Crush

by Laura Susan Johnson

...and I love it. Even before he begins to thrust deeper and deeper and the pain begins to transform into pleasure, I love it.

  It's really happening.

  It's really happening to me.

  And Tammy is here.

  twenty-one:

  tammy

  (christmas eve/present)

  I watch his eyes, how they widen in fear and then fall half-closed, dazed in rapture. I watch how when the light hits his eyes just so, it transforms the deep sapphire blue of them into an iridescent prism. I watch his lips crumple in pain and then curl in an agape smile of bliss. He claws me with his nails, climbs up above me like a man using another man to keep from drowning. I can't stop watching him. His face is beautiful even when it's distorted. His arm muscles quiver like the muscles surrounding me as I reach deeper inside of him, seeking something from him, from myself. We move together fluidly. I thrust towards him, he thrusts towards me, faster, deeper, faster, deeper. He squeals as I strike his prostate, and when he comes, I watch him. Then I come, and he watches me.

  We doze for a while. I need to piss. I nudge him. "I gotta go to the bathroom, Jamie."

  "Noooooo," he moans, and snuggles closer to me. He begins to brush his lips against mine, just barely touching, teasing.

  "What are you doing?" I ask.

  "Playing with you," he murmurs. His lips whisper against mine. I've never felt anything so soft. Then he lightly licks me.

  "Oh!" My cock, still inside of him, is back to life, thrumming madly. His butterfly kisses meld into one long, soft kiss, and God, it's sexy. Our tongues reach out and greet each other.

  I can't believe this sweetness. We begin again, sexing, thrusting, reaching for each other, seeking, finding, speaking with tongues, without words, and it feels so clean, so pure, so perfect. Our hands clasp, our mouths fuse, our eyes lock. We're united, completely. I'm still not used to this bittersweet ache in my centre.

  He closes around me like a velvet fist and we explode together so powerfully, so violently, that we yell into each other's mouths. It goes on and on, and I can tell by Jamie's catching, sobbing cries that his orgasm is as hard and slow and as agonisingly glorious as mine. On and on it goes—so long that I begin to worry that we'll never stop coming, that we'll be suspended in ecstasy, forever. And that wouldn't be a bad thing, except that there'd be nothing left to wish for.

  And I want more. I want to want more.

  At last we descend from heaven, like two angels, hand in hand.

  We look at each other; we've both felt it. It scares me, what we've felt. It scares him too. I see it...

  "Baby, I've got to go pee," I plead. The look on his face kills me. "We have to sooner or later," I say softly. His eyes well up. "We'll do it again, you little greedy thing, you. Don't tense up," I warn, and we count, "One, two, three," and I pull out, his muscles clenching around me the whole way. My dick is smeared with his warm, dark blood and my own jizz. I peel off the rubber, notice that it's torn because it's twice used.

  "I bled!"

  "Don't worry about it," I say.

  He refuses to let me go as we cross the house to the bathroom, his lips all over my face and neck as I lift the toilet seat.

  "My own personal leech," I murmur against his lips.

  He laughs softly, releasing me only to aim his dick.

  We pee, our streams splashing and mixing. "You don't regret this, do you?" I ask teasingly.

  His long lashes sweep up. I love the dead-seriousness in those eyes. "No, Tammy. I could never regret this."

  I crank on the shower, wait for the water to heat up, then I lift him into my arms. He weighs next to nothing. We bathe the cum, sweat and blood off ourselves in the warm cascade. We wash each other's hair and make out while he gives me a soapy hand job. His eyes are inquisitive, fervent, thoughtful, as he watches his hand stroking up and down.

  We go back to bed, pull the covers up snug around our chins. "Something's bothering you, Jamie. Please, tell me."

  He bites his lower lip. I love it when he does that. He's thinking. His eyes water. "It's something that I had for thirty-one years, and now, it's just..."

  "What?"

  He rolls his eyes, believing himself ludicrous. "My virginity." More tears seep from under his eyelids.

  I snuggle closer. I smell shampoo, soap, his individual musk. "It's gone," he whispers.

  I only had mine until I was fourteen, not even that long if I count the thing with Uncle Price. I want to understand, but I can't. "What is virginity anyway?" I ask. "It's a state of mind. A half hour ago you didn't know about that part of your life. Now you do. It's not like you're a girl. You didn't have a cherry that I literally popped."

