Scream Queen

by K T Morrison

  Chelsea said, “That’s how I pictured it. That’s why I was asking about you jerking off to me...”

  He laughed, and it came out a little more nervous and girlish than he’d expected. The sound made her laugh too. She said, “Relax, I just think you and I had something that never got explored but should have. I was asking because...” She paused, looked down to the driveway. “I did it a couple times thinking about you.” She turned her face to him again, blank and open.

  He stared at her, watched her eyes move up his body to meet his gaze. “Did you?”

  “A couple times I did.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I might’ve done it too...”

  “There’s that sweet honesty I would expect from Ben Todd. Too bad those high school days are gone, buddy boy.”

  “Uh-huh,” he mumbled, feeling a tightness in his chest that was making it hard to breathe. His cock had reached full hardness in his pants, and it seemed to catch up funny in his underwear. He ached to tug his pants and straighten it out. “No, those days are long gone. It’s too bad we’ll never know,” he said, nodded, his elbows on the balcony railing and looking out at the way the moonlight wavered on Lake Ontario.

  Her arm was touching his now, both of them with their elbows on the railing. Then her hip was against his, her thigh touching his as well. He stopped breathing, his eyes grew wider. There was no way this was even happening. Now she turned to face him while he still looked out over the view. Her hand caressed his arm, went down the small of his back, slipped inside the pocket of his cotton shorts. She turned her hand sideways, and through the thin material of his pocket, the hardness of her nails raked over his pubic pad. “Whoa, Chelsea…”

  But it was too late, her fingertips prodded his erect penis pointing her way. She said, “I thought so. I always knew Ben Todd would get good and hard for me.”

  With her fingers still touching his penis and sending an electric wildfire through his brainstem, he muttered, “Some of those guys didn’t?”

  “Steroids,” she said, “drinking too much, maybe deep down they were scared they couldn’t back up how great they bragged they would fuck me... I don’t know, whatever other reasons, they might only be able to fuck once a night. Twice if I was lucky. I figured Ben Todd could go all night long, that he might be a lover rather than a banger.”

  He nodded, trying hard to breathe without making a desperate sound that she would hear. His heartbeat pounded in his neck. He said, “I would have. I would have given one of my balls to fuck you all night.” Soon as he said the F word, he knew it was too far. That was something he shouldn’t have done. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “No, Ben. I like to hear you be honest.”

  “I would’ve done anything for you back then,” he said.

  “You should’ve gone for it,” she whispered, “or I should’ve...” She removed her hand from his pocket and he ached to have it back between his legs. He wasn’t even thinking straight, the pulse in his steel rod blotting out any moral sense he might have.

  “We, uh, should go back down...”

  “We should,” she said draggily, the way she ended her sentence leaving something hanging.

  “Shouldn’t we?”

  “We could go back down, Ben, or we could do what I want to do which is take that dick out and suck it.”

  “Oh, ho-ho, ho,” he coughed, almost folding in half hearing the erotic words from her. “I don’t...”

  Now she was facing him again, using her left hand to stroke at his stomach and then pat her palm over the hump of his erection.

  She said, “I want to feel how hard Ben Todd gets.”

  “I get hard,” he told her.

  “Take it out.”

  “I can’t...”

  She whispered, “I’ll do it...”

  5

  Chelsea’s hands moved between his legs and drew down his zipper. The sound was so loud all he could think was that Libby would hear it downstairs on the back deck even over top of her surfer rock music.

  “Chelsea...”

  “Just let it happen, Ben...”

  “We’re both married...”

  Now her hand was inside the open fly of his pants, weaving in underneath the front waistband of his shorts. He gasped as her fingertips snaked through his pubic hair.

  “Whoah, oh-ho, there it is,” she said as her grip—Chelsea fucking Cunningham’s god damn grip—went around his cock. Holy shit, he literally would have killed for her in high school, literally would have given one of his testicles to be with her… His hand came down, tugged a yawning opening in his fly and she pulled his dick out.

