Perfectly Good White Boy

by Carrie Mesrobian

  “Okay,” I said. But I’d never done a relay in a meet, and doing them in practice always made me nervous. The baton especially; my hands would sweat and I thought I’d drop it. Still, I got up and started shaking out my calves a little, not that I wanted to do that, but just that everyone else did that, so it seemed like the right thing to do.

  Then I found out that I was the anchor on the thing, which was even weirder. Usually they put one of the scrawny fast-as-hell kids on that part, but I wasn’t going to go up to Gretchen and say, “Hey, I’m your slow-as-fuck lump, remember? Why, exactly, am I closing this race out?”

  So the race started and I waited and waited and it seemed like it would never be my turn but finally the baton smacked into my hand, I felt it and didn’t see it, which was strange but made it easier to not drop it, and it was like holding a stick of dynamite, I guess, because then it was almost too fast for me to even think. I couldn’t get to where I wanted to be in reality fast enough; it was almost like I was still back waiting, even though when I looked to my left, I was in a dead heat with this kid next to me and I was like, fuck. This can’t be happening.

  But then I saw the finish and when I whipped my head to the side the kid wasn’t there. And when I hit the finish, the whole team was all over me and Gretchen hugged me. Everyone crazy and yelling and happy. My body was all sparking, too, like it sometimes did in the middle of a longer run, when my mind would finally stop, and then I looked over in the bleachers and saw Neecie, walking along between the seats, not looking at me but just watching where her feet were going and even though she must have missed the relay, I didn’t care, because she was wearing a little pink skirt, white tank top, pink bra straps sticking out, her hair long and shiny, and I kept hoping she’d turn, and finally she did, but then Gretchen was calling us over for the little coach speech part and I got tugged along to listen to all the junk about uniforms and great job and the end-of-the-season banquet and whatever.

  I could barely listen. I worried that Neecie would leave before I could talk to her. Stood there jiggling my leg up and down and being annoyed. Finally everyone dribbled off to the locker room to shower and stuff.

  I put my gear in my bag, and looked for Neecie. Saw Neecie’s head, all shiny yellow in the sun. She was walking the opposite direction, by herself. And even though Eddie was talking to me, I said, “Hang on, I forgot something,” and doubled back to the bleachers.

  I grabbed her by the shoulder and she turned around, startled, and then she smiled.

  “Sean . . .?”

  I just kind of shuttled her body toward me. She wasn’t expecting it; neither was I, really. She dropped her bag with a big clunk and made a little noise, like “Oh!” in this tiny high voice, something like a bunny rabbit would make, if bunny rabbits could talk, and she smelled like her nice cake smell, and her mouth was partway open, in a perfect lipstick commercial pucker. So then obviously I kissed her. No tongue, though. And no tongue from her, either, until a minute later, when she opened her mouth more and her tongue was soft against mine and I wanted to laugh, it was so great, but then my water bottle hanging in the net of my bag squirted everywhere and we almost fell over and to steady us, my hand went on her ass. Which was perfect. Her ass, I mean. But then I realized what I’d done, that I’d grabbed her like a total animal, all without saying one word.

  I pulled back from her. She can see my mouth, I thought. She can tell what I’m saying. So say something. Even if it’s just Sorry.

  She didn’t give me much time to think; she just smiled again, like she was thinking of something funny, and she kissed me again, her hand slipping around my sweaty neck. I probably reeked, but I didn’t care. I shrugged off my track bag, too, the water bottle now spilling everywhere, but I just kept at it. Smashed her against me, kind of rougher than I meant to, her hair all over the place and getting stuck between our mouths, making her laugh and sweep it away and it was insane and good and why hadn’t we done this before?

  Someone honked and yelled something, and Neecie pulled back from me. She’d been standing on her tiptoes the whole time. She looked down, her long hair covering her face, and I watched the cars in the distance, recognizing them as guys from the team, feeling weird about it. But proud. But happy.

  “What are you doing now?” she asked. Completely calm.

  “Going home, I guess,” I said.

