by Paloma Meir
“You’re sleeping over at my house Celena. Text your mom.” Cara said when we got in the car and Brendan true to his word turned the heat and car seat warmer up to maximum.
“Okay,” I took my phone out of my bag, texted my mother and rested my head against the window, closing my eyes, a smile stuck on my face.
About halfway home I heard Brendan’s phone buzz and then through the car speakers I heard Serge’s voice. I closed my eyes tightly.
“Hey Brendan, are you with Celena? Is she okay?”
I heard them turn around in their seats. I closed my eyes even tighter, burying my face in my hair and pretended to be asleep.
“We went for a beach run, heading back now. She’s asleep. Do you want me to wake her up?”
A very long silence.
“No let her sleep, see you tomorrow? Run with Danny?”
“Yeah.” Brendan elongated the word, “Night.” He ended the call.
I really was asleep by the time we pulled up to Cara’s house a few canyons over from mine.
They gently woke me up with pats on the knee. I followed Cara into her house as Brendan sat inside his car making she sure we got in safely and then took off with a screech and laid on his horn a few blocks down the road, waking up the whole sleeping neighborhood.
Cara laughed and I thought of having Q send him an invitation to join her private forum.
“He’s so funny…” She said as we tiptoed across the terrazzo entryway into the family room towards the back of her very large home. “I’ll run upstairs and get us some pajamas. Be right back.” She flipped on the light and sped up the stairs a little further down the wide hallway.
I could see why she had preferred this room to hers for a sleepover. It had a wall sized TV screen, plush sloppy sofas with blankets strewn everywhere and a row of computers. Very cozy.
One of the computers seemed to be on, showing a movie. I rubbed my eyes because I couldn’t believe what it was on the screen. I walked across the room to get a better look.
Hard-core pornography. Of course I had run across it on the internet but I had never really watched it before. I would click away but not this night.
I leaned forward watching as the bodies banged together furiously. There wasn’t anything pretty about what they were doing. It was a world away from the tenderness Serge and I shared but I could see why men enjoyed watching it so much.
The women were professionals. They knew what they were doing. They would lick their own nipples, scream out. It was a show for the men and the men were slaves to their theatrics.
“Gross,’ Cara snuck up behind me and said. She reached across me to turn it off, “My brothers are gross, sorry.”
“No.” I put my hand on hers, stopping her.
“Do you want to watch it?” Her mood completely changed as if nothing would make her happier than to watch what she had just declared gross.
“Just for a few minutes… I’ve never really looked at it before.”
“Okay.” She plopped down in the chair beside me. I sat down on the one in front of me. “Here,” She handed me a nightgown.
The actors were finished but the girl was insatiable, touching herself as he watched instructing her with vulgar language.
An idea formed in my head, a very bad idea.
“It’s making me feel weird…” Cara said “I wish Brendan were here…”
“I guess that’s enough then…” I clicked out of the window. I could further my research at home.
“I like this feeling…” She laughed and stood up, stripping off her clothes, throwing them on the floor beside her and slipping her nightgown over her perfect dancer’s body.
“Well, I’m not built to satisfy you, so you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.” I slipped off my clothes from the comfort of my chair. I was not the exhibitionist that Cara was.
“I’m sure you could.” She ran her finger down my cheek and shrugged, “What movie do you want to watch?’
If any other girl had said that to me I would have thought she was coming on to me but Cara was so bizarrely innocent and cheery. I was sure I was misreading her.
She selected one before I could respond and unfolded the pull out bed. We curled up and fell asleep, no more talking, exhausted because it was late and our bones were chilled from our midnight swim in the frigidly cold ocean.
Click Here to Purchase or Borrow Trashed by Paloma Meir on Amazon. Thank you.
About the Author
Paloma Meir lives with her family by the beach in Los Angeles. When she's not taking long walks, she likes to writes sordid and tortured stories of people in love. She loves her family, writing books, reading books, and dresses.
[email protected]
Paloma Meir on Goodreads
Subscribe to Paloma Meir's Newsletter for a free PDF of a True Story That Never Happened and new release information. We promise to never spam your email account. Thank you.