by Shenda Paul
“Adam?” she turns to me. “Please, I’m bored with all the talk about cars and sport?”
“I don’t dance, Tess,” I say.
“Come on; I watched you with Cait on her birthday. You can move.” She grabs my hand.
“Just one dance,” I say, allowing her to pull me up. She winds her arm around my waist as we make our way to the dance area.
I try to keep a respectable distance between us, but Tess clings to me like a vine. Each time I step away, she tightens her hold. “Just enjoy yourself, Adam,” she says after my third attempt. It may be just a dance, but I don’t want to be this close to her. Tess is like a sister to me, and it feels wrong. She rubs herself against my crotch, and, despite my good intentions, my body reacts. I remove her arms from my neck and set her aside.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“The song ended,” I say and turn away.
“Come on, Adam, just one more,” she pleads.
“I’ve had enough,” I tell her. When I return, I find Susie straddling Matt’s lap. He’s gripping her hips while sucking on her neck. He groans, and I realize that beneath her spread skirt, she’s grinding against him. Lana and Alan, in a new, yet unsurprising development, are lip-locked. A cute blonde, sitting on the other side of Susie and Matt, smiles at me and shrugs her shoulders. I guess she’s feeling as awkward as I am watching my friends’ heated make-out sessions. Tess comes to sit next to me just as the guy, who was speaking to Ian, leaves. He motions her over. She takes her time, giving first me, and then the girl an odd look, before she straddles Ian’s lap like he tells her to.
“Hi, I’m Adam,” I finally greet the stranger.
“I’m Megan, Susie’s cousin from Texas,” she says in the prettiest drawl I’ve ever heard.
“Would you like to dance?” I ask.
Chapter Five
“Holy shit!” I curse, my voice strangled in my throat.
After a couple of dances, in which she grew bolder and bolder, and I, more and more worked up, Megan led me to a bedroom and locked the door. She’s nineteen, I discovered while dancing and knows a lot more about sex than I do. Right now, for the first time, a hand other than mine is wrapped around my shaft. She gathers moisture leaking from the head and slowly twists her hand. Nothing I’ve experienced or done before has felt this good. I let out another garbled sound as she tightens her grasp.
“Let go, Adam,” Megan encourages, her lips against mine. “I’m gonna to rock your world,” she promises, and, shit, her words make me even harder. She kisses me, doing things with her tongue I’d only imagined before she slides down my body.
“What …” my words are choked off as something much better, wetter, and hotter engulfs me. “Fuck!” I curse as I look down at the sight of her mouth wrapped around me. It proves almost too much, and I grit my teeth. Please, please don’t let me embarrass myself, I silently pray as I struggle for control.
She releases me, smiles seductively and then, holding my gaze, lowers her head to lick from base to tip—deliberately and slowly. I moan incoherently because, apparently, I’ve forgotten how to form words.
“You taste so good,” Megan says, swirling her tongue around my head over and over, bringing me to the brink only to stop and then start again. Suddenly, she relaxes her throat to take me in all the way. White-hot heat sears its way through my body, and I moan long and loud as she withdraws only to do it again and again until I’m a writhing mass of molten heat.
“Fuck, fuck!” I practically yell as I experience my first orgasm brought on by someone other than me.
“Adam?” Mom calls out from the kitchen as I try to sneak upstairs.
“Umm, hi Mom,” I answer, hoping she doesn’t notice how nervous I sound.
“Come and tell me about your night. Did you have a good time?”
“I did, but I’m tired; I just want to go to bed,” I lie.
“Okay, sweetheart. See you in the morning.”
I sigh, relieved that she hasn’t come out, hasn’t caught me smelling of beer and sex. Not that Megan and I had sex, but after what she did for me, I was eager to reciprocate, and she wasn’t shy about showing me exactly what she likes. I grin at the memory of how I’d made her, a sexually experienced girl, come. It’s the first time, also, that I’ve done that with and to a girl.
At the top of the stairs, I remain careful because I don’t want to disturb Dad, who’s probably already in bed
“Why are you grinning like a fool?” Cait asks from my bedroom door.
