by Nicole Fox
She stands with her back arched, pushing her breasts out, biting her lip as she looks down at me. “Tell me what to do,” she whispers.
“Turn around. Slide down your shorts. Bend over. Slowly.”
She nods, letting out a relieved breath. She doesn’t want to take the lead, and that’s fine with me now that I know she really wants it. She does like I ask, turning and bending at the hip, pushing her tight ass out and pulling down her shorts. Her ass is even better naked, round, almost like it was made to be grabbed while I have my dick inside of her. She bends all the way forward, flashing me her bright pink pussy. I stand up, hand rubbing the outside of my jeans, on the edge of not being able to control myself.
She bends all the way over, propping her hands on the arms of the chair, and sticks her ass out. I walk forward, unbuckling my jeans as I go, and then stand right behind her with my jeans around my ankles. I smooth my hand over her ass. It’s the tightest, smoothest ass I’ve ever touched, and one-hundred times sexier than any other for being Allison’s ass.
“Do you like it when I stick it out like this?” she whispers, sticking it out so that her ass cheeks rub against my cock.
“Fuck, yeah.” I grind my cock in between her ass cheeks, pressing them together.
“I’m so wet,” she mutters. “I—I want it hard, Granite. Take me. Fucking take me.”
This is the woman I saw in the gun store; that’s the thought that comes to me again and again as I grab my cock and guide it to her pussy. I press my helmet inside of her. She’s right. She feels like a hot fist, grabbing me, loosening only slowly as I push deeper and deeper. She moans lightly, her body twitching here and there, and then I drive all the way inside of her and hold it like that for a few moments.
“You’re so fucking big,” she moans. “Oh God, you’re big.”
I start to fuck her slowly, sliding out and in and waiting for her pussy to get loose enough so I can unleash myself on her. My whole body is shaking with the effort of holding myself back. She pushes against me, her ass cheeks crushing flat against my abs. It’s so fuckin’ hot, the way she lets out a breath each time my cock goes back into her.
Then warmth floods her pussy, stroking my cock, her pussy opening for me.
“Fuck me!” she cries. “Fuck me hard!”
I don’t need to be asked twice. I grab her ass cheeks and drill into her, losing myself in the madness of it. Her ass is so tight—the way it bounces—the way she moans—the way her fingers grip the arms of the chair, clawing as though she’s trying to hold on but can’t. She lets out a moan and white cum spills onto my cock, grinding up it and into her asshole, the dirtiest, sexiest goddamn thing there is. I fall into her, pressing her against the chair, pounding her so hard my balls hurt, and then it’s too much. I can’t take it anymore. I feel like there are a hundred buzzing insects inside my cock, moving around it, tingling.
I cum inside of her hard, the tip of my cock exploding, my body seized with the feeling: that one moment where nothing exists apart from her ass, her moaning.
Then I fall onto the couch, panting.
She looks over her shoulder and smiles at me.
Chapter Twelve
Allison
“So you can see me, then!” Emma tosses her hair and hands at the same time, a movement that she must practice in the mirror to get it this perfect. She stands on my porch in almost total darkness. It’s near midnight and Granite is long gone. “I was starting to think that I’d become a ghost. Maybe this was Sixth Sense and you were that little kid with the fake glasses. Right? Because what else am I supposed to think when you don’t call me for a week? Oh, I bet you were very happy that we had different shifts this week, weren’t you? At least you didn’t have to see me! Well, are you going to invite me in?”
I’m tired and my body aches, but I know she won’t give up. She has that look about her. She’s a soldier now, and this is her war. “Come on in,” I say.
She charges in, almost knocking me off my feet. “I can’t say I love what you’ve done with your hair. I know we women are supposed to compliment each other no matter what. Just like when my hairdresser messed up and made me look like a caveman, right? To be honest with you, I consider that courtesy one due to friends, not girls who don’t even call!”
“All right, Emma.” I’m still a little drunk from the beers and more than a little drunk from the sex. I place my hand on her shoulder. “You’re here now, aren’t you? You don’t have to rant at me about it.”
“Rant, she says!” She tuts, shaking her head so fast I’m afraid it might fly away from her shoulders. “Is that what you think? That I’m ranting?”
“Do you know what time it is?” I ask her as we go into the living room.
She paces to the corner like she owns the place and switches on the lamp. “This is the only time I can fly the coop without causing a disaster. That’s what time it is.” She glances at the coffee table, where five beer bottles sit, and then at the floor, where my pink panties lay in a bundle. “Well, well, well.” She taps her forefinger against her chin like a detective. “It looks to me like somebody’s had an interesting evening.” She sniffs the air. “A very interesting evening.”
“Okay. There’s no need to be disgusting.”
She paces around the coffee table. “Shall I ask you where it’s safe to sit or shall I take my chances?”
