“You want it harder?” I asked, equally as rhetorically. “How’s this?” I pressed against his skin firmly, so that my knuckles were scraped by the loofa as I rubbed against him harder and harder and faster and faster.
“Not hard enough. Let me show you how it’s done,” he said, taking the loofa from my hands as if it were just candy from a baby. “Turn around.”
I turned, and he pressed against the small of my back with the loofa. “Now, touch the floor,” he said. I reached down as far as I could, and that was good enough for Jason. He pressed the rough sponge against my ankles and slowly shimmied up, the way he would with his lips when he was teasing me with the prospect of eating me out. Once he reached my upper thigh, he kept going, until he got to the small of my back, and then he rubbed in small circles, before making his way back to my upper thighs.
“You know what’s terrible about the shower, Becca?” he asked.
“What?”
I felt something that I would recognize anywhere hitting the top of my butt crack: the head of Jason’s cock. He slipped it down, past my starfish pucker, to my entrance, entering the tip and then pulling out before I could beg for more. “I can’t tell if you’re wet,” he growled.
“I am,” I said, turning my head, and getting up from the floor.
“I didn’t tell you to get up,” he said curtly. “I was only making an observation, not asking a question, but seeing as you want to not only test my patience, but be tested, answer me this, Becca: do you want this dick?”
“Jason, I—” I started, but he slapped my ass. Hard.
“It’s a yes or no question, Becca. Do you want this dick?”
“Yes,” I said, pressing back against his cock, but he pulled it away and reprimanded me with another ass slapping.
“I didn’t say to move. I just asked whether you wanted the dick. If you want it, you’ll be a good girl for me, Becca. You want to fuck a dirty man? You’re going to get fucked by a dirty man,” he promised, taking an ass cheek in each hand and spreading me apart firmly but gently, slipping his dick inside of me with ease.
Keeping the position was hard but having Jason’s cock throbbing inside of me was worth it. He pistoned in and out four times before removing his cock. “This won’t work,” he said with a sigh. “Get up.”
“Why not?” I asked, still bent over.
“First of all, I said get up. Secondly, I want to fuck you, not kill the both of us,” he said, still with his commanding voice, pulling me up and close to him, before turning so it was he who was under the shower. “Do you need to wash your hair? I know it’s harder because it’s a weave.”
“No, I did it yesterday,” I said, and it was true.
“Great. This shower can wait. It’s time to get dirtier, Becca,” he said as he motioned to the shower door. “Ladies first.”
I exited and waited for his lead. Jason took me by the hand and into the bedroom. “Lay on your side,” he ordered, and although I was confused, I did so. Jason curled my legs up, and, taking his cock in one hand, lifted my uppermost leg up with the other, pressing his cock in and then turning to lie so that we were spooning and fucking at the same time.
Jason moved his arm over my uppermost thigh and pressed his finger to the place our bodies met most intimately before stroking upwards to my pleasure nub, already exposing itself from its secret home and ready for Jason to work his own magic. He pressed down, his digit slick with our juices, and slid it gently back and forth, making me squirm with pleasure.
Jason didn’t stop, though, and I had to grab a pillow to stop myself from reaching up, shifting my legs so I was straddling Jason, and taking him. If I wanted Jason to remain control of the situation, I couldn’t interfere when he took charge. I’d already tested his authority in the shower, and although I was tempted to again, I loved the way that he was working my body, and I didn’t want to interfere with it.
I couldn’t stop my body from interfering, though, as I let out small involuntary gasps. Jason pressed his mouth onto my neck and sucked, hard enough that I knew I’d have to use concealer the next morning to cover the rough red welts he was forming beneath my yellowish brown skin. I felt my body start to buck and so did Jason. He took my thigh in one of his strong firm hands and as he continued to piston in and out of me, stopped my body from closing my legs involuntarily. It’d be fine if he was between me, but if my body did that now, it’d force his loins from mine and the moment would be ruined.
I exploded around Jason, my pleasure increased by the fact that finally, Jason had given me what I needed: an actual rough fucking, something as hard and as dirty as I’d imagined in my wildest fantasies.
