Intermission

by Ashley Pullo

  I would want them to be harmless and helpful.

  “Hey, my friend’s cousin invited us. And dude, thanks, because in our small town of Stouffville, we can’t do shit,” I smirk.

  “Oh yeah, why’s that?” The red-head to the left asks.

  “Ah man, it sucks! My dad is the police chief and his dad is an attorney,” I nod back to Jeff, “and my other friend’s mom is the mayor.” I hear Tango snicker behind me so I move in front of him. “Great people to have on your side, but a shitty way to grow up, am I right?”

  I lock eyes with the owner of the house and there’s a brief pause of uncertainty, but then he smirks and elbows the guy next to him.

  “Shit! You fellas need to live a little. Come on in.” The guy opens the door and leads us in, announcing in sonic boom-range of our arrival. “Look what we found! Some virgins – get these guys some drinks.” He turns back around and faces me. “I’m Dylan – don’t fuck my girl and don’t fuck with my mom’s dishes. Are we cool?”

  “We’re cool,” I say firmly.

  “Alright then, put your keys in the bowl and get out of my face.” He turns back around to a group of girls dancing in the foyer. “Ladies, be careful with these three! They’re farm boys,” Dylan laughs.

  At least I got us in.

  And I better find out who the girlfriend is or Tango will naturally flock to her. I scan the room and study the party guests – it’s a typical house party with the movie-style cliques and shenanigans, but my process of surveying the people is entirely necessary and always accurate.

  Jeff bumps past me and staggers toward the kitchen, probably in search of the liquor, but everyone knows the good stuff is always in the backyard. I hold Tango back, hoping to remind him of the boundaries.

  Alright, here I go . . .

  The group of girls dancing in the foyer: wine coolers, similar hairstyles and clothing, and they practically drooled over Dylan. Incoming senior girls – single and willing to please.

  Two girls sitting on the couch with a photo album: not into the party scene. Not socializing with other people. They’re sitting comfortably on the sofa like they’ve been here before – possible girlfriends of Dylan’s thugs. I’ll come back to them.

  Three girls coming out of the kitchen with a bottle of wine: their speech is slurred and they’re stumbling through the crowd with wine glasses. The lushes. Perfect.

  “Tango, check out those girls.” I nudge him in his side and discreetly point to the three girls with the booze. “Don’t be a dick and have some fun.”

  “Ah yeah, you know it – my dick will be havin’ some fun.” Tango does his stupid white boy bounce and slides his hat backwards. One of these days he’s going to get his ass kicked and I kinda hope I’m there to watch.

  He talks a big game and he flirts with every girl he meets, but I know that he is 100% faithful to his girlfriend. And I know this because she’s 100% pregnant with his baby. Tango turned down his acceptance to Syracuse so he could stay in Buffalo and take care of things. He’s been such a fuckup most of his life that he’s finally trying to do the right thing . . . although he should’ve done the right thing on Prom Night.

  The music changes from that electronic dance shit to the drowning screams of Guns ’n Roses – I immediately search for a stereo with great taste. I walk toward the back of the house where a pool table is being used for anything but pool. Large doors open to a deck with a hot tub occupied by topless girls and horny spectators. I spot Jeff near a keg, smoking a cigarette and talking to a group of girls. Jeff is from a blue-collar family of six boys. He’s admittedly still a virgin, but he can charm the panties off any girl with his good boy personality. He looks in my direction and raises his cup and then continues chatting – my boys can take care of themselves.

  “Hey there! I’m Julie and this is Robin. Do you go to Northern?” Two pocket-sized girls bounce in front of me, nearly spilling their beer down my shorts. They’re both giggling as the blonde grabs onto my forearm. “So sorry, we’re a bit tipsy.”

  “That’s cool,” I smile. “I’m Adam and I don’t go to Northern.”

  “Oh? So you’re a Mustang?” The dark-haired one asks.

  “Sure,” I lie.

  “Do you want to go to the bathroom with us?” The blonde licks her lips and slides her hand under my shirt.

  “What happens in the bathroom?” I smirk.

