Jean peeked over his shoulder, and from time to time, gave me a glance. ‘It’s not bad,’ he said, ‘not bad at all.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ I croaked. It was only then that I realized I was crying. I took a big breath and told myself I was being stupid. It helped if I closed my eyes, so I did, although it didn’t ameliorate the tickling sensation.
‘Hot flannel?’
I opened my eyes. ‘What?’
‘Just to keep the follicles softened,’ assured Jean. He dipped a washcloth into the bath water, wrung it out, and handed it to Sebastian who, unceremoniously, ground it into my general pubic area.
I recoiled. The cloth stung against the inner, more sensitive areas.
‘Sorry,’ he quipped, not meaning it, holding it there with his hand. He gave me another bland smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Shaving cream?’ He held his other hand out without looking away. Jean passed him a small bowl with a shaving brush, already lathered up.
Suddenly I got it. I got it all. I read the eyes and I absolutely understood the message. They said, ‘You hurt me, Shira, and now I’m going to hurt you.’ It was that simple, that infantile, that messed up. How far did that single-mindedness, that instinct for revenge go? Somewhere, someone – a woman – had been very cruel to him. I knew it. I just knew it. But that woman wasn’t me.
Sebastian took the washcloth away. I nodded at him. ‘I get it, Sebastian. Took me a while but I get it.’
He blinked. ‘Do you?’
‘I do.’
There was a flicker of something – guilt, perhaps – on his face. ‘I knew you would, Shira.’
‘Just don’t cut me, okay?’
As he stirred up the foam with the shaving brush, he flinched. ‘I’d never do that. Never,’ he said, softly.
Jean was hovering, glancing from me to Seb and back. ‘Okay. What’s going on? Is this hetero pussy shit?’
Sebastian didn’t answer him. He began brushing the warm, thick suds between my legs. Carefully, precisely, he used the brush to make each short hair stand up, biting his lower lip in concentration.
I looked over at Jean. ‘Yeah, kind of.’
He shrugged and leaned on the counter, razor in hand, watching Sebastian work in silence for a while.
‘Okay. Razor?’
At least it was a safety razor, not a straight-edged. Even so, as he brought it between my legs with a surprisingly steady hand, I still twitched. I felt Jean slip his hand into mine and squeeze. ‘He won’t hurt you. I promise. I won’t let him.’
The first pass, as Sebastian dragged the razor against the skin above my slit, made me want to shriek. My legs trembled. I scrunched my face up and looked away.
‘Sh-h,’ hushed Sebastian. He was holding my skin taut with his fingers as he drew the razor over it. ‘You’re bearing up bravely, Shirakins. Just another couple of minutes and we’ll be done.’ I heard him rinse the razor. It came back hot against my skin.
I clenched my teeth and nodded, still holding my breath. I knew the fear was irrational. It was only shaving, for God’s sake. Thousands of women did it everyday. But still, it felt dangerous and strange and I’d never had anyone besides a doctor examine me quite so closely down there. His fingers were pressing against me, and the razor tugged minutely at the hairs before it sliced through them, warm and metallic against my skin. I could feel his breath on my inner thighs, hot and even.
‘Oh!’ I gasped, letting out my breath in a rush.
‘Wow. I wish shaving did that for me,’ said Jean. He wriggled his fingers in my hand and I realized I had probably been squeezing them brutally. ‘Are you always so pink down there? I don’t think you were before. Not quite so –’ he searched for the word ‘– fuchsia?’
I tried to control my breathing, because I couldn’t do anything about my pounding heart. He had to be finished soon, soon, I promised myself.
‘Maybe she’s allergic to the soap?’ whispered Jean.
‘She’s fine,’ said Sebastian, chuckling. ‘She’s just turned on.’
There wasn’t any point in denying it; I could feel the blood swelling my inner labia. If he cut me now, I was going to bleed like a stuck pig.
‘Well. I certainly understand why straight people have sex with the lights off. That colour could freak a person out,’ Jean giggled. ‘Owning one might be kind of fun, though.’
‘Shut up!’ I groaned. ‘We made a rule about this, remember?’
‘Flannel!’ demanded Sebastian. He straightened up and dropped the razor on the counter, smiling broadly. ‘Take a look.’
