Sinder 1: Experimentation

by Jane Devreaux

  “Let’s go home honey.” She murmurs into my ear as if it was an indecent proposition.

  Suddenly I feel like she’s just opened a door and we are at last going to get down to business. Anything you want sweetheart. I’d follow you anywhere, even to hell.

  I jump up and stagger as I realize that the room is dangerously reeling. I hold on to her, certain that she’ll lead me to a quiet place where she’ll be all mine for the first time. I dive into her beautiful irises looking for the desire that has charmed my deadened senses, but there’s nothing. I’ve dreamt once more. Marcy doesn’t desire me, she doesn’t get this kind of feelings. Her horrified scream makes me jump:

  “But…you drank too much!”

  “Just a little bit.” I defend myself as my sticky tongue betrays me.

  “I’ll go find a driver for us.” She says while helping me to sit back on the stool at the bar.

  I watch her walk away and admire her butt moving graciously. Alcohol has the incredible power to dissipate all memories even the most unpleasant ones. Tomorrow I’ll most certainly have forgotten that I thought she could have even thought about taking the plunge. Steve stops her in her tracks grabbing her by the arm.

  “Go back with Lucy, I’ll take care of him.” He proposes.

  I see Marcy hesitate, her eyes going back and forth between Steve and myself, and then she accepts and leaves without a word. She hasn’t even said goodbye. She’s furious. She’s going to kill me once I get back on track, but for now I prefer to enjoy the euphoria of the moment.

  “We can start to enjoy ourselves now that the way’s clear.” Steve says wryly and adds some more whiskey to my almost empty glass.

  I observe his winner’s pretty face, his messy hair and his white too fitted shirt. How can Marcy trust him? I suppose one must have a vagina to understand.

  “By the way, not too freaky at the Rivers’ den?” Boby asks, as if the subject needed to be changed promptly.

  “It looks like she lives in a spec house”

  “Seriously? What about her folks?” he insists as if he found it interesting.

  “They weren’t there.”

  “We don’t give a shit about the rebel.” Steve declares leaving the table.

  I don’t have to check to know that he’s going on a chase now that Lucy went home. Nothing interests him beside of what can be found in his pants. Damn, I would like to be able to… not give a shit about the rebel! And my heart goes crazy every time I think about her naked body and her moans of pleasure. I really have a problem! Boby hits me on the shoulder as if to reassure me and I add some whiskey to my glass.

  I end up joining the others in the middle of the living room to dance. I think I’m moving, but it’s as if the others’ movements were provoking my own. The furniture, the decoration, the entire room are grooving in rhythm to a deafening rock.

  A little further I see Sandre dancing as if she’s had too much to drink too. I get closer to her, ignoring the absurdity of the situation and start throwing all the horrors she deserves to hear at her. She foolishly smiles at me as if I had just spoken in Chinese. Her hair is down and her full cheeks give her a friendly look. She looks so much less frightening like this. And suddenly I get it. Her eyes have lost their anger, they even look smaller.

  It’s not her!

  I move away horrified. I stumble over a guy no more stable than me. A couple bumps into me without noticing and I stumble before falling down. I thought I was going to end up on the floor, but the couch has been there to catch me, barely but still. How lucky! I can’t believe it!

  I look at the lights move on the ceiling and sip from my already empty glass. Suddenly I realize that I’m not alone. A girl I don’t know is slumped next to me, staring into space. She’s in the exact same state as me.

  No way! She’s a godsend. I give her a few nudges in the arm and she turns around as if it took a superhuman effort. She isn’t really pretty or maybe it’s the drunkenness that isn’t helping her. Her weird grey eyes look as if they were coming out of their sockets and her smeared makeup increases the bags under her eyes. Her mouth is a little too thin and all chapped, but her plunging neckline shows breasts to die for.

  “What do you say about going someplace quiet to make out?” I ask her using a voice I don’t recognize.

  My God, did I just say that?

  Her weird irises light up and I wonder if I don’t actually know her after all.