  They both laugh as the brunette stretches on her toes to whisper in my ear. “We have blow.”

  “Ah, awesome,” I say. “Can I meet you there after I grab a beer?”

  The brunette takes my hand and places it on her hip. “Adam, bring whatever you want! We’re going to show you a real party,” she winks.

  I smile eagerly just to tease them. “I like real parties – meet ya in five?”

  The blonde cups my balls and I definitely like it, but these girls are all the same and there’s no fucking way I’m snorting coke off a bathroom counter. They eventually loosen their grasp and blow me kisses. I glance out the back door and Jeff is shaking his head with laughter. I shrug my shoulders and continue to look for the stereo.

  Appetite for Destruction flawlessly transitions into the Beastie Boys – now I’m on a quest to find the house DJ. I look past the pool table, and in a corner by the television, there’s a girl with a long braid flipping through pages of a CD book. She’s wearing a short denim skirt with a black t-shirt and no shoes – I can only see her backside but there’s no doubt that she’s hot and wants to be left alone. She drops to her knees, reaching into the bottom drawer of the television unit, and holding the attention of every guy in the room. Her skirt is inching higher with each movement until she finally plops on her ass and crosses her legs. I watch as all the guys in the room disappear. Interesting.

  “Hey country-fucker, you play pool?” Dylan bumps into me and puts his arm tightly around my neck. I could kick his preppy ass right here and now, but I’d rather do what I do best.

  “Nah, man.”

  “Figures. There’s a hot tub out back, a keg on the deck, pot in the garage and unfortunately, coke in the bathroom. But country-boy, there’s nothing for you in this room.” Dylan’s voice is curt and strong, but perception is never truth.

  I place my arm around his shoulder and nod once. “Right,” I say arrogantly. I twist my body to break free and walk straight out the front door.

  After a quick trip to my car to get what I need, I stroll confidently to the back room and casually glance at the stereo. She’s still sitting on the floor, flipping through books and shaking her bare foot against her leg. A game of beer pong has taken over the pool table and partiers flock from every room in the house to participate. I squeeze by two of Dylan’s boys, but they don’t seem to care who I am or what I’m about to do.

  When I reach her private corner, I squat next to her and slap the jewel case against my palm. “Here, play this.”

  Her head snaps to meet mine and the deep saturation of her eyes nearly knock me forward. They’re the color of the ocean--not really blue, but definitely not green--soothing yet playful. Her red lips curl into a feline smile as she looks me over, spending a little extra time on my mouth. The freckles along her face highlight her round cheek bones and studded nose ring. I follow the curve of her neck to the small tattoo of a compass rose hidden under her braid. She’s Dylan’s girlfriend.

  “Ah, the Toadies – I’ve heard of them.” She opens the case and lifts the CD. “You don’t like my current playlist?”

  “I do,” I say as I position myself against the wall. I stretch out my legs, brushing them against her ass and practically closing us off in our own private corner.

  “Do I know you?” She asks while removing the Beastie Boys and placing Rubberneck in the player. She shifts her body slightly to face me, but all I notice is her Nirvana t-shirt, stretched tightly across her huge tits.

  “Not yet.” I lean over her to adjust the bass, touching her thigh in the process.

  Her cheeks
blush as she tilts her head. “I – I like them. The Toadies.”

  “They opened for the Chili Peppers in Buffalo – they’re pretty intense. The bassist is a chick,” I add.

  “No shit?” She smiles. “What’s this song about?”

  I’ve heard different theories about the story behind Possum Kingdom – ranging from a serial killer to vampires hiding around a lake in Texas – but at its core, it’s a song of seduction. “I don’t know – a lake, a boathouse, forbidden sex? But that’s what’s cool about music, misinterpretations make better stories.”

  “Hmm, I’ve never thought of it that way.”

  Of course she hasn’t – I just told her.

  “Lyrics are screwed up all the time. Think about It’s the End of the World – everyone knows the chorus and LEONARD BERNSTEIN, but the verses are whatever you perceive them to be at that moment.”

  She laughs adorably and leans into me. “That’s true! My cousin and I are always arguing over the words.”