I glanced down my body, at the pink twat between my legs. I looked like a Barbie doll with a cleft. It was obscene. And more obscene, between my spread legs, was the erection in Sebastian’s jogging pants. ‘You’re a sick little puppy, you know that?’
He raised an eyebrow and pressed the hot washcloth between my legs.
My back arched, my muscles twitched and I pushed myself into his hand. ‘Oh . . . God!’
Jean giggled. Sebastian leaned forward, rubbing me with the hot, wet cloth. ‘Oh, God!’ he teased in a mock falsetto, and pecked me on the lips, pulling his hand away.
‘No,’ I groaned, reaching and missing his arm.
‘Come on, back to the chocolate. I’m hungry, and you’ve now got yourself the most edible little cunt in the world, sweetheart.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
SOFT INSIDE
On the way out of the bathroom, I grabbed the kimono hanging on the back of the door and wrapped it around me tight, feeling oddly naked without the hair.
In the living room, some of the candles had burned down and Jean was replenishing them. Sebastian sat at the coffee table rolling a giant spliff. I knelt down opposite him and watched.
‘Thanks for being careful,’ I murmured as sort of a peace offering. On the other hand, it could have been nervousness.
He grinned but didn’t look up. He was carefully cutting the skunk into little shreds. ‘So, what do you think? Like the way it feels?’
‘I guess. I haven’t really felt it.’
‘Feel it.’
I giggled, watching him even out the dope on the rolling paper.
‘Go on, feel it.’ It wasn’t quite an order, but it was close.
Slipping my hand inside the robe, I gave myself a little grope, freaked out, and pulled my hand away.
‘Well?’ He brought the paper to his mouth and ran a pointed tongue along the sticky side.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, trying to get over the weirdness. ‘It feels like I’m molesting an infant version of myself.’
Jean knelt down beside me and slithered his hand under my robe, cupping my crotch. ‘Now that is smooth. You’re just buttery soft down there, girl.’
‘Glad you approve,’ I said, not meaning it and squirming away. It was certainly very sensitive, and probably explained why I’d been such an addicted masturbator at the age of eight.
Jean dipped his finger into the now cooling chocolate pot and held it out for me. ‘Are you mad at us, Shirakins? It will grow back, you know.’
I sighed, annoyed with myself for acting strange, and unsure why. I made up for it by accepting Jean’s chocolate finger. When I’d sucked as much chocolate as I could get off it, I snuggled closer, pressed him back against the couch and kissed him.
Every time I touched Jean, I was always worried he wasn’t going to respond. As if suddenly he’d remember that he was gay, and be disgusted. But that’s not the way he reacted. Wrapping me in his arms, letting his lids slide closed, he kissed me back, softly, sensually, capturing and sucking my tongue when I traced it across his lips.
He was so different from Sebastian; he let all his vulnerabilities show. I could feel his heart begin to pound in his chest, all the tension that built as his passion grew. Pulling open his robe, I danced my fingertips over the nearest nipple, then took it between my fingers and tugged on it gently. He fed me tiny, breathy moans. I trailed my lips down the side o
f his cheek and onto his neck, sucking, pressing my teeth into his sweet, salty skin.
Letting his head loll back, he panted and slid his hands down to my ass, clutching it as I nipped at his small Adam’s apple and worked my way up the other side of his neck. I found his other nipple and tugged at it too, triggering a shudder. We straddled each other’s thighs and he rolled his hip, rubbing the underside of his cock against my skin. Fingers dug into my hips
When I reached his ear, I licked it and whispered. ‘I wish I had a cock, Jean. I wish I could fuck you.’
‘You don’t need one,’ he panted. ‘Fuck me anyway. Use your fingers.’
I smiled into his skin and nodded. Burrowing my hand between my legs, I used my own moisture to make it slippery, and felt a flush of pride at not being one of those women who grows talons. When I reached behind him and let my fingertips glide along the cleft of his pert, lovable little ass, Jean sighed and ground himself against my leg. I teased him, allowing only the very tips of my fingers to circle the fluttering ring of muscles.
I didn’t want to admit I’d never done this to anyone before. It seemed the wrong time to confess to yet another example of my appalling ignorance about anything other than what amounted to high school sex. But when I pressed my lips around his nipple, and eased a finger inside him, he seemed not to mind. He placed a hand on the back of my head, holding me to his chest, and whimpered, ‘Bite me! Fuck me!’
