“Nathaniel!” I caught his attention, interrupting what was being said to Cheyenne. I noticed their ongoing conversation, waited for a pause, but when one seemed inconceivable, I cut it short.
“Hey,” he turned, responding attentively.
I looked in his eyes and asked, “What’s your shirt say?”
He pulled taut his shirt so that I could read it. “Quarry Street,” he said.
“Oh,” I said, with a hint of interest. That’s cool.
He told me the story of how he obtained it from a thrift shop.
“I like it,” I said, smiling.
He smiled back at me.
“Do you want to borrow some clothes?” he asked.
“Umm…” she thought. “Yeah.” She loved sleeping in boys’ clothes. He handed her a black Brand New shirt and a pair of blue athletic shorts. He waited in his bed while she changed. She put the shorts on underneath her miniskirt, and then shimmied out of her A&F denim. She pulled the shirt over her body, and then slid her tube top through the bottom. Then she unhooked her bra and pulled it through a sleeve, concluding the change-clothing spectacle. Even she felt impressed with herself. She crawled into bed and lay down beside him. He turned out the lights.
“Can I cuddle with you?” he asked when they were settled in the dark.
“Yeah… yeah,” she said. ” I love it.” She wrapped his arms around her body, letting him hold her tightly.
She turned her head and looked at him. They reached for each other and kissed, until it became a full-on makeout session. She continued touching him until he removed her shorts, and pulled off her lacy white thong. She knew what this meant and it excited her too much to think about anything else.
He could read her like a map. His tongue knew exactly which spots to hit and how to make her twist and turn. She opened her legs and pushed her thighs down; she wanted him inside. “I love it when I make you squirm,” he said between breaths, as he felt her with his fingers. She traced the curves of her breasts. He wouldn’t stop and she didn’t want him to. With her hands behind his head, she pulled him deeper and spread herself farther apart, filling herself with the rapture of his gifted tongue.
She longed to repay him, but he was too amazing, too intimidating. Performing on him would be mediocre, she thought. Besides, she wanted him now. She wanted to feel him inside her. She wanted so badly to kiss him and love him the way he had loved her. She imagined the warm fluid running down her throat if he came, the pulsations she would feel before she would get to taste him. But if she didn’t have him now, she was afraid that she might lose him forever.
Their friendship meant too much. She saves fellatio, similarly, in the way a virgin waits for marriage. She wants to perform, desperately, but only to one guy– he who becomes her boyfriend. She fears that anyone else would leave her if she gave in. Judas had left her, and she had bowed to him every time. Never again, she promised herself.