  “But it doesn’t make you like R.E.M. any less.” I place my hand on my leg to discreetly touch her arm. She leans in closer, her body welcoming my suggestions. “And this song, Possum Kingdom, the words become immediately irrelevant on that first guitar riff – and the tension continues to build with the pounding bass. Added to the fact that the bassist is a chick . . . this song is fucking hot.”

  She raises her eyebrows slightly – then smiles.

  “Do you live around here? I can’t believe we’ve never hung out.”

  “I’m from New York. My buddies and I drove up for the party.”

  “But isn’t it like the Fourth or something?” She looks confused and intrigued, but I never answer more than what’s necessary.

  “It’s the Fourth.” I laugh.

  She inches closer, bracing herself on her hand. My knee jerks toward her arm, brushing her soft skin and giving her goose bumps.

  “Are you going to university?”

  “Yep, I’m playing soccer for Penn State.”

  Her smile changes to a flirtatious smirk as her hand skims the bottom of my shorts. “You don’t ask a lot of questions. Usually guys ask a million stupid questions because they think girls like to talk,” she banters.

  I don’t need to ask her anything – whatever I haven’t figured out will be a genuine surprise. And for once, I’d like to be wrong.

  “I only have one.”

  “Then ask it,” she says.

  “What else is pierced?”

  And that did it.

  She parts her lips to speak, but then moves her hand to her stomach. I keep my eyes locked on hers as she slightly lifts her shirt. But I don’t look – I know it’s a belly button ring, but I focus on her face. Eighteen-year-old boys do not possess self-control, and what I’m doing right now, is blowing her mind.

  I jerk my body off the wall and dig in my shorts for my beeper. She watches me glance at the invisible number and I let out a sigh. “Hey, is there some place private I can make a phone call – like really quiet? It’s my mom, and if she finds out I’m in Canada, well, she’ll make my life a living hell,” I say calmly.

  “Oh! Oh. Um, well . . . yes,” she whispers. “Here, I have a key to the guestroom. It’s next to the bathroom – Dylan and I put all the valuable things in there before the party. Shit, can I trust you?” She teases.

  I take the key from her hand, stroking her palm in the exchange. “How about you keep the Toadies for collateral?” I rise from the floor and smile down at her. Damn, she looks amazing in that position – shit, and my dick likes it, too.

  “Deal,” she mouths.

  I make my way past the pool table, across the living room where I give Tango a ’sup, through the foyer with the guarded bowl of car keys and a sharp left to the infamous guest room. There’s a line forming at the bathroom, so I keep my head down and walk directly toward the only other door.

  At first the key doesn’t fit correctly in the doorknob, and the smallest spur of nervous excitement rushes through me. But then it opens. I close the door behind me and decide not to lock it – she won’t be long.

  The room is on the small side, with a desk and a sofa bed occupying most of the space. Like she said, everything of any value is stacked along a wall of bookcases filled to capacity with vinyl records. I turn on the small lamp and open the top drawer of the desk: calculator, magnifying glass, paperclips and Valium.

  I sit down on the couch just as the door opens. She closes and locks it behind her then slowly walks toward me. Her body is amazing – big boobs, small waist and the confidence of a woman. I open my legs further, inviting her to join me. She stops between my legs and places her hand on my head. My hands grab her hips and I lift her shirt with my mouth, taking my time to lick around her belly button and flicking her piercing with my tongue. She drops something near my foot, so I kick it out of the way while biting her waist.

  “Did you make your phone call?” She murmurs.

  “No,” I say into her stomach.

  I lift up her skirt and slide my hand down the outside of her panties. They’re moist and I know she doesn’t get this turned on by her dick of a boyfriend. I glance up at her and her eyes are closed tightly. “Hey,” I say. “Look at me.” I stand to address her, and she presses her chest against me. My hands squeeze her arms until she opens her eyes. Her lips part and I kiss her – soft at first, then deep and forceful.