  “Yeah, I bet you could fuck me a dozen times in one night...”

  “I totally could,” he said, “I totally could,” his voice trailing off.

  Chelsea lowered, squatting down next to him. He pushed his hips back, she got between him and the balcony railing.

  “Oh, shit,” he sighed, feeling her mouth go over his cock and sink him inside her.

  He groaned, eyes closing, head coming down, feeling Chelsea bob up and down on him. Chelsea Cunningham was blowing him. It was un-fucking-believable. He sighed and panted, hearing Chelsea’s mouth sounds as she sucked his cock. The slurping, the blurted suction sounds as she drew her head back too far. But she was eager, sinking him back inside her mouth right away again, using her thumb and a finger to stroke him a little, her other hand slipping in and squeezing on his balls.

  He jerked and writhed with the insane and overpowering pleasure. Chelsea’s mouth was at the expert level, and he hadn’t had a blow job since he was nineteen, during the year-long gap when he and Lib took a break. That slick, greasy velvet feel, that tug of her mouth’s suction, the slip of her tongue...

  And in two minutes it was all over.

  “Oh, shit, oh, no, I’m gonna come,” he panted.

  Instead of pulling back, Chelsea Cunningham—the hottest girl in his high school!—bobbed faster and made happy humming sounds in her throat.

  “I’m going to come, mm, in your, mm-mouth,” he said.

  He heard her hum an Uh-huh and squeezed his balls again, harder.

  “Oh, God, oh, shit...” And it was done, he was ejaculating inside the prettiest girl in the whole town he grew up in. She snorted through her nose, drawing in long breaths as she drank everything he pulsed over her tongue. “Oh, God,” he grunted and coughed, “oh, God, oh, God, oh, God...”

  At last it was over and the awful whooshing roar in his ears waned. His dick was still in her mouth, she was still squatted down on her heels with her knees poked out on either side of his calves. Instant shame settled over him like a greasy food sickness. His stomach turned over, and the urge came to throw up onto the walk below their front door. “Oh, no,” he moaned.

  The wet ring of her lips slid the length of his shaft, getting him trembling. She kissed the very tip of his penis and giggled, gripped his belt to pull herself up to stand right in front of him. Now they were face-to-face and he could look in her eyes.

  “Hey,” she said taking her index finger and bringing his chin up. She looked deep in his eyes, said, “Our little secret.”

  “We shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Too late now, Ben. I hope you don’t have regrets because I sure don’t. Tell me something...”

  “What,” he said morosely.

  “If it was just you and me here right now would you take me in your bedroom?”

  “I’m married.”

  “Say we weren’t married—talk dirty to me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can, Ben. Tell me what I want to hear...”

  “What do you want to hear?...”

  “Tell me how you can go all night.” She draped her straight arms over his collar.

  “I could,” he said.

  “That’s so hot...”

  “I would. I could do it all night with you...”

  “Libby doesn’t do it like you want?”

  “I don
’t want to talk about Lib...”

  “Oh, don’t be sad. It’s just our little secret. I swear to God, Ben.”

  “It’s just between you and me?”

  “You and me. Our little secret. Something we should’ve done in high school but we just never got around to.”

  “I wish we did it in high school.”

  “I do too. Something tells me,” she said, a hand slinking down and grabbing his wet dick. “Yep, I knew it. You’re still hard.”

  “We should go downstairs.”

  “Yeah, we should. Too bad, too bad... if it was just me and you, say Libby went off to Vegas with her girlfriends, tell me you wouldn’t take me into your bedroom, fuck me till the sun was coming up.”

  “I would...”

  She slipped a ring of thumb and finger up and down his erection. “Say it.”

  “I’d fuck you till the sun comes up.”

  “Good. Good, Ben,” she said. “That’s enough. You’re right, we’re married.” She pushed his erection back into his underwear, zipped up his fly, cocking her head from side to side trying to get him to look at her, but he was afraid.