  “Is anyone at your house?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I’ll come with you,” she said. In that same calm way, like nothing had just happened. Like now we were going to do something casual and normal where all our clothes stayed on.

  Twenty minutes later, I was out of my track gear but had skipped the shower and now was in half-wet clothes because of the water bottle spilling everywhere and I was driving home with Neecie in my rearview mirror, her Blazer sounding loud as hell, and my knees felt all jittery and weird and I didn’t know what I’d gone and done with Neecie except I wanted to go and do it again.

  Once in my house, we were all cool and casual again. Neecie looked at Krista’s latest wedding junk on the table, a big pile of pictures of her and Brad when they were little, and I set my relay ribbon down on the kitchen counter and swigged a bunch of orange juice from the fridge. Then I didn’t know what to do.

  “You should take a shower,” she said.

  “Yeah,” I said. Not getting what the point of that was. Was it sexual? Or was she dismissing me? Did I smell that bad?

  But I just dumped my junk in my room and got into the shower. Washed up everything good besides The Horn. Which wouldn’t completely deflate, the dumbass. Even when I wrapped my idiot Pokémon towel around myself. So, I brushed my teeth, took care of a zit on my chin, waited a few more minutes. Thought about guns. Thought about carnations. Thought about being in Brad’s wedding. Then it was mostly gone.

  In my room, Neecie was sitting on my bed, her little pink skirt poofing around her thighs. I could hear the little drips of water from my hair on the carpet. I wondered if she could hear them, too.

  “Nice towel,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  We stared at each other for a long, uncomfortable time.

  Finally she stood up and said, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  I was next to her in less than a second. “Yes.”

  She hadn’t even touched me, and The Horn, it popped up like toast. Fuck.

  Then we kissed again. Her hands were shy on my chest, but mine went straight under her tank top, started shoving it up and when she lifted up her arms over her head, like she perfectly understood what I wanted without having to talk, no rules or routines, it was so goddamn great that I felt like I kind of wanted to marry her.

  Her bra was pink and shiny, so smooth, and her boobs were just little tiny things, but they were perfect for her, for her body and its size. I couldn’t imagine anything else on her. I couldn’t think of a way to tell her this that wouldn’t make her feel shitty, though, so I just tried to show her, once I got her bra off, how I couldn’t get enough of them, and that led to just wanting, of course, more nakedness in general, and I shoved down her skirt and she easily stepped out of her flip-flops and stood there in her panties, which weren’t panties, but a pink thong, the same material as her bra. Hallie never wore thongs; she said they were sleazy. I thought they were sleazy too. Sleazy . . . and excellent.

  “Jesus,” I said, my hands everywhere. I was like a goddamn animal. “You’re so . . . god! Fuck.”

  She laughed. “Eloquent,” she said.

  I tipped her over on the bed, then, because I couldn’t help it and she unwrapped my towel and The Horn was between us for real now, mashing against her thong, and then we kissed again for a long time and everything felt really, really good. So good.

  My hand hovered up around her belly like I couldn’t decide what do. I kept kissing her, and then she pushed my hand lower, until it was all the way down there.

  “Is that all right?” I said.

&nb
sp; “It’s fine,” she said. In that same bunny rabbit tone. It was perfect. She was perfect.

  After a while of touching like that, I felt like I might come all over her damn leg so I rolled off her and we just stared at the ceiling for a while. Her hair tickled my face. One hand tucked right into the hollow of my chest, as if it was meant to do that, like that was the point of the cave-in, for Neecie Albertson’s hand to hang out there. Her other hand was on my stomach, all casual and relaxed, just above my dick hair, and it took a lot of concentration to chill the hell out about that particular fact.

  “You always wear thongs?” I asked. Blurting.

  “It depends,” she said, “on what other clothes I wear. Sometimes you won’t want things to see through, like red under a white skirt or something. Or if your jeans are low-rise or really tight or whatever.”

  “So why would you wear a thong under a skirt?”

  “Because it’s hot out and there’s no air-conditioning in our crappy school.”