“Take the armchair,” I tell her.
She looks at me under fake eyelashes almost an inch long, tips her head back, and then drops onto the far end of the couch. “I’m not falling for your tricks.”
“You are aware that I’m a fully grown woman, aren’t you?” I call from the kitchen as I get us both a glass of water. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need a babysitter.”
When I return to the living room, she has her arms crossed and her eyes are like chips of coal. “I never claimed to be your babysitter, did I? Or did I say that? I certainly don’t remember saying it, but then I guess you’re a better judge of what I said than I am, aren’t you?”
I hand her the water and sit down on the armchair, which she’s right about; it does still smell of sex. I fold my legs, place my hands on my knee, and lift my chin. “So, my dear Emma, how may I help you today? You know I am absolutely thrilled that you decided to just show up at midnight. Shall we play charades? Have a few cocktails? Gossip about the office?”
“Wow.” She adjusts herself on the couch, sitting even more upright if that is possible. “I don’t like being mocked, Allison. But I get the point. Fine. I’ll stop ranting at you, but you have to agree to stop blocking me out.”
“What do you want to know?”
“For one, why does it smell like a porno shoot in here?”
“How many porno shoots have you been to, Emma? I’m starting to wonder if you’re the woman I befriended all those years ago …”
“You had sex,” she states, unflinching.
“Let’s pretend that I did, just for a second. And then let’s ask ourselves that if I did, why would you care? What stake would you have in it? Why would it matter to you? If I had sex, does that fix world hunger? Does it make everybody rich?”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha.” She slaps her knee. “You are on fire this evening. It doesn’t matter to me. Of course it doesn’t. But it also smells of oil and whisky and cigarettes in here, and the last time I checked, you don’t smoke and you don’t drink whisky. And there’s a motorcycle out front. And you’ve cut your hair. If you’re going to look me in the face and tell me that nothing’s going on, you’re going to lie to me. That’s all. And it’s fine if you want to lie to me. Really, it is. It just isn’t the sort of friendship I thought we had. But if I was wrong … then, fine, I’ll deal with that.” She drops her gaze, Drama Queen Supreme. “I get it.”
“You don’t have to be so dramatic about it,” I say. “It’s like you’re saying we can’t be friends if I don’t divulge every detail about my sex life.”
“So you did have sex then?
” She leaps on it. “And it was with that biker, wasn’t it, the one you called the handsomest man you’ve ever seen? By the way, I still don’t think that that’s a word.”
“It is.” I think quickly. I can please her—and get her to leave me to sleep—without giving the whole game away. Half-truths are better than full lies, surely. So I give her a half story, tell her I ran into him at the gun store when I was looking into firing ranges, and we got talking, and we came back here and had wild, animal sex.
“Wow,” she says. “That’s really something. That’s just crazy.” A small smile touches her lips. She leans forward. This is what she lives for. Gossiping, chatting, cocktailing. “How do you feel about it?”
“Do you really have to do the whole therapy thing?” But I’m smiling. I can’t help it. It’s too much like being a teenager again, talking about boys with the other weird non-cheerleader girls under the rafters, giggling about a kiss or something more.
Emma snaps her fingers, pointing at the smile as though it is proof. Which it is, I guess. “Don’t play that game with me. You want to talk about this. You need to learn something, doll; you might be able to lie to everybody else. You might be able to lie to yourself. But you will never be able to lie to me.”
“Are you God now?”
“No. I’m much more important than that. I’m a cougar.”
We both giggle, the idea is so silly. Then she asks me how I feel about it again.
“I don’t know how I feel,” I answer, honestly. “It all happened so fast. It was like—I was definitely into it. Really into it. It was probably—no, not probably, it was the best sex I’ve ever had.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Who says there is one?”
“You do. You tell me it’s the best sex you’ve ever had and also that you don’t know how you feel about it. If that isn’t a problem then I don’t know what is.”
“It’s just …” I can’t tell her the whole story: that I don’t know how I feel because I’m not sure what we are, exactly. He made a suggestive comment about helping him and I took the hint, then he bent me over and we fucked like dogs. It was steamy and sexy, sure, but that doesn’t mean that that sort of interaction isn’t new to me. Was it a transaction? Something more, something less? It wasn’t coercion, I know that for sure, but if I were to tell Emma the whole story would she feel the same? I don’t have anything to compare it to because none of my past relationships have been like this.
“Allison!” she snaps. “Are you aware that it’s rude to sit there with your mouth hanging open when you’re in the middle of a conversation?”
“You really do know how to play the bossy mother, don’t you?”
“Are you going to tell me …”
“I don’t know him that well,” I say, deciding on another half-truth. I don’t know him that well, true, but that isn’t the only reason I’m confused. “How am I supposed to feel when I’ve just had sex with a stranger?”
