Me and My Boi Page 10

  Watching Shawn lose focus and then reform herself, slowly restoring the arrangement of muscles that had gone wayward in search of pleasure, Darla wondered about the images that had ruled for so long in both their sex lives. Were these newest selves also their truest selves?

  Shawn blinked up at Darla, an old, sweet vulnerability in her dark eyes now. “Damn, baby, that was hot. We’ve got to do more.”

  The warmth that spread through Darla’s chest as they smiled at each other laid her questions to rest. She wasn’t afraid to change if she had to—she’d been through so many transformations that had cost her, and come out in this moment, alive and satisfied. Shawn, too, could face and survive a metamorphosis. She touched her fingers to Shawn’s lips and hoped they could find a way to keep changing together.

  WHAT I’M MADE OF

  Kyle Jones

  We worked at a sandwich shop together. I was eighteen and fresh out of high school; she was a little older. From day one, I was completely infatuated with her and she knew it, teasing and tormenting me through every shift. She flirted in a way that left wet spots in my khakis. She was that good.”

  I had been talking to a friend about past loves and it wasn’t until near the end of the conversation that this one ex-lover in particular had come to mind. I’d put a lid over those memories for a long time, sealing off the pain and confusion I’d associated with her. As I unpacked that period of my life, what I found was not the bitter pain I’d been guarding against, but memories sweetened by time, a story I could finally savor and share.

  The first time I saw her, during the orientation tour behind the counter, she was facing away, adding ice to the salad bar. I was supposed to be following the manager, but instead I followed her curves with my eyes. She turned around, caught me looking and winked. Oh crap, I thought, I’m in trouble. It was a very knowing wink, one that stopped me dead in my tracks and made me blush for the first of a million times. Meanwhile, the manager was going on about the equipment and supplies and my responsibilities. It took a lot of effort to wrench my attention back to the seven varieties of bread, which I needed to memorize before the start of my second shift. Once he’d finished showing me around, he introduced me to her and told me to follow her lead—she’d teach me everything I needed to know.

  I didn’t have a clue how prophetic that statement would ultimately be. She took me under her wing as a sandwich maker, showing me the ropes and instructing me in the specific quirks of our many regulars. This instruction was liberally spiced with double entendres and not-so-accidental touches that made me squirm and blush. It wasn’t long before she had me completely wrapped around her little finger.

  I was always eager to please, jumping at any chance to impress her, willing to do anything so she’d smile at me or say something flirty and appreciative. She wasn’t twenty-one yet, but she had friends who were and sometimes, when we were closing together, she’d pull out a couple of beers to share. I’d get all fuzzy headed and goofy and she’d sit on my lap and tease the short hairs at the back of my neck and call me her “cute little butchy butch.” I was such a goner. If anybody else had called me that, I’d have given him or her a look from hell, but she could say anything and I’d always react as if she’d given me the highest compliment.

  I remember hearing about boyfriends, or “boy friends” (she always corrected me). She didn’t seem serious about any of them, and there was a new one every couple of weeks. She’d occasionally hint about having past experience with girls, too, and would encourage me to tell her about my ex-girlfriends. My stories, very bland in comparison to hers, were a source of great amusement for her, if her laughter was any indication.

  One night, after regaling me with stories of her latest fling and how she’d kicked him to the curb, she grabbed me by the belt buckle and pushed me up against the door of the walk-in freezer.

  “So…you have plans tonight, Butch?” She said “Butch” in a sweet, sexy purr that made my heart thump wildly and my face blush neon red. When she put her hand on my cheek, my knees almost buckled. It was a moment I’d fantasized about and I’d always imagined being so smooth, but instead my words stumbled out, “Oh, uh-um, nothin’ much, I don’t think, uh, how about you?”