So I did, sinking my teeth down on his erect nipple and pushing a second digit inside him. His muscles clutched and fluttered as I thrust my fingers deep into his ass. His cock leaked over my hip, easing the friction of his frottage. He groaned and bucked and I added a third finger. A low hiss broke from his lips. He yanked my head back by the hair, lowering his mouth to mine and kissing me. His soft, muffled yelps punctuated the air. I fucked him the way I fucked myself when I masturbated. Not fast, but deep, and hard.
Jean cried out. His buttocks flexed and he bucked, almost pushing me over. Muscles spasmed shut around my fingers, almost painfully, and the most beautiful warm gush sprayed up the side of my body. I held my fingers buried deep, thinking of the way I liked to come around the fingers in my cunt; it felt good to have something filling me up, something to contract around. Even as the last few weak spurts abated, Jean still twitched, breathing hard and hitched with every aftershock. When there were no more, I drew my fingers out of him gently.
I opened my eyes to see tears brimming in his, but he was smiling. ‘Oh . . . I’ve made a real mess of you,’ he said in a little-boy voice. He sniffed and blinked. One fat tear ran down his cheek.
‘Yes, you have. Thank you.’ Shifting a little, I noticed I’d left something of a swamp on his thigh in return.
He giggled and hugged me, pressing his face into my neck. I knew why I felt so emotional about this, but I didn’t know why he did. I could feel his breath on my skin, his chest against mine. He was still crying.
‘What’s wrong?’ I rubbed his back, holding him tight.
Sebastian moved up behind me. He pressed himself to my back and put his arms around both of us. ‘He does that every now and again. Penetration tends to overwhelm our boy.’
Curiouser and curiouser, I thought, taking the lit joint that Sebastian held in front of my face. I inhaled deeply, still leaning my head against Jean’s, feeling him sob softly into my shoulder. Staring into nothingness, I let out a slow, thin stream of smoke. When it came to Jean, Sebastian’s size might have been an issue, but it wasn’t the only one.
Normally, I didn’t smoke a lot of dope. It made me feel warm and fuzzy, but it also gave me the IQ of a carrot, and my instincts told me not to give Sebastian any artificial advantages. If I got too toasted, I wouldn’t be able to keep track of the head games. So while the boys were passing the spliff back and forth, I ate the fruit, since I’d missed dinner.
Jean had one of my bare feet in his hands, giving it affectionate squeezes. The room smelled like sex and chocolate, and Jean’s cum was cooling on my skin, so I politely reclaimed my foot, and wandered into the bathroom. There was no facing another bath, my skin wouldn’t take it, so I cleaned myself up at the sink with the washcloth and pottered around, putting away the accoutrements that had been part of my personal grooming torture.
‘Are you hiding?’
Sebastian was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his bare chest, piercings winking in the harsh light of the bathroom.
‘Not at all. I was cleaning up.’
Then I remembered the rehearsal. ‘By the way, I talked to the band and they were very stoked about having someone do the set design. There’s an A & R guy coming to see us on Thursday. Do you think you could do something by then?’
He moved behind me, looking at my reflection in the mirror. ‘Sure. Just back projection?’
‘If you wanted to, sure.’ I was nervous. Why did he make me feel so nervous? Where was Jean? I felt okay with him when Jean was around but alone with him I got antsy and weird. ‘Do you want a CD of the songs so you know what the music sounds like?’
Sebastian bent down, hands resting on my shoulders, and kissed my cheek. ‘I know what it sounds like. Did you think I hadn’t listened to your music? Your voice gets me hard.’
‘You never said anything about it before.’ I gave an inane chuckle and shrugged, not knowing how to take the compliment, and fiddled with the row of lipsticks in front of the mirror, feeling trapped by his body.
‘I didn’t want you to think I was some drooling groupie who just wanted to fuck you.’
I’d actually fucked a number of drooling groupies, and they were a lot easier to deal with. ‘I wouldn’t have thought that.’
‘When I heard you come the first time,’ he said, sliding his hands over the silk on my chest, ‘it reminded me of the fracture in your voice on stage when you really get into a song. Is it like that? Is singing to an audience like sex?’