“Shh!” I signal, pointing to our parents’ room before pushing past her.
“Eww!” She scrunches her face and follows me. “You stink. What’ve you been doing?”
“Mind your own business,” I say, grabbing a t-shirt and sleep pants before making my way to the bathroom.
“You’ve been drinking,” she accuses.
“Just a couple of beers.”
“You smell like something else too.”
“It’s smoke; people were smoking.”
“Did Matt smoke?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.
“No; why?”
“Were there girls there?” she demands, ignoring my question.
“It was a party, Caitlin; there were guys and girls.” I open the bathroom door.
“Which girls?”
“Why do you want to know?” I turn to look at her.
“Just asking,” she says and walks away looking upset. I should go and ask what’s wrong, but I need to shower and brush my teeth before Mom comes upstairs. It can wait until morning, I decide.
In bed, l get hard just thinking about how good Megan’s mouth felt. And I remember the thrill and unexpected pleasure it gave me to touch and taste her, as I watched her flushed body when she came—for me.
My hand, it seems, has developed a mind of its own and is currently wrapped tightly around my rapidly growing shaft. Realizing that Mom, and possibly Cait, could still be wandering around, I quickly lock my door. And then, remembering Alan’s embarrassing account of how his mother questioned him about his soiled sheets over breakfast one morning, I grab a discarded t-shirt before returning to bed.
I stifle a groan as my hand moves ever faster to the memory of soft lips and a warm, wet mouth. My body goes rigid, and my toes curl as I come, breathless and panting. And then, while still struggling to regain my breath, I wonder how and when I can arrange to see Megan again
Three days later, when leaving The Hangout, Mitch Jones and his friends accost us. “I know you stole my hubcaps!” he says, getting right in Ian’s face. Ian grins, silently challenging him to do something about it. Matt, Alan and I step up, and then, of course, Mitch’s friends join the party.
“Who’d want anything from that piece of shit you call a car?” Alan goads.
“What did you fucking do with them?” Mitch pushes Ian’s shoulder. Ian grabs his shirtfront.
“Don’t fucking touch me! He shoves Mitch roughly, and he retaliates by smashing his fist into Ian’s gut.
Mitch kicks Ian while he’s bent over, winded. He’s about to do it again, but I punch him on the side of the head, and, before I know it, we’re a tangle of fists, arms, and legs. I vaguely notice that people have stopped to watch, but I ignore them. The fury I’ve been holding in can finally be released, and it feels so goddam good to be pounding someone. Instead of Mitch and his cronies, I see Adam Winston and every slimy man who’d ever walked into our apartment to hurt Eleanor or intimidate me.
“Go Thorne!” Matt yells as I’m straddling one of Mitch’s friends, my hands wrapped around his neck. I look up to see him bend another guy over, pulling both of his arms up behind his back. Matt’s bleeding above his eye, and I suddenly realize I can taste blood; either my nose or lip’s bleeding too.
I grin back at Matt, and the guy I’m pinning down lands a blow to my shoulder. I punch him in the face, and I’m about to hit him again, when someone drags me away. I turn around swinging, only to be confronted by Sergeant O’Connell.
“I’d think before you do that, son,” he warns, and I lower my arm, the fight leaving me at the sight of several police officers surrounding our bloodied, bedraggled group.
“Fuck!” Matt yells as he also realizes the mess we’re in. I’m already picturing the disappointment on Dad’s face and the hurt on Mom’s.
“I’m not riding with him!” Ian shouts as he’s led away with Mitch. “Shut it,” an officer tells him and unceremoniously shoves him into a police car. Matt, Alan, and I are squashed into the back of another. We’re quiet; our adrenaline-infused high disappeared along with our bravado when the doors slammed shut on us. Me, I’m worried because as good as it felt to land those punches and even take some in return, I can’t help feeling ashamed at the thought of how much I’ve let my parents down.