  "Excuse me," Jamie says correctively. "I bled."

  I smile at him.

  "And I wanted that. I wanted it to hurt, I wanted to bleed, I wanted to be scared. I wanted everything to be like it is with everyone else. And it was perfect."

  "So, what's..."

  "Where is my virginity?"

  I don't have to think hard to come up with the answer. "It's with me," I say. "I have it."

  He thinks about it for a moment. "What do I have?"

  He means it.

  "You have me," I tell him.

  And I mean it.

  I'm disturbed by what looks like doubt in his eyes.

  He doesn't trust me. He doesn't fully trust me.

  It hurts.

  The small, soft hearth of him warms me, makes me drowsy, but I fight it.

  It feels incomplete, this night. Something is bugging him, and I'm frustrated. I'm interested. I want so badly to understand him.

  But I have to be patient.

  For now I'll just hold him and silently love the dark fringe of his eyelashes resting against his flushed cheeks, thirst for his full, soft lips against mine. I imagine my cock between them, fucking this gorgeous mouth.

  I want everything from him. Everything I can possibly get, and I want to give him all of me.

  Be patient, I soothe myself. Take it slow. He'll open up. Give him time.

  I can't stand this space between us. I try to reassure myself that if I just give him time, he'll know I care about him. He'll know I'll never leave him again. And he'll feel secure enough to share himself with me, his whole self.

  There's a lot he's not telling me.

  The sun begins to peek through the mini-blinds above my bed. It's Christmas Day. Jamie's thick, dark lashes sparkle like they're dusted with gold. He's so incomparably beautiful, lithe, delicate. His dark, honey-coloured hair splays across the pillow. His bewitching androgynous beauty arouses me, draws me.

  I lean over him and kiss the large maroon scars over his shoulder blades. He moans and cries softly, still half asleep. I roll him over on his back and examine the big, red lumpy scar around his right ankle before gently kissing it.

  "What happened here?" I ask, nodding at his left ankle. It looks like something's bitten him. The sore is raw and puckered and seeping a small amount of clear fluid.

  He shakes his head, his eyelids heavy. "Don't ask."

  I manipulate him like play-doh. He whimpers as I play with his supple body, as I kiss and bite his tender nipples, his soft tummy, the uncharted silk of his inner thighs. My hunger is out of control, my lips loudly kissing him where his thigh melds into his ass. I dip my head and rim him, gently at first, teasingly, then I thrust my tongue deep. He sobs, twisting his fingers in my hair. His pretty, weeping sex pats against my cheek softly, shyly, as if to say, "Here I am." The smell of it, of him, makes my nostrils flare. I'm a wolf on the scent of something good. My own cock pounds, demanding to be satisfied. But I'm a gentle predator. My intention is to love him, to suck and lick him, to kiss and tease him, until he cries in ecstasy and we're both drenched in his warm, sweet, sticky spunk.

  And then I want him to do the same to me.

  I go to take him in my mouth.

  "No!" he screams, and clamps his legs around my head.

  "Jamie?" His knees are smash
ing my ears.

  "NO! DON'T!"

  "I want to suck you!" There is no euphemism, no refined substitute, that sounds anything other than preposterous. My mouth descends again...

  "No! Please, don't!"

  "What's the matter?"

  "You can't! I can't!" He pushes me away, curls up like a woodlouse, crying frantically, his hands over his eyes.

  "Man, this is so fucked up, Jamie!" I sit up and blink away my own tears.

  "Tammy, please don't be mad, please!" He leaps up, throws his arms around me, kisses me all over.

  "Don't you trust me?"

  "It's nothing to do with you," he mutters. "It makes me feel dirty."

  "I'm not trying to make you feel dirty. I want to make you feel good."

  "No! I don't want it!"

  I don't understand this. I don't understand him. "Okay, okay, Jamie!"

  He's still crying, kissing, screaming, "I can't do that! I won't do that!"

  "Oh, Jamie," I sigh.

  "I'm sorry," he sobs. "I'm ruining it!"

  We lay down, face to face. "We don't have to do that, then, Baby. We don't ever have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

  "I hate myself."