Jason turned me over while he felt me climax, so I was on all fours and he was on his knees, behind me. Jason gave my ass a slap, hard. “How do you like that, bitch?” he growled. That’s when it hit me.
I knew he didn’t like that word, that he didn’t like calling me names, even jokingly. I knew that the way that Jason liked to have sex was closer to making love than to fucking. The fact he was fucking me this way, in a way that was supposed to be dominant and dirty and filthy, was because he wanted to make me happy. I’d already had my release, and now, I wanted Jason to have his, the kind that he deserved: the kind he wanted.
“Hey, baby?” I cooed.
“Y-yes?” he stuttered, trying to retain his hard demeanor, giving me a weak slap to the ass.
“Can we maybe do missionary, for a while?” I asked, innocently.
“Are you sure?” he asked, but I already was turning over. I pulled him in close, our chests touching, and pressed my mouth against his deeply.
Stroking his hair gently with just the tips of my fingers, their pads massaging his scalp gently, I whispered, “Yes, Jason, please.”
Jason’s thrusts became slower, and he didn’t have to act like the sex machine I knew he pretended to be for my pleasure. Although it was weird, I was the one that liked getting rammed as if I was a sex toy, whereas Jason had always wanted something more intimate and close, something tender and gentle. I wanted a release, he wanted a bonding experience, but there was no reason we couldn’t compromise, and do a damn good job at both.
I pulled Jason even closer to me, my hands reaching down from his hair to his firm, strong neck and then down to his shoulder blades, and I drew him into a hug. His arms, which he’d been using to stabilize himself, wrapped around my body the way my legs were wrapped around his waist. I only loosened my grip on him to kiss him gently on his cheeks, his neck, and finally, his mouth, before taking him in, close, once more.
I finally understood the appeal of this: why Jason enjoyed having something that involved the both of us showing our weaker, more vulnerable sides. Taking a dick was one thing, but giving a heart? That was another entirely.
When Jason finally released into me, the warmth was less intense than before, because I was just as hot as Jason, his body heating my own, and when he pulled out, I stayed in his arms, not bothering to get up and clean myself up like I usually did. I just wanted to stay inside the bubble of love formed by Jason’s arms.
“Hey, Jason?” I asked, turning over to face him from my position spooning him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders as he placed his hands on my waist again and pulled me closer.
“Yes, Becca dearest?” he asked, his normal voice back, as well as the boyish gleam in his eye.
“Thanks,” I said, giving him a quick peck before looking away, hoping he wouldn’t think I was being too emotional.
“I know that you’ve wanted that for a while and—-” he started, before I cut him off.
“No, I mean, for everything. For being my boyfriend. For making me so happy. I love you, Jason, I really do,” I said, and he pulled me even tighter, into a hug and in his warm, pale arms, I felt like I had found my home. He pulled away to give me a kiss on my forehead, a kiss that was warm and sweet, like a freshly baked cookie, before he shut off the light, took me in his arms once more, and we fell asleep, to m
eet again in our dreams.
Chapter Fifteen:
WHAT WOKE US UP IN THE MORNING WASN’T THE USUAL TOP 40 PLAYLIST, but a radio interview, from someone whose voice I knew all too well.
Keanne.
“So, Keanne, there’s rumors of you cheating on Lana Minashian with a young co-ed from the Los Angeles area, do you care to comment on this recent scandal?” asked the DJ.
“Well, I, uh, you see, that wasn’t what it looked like,” said Keanne.
“We have pictures, from a flight attendant who will remain anonymous, of you and an unknown young woman canoodling on a private airplane, with Lana nowhere in sight. Do you care to make a comment now?” continued the DJ.
“No, well, see, that was a personal assistant I was interviewing, and I’m a busy man with a busy schedule, so I interviewed her on a trip to New York which might have been a bad idea in retrospect,” he said, and I didn’t need to watch on TV to know he was lying through his teeth.
“So you and the young woman are not in cahoots?” asked the DJ.