  “Jesus,” I said. Because this changed how I’d look at girls in skirts forever. “Does every girl do that?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Ivy sometimes doesn’t wear under wear at all.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Well, not if she wears a skirt or anything. But with low-rise jeans, you practically have to wax . . .” she explained, then stopped. “Wait. Why do you care about this?”

  “It’s my continuing mission to understand people better,” I said.

  She rolled to her side. “By people, you mean girls?”

  “Why? Is this a big secret girl conspiracy? You can’t tell any guys?”

  “No. But it’s funny you’re curious. I guess I thought this was all common knowledge.”

  “I don’t have any sisters,” I said. “What do you expect me to do? Ask my mom?”

  She laughed. “Why are we talking about undies?”

  “You call them ‘undies’?”

  “What do you call them?”

  “Thongs,” I said. “Panties.”

  “Panties, eww,” she said. “Don’t say ‘panties.’ You sound like my grandmother. When does your mom come home?”

  “Thursdays are her late day,” I said. “Usually after seven or so.”

  She rolled onto her back, then. “Do you really want to have sex, Sean?” she asked.

  I pushed up on one elbow, so she could see my face. The clock on my nightstand said 6:38. When I looked back at her, she was looking direct at me, waiting for an answer.

  “Yeah, I really do,” I said, running my hand over her belly and her boobs. Her nipples twitched in a way that was both a giant turn-on and cute that same bunny rabbit way too. My hand kept roaming everywhere, and her skin was all reddish and rashy, from neck to belly, and she had goose bumps all over but her eyes were shut and she didn’t say anything.

  After a million billion years, she opened her eyes and said, “You seem worried. Is that why you stopped?”

  “I just didn’t want to come on your leg,” I admitted, dipping my head into her neck so I didn’t have to face her.

  “That was thoughtful,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice. So we started kissing again, and her hand reached for my dick and it was awesome, how soft and slow she was, touching me, touching it like it was this amazing thing she couldn’t get enough of.

  And then I had to do it, just had to. Slid down from her mouth to her neck and her boobs and down her belly until I was there. Right there. And just when you’d expect everything to speed up, me being me and The Horn and all, now everything slowed down. Like the opposite of running the relay.

  I held her ass in both hands, like something breakable, precious, and slid her thong down her thighs and calves and flung it behind me like a slingshot into outer space. Pressed open her knees, ducked my head down between them.

  And instead of freaking out and telling me to stop like Hallie always did, Neecie just let me.

  And it was fucking awesome. I thought, Nothing else is like this. Nothing else in the world.

  But when she was super still, I got worried. Like she’d be like Hallie that first time we’d done it, all tense and strange. But then her thighs started trembling and it was so great, even though I hadn’t been sure if I was working it right. Because, actually? I didn’t even care. I loved it too much. Every part of it. Listening to her breathing. Feeling the way her stomach was clutching up. Hearing her make a few sounds, the little bunny rabbit kind, then louder, and after a while she was saying words, exactly what I couldn’t make out, because I was too busy and what did they matter as long as they weren’t stop or no?

  Finally, it seemed like she was trying to twist up and away from me, but I held on until she said my name—Sean!, in this kind of whisper, and the thrill of that, of her knees locking and my name like an emergency, that was what mattered, that was the point of everything in the whole world just then and possibly ever.

  When she finally opened her eyes at me, she laughed, all out of breath, but she looked so happy anyway and she said, “I think we’re ready, Sean.”

  And so I got up and got out a condom from my sock drawer and started ripping into it, standing by the bed as she sat up next to me, and I felt a little embarrassed of how much of me she could see in full daylight. But then Neecie was all involved, and she kept saying things:

  “Hold still!” and “You’re being a dork!” and “Your bed smells like chlorine. Bleach. I’m getting all rashy. Look, it’s all over my shoulders. Is it on my back?”

  Her voice was lazy, sexy, even, but she was just her normal Neecie-self. Even if she was holding my dick and looking at it straight, like it didn’t bother her. Just kept talking, kept her eyes on it, like it was all a big huge turn-on and not upsetting in any way. I thought I might die, I couldn’t wait. We’d rolled the thing on me and then she grabbed my ass (“Come here! You have such a bony ass!”) pushed me toward her, so I was above her, stretched over her and she kissed me, right on my chest, not the caved-in hollow, but around my collarbone.