At the precinct, I find myself in a cell with Ian and one of Mitch’s friends, we learn is called Tim. Ian makes a snide remark about Timothy being a pussy name, but he soon shuts up when a huge, tattooed guy tells him it doesn’t matter what our names are. He’d make any one of us ‘pretty pussies’ shout his name, which he says is Bull. He leers and says he hopes one of us ends up as his cellmate. I cringe, a combination of fear and disgust. I’ve heard stories about what goes on in jail, and I sure as hell don’t want to find out for myself.
His comment incites a couple of the other guys to join in. They look like members of a bikie gang or something. Tim calls for the duty officer and asks to be moved, but Sergeant O’Connell, who appears, just smiles. He says to get used to the company because, if we keep behaving the way we are, we’ll be spending a lot more time with people like them.
I don’t know how long we sit in that smelly cell, subjected to threats and innuendo, but it must be hours since we were brought in. We’re scared, hungry, and I’m sure Ian and Tim are wondering, like me, why our families haven’t come to bail us out. Isn’t that what’s is supposed to happen?
Finally, some time after Tim’s father turns up to collect him, Sergeant O’Connell calls my name. I give Ian an encouraging pat on the shoulder and, ignoring Bull’s parting taunts, leave that hellhole.
I’ve never been so grateful or pleased to see Dad. He, however, barely acknowledges me; his expression tells me I’m in a load of trouble. I try to apologize, but he cuts me off, telling me we’ll discuss it later. As I wait for my wallet, belt, and shoelaces to be returned, I remember, with a shiver, just how scared I’d been when they were taken from me.
The car ride home is silent and awkward. Mom’s waiting on the doorstep when we arrive, and it’s obvious she’s been crying. I feel lower than a snake’s belly when I meet her gaze. She wraps her arms around me, and I squeeze back tightly. “I… I’m sorry, Mom, I whisper, nearly choking on the lump in my throat as I gratefully accept her love.
“Go and shower, Adam. I’m about to serve dinner,” Mom says without acknowledging my apology. Cait, who’s also been crying, takes my hand as I make my way upstairs.
“Your face…” she touches my cheek. “You look awful, and you’re bleeding. What happened?”
“Not now,” I answer, sensing her watching me while I collect clean clothes.
“I’m okay,” I assure her. “It was just a little fight.”
“Adam, you were locked up!” Her eyes swim with tears.
“Just for a little while,” I say.
“But you were in jail—I don’t want my brother to be a criminal.”
“I’m not, I won’t be; it was just a stupid mistake.”
“Dad’s mad at you,” she says as if I don’t already know.
“I know.”
“You’re going to be grounded.”
“I know.”
“Well, at least then you won’t come home smelling like girl!” She twists her mouth into a grimace.
“Cait—”
“I’m not stupid, Adam,” she cuts me off.
“You’d better not—” I warn, concerned about how she knows about such things.
“Adam, hurry up. Don’t you think you’ve inconvenienced your mother enough for one day?” Dad asks from the doorway. Yep, he’s mad all right.
He makes me sweat that night and the next day before he calls me into his study after dinner. Mom’s already there and listens as Dad lectures me on how useless and dangerous fighting is. He threatens to take me down to the morgue to view the bodies of other stupid teenagers who’ve ended up there because of the same kind of reckless behavior. He says it’s not only reckless; it’s also criminal and asks how I felt sitting in that jail cell.
I don’t lie. I tell how scared I’d been, and also that I’d realized, while sitting there, just how stupid I’d been. Dad asks how we got into the fight, so I explain.
“Loyalty is something to be admired, but being blindly loyal is foolish, Adam. You can’t just follow your friends; you have to think for yourself, be your own person,” he says. I readily agree, telling him that I’ve reached that conclusion myself. I apologize to him and Mom once more. Dad’s eyes soften as I speak, and I’m grateful that they both still see some redeeming features in me.
“Son, you’re smart—smart beyond your years. Your mother and I don’t want to see you waste your life away. You need to think of the consequences, not only of your actions but also of those around you. Do you understand what I mean? You can’t adopt a pack mentality when you’re out with your friends. I don’t want to dictate you who you should be friends with, or stop you from seeing the boys you hang around with because they’re all good kids at heart, but stealing hubcaps is wrong. It’s a crime; don’t mistake it for some teenage prank. And fighting? It’s dangerous, stupid, and criminal. People who resort to violence do so because they can’t express their feelings or sort out differences like reasonable human beings. We expect so much more from you.”