“No, that was staged by the woman, you see, she’d grabbed my hand and told the flight attendant to take a picture, and I thought it was a joke, but apparently, it’s being used to beseech my good name,” rambled Keanne. “But just know that the only woman for me is Lana Minashian, love you five-ever, boo! That’s right, even more than for-ever, five-ever. And nobody’s got shit on that. I’d love you four-million-ever if I could, honey!”
By this time, both Jason and I were wide awake and he was just holding my hand tightly. “Do you want me to turn it off?” he asked, and once I nodded my head slowly, he turned the radio off.
“Jason, what am I going to do?” I whispered.
“It’s going to be okay, I swear it is, Becca. I can call my parents and ask them for advice.”
“I can’t make you do that, Jason,”
“It’s really no trouble, Becca. I love you and I want to protect you, but I can’t exactly beat up Keanne. Whatever we do, it’s going to have to be legal,” he said. “At least nobody knows it’s you, right?”
That’s where Jason was wrong.
I took a cab to class and although there were a few whisperers in class, taking surreptitious glances at me, I chalked it up to usual drama and gossip. I tried to ignore it, but it was hard because once class ended, the camera phones came out, and there were tons of strangers I didn’t even know trying to get pictures of me. It had been the wrong way to wear tight yoga pants, the wrong day to skip putting on makeup.
In the hallway, I saw three girls whisper, and as I passed by, one of the girls pushed against me with her shoulder, which she jutted out on purpose.
“Uh, excuse me, do I know you?” I asked, turning to give her a glare.
“Uh, excuse me, do I know you?” she repeated, saying it in a high pitched voice and adding a giggle at the end. Her friends laughed and gave her a high five.
“Excuse me?”
“Excuse me?” said one of the other girls, again, using a mocking tone. They continued to laugh.
“Whatever,” I said, walking away.
“Whatever!” shouted the girls together. They weren’t the only ones that laughed, and more camera phones came out. I’m sure somebody probably got a video of me arguing with the girls, but I wasn’t about to start Googling myself to find out everything that people were saying about me. It was a waste of my time and it wouldn’t serve a purpose. Who cared if random people on the Internet, who had never met me, were making judgments about me?
What was worse was how I was being treated by people who were supposedly part of a “community” with me, people who had seen me in the halls before or at parties or socials, and now, just because a piece of news had gone viral, treated me like I was an exhibit for them to poke at and take pictures of.
Was this really what it had come down to? Harassment and hazing based on the fact that a celebrity had started a rumor about me that wasn’t true, because they needed someone to take the fall? Where was the “strong”, “united” community that had been advertised when I was applying to colleges? Where was the “code of conduct” now?
This wasn’t what I’d wanted it or what I asked for, but was it what I deserved?
I knew what I had to do. I hadn’t meant to get Jason involved in this, and although right now, his name was out of the media, I knew that if he was linked to me, he could get unwanted attention to and that could affect his future. He hadn’t made the mistake I had, of trying to live the high roller lifestyle with a celebrity. His mistakes had been easier to brush under the rug, but something like this? The rumors of me and Keanne had spread like wildfire and it wasn’t going to be long until somebody spoke up and linked me to Jason.
As I exited the building, I expected maybe a few more students with cell phone cameras that were going to try and get rich (or at least make enough to pay off their student loans) by selling pictures of me. I didn’t expect reporters with microphones and cameras pointed at my face. I put my hoodie up and walked silently but strongly up to a security guard.
“Can you help me?” I asked. “These reporters are harassing me.”
“Sorry, no can do,” he said, looking away. “Freedom of the press.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, pleadingly, but he didn’t look back at me. I knew if I said anything to the reporters, they’d get it twisted, so I made my way to the administrative building and then down to my dean’s office. I waited for fifteen minutes until he was finally free and could see me.
He explained that the school was not pleased with the attention I was getting because the reporters were an obstruction on campus. There wasn’t a lot they could do about it, but hopefully, things would die down by graduation, which would be in two weeks, after finals were over. In the meantime, I could take my classes with my professors via Skype, have a proctor for exams in a private location, and minimize my time spent on campus. It wasn’t perfect and it was far from ideal, but it was the best they could offer.
