Anaconda: A Sexy Romantic Comedy

by Landish, Lauren

  "Then he knocked up Mom," I groan, "and I ruin it the rest of the way for him."

  "Don't you ever say that about yourself, Troy," Coach seethes, and I see real fire in his eyes. "You, despite all the flaws you've got—I know about almost all of them. We teachers aren't quite as stupid as you students seem to think we are. You're a better man at your age than Randy Wood ever was. I'd like to think I've had a hand with that, even if you aren't as good a quarterback as he was."

  I nod, looking out on the field. "So what now?"

  Coach stands up and brushes off his pants. "Well, first you're going to follow me to my house. My wife had plans for a pancake brunch, and that’s probably going to be a lot better for you than that old pizza you've got sitting in your backseat. Not a good idea, by the way, unless you're trying to get yourself a case of food poisoning. And I'm going to overlook the fact that the polo you're wearing right now and the pizza in your seat are from the same restaurant, and if I poked around more, I'd find a paystub from that place in your pocket most likely. How long's that been going on, Troy?"

  "Three years," I admit. "But until this year, I only did it in the offseason. Honest, Coach. The owner thinks I'm older. I kinda need the money."

  He nods. "If it were up to me, I'd . . . well, I'd do things that would get me fired and you declared ineligible for the NCAA, so I’d better not. But I can have a student over for a meal and tutoring, so that's what I'm doing. As for Randy, if he lays a hand on you again—and don't tell me that black eye you sported earlier this week was because of that new girl you're seeing—I’m stepping in. I won't have you risk your future being hijacked by his past and his inner demons."

  We leave the stands, and in the parking lot, Coach turns to look at me. "When we get to my house, take about twenty minutes to take a shower, too. You smell like football stadium and old pizza. Not good, especially if you've got yourself a new girl. What's her name? Whitney?"

  "Yeah," I admit. "Whitney Nelson."

  "I taught her in American history last year," Coach tells me, smiling. "Nice girl. You could do a lot worse. But we'll talk about that later."

  Chapter 7

  Whitney

  "And in second place . . . Whitney Nelson!"

  The crowd in the stands claps hard, and I raise my hand, acknowledging the announcement while the crowd goes nuts. It's okay that I'm in second, since that means that Dani gets to be homecoming queen, and really, she deserves it more than me. She's the one who has been the social queen for all of high school. At least I get to be on stage with her tomorrow night, and besides, if I'd won, I'm sure I would have gotten some smart ass comments that I just don't need.

  Dani looks cute and kind of embarrassed as she accepts the crown, still in her cheerleading uniform, and then the sash. The band plays the school alma mater and a pretty terrible version of the Miss America theme, and at least that part of the night is over. We head back to the sidelines, ready for the second half of the game.

  "I'm sorry you didn't win," Dani says when she comes back after getting another photo taken by the local paper. "Really."

  "Babe, don't sweat it," I say, picking up my pompoms. "You deserve it, and besides, I got the birthday gift I really wanted."

  Dani smiles as I look down at the silver and blue number 12 jersey that I'm wearing for the game. Each of the senior players had the right to nominate a girl for homecoming, and that girl got to wear that player's away jersey for the entire week. I'd been rocking the silver jersey with the royal blue 12 on it for five days. To say I'm proud of it is an understatement. I don't want to give the damn thing back Monday so that Silver Lake can wear their away jerseys next Friday night. "It looks good on you."

  "Looks better on him," I say. Dani's wearing the number 54 of Pete Barkovich, a nice guy who is Troy's starting center. I'd have never expected Dani to accept Pete's request. He's nowhere near the level on the social ladder of some of the other seniors, but then I remembered that Dani is my best friend. Maybe she just specializes in finding diamonds in the rough. "Pete's going to be over the moon, getting to dance with you tomorrow."

  "Maybe," Dani says in a way that makes me wonder if she'd just accepted Pete's offer out of purely charitable purposes. "Come on, the second half is starting."

  The game is another win for Silver Lake, but the hardest fought one we've had so far. The Round Rock Mountaineers are usually one of the pushovers of our conference, but this year, they've got a couple of studs on the team as well, and Troy and the boys have their hands full until Troy intercepts a pass over the middle about halfway through the fourth quarter and returns it for a touchdown. It's no surprise at the end of the game that Troy is announced as the game ball player, even though he told me that Coach Jackson likes to spread the MVP balls around.