  “It wasn’t a mistake,” she whispered, patting the cotton hump of his erection. “But we should get back downstairs before our spouses suspect I’m up here sucking your cock.”

  6

  With Libby upstairs, Ben took care of the cleanup. After the last guests had departed, he escorted his pretty Libby to the stairs and told her he would take care of everything. Told her to go and have a bath, sit in some hot water. She looked at him like he was crazy, but it was such a good idea she couldn’t say no.

  The idea of being alone with her right now scared the shit out of him. Everything inside him was on fire.

  He’d cheated on his wife. He fucking loved Libby more than anything...

  He never ever was going to do that in his whole life, and that was one thing that he was sure of. He and Libby had been best friends since they were eight and boyfriend-girlfriend since they were fifteen. There was that one time just after high school in their first year of college he’d got a little crazy what with all the stress and they broke up for one year. He dated two other girls in that time, but he’d been miserable without the sweetness of his Lib. In that year-long break Libby did nothing but study and be a good girl—no other boys for his shy girl. Somewhere in that thirteen month long hiatus he realized what a piece of shit he was and what an awesome human being Libby was, and that he needed her desperately.

  Now here they were at the shoreline of troubled waters. And Libby had her back turned and had no idea how fast the current was thrashing. How had it come to this?

  He was bent over the counter, forearms resting on the lip of the sink, eyes on the drain plug under all that soapy gray water. He wanted to shrivel up and slide right into that sink, shrink down to Ant-man size, hop into the drain, swim deep till he got sucked down into the city sewage system. That was what he deserved. Libby was the sweetest girl on the planet, and she married a piece of shit. Piece of shit like every other guy out there that she feared. Ben Todd was supposed to be one of the good ones. Even Chelsea had said it—but look what happened.

  You were a good person until the right motivation came along. Like that hot girl from high school you pined for for years in that sick, feverish time where your sexuality was being hammered shape, plunged into the forge and hammered again and again.

  With a damp tea towel, he wiped his brow, hung it on the hook. He popped the plug and let the water go down the drain. The dishwasher was loaded and running, the bigger serving platters done by hand. All the empties sorted and put in their proper receptacles to be returned or to go out to recycling. Libby was upstairs still, probably in her bath, thinking what a great evening it had been. And even now with all this work done, he was frightened to go up and spend time with her; frightened to look her in the eyes.

  After his oral tryst with Chelsea Cunningham—Chelsea Slade—the two of them had finished their upstairs tour without looking at the bedroom, Chelsea getting ahead and going down the stairs, him following sheepishly behind. Out on the back deck, Libby was having fun. It ached in his heart to see her so oblivious to the bad that had just transpired. Because she was dancing with Finn and Gwendolyn, the three of them moving on now to a twisted Chubby Checker electronic remake, Finn showing her how to do some elaborate new-style mashed potato. Libby had her sleeves rolled up, her apron off, her cheeks were flushed with color, her eyes bright and lively.

  When she saw him coming, she put her arms out, and he joined her, not much of a dancer to begin with, the heavy weight on his heart made it impossible to get into it. He tossed himself into a lawn chair, brushed it off like he just had no rhythm. Truth was, he was dying inside. Chelsea had no chagrin. Taking a sip off a glass of wine, setting it down then joining in the dance party, getting behind her husband, kissing his neck and his ear as they danced together with Libby.

  Ben shut off the kitchen lights, trying to think of other ways to stall before going upstairs, but there was nothing left to do. He resigned himself, head hanging low, mounted the steps and went into their bedroom.

  Their en-suite bathroom door was open, and he passed through a wet fog of hot bathwater air. Libby was in their narrow walk-in closet wearing her bathrobe, her feet bare. He asked her how her bath was.