As soon as I left the building, I was swamped my more reporters and more students that wanted to get pictures of me. A few students tried to talk to reporters but they weren’t interested: while I was still on campus, I was still a target. I went back inside the building to figure out what to do.
That’s when I saw the last person I wanted to see: Kim. She came up to me and before she could say anything, I told her, “Get away.”
“I heard about what happened. I know it’s not you, you wouldn’t do that, ever. And I know the reporters are here for you. I can get you out of the building,” said Kim, ignoring my order. I looked at her, and her face was free of any signs of treachery.
“Why?”
“Because that’s what friends do,” said Kim. “Come with me.” She started walking to the bathroom and I followed.
“We’re going to switch hoodies,” she said, unzipping her surprisingly plain grey hoodie and trading it with me, taking my bright pink terry hoodie. “I can mail it back to you but basically, if I leave the building in your hoodie, they’ll follow me and you can leave afterwards. They won’t suspect a thing.”
“Kim, why are you really doing this?” I asked as we traded sweaters.
“It’s the right thing to do,” she said, zipping up the hoodie.
“Since when did that matter?” I started to ask, but she already was racing out, hood up, and out the doors. I never got an answer, but what I got was a chance to escape. As Kim sprinted across the quad in my hoodie, the reporters followed her, thinking she was me, and when there was nobody left, I started to walk out of the building too, in the opposite direction, and then walking faster and faster, until I was in full jogging mode. I sprinted off into the largest crowd I could find, not stopping until I was sure that there were no reporters following me. I hailed a cab and made my way to the apartment.
Jason deserved better than me. He didn’t need to be tangled up in a fight that wasn’t even his fight. He didn’t need drama. He’d been so nice to me,
the last thing I wanted to do was hurt him. I knew that if I did what I was planning, he’d be devastated, but at least he wouldn’t be ruined. I couldn’t let that happen to him. His heart could heal, but his reputation? That was harder to mend, and I didn’t want to destroy the life he’d been building for himself. He hadn’t been the one that took a risk, that had taken a job like the one I’d taken with Keanne. My mistakes were mine, and though I knew Jason would take the fall with me, that he’d take a thousand falls a thousand times over, I knew I couldn’t live with myself if he did.
When I got back to the apartment, I packed a duffle and left a note for Jason on the fridge.
Jason,
It took me too long to realize that I love you.
That’s the reason I can’t be with you anymore.
It’s not your fault and it’s not mine, but you were born into a world that I thought I wanted to be part of, but now, want to escape. I don’t want to be a Beverly Hills girl anymore. I’ve lost my sense of self, and I’m not a person I’m proud to be anymore. I don’t know what I can do, but I can promise I’ll try not to do anything stupid.
I’m so sorry,
Becca
And then? I went home.
Chapter Sixteen:
THERE WAS ONE PLACE I KNEW I COULD ALWAYS GO. As soon as I knocked on my parent’s door, I thought about what I’d tell them, what excuse I’d give them. It didn’t end up mattering.
My mom sat me down in the kitchen as she made us a cup of tea. Luckily, it was her day off from work, or else I would have come home to an empty house and, knowing me, would have tried to hide under the covers in my room, which was still the way I’d left it when I’d last been home to visit, over Christmas vacation. My parents wouldn’t have known I was home until I’d inevitably come out once I smelled my dad’s cooking.
My parents hadn’t heard the radio interview or seen the celebrity gossip on television. They weren’t into that side of So Cal, the side that was full of glitz, glamour, and the sort of conspicuous consumption they were against. It had been hard to convince them I should go to UCBH over Wesleyan back when I’d applied to college, precisely for that reason: they were worried that crossing over to the wrong side of the tracks, the side which cared more about what was in the tabloids than what was in the New York Times, would turn me into someone that I wouldn’t like. For that same reason, they’d been against me being in Omega Mu Gamma, and the only way I’d been able to convince them to let me attend UCBH was because I’d said that “connections” would be helpful and that I’d visit home often (I hadn’t). I’d told then that I wouldn’t change, that school would come first, and that Omega House was just for the resume, so I’d have an easy extracurricular, and that it wouldn’t change me (it had).
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