  But even I can't miss the results Troy puts for in the homecoming game. Two passing touchdowns, another two rushing, a sack, and of course, the interception for a touchdown. Silver Lake scored thirty-five points for homecoming, and Troy has a hand in all of them.

  After the game, I'm waiting outside the locker room for Troy. Mom has gotten used to us being together, and even the school, which burned for two weeks with scandal until it became less scandalous for us to be seen together, has accepted us. Troy comes out near the end of the line of players, and I smile to see that he's showered before coming out, something not all the players do. "You know, I know I asked you for a win for my birthday in my note, but you didn't have to take it so seriously."

  "For my girl's eighteenth birthday?" Troy says, picking me up and swinging me around before setting me down. "You could have said tonight's game was against last year's Super Bowl winners and I would have still figured out a way to win. You deserve it."

  "You say the cutest things," I giggle, pulling him in for a kiss. "So what about the rest of my birthday?"

  "Your Mom's not going to kill me?" Troy asks, and I shake my head.

  "Mom thinks that I'm hanging out with Dani, and she's agreed to cover for us," I say, warmth spreading through my body as I think of our evening's plans. "If anyone asks, Dani and I went camping, and you're just dropping me off since she’s taking care of the cheerleading stuff. I'm not seeing you until tomorrow for the dance, got it?”

  Troy nods, and there's a certain tremble in his hands as we let go of each other and walk to his car. We get in and drive for thirty minutes, far out into the woods outside town, to a place that Dani told me about when she saw what I'm planning in my eyes. It's quiet, with absolutely no light from town to pollute the view of the night sky above us. The air is just a little bit chilly, and I'm glad that Troy packed two blankets that he pulls from the trunk of his car. I grab the cooler and help him spread out the blanket on the soft grass, sitting down after we're done. "It's beautiful out here."

  "It is," Troy says, and suddenly, I realize he's the one who's nervous. He's sitting kind of hunched up, his arms wrapped around his knees and his back to me. I smile and put a hand on his shoulders, rubbing the big muscles around his neck.

  "What's wrong, Troy?"

  Troy turns and shakes his head. "I'm just . . . I'm worried, that's all."

  I laugh lightly and stroke his arm, the muscles so hard even after the exhaustion of playing a whole game of football. "Think you're too tired for this? I can understand if you are. You kicked ass tonight."

  Troy looks at me intensely. "I guess, well, this is the first time I've been . . . oh, you know! Emotionally involved, that's all. Before, it was just fun, a little whatever you want to call it."

  "And you are this time," I finish for him. “Why do you think I asked you to bring me out here tonight? I wouldn't have if I wasn't one hundred percent sure that you cared about me."

  Troy's hesitation fades away with me in his lap, and he brings his arms around my body, pulling me closer to him. My t-shirt and jersey that I'm wearing rub against his t-shirt, and the pressure sends warm tingles through my breasts, which feel heavy and sensitive inside my bra. I feel a hard bulge ris
e in his pants between my legs, and liquid fire is added to the sensation.

  Our tongues wrap around each other, and I can feel Troy's desire, but he holds himself back, which reassures me. Instead, he kisses me softly, finding the pulse points along my neck and stroking my back.

  In the darkness, we keep kissing, Troy in no rush except to bring me pleasure, and I smile, looking down at him. "It's okay, Troy. I know this first time, it's going to hurt some, isn't it?"

  "That's what they tell me," Troy replies. "Are you . . . you know?"

  "Intact?" I ask, chuckling. "Last time I had a checkup a month ago, yes, I am. I'm not totally ignorant, though. I have touched myself from time to time. Especially after watching the sexy stud I've got as a boyfriend tear things up on Friday nights."

  Troy laughs, and we roll until I'm on my back. I spread my legs, feeling the warm dampness soaking into my panties and bloomers that I'm wearing under my skirt, and I want nothing more than to get them off, to feel Troy's skin against mine. "Troy."

  "Yes, Whitney?" he asks, and I scoot back, half sitting up. I reach down and untie the little knot I put in Troy's jersey, pulling it and my t-shirt up and over my head, exposing my bra to him.