  "No, Jamie. Don't..."

  "I'm ruined. And I'm ruining this too."

  God, I wish you'd talk to me. Tell me everything.

  Instead, he kisses me hard, desperate to make amends. He climbs on top of me, straddles me, Frenches me until we're both gasping. He kisses his way down my body, nibbling me, tonguing me, teasing me... I'm on fire. Then he takes me into his mouth.

  "Jamie! You don't have to do that, I said!"

  But his mouth is so hot and wet on me that when he lets go of me to say, "I want to," I almost die. His vermillion lips close over me again. I'll say this for him, he's unpredictable, but I'm not about to start bitching now, not when he's working on me so wonderfully—the rough velvet of his tongue dragging up and down my cock, the warm nectar of his saliva coating and lubing me, the pillowy perfection of his lips gently whispering over my flesh. God, even the sounds he's making, moist sucking noises, soft little moans that vibrate against my skin—sounds that tell me he's enjoying this every bit as much as I am. Everything he's doing is so fucking good, so expert, that I find it very hard to believe that I'm his first lover.

  Why wouldn't he let me go down on him? Why did he suddenly want to suck me? How did this shy little boy swiftly become the sweetest, dirtiest (I dare not ever describe him that way aloud), wildest lover I could ever have wished for?

  "You didn't have to do that," I pant a few minutes later.

  "I wanted to," he murmurs.

  "I thought it made you feel dirty."

  "Only if it's done to me. I'd rather do it to you."

  I'm confused, intrigued. "Why, Jamie?"

  He's quiet for so long that I think he's fallen asleep. Then he smiles up at me. "Merry Christmas, Daddy," he says softly. He spits into his hand and massages the mixture of saliva and semen onto my cock.

  "Daddy?" I repeat. He's an inventor. He's come up with an affectionately kinky nickname for me.

  He lays back on the bed, opens his legs, tilts his ass up, beckoning me.

  It would be perfect. It nearly is.

  I lower myself onto him, lose myself inside of him...

  But something about this moment gives me pause. He's wearing an odd, uncharacteristic smile and an unnervingly vacant glint in his eyes.

  Something's wrong. Something's wrong.

  twenty-two:

  jamie

  (christmas present)

  She fondles herself as she watches. "You're such a dirty boy, Jamie."

  I'm a disgusting, dirty boy. I hate myself. I love to do it. I feel dirty but I like feeling dirty. She beats me with the big, thick belt when I'm done making Daddy shoot his wad. The cigarette makes a vivid sizzling noise when it contacts the sweat on my back.

  I don't cry because of the pain.

  I cry because I'm happy.

  I cry because my dream has come true. Tammy is here. With me.

  I cry because I'm afraid. Now I've given him my body. I'm his, and I know, deep down in a place I don't consciously acknowledge, that if he breaks my heart, I'll die.

  If I fuck this up and lose him, it's all over.

  He squeezes KY onto his fingers and lubes me. I implore him, "I want you inside of me." And he carefully enters me, sighing in contentment as my walls hug him. He lovingly yanks on me with one hand while his other firmly rubs my tummy, pressing my pubic bone against my bladder. Between his gentle tugs, hard caresses and deep thrusts I'm in pleasure and pain, heaven and hell. He pulls me up and kisses me hungrily, my smile in his mouth. We make love face to face, with me sitting in his lap, his cock deep inside of me. I can feel him throbbing, his heart beating through his cock...

  Please, God, I pray. Please let this be for real. Let it be as real as it feels. He has me. I'll never belong to anyone else.

  I have to work today. At about seven o'clock, he drops me at my house. I apologise again and again about the dark maroon stains on his sheets. "Stop worrying about that!"

  I open my door and he says, "Whoa! Where do you think you're going?"

  I stare at him dimly until he says, "No kiss?"

  I don't worry who might see us. I'm too busy being glad that he wants a kiss. He says he'll call me tonight.

  "I'm off at four-thirty. Are you coming over later?"

  "I gotta go visit Mom. It's Christmas. I should spend it with her."

  He's done with me. He's probably already scoping someone new.

  He drives away, and I go inside to feed my emotionally neglected kids. They crunch through their food and rub and purr against my legs.

