falls open.

  “He means the jousting,” I say quickly.

  “No I don’t,” he scoffs. “I mean the sex. The banging. Party time at the Vaj Mahal.”

  Archer tries to look away, but he can’t. Poor guy. He gets quite desperate and in the end, he just squeezes his eyes shut.

  “Archie.” I tuck a strand of black hair behind his ear. “He’s just being Hunter.”

  “Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Enid gives me a nudge, which appears to be a hint.

  Except I can’t move. A very strange feeling takes over, making the back of my tongue go all rigid and funny, and spreading down into my voice box. “Hunter?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I…I don’t think I do love you, after all,” I find myself saying. Except I don’t want to say the words. It’s like vomiting when you’re trying to hold it in. What the chips?

  “You what?” He snaps up, grabbing me by the shoulders “What?”

  “I don’t forgive you for what you did to your mom,” my mouth seems to be saying, “and frankly, I can do a lot better than your tousled British ass.”

  Even Enid is blinking in shock now. She turns her head very slowly, as if she’s expecting to see a TV crew or something.

  “Say you don’t mean that,” Hunter pleads, his voice cracking. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I,” I manage to blurt. And then my mouth adds, “you suck in bed, you selfish cliché!”

  Archer begins to snigger behind me. Enid elbows him in the ribs and he groans in discomfort.

  “Gosling, are you okay? Only you look a bit like one of those Team America puppets,” Hunter says, his brow furrowed. He shakes my shoulders. “What’s happening to you?”

  “I—don’t—know!” Now my entire body seems to be propelling itself away from his, as if we’re opposing magnets. “Hunter, I don’t know what’s happening! This…invisible force…it’s making me…”