  "Take off your pants," I say, reaching for the closure on my skirt. "I'm ready for the next step."

  As patient and tender as Troy's been so far, he gets his jeans and underpants off at something close to warp speed, his shirt following close behind. I get to see him naked for the first time, and it's intimidating. I've seen more muscular men in magazines before, but there aren't too many, and the cock that's jutting from between his legs looks bigger than the porn star ones I'd seen on the video I surreptitiously watched last night in preparation.

  I reach out with my hand and run my fingers over his stomach, his six pack trembling as he reasserts his self control, his eyes looking into mine. "It's . . . wait."

  I get off the blanket and run over to the car, reaching in for my backpack and rummaging inside before my desire overwhelms my brain, and I find the little foil packet that I was sure Mom was going to find since I put it in the bag. I go back to the blanket and kneel back down, showing Troy the packet. "We're going to be safe.”

  Troy takes me in his arms and kisses me, reassuring all my fears, and we stay there, kneeling in front of each other, our lips exploring each other. Troy's hand comes up to slide underneath my bra and I gasp, the sensation of his fingers on the skin of my breast driving me wild. "Troy . . ."

  "Shh," he whispers, kissing down. "I promised myself something, Whitney. I'm going to do my best to make sure that you enjoy this. I don't want your first time to be a bad memory."

  "With you? That's impossible," I groan as his lips find my nipple and he kisses, sucking and licking and driving me crazy. It's impossible, it can't feel this good, I've never felt something so amazing. I feel his hand reach under my skirt, and suddenly he's cupping my mound, his hand rubbing my slick bloomers and leaving me unable to breathe. I'm falling back, unable to control myself any longer but safe in Troy's arms and he lays me back, until we're laying on the blanket again, the rich smell of the grass and the woods filling my nose while my mind convulses under his caress.

  My body clenches, and suddenly warm ripples of pleasure roll through me, and I'm rubbing up against his hand, thrusting and gasping, unable to breathe or even see. The stars spin overhead, and I'm not sure what the hell is going on, except that I want more, forever more. "Holy . . ."

  "I hope it gets better even," Troy whispers, helping me the rest of the way off with my clothes. I look and see that his cock has softened just slightly, and I reach out, wrapping my hand around the thick warm flesh, pausing. There's no turning back now, but I don't want to. I stroke him slowly, marveling as he comes back to steely hardness, his breath catching slightly when I run my thumb over the top of his head. "Whitney . . ."

  "I know," I say, reaching for the foil packet. I don't want to let go of him, so I stick the edge of the packet in my teeth, ripping it open with my free hand. It's a little dry, and I wonder momentarily if the lubrication had dried out after sitting in my room inside my hiding space for a couple of years. Ah well, the latex feels fine in between my fingers, and I roll it onto him, pausing when he hisses. "What's wrong?"

  "It's a little tight," Troy says, then sighs. "It's okay now."

  "That's what she said," I joke, and our tension disappears. Troy lays me back, and lifts my hips so that my butt kind of sits in his thighs, a little gap under my lower back. I'm not nervous at all though, and intertwine my fingers with Troy's, nodding. "I trust you."

  He swallows and nods, reaching down and stroking the tip of his cock between my pussy lips, gathering my moisture until I'm mewling again, wanting him inside me, to get it over with. I want to be a woman with him, and I can't wait any longer.

  Still, Troy is taking his time, slipping just a little ways inside me, teasing me I'm fucking sure, but he's opening me up so gently that there's no pain at all until suddenly he stops. I squeeze his hand and nod. "Do it."

  "All the way, one thrust," Troy says, pulling back before driving himself forward, piercing me and making me his woman. The pain is sharp but gone in an instant, and I'm sighing in pleasure as he pulls back and thrusts again, the pain transforming into sweet, sweet pleasure.

  Troy keeps his fingers wrapped with mine as he leans in until he's directly over me, pinning me to the ground while his cock sends wave after wave of electric blue pleasure up and down my body. I can just make out his face in the moonlight, and he's so intent, capturing me with his eyes, capturing my soul forever.