“I used to do it all the time in college.” She throws it out there casually, as she often does with character-shattering news, like the time she nonchalantly told me she’d tried cocaine. “I used to go out and find a guy I liked the look of and bring him back to my dorm and bounce on him like a pogo-stick!”
“You are a beast,” I tell her. “A monster. An animal.”
“I never felt bad afterwards, but I guess I never felt good, either. For me it was just a pleasure thing. There was nothing else there. For them it was the same too. You know what college boys are like. But that was just physical. You don’t look like a girl who’s in it just for the physical.”
“We’re going out together tomorrow,” I admit.
“Oh, now it comes out …” She smiles like a torturer exacting her pound of flesh. “A meal?”
“Yes,” I lie. Really he’s taking me to a shooting range and then he’s going to teach me how to ride better, but a meal works well enough.
“So it’s developing into quite the relationship then,” she says, drumming her fingers on the arm of the couch. “Allison and … Wait, what’s his name?”
“Granite,” I say.
“Granite.” She pauses. “Granite.” She draws it out. “Granite.” She steeples her fingers. “What kind of a name is Granite?”
“I don’t know. It’s his name.”
“Does that seem normal to you?”
“I guess not. But I didn’t give it much thought until just now.”
“Somebody introduces himself to you as Granite and you don’t bat an eyelid? What if somebody called himself Gravel? Would that be fine with you, too?”
“It’s getting late, Emma.” I nod at the clock. “It’s past midnight.”
“Is that your subtle and tactful way of asking me to leave before you can explain to me the depths of your conflicted emotions?” She takes a gasping breath. “I want you to know something before you kick me out. If you really care about this man, you shouldn’t let him see you as the girl he bends over and fucks. I know. I’m sorry for being so blunt about it. But men are hardwired a certain way. When they have a girl they can just take anytime they want, they lose interest quickly. I know, I know.” She places her hand over her heart. “It’s sexist and old-fashioned and mean. I understand. But it’s also the truth.”
“I don’t agree,” I say, though my voice isn’t as strong as I’d like.
“Okay. Then ask yourself this question. If you knew a guy who you just used for sex—every time you wanted him, he came running; every time you wanted him gone afterwards, he left—would you marry him? I’m just saying. If you care, be aware.”
“What a lovely rhyme. But I really am tired now.”
I escort her to the front door, say goodbye a dozen times—amidst promises to stay in touch—and then go upstairs and fall into bed.
“If you care, be aware,” I mutter.
It doesn’t sound as stupid as I’d like it to.
Chapter Thirteen
Granite
“You can’t tell me this ain’t no different to a club girl and then blush like a schoolboy when I ask you if you’re going to see her again. That’s not how it works.” Ranger flicks ash onto the tarmac as he paces up and down in front of my bike. He is smiling in the shadows of his Stetson. “When I was getting ready for my first date with Maria, I was more nervous than I’ve ever been in my life, and that includes becoming a pledge of the club—and leaving it, in fact. My belly hurt. My chest was tight. Everything moved really fast. I was a wreck.”
“Good for you,” I say. “But it’s not like I ain’t used to stressful situations.”
“But you want to woo this lady,” he points out. “Don’t you?”
“I reckon that’s a strange thing to say in 2018, but it might be I do.”
“But you’re scared.”
“Goddamn, Ranger. I ain’t scared.” I step on a soda can with my boot, crushing it. The sound is like a gun reloading. “I don’t get scared. If I can face down five men on my own, meeting with a lady ain’t gonna scare me.”
“If only it was that simple!” He tosses his cigarette to the ground and lights another one. “It should be. I’ll agree with that. You should be able to say that since you can do some manly shit, women shouldn’t scare you. And yet, they do.”
“There’s only one thing that’s—not scaring me, you overdramatic fuck—but makin’ me question stuff a little bit. And by the way, this ain’t a date.”
“It is. But we can agree to disagree. All right, then, what’s making you ‘question stuff’?”
I look up at the sky, at a flock of birds darting between clouds, and then toward the diner, where a mother of two walks by with a stroller for one kid and the other clinging to her leg. I look down at my tattooed fingers on the handlebar of my bike. Then I sigh. “You know I find it hard talking about this shit. But here it is. We fucked last night and I’m not sure if it would’ve happened if I wasn’t helping her. I don’t know if she woulda just gotten down l
ike that otherwise. And now I don’t know how to act when I meet with her, ’cause I don’t want it to be like with the club girls, like they’ll do whatever I want just ’cause of who I am. I know this sounds … not like me, but I want her to—I can’t say it, man.”
“You want her to like you for you.”
I spit onto the ground, click my neck from side to side. “I reckon part of me just died.
“Don’t be so dramatic all the time. You don’t have to be an outlaw every second of every day of your life.”