  She jumped like she didn’t hear him coming, her hand over her heart and then laughed. “You’re silent like a cat,” she said. “You can’t be serious—everything is cleaned up?”

  “Platters drying in the rack, the dishwasher’s on, food stored away... outdoors is tidy, doors locked...”

  “You are ah-mazing,” she sang in a little tune.

  It hurt him to see her so happy, not knowing that horrible thing that her husband had done tonight. He leaned on the doorjamb to watch her. It occurred to him that he could reveal the badness, but he was in no way ready for the devastation that would cause. Not just seeing the hurt that it would stab into his beloved wife, but knowing this evening would be wrecked, her probably packing her bags and leaving for the night, probably getting her sister to come pick her up to take her to stay with her or her parents. Or kicking him out. Telling him to get out, and him staying with his brother for a week until she was ready to talk. And Libby was straight-laced and by the book. Talking would mean it was most likely time to separate.

  Libby was selecting pajamas, and he watched his most favorite person in the world as she picked her cotton flannel PJ pants with the teddy bears on them. Always demure, she kept her robe on and put her legs through them with her back turned to him.

  Truth was, he didn’t have sex with Chelsea.

  Sure, what had happened would end a marriage. But like Chelsea said: it was their secret. The two of them could pretend that it happened in high school, not tonight when they were both twenty-five now and married. Chelsea said it was something that should’ve happened a long time ago. Maybe they could just pretend it was in the past. Or at least he could.

  Libby turned her chin over her shoulder, said, “Are you watching me get dressed?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Zoned out. You want me to leave?”

  She kind of smiled and gave him a funny face, said, “You don’t have to.” Then she dipped her shoulder down so she could get their eyes to meet. She said, “Is it all right if we don’t have sex tonight?”

  His eyebrows raised. He said, “I wasn’t standing here thinking that.”

  “It’s just... you’re watching me get changed.”

  “I was lost in thought, just thinking about tonight. No, we don’t have to. I like watching you...”

  “Well, that’s okay,” she laughed. “You can watch.”

  Now she shimmied out of her robe and let it fall to the floor. Her back was to him and he watched her shoulder blades and the slim muscles of her back work as she pulled a T-shirt over her head. He saw the creamy backside curves of her breasts as they swayed while she shrugged the T-shirt down and pulled i
t to her hips. Now she turned and faced him. Her nipples had hardened out humps in the pale cotton and his arms were out to receive her and hug before he even realized what was happening.

  How could he betray this angel?

  When they embraced the hurt came rolling back into his life. He did, he betrayed this beautiful and wonderful woman. He betrayed the most important person in his life. How could he ever make it up to her? Would telling her the truth make her life worse or better?

  He swayed with her and she asked, “Was I a good dancer tonight?”

  He laughed. “It was great to see you have fun.”

  “Chelsea’s husband Finn seems like a pretty good guy.”

  “You had fun with him?” Moving that conversational chess piece just opened him up to her counter move: did you have fun with Chelsea? And would he be able to lie if Libby confronted him?

  But she said, “I always thought Chelsea didn’t like me, but I have to say we had a pretty good time tonight, don’t you think?”

  “We did. I think we were excellent hosts.”

  “You were great on the barbecue.”

  “You were great with everything else, I mean it, Libby. I love you so much...”

  “Aww,” she cooed, pushed them apart so she could look in his eyes. He half-smiled and she darted a kiss to his lips. She said, “Would you rub my back?”

  “I’d be honored to rub your back, Libby. Hop on into bed.”

  Libby disappeared from the closet and he heard the bed squeaking. Then he took off his own things and threw them in the hamper. He turned his underwear right side out, worried that there would be stains visible. He would have to get on the laundry first thing in the morning.

  When he donned his PJs, he joined his wife in bed, found her sleepily on her stomach, arms folded up on the pillow, cheek resting on them. She had a happy smile on her face and he decided that he would have to keep what happened from her.

  It never, ever even happened…

  Part 2