  Her eyes narrowed to a predator’s gaze. “Nothing much, huh? Well then, we should do something. Together.” The last word was less like a suggestion than an order. Or a threat. “Let’s close up early.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, or, more likely, she took my dumbstruck look as “Yes,” and began going through the closing procedures. I stood in shock for a second or two, considering the implications of what I’d just heard and hoping I wasn’t mistaken. Was she inviting me on a date? Was I gonna get some tonight? With her! She caught my eye and raised an eyebrow. I shook off my shock and began wiping tables and emptying trash cans before she could change her mind.

  Twenty minutes later, she pulled the car into a spot overlooking the lake. I had a feeling she’d known the light was out at this end of the parking lot. She leaned back and sighed, looking across the lake, where the moonlight was pooling. I stared at her breasts, mesmerized by the way they moved under her thin tank top, captivated by the exposed skin of her shoulders and collarbones. She turned back to me and took my hand, placing it on one breast. I exhaled with a groan, expressing the pent-up desire I’d been stifling for months. She chuckled, low and dark, looking at me from under her eyelashes. I squeezed her lightly, still unsure that this was actually happening and not just an elaborate tease. She pressed against my hand and smiled wickedly.

  Her fingers stroked my cheek, then trailed down my neck and across my chest, her palm coming to rest like a warm ember over my heart. I sighed deeply, relaxing into her touch, eyes half-shut. I was startled when she pulled away and opened her door.

  “Come on, Butch, join me in the backseat. I wanna see what you’re made of.”

  I’ve never felt that same electric shock of anticipation and pure terror in any encounter I’ve had since that moment. I’d been with other girls before, but always ones about as experienced as I was, which is to say, not very. I knew the basics of having sex with a girl, but she was nothing like any of them, except in the strictest biological sense. Her experience and confidence intimidated the hell out of me. I was terrified I’d do something wrong, and at the same time beside myself with excitement over having a chance with her.

  I nearly fell out of the car in my haste. She laughed and pulled me into the back so fast I landed across her in an ungainly heap. So far I wasn’t very impressed with myself and I was sure she’d change her mind at any moment, realizing the foolhardiness of her impulsive choice. Lucky for me, she didn’t seem turned off by my clumsiness.

  She wrapped one arm around my shoulder and brought my face close to hers. I almost lost my limited cool right there, looking into her eyes, her lips open and moist. Fortunately, even in a situation of extreme nervousness with a gorgeous woman, I can manage a kiss. And damn, damn, damn…I’ll never forget her lips, full and firm but giving in at just the right moments. Her tongue teasing and tormenting mine until it followed hers. I have no idea how much time we spent just making out, but it was glorious and I was in no hurry to get to the next base.

  She was a bit more motivated, judging by the way she broke our lip-lock, pressed me back against the seat and straddled my lap. We were still fully clothed but I could feel the heat of her mound as it pressed against mine. I reached around, grabbing her ass, pulling her more firmly against me. She sucked on my neck and ears as we rocked against each other, occasionally visiting my mouth for deep, searing kisses. When she wasn’t pressing her lips against mine, or moaning, there was a steady stream of dirty words coming out of her mouth that both impressed and encouraged me. I lifted my pelvis a little more, grabbed her ass and held her tightly against me. She gasped, rubbing even faster, pressing against my clit and bringing me to the brink of orgasm in seconds. I groaned from deep in my belly, a counterpoint to her higher cry of pleasure.<
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  She slid over into the seat next to me and we both took a moment to catch our breath. “Mmmm, that was a good ride, Butch. I sure hope you’ve got more in the tank, ’cause I’m not through with you.” She reached between my legs and gave me a squeeze. “You’re not done, are you?”

  I smiled. If there’s one thing I’d learned in the few sexual relationships I’d had, it was that “done” wasn’t in my body’s vocabulary. I reached over to stroke her through the thin fabric of her chinos, wet with the telltale results of her climax.

  “I don’t know this word done.” I was feeling confident and high. “Can you show me what you mean?”