  “Yeah.” She grumbles as if she was about to puke.

  In the state we are in, it probably won’t be great, but still better than nothing. I grab her by the arm and lead her up the stairs to Boby’s bedroom. Halfway there she pushes me against the railing and shoves her tongue into my mouth with such a violence that I freeze. At that moment I find it disgusting. Looks like she wants me to throw up everything I’ve swallowed. And then I realize that I’ve wanted this for a long time and that I can’t wait like an idiot for her to finish cleaning my tonsils. I answer her ardor and grab her hips to take over control and push her against the wall that sways slightly. Her butt is less firm than Marcy’s, but it’s rather pleasant to touch, especially when there’s no hand there to stop me. I drag her to Boby’s room’s door without letting go of her lips and her ass that I pull against my overexcited dick.

  As we get to the destination at last, she stumbles, pushes me violently away and brings her hand to her mouth. At that moment, I think I’ve messed something up and that she’ll reject me, horrified, like Marcy always does. And I see her run to the already lit bathroom. A few seconds later, unappetizing growls come out of there and I understand. I collapse on the bed, nauseous; no way can I touch her after that.

  7 — Sandre

  On Sunday, I allow myself to sleep in before getting into a trimming session. At this moment I regret to have neglected this detail all winter. The wax strips tear painful screams from me and I’m really relieved when I only have my bikini left to take care of. This I’ve never done. I actually never go to the swimming pool so why torture myself for no reason.

  I searched the internet to get an idea and I was stunned. There are trends even for this, with various shapes: Basic, French, Brazilian, Full, Hollywood… as if it was of any importance there. I can’t possibly go to the beautician to have a trendy haircut.

  I get undressed and observe myself in the mirror. I find myself a little stupid with my tube of cream examining my parts. There’s hair coming from all directions, between my legs and even on my labia majora. I don’t know where to start nor how to spread the thing without putting it everywhere.

  In the end, I go get myself a towel and sit on the floor in front of the mirror, legs spread. I spread it on generously as indicated on the instructions and wait. I never thought I’d feel so ridiculous. And all this for what? So a guy can ogle my pussy. I’m sure they don’t even linger around there. And, maybe they do like hairs. Seriously, us girls always have to get all worked up. But now that I’ve basted everything, I’m not going to back out, especially since it doesn’t hurt at all.

  Once the time is over, I run to the shower. Well so to speak as I actually have to waddle off if I don’t want to get it on my legs on the way. Another big, ridiculously humiliating moment. Well the result is not that bad. There’s nothing left, it’s all smooth and it definitely looks better, even though I still don’t get the point of it.

  8 — Josh

  I haven’t opened my eyes yet, but I already know that this day’s gonna be hell. My mouth is furry, I have a hammer in my head and my limbs are too heavy to be moved effortlessly. The sun is pleasantly heating my back and I tell myself that I could as well stay in bed.

  The sun? It gets to my room only in late afternoon. I can’t have slept all day?

  I jump up and an excruciating pain pounds in my nape making me stumble to find my balance. I hesitate before opening my eyes again. Light reflects on every surface, painfully blinding me. I could use sunglasses. This room wants me dead!

  After a m
oment of hesitation, I decide to sit back. The bed is so low that I almost collapse. I massage my temples to try and motivate myself. I’ll have to check where I am eventually. I slowly open an eye with a grimace.

  Crap, Boby’s room!

  It means I didn’t get back home. My mother’s going to kill me! I feel my clothes looking for my cell phone. I run into it in one of my jeans’ back pockets. Two voicemails. I shudder thinking about my mother’s rage.

  I’m almost relieved when I discover that both are from Marcy.

  Marcy?

  Was she with me? Did I take her home?

  I wouldn’t bet on that. She frowns every time I drink a glass too many, so if I had taken her home, I’d remember it. Her messages must be hysterical. I’ll listen to them later. My head is in no shape to listen to her high pitched screams.