“Tell me what’s really going on with you?” Mom asks. “You’re not getting into fights simply because your friends are.” I’m about to brush her off with my standard response of ‘nothing’s wrong’, but I owe my parents the truth.
“I don’t know, Mom. I’m just so angry all the time, and when that guy punched Ian, I saw red.
“I’m making an appointment for you to see Ariane. Your anger’s understandable—you’re a teenage boy battling hormones, and that’s unsettling enough, but you’re also struggling to come to terms with your past. You can’t do it on your own, sweetheart. You need help to channel your frustrations into the right areas.”
I open my mouth to object to therapy. “Don’t argue, Son, this isn’t a negotiation,” Dad intervenes. “You’re also grounded for a month. You’re to go to school and come straight home, no detours and no excuses. You can have friends over after two weeks, but no more than two at a time, and you’re not allowed outings. Is that clear?”
I accept my punishment; I know I’ve gotten off lightly. The next day at school, I learn that Alan’s been grounded for two weeks, while Ian and Matt get off lightly. They were each grounded for a week, lost their allowances—Matt for two weeks, and Ian for one.
Once my ban on having friends over is lifted, Matt spends a lot of time with me, even weekends. I expected him to go out with Ian, Alan, and his other friends, but he seems happy to hang out at home with me. Cait’s around all the time, too. I’ve repeatedly told her to leave us alone, find something else to do, but Matt surprises me, yet again, by saying he doesn’t mind her company. I notice that she blushes a lot around him, and he treats her with the kind of consideration he doesn’t even show the girls he dates. He must miss having a baby sister, I decide.
The worse thing about being grounded is that I don’t get to see Megan again. I’d been looking forward to the things she promised we’d do, but in the last week of my house arrest, Matt tells me she’s returned home. So, it’s back to my own hand, but now, at least, I have something real to fantasize about.
Chapter Six
‘Shhh…” Mommy says and pulls me close, but I still jump when the mean man bangs on the d
oor. I’m scared it will break. “I know you’re in there!” he shouts, and Mommy holds me tighter.
“He’ll go soon,” she whispers. She’s scared like me; I know because her hand on my tummy shakes.
The man says bad words—words Mommy told me I must never repeat even though I hear grown-ups use them. “I’ll be back!” he says, his voice so scary, it makes me shiver.
It’s quiet, but we stay behind the sofa for a long time before Mommy puts me down. She puts her finger to her lips and crawls to the door. She listens and then stands to look through the peephole.
Mommy turns back and smiles, but her eyes are sad. “It’s okay, Adam.” She picks me up and kisses my cheek. “I’ll have the money next week. We’ll be okay,” she says over and over.
“And were you?” Ariane asks, her voice pulling me back to the present.
“No. He came back with two others—one was the man responsible for Eleanor changing,” I say, scratching at a worn spot on the knee of my jeans. I sense her watching me, but I don’t look up. I’m tired of talking about this shit.
“And that’s your earliest memory of your mother?” she presses, her persistence really pissing me off now.
“No; I have other memories, but they’re not clear.” Eleanor smiling at me, cuddling me, how happy we were before she changed—but I don’t share that.
“How old were you at the time of that incident?”
“Around five… six maybe.”
“Adam, look at me,” Ariane says and waits silently when I don’t respond. I know she won’t give up, so I grudgingly do, hating that she’ll see how close I am to crying. Alan would call me a pussy. I’m seventeen; I should be over all of this by now, shouldn’t I? I have a family, a real family now, yet it doesn’t matter how happy they make me or how hard I try. My fucking memories keep pulling me back to that time.
“She loved you, Adam,” Ariane says as if it’s a fact, as if she’d know. How the hell would she? She wasn’t there; she didn’t feel what it was like being ignored, sent to bed hungry as her mother entertained men, when her mother’s eyes glazed over to the point where she lost sight of her child.