  “This is weird,” she said. “But I think it’ll be good. Don’t you?” She smiled, and before I could answer her, I heard the kitchen door open and slam and my mom’s keys clanked on the counter and she called out not just my name, but Neecie’s too.

  We didn’t move. My eyes were on the door like it might open any second. Neecie pulled the sheet around herself and we stared at each other, listening to my mom moving around in the kitchen: the cupboards opening and closing, the dishwasher door banging down where it was missing a hinge, the radio news station she liked buzzing away.

  Then my mom called down: “You and Neecie want some dinner, honey?”

  Neecie shook her head. Looked panicked. “No, Sean. Don’t say anything!”

  But I just yelled back, “Sure, Mom. We’ll be up in a little bit.”

  “Sean!”

  “She knows we’re here,” I said. “But she doesn’t think anything. And if she did, she’s not gonna care. I stayed out all night that one time and I told her I was with you and she didn’t even care about that.”

  She nodded. Then she looked at the wall. And I just laid on my back now, looked at the ceiling. My hand was on her thigh and The Horn was totally gone.

  Leaving. Never coming back.

  Neecie sat up, her hands over her boobs.

  “Sean, I need to go home.”

  I nodded. Stared at her body. She was so pretty, Neecie. All of her. I touched her shoulder where it was sort of red and blotchy and she twitched a little.

  “Sean. I mean, I’m sorry, but this is totally weird.”

  “Yeah,” I said. She slipped over me, and we both got out of bed to get dressed. When her back was turned I took off the condom, which was kind of terrible, if you’ve ever done that, taking off a condom when you haven’t even gotten off. Kind of like ripping a Band-Aid off your dick.

  “Ouch!” I said, louder than I could help. Neecie smirked at me, put on her shoes. Then she kissed my cheek and
ran upstairs. I put on clean boxers and then sat down on the bed. Listened to her talk to my mom. My mom laughing at something she said. They talked some more, about the track meet—“Sean’s pretty tired, he won the relay”—and then I heard the door open and shut and her car start and my mom’s kitchen noises started back up.

  I was exhausted. I laid back on the bed, half awake, half asleep.

  I thought about it, for the first time, what it would be like, being Neecie’s boyfriend. We could get an apartment or something. Live together. Somehow she’d go to college and do her thing, be smart and nerdy, and I’d go to the grocery store and buy her cases of her weird iced tea and special order that laundry soap she had to use for her skin thing, which her mother said they made in this place in Vermont, and it was genetic, so maybe our kids would get all red in the face, too, and we’d have kids so I’d need a job, something good, not the Thrift Bin, but something. Maybe work with Brad, trimming trees? Though I’d never trimmed trees and I hated working with Brad. Or maybe Grandpa Chuck could hook me up with something—he had lots of friends who owned businesses and shit. And we’d bring Otis to live with us, too, because kids need a dog for when they are lonely or sad or scared, they need a dog for company, for when they come in the door and to sleep on the end of their beds, even if they did hog all the room, the bigger you got. Otis would for sure live with us. I couldn’t leave Otis.

  Which made me think: I hadn’t seen Otis all day. Hadn’t heard him when Mom came in.

  I threw on some pants and my shoes and pounded upstairs. Mom wasn’t in the kitchen. I called for Otis.

  Nothing.

  I opened the back door, to the deck. Hollered again and flipped on the outside light. There was Otis, standing all weird, looking cringey and shaky in front of the back deck steps, like he wasn’t sure how to climb steps or something.

  “Sean?” Mom was behind me. “What . . .?” Then she saw Otis and stopped talking.

  “He’s hurt, maybe,” I said. Bent low, slapped my knees to call him. “Otis, come here, boy.”

  He just stood there, looking like he might tip over. Whining a little, too, a sound he hadn’t made since he’d been a little puppy.