  I stagger to the door trying to figure out when I’ve lost it. I remember Elsa and Leo on the pool table, Marcy’s lecturing and Steve’s sarcasms and then it gets blurry. I must have gone too hard on the whiskey!

  Laughs come out of the kitchen. The living room is still in complete mess. The floor is sticky and the room smells of puke. There are empty plastic cups everywhere, the coffee table has disappeared and a bar stool has ended up on the couch. Chips are mixed with puke in an aquarium that has been fish free for a long time. Steve and Boby are filling up trash bags laughing. “Still alive?” Boby mocks me as he sees me on the doorstep.

  “Not for long, my mother’s gonna kill me.” I answer.

  “We took care of your mother! I would be more worried about Marcy if I was you.”

  Steve’s an idiot but I can count on him to hoodwink my parents. I never got how my mother could be eating out of his hand this way. She gets conned like all the others when Steve’s concerned. I wish I could have his talent.

  “Who drove Marcy home?” I finally ask, trying to pick up a crushed cup lying at my feet.

  I know I should be worried. I’ve never gotten myself into such a state and Marcy must have hated it. I don’t know why, but I don’t care. Maybe I’ve done it at last and therefore feel lighter. But it’s a little frustrating not to remember it. I try and put some order in my head when Steve brings me out of my thoughts:

  “…So, Sarah Miller?”

  Good God, Sarah Miller!

  I found a way to chose even worse than the rebel. I feel sick just imagining her junky’s breath and her little weasel eyes coming out of their orbits. And her ass! This girl looks like an Orangina bottle because of her monumental ass. I don’t know if I want to remember, but suddenly the images come back on their own. Her big tongue tickling the back of my throat, my hands kneading her huge buttocks as if I was making bread. My God! No, no!

  Actually I would rather not know. And then I remember the way she pushed me away and the horrible noise coming out of the bathroom. I didn’t do it? I didn’t do it! Shoot, I didn’t do it.

  Surprisingly, I’m relieved even though I’m still a shabby virgin who thinks only about it.

  The afternoon drags on with an unbearable slowness. I feel like somebody is having fun messing up behind us and to top it all, Steve and Boby’s laughs are grinding my head. I’m not even talking about the mop chore. I would like a hot shower and more than anything, my bed, but I prefer to wait a little more, to make sure I won’t run into my mother.

  Eventually, when I get back home, I’m alone there. My parents have left me a note on the fridge We are paying a visit to the Donnell’s. There is a meal for you in the microwave if you are hungry. I should have known, they’re always stuck at the Donnell’s or them at ours. Philip is my father’s best friend since they were kids and when I was a toddler, he spent several months with us. From what I know, he was depressed because of a relation he’d had with a married woman. Like you care! Well, since then, they have been inseparable.

  I take out the plate, beans/chicken/French fries. I’m sure it’s delicious, my mother is a very good cook, but I’m not sure my stomach will accept anything after what I put it through. I avoid smelling the sickening smell of food and take the plate to the garden and dump it in the hedge. I know my mother will have doubts if she sees I haven’t eaten and the neighborhood cats should appreciate the present.

  After a nice shower, I collapse on my bed and when my alarm goes off I feel like I haven’t slept. My headache’s almost gone, but I could use a few more hours of sleep. I cut short my mother’s questioning about my depraved weekend. She doesn’t suspect anything and I’d rather it stayed this way. And I still haven’t given up on my deflowering and don’t want another lecture.

  As I get to school, I find Marcy waiting for me on the parking lot. She’s opted for one of those gorgeous flimsy dresses that reveal just enough of her curves to die for. She’s gotten out of my head, but as I see her, irresistible as always, I wonder how such a thing could have happened. I want to feel her against my body, to snuggle up to her neck and kiss every visible inch of her skin. She’s perfect. Her hair is forbiddingly soft, her just enough soft lips, and her gorgeous…

  Her eyes are glaring at me! Crap, crap, I haven’t even listened to her voicemails and as I see the face she makes, I’d bet they were pretty coarse. Without thinking, I jump out of my ride and fall to her neck. If I want to avoid the storm, I need to step my game up. “Honey! How I’ve missed you! I’m lost without you. I really messed up, I don’t know what got into me. Please, forgive me. It will never happen again. I’ve been sick as hell. I was in too much a bad shape to call you back, but I never stopped thinking about you, I felt really bad about it. Really!”