  I don't want to eat. My response to being returned to my home, newly devirginised, after a night of unbelievable sex with the love of my life, is to cry uncontrollably while the kids snuggle against me fretfully.

  His throbbing hardness in my mouth, the way he buried his fingers in my hair and gently pulled—no rough shoving, no forcing himself into my throat the way Daddy always did—just softly tugging, massaging, whispering, indelibly sighing, "Oh, Baby... Baby... Baby..."

  My heart grabs. My eyes flood.

  He's so sweet. He's just so sweet...

  And I'm being an ass. He's not done with me just because he's visiting his mother tonight.

  I go out on the porch and light a cigarette. The smoke fills my lungs and as always, it soothes me like food never can. I press the red hot tip into the blistered skin of my left ankle, the screaming pain an outlandish solace.

  Stacy picks me up for work a short time later. "Merry Christmas!"

  "Yeah, right," I snort. "Christmas spent answering call bells, fighting with doctors..."

  But I'm smiling, and I can't stop.

  "What's new?" she demands, a greedy twinkle in her eye. "Haven't heard a peep from you since you went home with your boyfriend!"

  I bite my smile.

  "You didn't!"

  I shrug.

  "Oh, God! Are you alright?"

  "Uh huh," I say. "A little sore."

  "You're in such a zone, I guess I didn't even have to ask. You're glowing, doll!"

  "Oh, really!"

  "I'm so happy for you, Baby. Was it good? Is he good?"

  My face is lobster red. "I have nobody to compare him to!"

  "Was he good to you? That's what I'm asking."

  "Yes," I smile. "He was good. It was good. It was perfect."

  She studies me intently. "Did you tell him? That he's your first?"

  I nod.

  She has more questions, maybe advice. Instead, she says, "He'd better be good to you or I'll beat his ass!"

  "He's a good guy, Stacy. He's been very, very good to me."

  I tell her that he's been better to me than I've been to him, that I went apeshit on him. I don't tell her how I saw my dad's face, his cock, heard his voice crooning to me over Tammy's. I don't tell her ho
w my stupid dead parents showed up for what should have been the happiest night of my life.

  I mean, I am happy. I love him so much. I'm so happy that this is happening. But it should have been perfect. It almost was.

  Stacy probably knows that my parents did more than just beat me. She understands how much I need for her not to ask about the details.

  I can never thank God enough for her.

  "Some of the things Tammy wanted to do in bed... scared me. I yelled. I've got issues."

  "I don't think he meant to scare you, honey. He probably thought you'd like it."

  I wince. "I wish."

  "If he's an ass, you'll know soon enough. But if he loves you, Jamie, he'll respect your feelings and never push or force you to do anything you don't want to do. This is all new for you. It's going to take some adjustment."

  But I'm not being truthful. Nothing scared me. Everything scared me. I felt dirty in a way I liked. In a way I hated.

  Like with Daddy.

  And I don't like to think about Daddy. Ever.

  It's like I became two different Jamies last night.

  I called him Daddy.

  Why?!

  "I won't be able to stand it if he's just using me," I say brokenly.

  Stacy sighs. "Well, honey, sad as it is, we all meet jerks and get our hearts broken sometimes. Just know, if he hurts you, I'll kick his ass and then I'll be here when you need me."

  He can't. He can't! I won't be able to bear it if I'm just another one of his booty calls.

  Stacy sees me crying, "Man, I remember this. I remember Ray. Oh, I was so in love. I cried so easily, worried so much. He treated me so good. And so bad. Welcome to the world of sex and love." She laughs and sniffles. "I'm thrilled for you, Baby, and worried too."

  "Ray broke your heart."

  "Yeah, he was an asshole. But I survived it, Jamie. And if Tam turns out to be a dick, you'll survive too."

  I shake my head.

  "Yes you will. You're a survivor. And you know it."

  I don't argue. I just keep praying that Tammy will never break my heart. I can feel it. It's already too late for me to turn back. In one evening, he's altered my life forever. He's so much a part of me now that if he tears himself away, I'll bleed to death.

  I'm distracted at work, by happy memories of this new life; by recent, yet distant snapshots of the secure, solitary life I had before Tammy Mattheis had to go and return to town and make me fall in love with him all over again...