  She laughed, delighted by my response and, possibly, my cockiness. What followed were several rounds of us showing off our best moves and a few others we improvised on the spot. If you’ve ever had sex in the backseat of a compact car, you’ll remember how inconveniently placed the door handles are, and the way seat belt buckles can impale your backside, and the way you can’t straighten your legs or figure out where your feet are supposed to go. In the moment, though, the only parts of my body I was aware of were the ones she was touching.

  At one point, despite the impossibly cramped space, she went down on me. I do not, to this day, know where she put the rest of her body, but when her tongue lapped my clit, I ceased worrying about it. It felt like someone had connected a live electrical wire directly to my veins. I practically levitated off the car seat. And though I wasn’t necessarily done, I needed a moment afterward to pause and take it all in. She looked up at me with a big, proud grin.

  “You liked that a lot, didn’t ya, Butch?”

  “Oh my god, oh my god, what…how…?”

  Laughing, she pulled herself up to my face and kissed me. “So you want to know what I did?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Stick out your tongue.”

  “Uh, what?”

  “Stick out your tongue and I’ll show you what I was doing.”

  I did as I was told. She flicked the tip of her tongue upward against mine, like plucking a guitar string, and continued, flicking rapidly, then slowing down and circling the tip. My clit throbbed with the memory of it. She began to stroke my tongue with hers, and then swept around the circle of my lips. I groaned, pressing my hips against her where she was perched on my lap. She gave me a full kiss, her tongue wrapping itself around mine, teasing it back out of my mouth. She pressed her lips around the tip of my tongue and sucked on it, occasionally flicking the underside. I groaned and grabbed her hips, thrusting hard against her. She responded by taking more of my tongue into her mouth and grinding herself against me. I came hard and loud, banging my fist against the back of the passenger seat, my voice partially muffled against her mouth.

  We were out until the first rosy blush of dawn began to show against the horizon. When I finally dropped myself into bed, I was simultaneously exhilarated and exhausted to my very bones. I skipped my morning classes, sleeping until my roommate woke me up by playing her crappy music too loud, somewhere in the vicinity of noon. I was still groggy, eyes full of sand and brain feeling like mush, when I remembered the night before and, with a jolt, remembered she and I would be working together again that night. Adrenaline straightened me up better than coffee and I went through the rest of my day in a horny daze.

  The weeks and months that followed are mostly a blur in my memory. I didn’t sleep much and there were a lot of late nights. I looked for any opportunity to work the closing shift with her, trading with others and taking doubles if someone called in sick. She continued to tutor me in the fine art of pleasuring a woman as we toured the county, finding interesting and out-of-the-way places to have sex in her car.

  As amazingly skilled as she was with her tongue, she was even better with her fingers. On one occasion, after she’d reduced me to a spent husk struggling to regain my breath, I asked her, “What was that? How did you do that?”

  “Uh-huh, you liked that, I could tell. You nearly broke my hand when you came.” She moved up my body to rest her head on my shoulder, and held her hand out as if she were going to do a shadow puppet show. “I had my thumb in your ass, like this.” She wiggled her thumb and my ass clenched in response. “And I had two fingers in your cunt, like this.” She made a running in place motion with her first and second fingers and I clenched even harder. “But before that, I had my thumb circling your clit, like this.” She switched her hand position and her thumb circled a spot in the air. My clit throbbed and I moaned. “And my fingers were stroking your G-spot, like this.” More running in place motions and I lifted my hips and pulled her thigh down between my legs and rutted until I’d come again.

  As I collapsed a second time, she laughed, kissing my chest. “Oh my god, Butch, you are so easy. You’re so much fun to play with.”

  At work, she was still shamelessly flirting with everyone, coworkers and customers alike. And when we were alone, she’d pull me into the back, out of sight. She’d push me up against a wall or the dishwasher and grind against my thigh, then slide her fingers between us and press them against the seam of my pants. We became experts in coming quickly and quietly. We almost got caught once, when a regular customer came in a little later than usual and poked his head around the corner, calling out to see if anyone was around. At the sound of his voice, I turned away quickly and reached up as if to get a can of olives and she hustled out to make his sandwich.