  She tugs at my shorts then quickly clenches the fabric of her shirt. Our lips part as she lifts the t-shirt over her head. I watch her as she unhooks her black bra and drops it to the floor. Goddamn her tits are perfect – full and perky. “No,” I shake my head. “We’re doing this my way.” Having sex with another guy’s girl is not my thing – that’s best suited for assholes that need instant gratification. But having sex with a girl that truly needs it despite her relationship, well that’s just awesome.

  I push her to the desk with my hips, my hands cupping her breasts and my tongue licking her neck. She bumps into the hard edge and I quickly plant my hand on the surface to break our fall. My hips pin her against the edge, my cock restrained beneath layers of fabric, but still making enough contact to cause her to moan.

  “Tell me what you want,” she hums.

  My hands trail slowly up her side, sending chills through her body. She quivers as I clamp her nipples between my fingers, tugging gently. I can feel her heart pulsating beneath my palm and her shallow breathing penetrating my neck. She closes her eyes again so I place my hand on her chin and pull down her lip.

  “Open your eyes,” I snarl. She complies.

  My thumb parts her lips and I kiss her, slowly and methodically. I want her to feel new sensations and I want her to watch. My shirt is slowly lifted over my head, and I let her – I like when she responds to urges.

  I take a step back and toss my shirt to the floor. She unbuttons her skirt and shimmies it to her feet, carefully stepping out of it and then flinging it toward the couch. Her black cotton panties are simple but hot as fuck and I want to slide my hand in there—

  “Take your fucking shorts off,” she commands.

  Shit. She’s amazing.

  “I’ll take them off when you finger your pussy,” I retort.

  She wiggles onto the desk and smiles. I cross my arms and shake my head. She opens her legs and blows me a kiss. I sigh in dissatisfaction. She glides her hand down her stomach and into the black cotton. I remove my shorts.

  “Now let me see your dick,” she says.

  “Put your fingers in your mouth,” I reply.

  She spreads her legs further and removes her hand, slowly taking it to her nipple. I shrug my shoulders. She pinches her nipple and smiles in delight. I start to reach down for my shorts. She thrusts two fingers in her mouth and sucks dramatically. I lower my boxers.

  “Holy shit! Fuck me,” she says.

  “Suck me,” I demand.

  She throws back her head in laughter then hops off the desk. Her mouth curls into a lustful po
ut as she walks toward me – but our dynamic is playful and I’m allowing her to surprise me. She pauses to lower her panties and I laugh at my involuntary weakness – I would let her do anything.

  She lowers her head and strokes my cock. Her other hand brings my palm to her stomach, guiding it slowly toward her pussy. She looks up at me, her eyes wildly green and hungry while I slide two fingers inside her folds.

  “What’s your name?” She asks.

  Her hand leaves my cock and rests delicately on my hip. I can feel her tracing my scar so I thrust my fingers in deeper and watch her shudder in pleasure.

  “Adam,” I say as something crashes outside the room. Her head whips toward the door at the sound of screaming and cheering further down the hall.

  Oh shit! Fight!

  The cops!

  Where’s my bong?

  Who’s that?

  “Oh fuck, what’s going on?” She quickly puts on her panties and skirt and fidgets with her bra strap. I pull up my boxers and pick up my shorts then help her clasp the hooks of her bra.

  “We should stay here,” I suggest.

  I zip my shorts and grab my t-shirt – she frantically looks for her shirt. “I can’t! This is my house – I’m responsible for that shit out there.”

  I toss her the shirt and sit on the couch to put on my sneakers. “I thought this was Dylan’s house,” I say.

  “Yeah. Dylan is my little brother – do you have everything?” She looks confused and flustered but not as baffled as I’m feeling.

  I was wrong.

  She opens the door and looks back at me. “Sorry,” she says as she runs toward the living room. I follow behind her and immediately get pushed into a pile of angry, wrestling drunks.

  Knuckles slam against my stomach and my reflexes force me to pound someone’s face. Blood splatters onto my shirt and I’m pretty confident I broke the fucker’s nose. My stomach is throbbing, but I’m able to grab onto chair and stand myself up . . . only to be kicked in the back by a combat boot.

  “Cops!” Someone screams.