Was it? I couldn’t think. My nipples where aching under the warmth of his palms. He squeezed my breasts through the silk. ‘I don’t know. No . . . not exactly.’ I stuttered.
‘There’s still a lot of chocolate left.’ He let a hand drift down to my crotch and cupped it, rubbing the robe against it as he glanced at me in the mirror again. ‘I want to eat it off you.’
‘It must be cold by now.’
‘We can warm it up. Come on,’ he said, returning his hands to my shoulders, nudging me away from the sink.
For a second, I resisted. Why did I feel so ambivalent about a man who could almost make me orgasm just by talking? Maybe that had a great deal to do with it. I didn’t trust him, I didn’t trust his words: it always felt like he was setting a trap with language. And his touch was too sure, too precise, too confident of its persuasiveness. I wanted him – maybe I’d grow to want him too much – and, the minute he knew that, I was sure he’d do something horrible.
But then he nudged me again, and I went with him, like a lamb to the slaughter.
Lying back on the sheet, I stared up at Jean’s neat white living room ceiling, imagining myself a small pink worm between two white planes. I wasn’t all that crazy about someone going down on me; it felt good, but I’d also found it alienating and lonely. The whole upper part of my body was left to fend for itself. No one to caress, nothing to hold on to as the pleasure took me. Plus there was much whispering and preparation going on, which made me feel like a specimen of some sort or a corpse on a slab. I shut my eyes, trying not to think about it.
The first spatters of thick, hot chocolate landed on my breasts. My eyes snapped open, I squealed. ‘That burns!’
Jean was kneeling at my head, his hands pressed down on my shoulders. ‘I tested it myself, it’s not too hot.’ He gave me an upside down smile.
The second spatter landed on my belly. It made me yelp and arch my back. ‘Oh fuck!’
Sebastian was standing above me, letting the stuff drizzle from a fucking spoon. I shouldn’t have eaten all the fruit, I thought, in what la
ter proved to be a rare moment of sanity. The chocolate stung as it hit my skin and then sat there smouldering for a while before the pain eased away.
Jean lowered his upside down face and brushed his lips against mine. ‘Don’t fight it Shira. It’s only your fear that makes it hurt.’ He kissed me softly. ‘It just stings. Let it. Enjoy it. In a minute you’re going to start to get so horny.’ He smiled and giggled.
I didn’t believe it for a second. I wasn’t into pain; it didn’t turn me on. But as the dribbles and spatters continued, I reached up and pulled Jean’s mouth back to mine, kissing him so as not to crawl out of my skin.
Dribbles of fire pooled in my navel, like lava eating through my flesh. ‘I can’t . . . I can’t stand it!’ I whimpered.
‘Yes, you can, Shira.’
The moment I felt Sebastian prise my legs apart and kneel between my thighs, I blinked. ‘No . . . no . . .’
It wasn’t the chocolate that made me flinch. It was Sebastian’s fingers sliding through my slit. He skimmed them through my parted labia once, twice and then pushed them inside me, kneading my clit with his thumb. I froze, gasped, and stared up into Jean’s eyes. He was examining my face with a curious intensity, as if searching for some proof there of our affinity.
‘Oh! Oh, my . . .’ I stuttered. The searing stream of chocolate robbed me of breath, spilling over my pelvic mound. My muscles contracted around Sebastian’s fingers, and I gasped again. Not in pain this time, but something else – something sweeter, darker. A tear trickled down the side of my face. Hot rivulets travelled across my inner thigh and burned just long enough before Sebastian licked them away with the flat of his tongue. The two fingers moved and curled inside me.
‘Fuck. Ah-h, fuck! Yes. God, yes!’
‘That’s better, Shirakins,’ said a voice as dark as the chocolate. Not Jean’s.
But Jean was all I could see; he cradled my face in his hands, still watching me as I spewed obscenities. As the next ribbon of heat slid between my parted slit something emerged from my throat that I didn’t even recognize. It wasn’t a sound humans made. The soft, open mouth that covered the burn transfixed me. A little cooler than the chocolate, Sebastian’s mouth soothed and sucked. He slid his tongue through my stinging furrow. The relief was unbearably sweet, but then so were the fingers that were stroking in and out of me.
Beautiful Losers (Modern Erotic Classics) Page 11