  She only invited me to her apartment a few times, when her roommate was away. My dorm room was cramped and I shared it with a loud, obnoxious roommate, so I didn’t criticize the arrangement. Her car became our refuge, a comfortable cocoon, shielding us from prying eyes and the cold night air.

  After months of being pulled into dark corners and kissed until I was breathless, I finally got the nerve to return the favor. She was getting stock in the back room when I came up from behind, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her tightly against me. My voice was suave and confident in her ear. “Hey, hot stuff, let’s close early and go see what I’m made of.” It was my attempt at being sexy and hot and everything she had been for me. She turned, looked me up and down in an appraising way, noting my cocky smile and the confidence in my eyes.

  “Okay, stud, let’s get out of here.”

  It was a roll in the backseat like the ones before, but something had definitely changed between us. I wasn’t waiting for her to make the first move. I came on strong and gave her a tour of all the skills I’d learned from her. At the end of it, she sat on my lap, both of us wrapped in a blanket, the car’s fogged windows a second comforting layer, the night deep and still around us. She looked up at me, face very serious and almost sad. She stroked my cheek and gave me a tender, loving kiss. We’d been making out for months, but she’d never kissed me like that before. It was much more intimate than fucking. There was an openness and vulnerability in her that I hadn’t felt before. We’d always been strictly casual, never getting serious about what we were doing, never talking about the future or our feelings for each other. I was flush with emotion and high on sex, and with that kiss fresh on my lips, I came close to telling her how I really felt. I got as far as “I luh…” before she stopped me, putting her hand lightly across my mouth.

  “Come on now, Butch, let’s not get all serious and ruin our fun.” Her words were light, but there was a warning in her eyes.

  “Oh, well, I was only gonna say, ‘I luh…like you, a lot.’” I attempted a light and dismissive laugh. I was trying to play it cool, but I could feel embarrassment on my cheeks and a nauseous feeling in my stomach. It was way more than “like” and in that moment, I knew I’d fallen for her far more than she had for me. I guess I should have known better; she was very clear about not wanting commitment. Looking back now, I can see I was in massive denial. I thought I could be the one, the one who could change her mind, the one she’d finally settle down with.

  After that night things were the same, but different. We still fooled around in the back room,
with me initiating more and more. We still had incredible amounts of sex and I was still discovering parts of the county I never knew existed. She kissed me just as hard and we still fucked just as thoroughly. But even though she started opening up more to me, sharing more about her life, there was a tension between us that hadn’t been there before. The lighthearted playfulness that had always been so easy was harder to find. Even though I hadn’t uttered the L-word, it was always there, hanging between us. I’d fallen in love with her. Things had gotten more serious between us, as much as we both tried to deny it.

  We didn’t break up as much as we drifted apart. I had to start paying more attention to my college courses and she found other things to do while I was busy studying. I began to admit to myself that it was easier to be away from her than to be with her and know she didn’t love me the way I loved her. I won’t pretend it didn’t hurt like hell the first time I saw her with someone else, but by then there was a girl in my program who’d gotten my attention and I was trying to figure out how to get hers.

  I took a deep breath and returned to the present. My friend, who’d been listening intently, reached out to take one of my hands between hers.

  “That’s such a sad ending. I’m really sorry.”

  I welcomed the gesture, not the least because I’d been hoping to get to know her better. Her hands were warm and a promising frisson of energy passed between us when we touched. She shared some traits with the girl in the story. She was gorgeous, very direct about what she wanted and had a way of smiling at me that made my insides come undone. Unlike my sandwich-shop girl, this woman was warm and generous and seemed open to the possibility of a deeper relationship.

  “Well, it wasn’t all bad. We had a lot of good times, and great sex. I certainly learned a lot from her.” I raised my eyebrows suggestively.

  My friend smiled a little wickedly and looked at me from under her lashes. “Mmm…she taught you a lot of tricks, did she? Anything you’d care to pass on to a…friend?”