  His hips speed up, and we're climbing higher, toward the inevitable finale, and I draw him in more and more, wanting every bit of this man, wanting it to never end. I want him forever, as silly as that sounds, and I want him as mine. "Troy . . ."

  Suddenly, I'm coming again, and it's different than the first time. It's deeper, more soul shaking, and I see everything, feel every nerve in my body cry out in happiness as Troy shudders, and we collapse onto the blanket.

  * * *

  We lay in each other's arms, and I feel a little regret that it’s now over. I didn't want it to ever end. "You’re amazing," I whisper, stroking his face. "I love you, Troy Wood." It came out so easy, like I’d already said it a thousand times, and I loved the sound of it coming out of my mouth.

  "I love you, Whitney Nelson," Troy says back, and I grab him tight, never wanting to let go. We don't say anything else, but just hold each other until the two of us drift off to sleep, waking only long enough to pull the second blanket on top and to readjust for the night.

  Best birthday ever.

  Chapter 8

  Troy

  There's nothing in the cabinets, yet again. I'm losing weight, I know it, and I can't keep going like this. Practice is too tough, and I'm burning too many calories each day. I can barely stay awake in class. I have so little energy, and even Whitney is starting to notice. Coach is right. I can't survive on pizza and school lunch.

  "I'm going out," I say, reaching for my keys. I've only got a quarter tank of gas, but it's all I've got. Fuck it, maybe I can scam Russ's mom into letting me stay for dinner.

  "Get in here, boy," Dad says, and I try to ignore him, but I sigh and turn around. Who knows, he doesn't sound all that drunk yet. Maybe he has something useful to say.

  "What do you need, Dad?" I ask, surprised to see him off the couch. He's still wearing the same dirty t-shirt from yesterday, though, and the funk that drifts off him tells me its been longer since he had a shower.

  "Gimme the money you stole," Dad says, his voice quavering. "I know you stole twenty bucks from my wallet. Give it back!"

  "I didn't take any money from you. You used it a week ago, remember? That stuff you brought home in the box, whatever it was? Smelled like turpentine and paint thinner?"

  Dad gets in my face, his eyes bloodshot, and I wonder if maybe he's got the DTs. He's certainly been forced to pull back on the booze this month.
We're going fucking broke. The only reason I still drive my car to school every day is because I'm worried if I leave it at home, I'm going to come back from practice one day and find that Dad's hawked it for booze money. "You're getting a smart mouth, you son of a bitch. You ain't cursing much anymore, and you've been acting uppity more and more. That little twat that I hear you talking to on the phone making you think you're more than a shit stain on the planet? Or are you stealing money from me to pay for some pussy?"

  "You leave her out of it!” I yell, pushing him away. Dad can say what he wants about me, but there is nobody who’s allowed to denigrate Whitney. Maybe he’s right. Maybe since getting together with her, I've started to try and study when I can stay awake, and maybe my language is cleaning up a little bit, but that's not a bad thing. After we made love the week before and then had the homecoming dance, I feel like I could become a better person. "She's better than you!"

  Dad comes back with something in his hand, and just before it catches me in the face, I recognize it as the old cordless phone that we still have on the wall. I never use the damn thing anymore. I have my cell, and I'm not even sure if it works. I think the service was shut off a few weeks ago after we got a bunch of notifications in the mail.

  The handset cracks when it smashes against the side of my head, and I'm down, blood dripping from my temple. I've been hit harder in football, but before I can recover, Dad kicks me in the ribs, and even if he's just a shell of the man he used to be, he's still got almost two hundred pounds to drive into the kick. Pain explodes in my stomach, and I roll over into a ball while he stomps the shit outta me.

  I know I should fight back. I know that I can. I could kick his ass if I wanted. But it's Dad, and even if Whitney makes me feel like I might actually be a good person, inside the four walls of my house, the truth is different, and the beatings have been going on too long. I promise myself that I won't cry though, and at least I hold onto that while he kicks me over and over until he's gasping and out of breath. "Stupid lying little shit," he gasps, spitting on me. "I should just kill you and save the state the trouble later on. You're going to end up in jail, Troy. I know it. You're just going to be some prison bitch who takes it up the ass for protection. That's what you want, isn't it? A big cock up your ass on a nightly basis. You make me sick!"