  I pull my face away from her torrid body to check the effect of my tirade. I hope it works! I hope it works. Her eyes have regained some softness, but her perfect features are still emotionless. Her head is slightly tilted to the side which means she’s thinking. It’s not yet a victory but I’ve avoided the worst.

  “You’ve really disappointed me. I’ve spent a horrible weekend, thinking the worst things and if it was to happen again I swear I’d have to seriously reconsider our relationship.”

  Marcy has this surreal ability to say terrible things with an incredible softness. It’s a warning, but considering the number of times she’s almost seriously reconsidered our relationship, I really don’t have much to fear. Everything’s alright, it was almost too easy.

  “Baby, you know how much I love you, I’d never hurt you deliberately.”

  I have a terrible urge to let my hands wander under her skirt and my tongue slip in her mouth, but it’s not the time to rave, not after what I did to her on Saturday.

  That’s when Steve arrives in his huge ATV and his loud music. Lucy and her friend Deborah get out of it giggling and Marcy joins them and gives me a stop messing around look.

  “Don’t worry bro! Girls are unable to detect this kind of things.” Steve reassures me giving me a slap on the back.

  Steve thinks that I took the plunge with the fat Sarah. Just thinking about it makes me sick, but I prefer him to believe so. Maybe he’ll leave me alone?

  One can always dream.

  “When will you start telling?” He insists.

  “No way!” I answer.

  “I bet you don’t remember any of it?”

  “Some details I’d rather not remember.” I groan, chasing the disgusting images of her huge tongue in the back of my throat.

  “No wonder!” Steve says, sniggering while ogling my girlfriend’s bottom.

  This guy is the biggest sex maniac I know. It sucks, but if this guy is my friend, it’s partly because he makes me feel more normal.

  I can’t help it either to ogle her nice little butt and again, I have a terrible urge to launch another attack up to her panties. Maybe after classes? I really wished this idea could help me survive this day. I’m not in the best of shapes and the hours are going by with an unbearable slowness.

  I’m not even talking about the two hours of basketball, with this big hefty idiot who spends his time yelling like a moron.
Seriously, this is called a teacher? A torture.

  I have trouble catching the balls, the basket seems higher than usual and to top it all, the rebel plays right beside me. She always ends up on the bench. Her teacher can’t stand her brutal contacts and her lack of collaboration. I’m sure she does it on purpose to scare the newbies.

  Suddenly I feel like she’s observing me and my hand misses the ball as my knees collide. I collapse like a crippled idiot and I’m sure she’s laughing behind my back.

  “Oh God! Anderson, what is up with you today?” The teacher screams at me, but I’m not listening.

  I’m looking at this freak staring at me mockingly. This girl shouldn’t be unsettling me. She’s an embittered antisocial bitch. And then I realize that we’re supposed to meet this evening and the bit of courage I have left vanishes in the air. It’s really a crappy day!

  I try to think of a ploy to cancel, but I know I won’t be able to avoid it indefinitely. I need to raise my grades and I was kind of counting on this.

  I’m still searching for excuses as I get to her house. I wish Marcy would have held me back, had come up with any reason to keep me with her. She did all the opposite. She told me she thinks about my studies but I have the feeling she’s trying to keep me away. She’s a testosterone radar, every time my level goes up, she disappears. Right now, it never stops, yet I really didn’t have this in mind today, but I feel like my penis has taken over all control. And it has been getting worse and worse since the conversation with that nutcase.

  I’m about to knock when I remember Sandre’s words: “Your balls are on fire and you can’t think straight anymore.” I can’t set foot into this damn house again. I’m stupid, but not that much.