So I was at one of those parties—you know, the ones where you feel completely awkward with yourself. And your limbs don’t cooperate; and the only safe places to stand are the tackily-decorated walls surrounding the dance floor. It was darker than I was completely comfortable with, but I was also relieved. Few eyes would be looking in my direction, and that’s just the way I liked it.
Most of the other girls were shimmying away next to the DJ wearing skimpy, flashy outfits that practically screamed “fuck me now” to the rest of the general populace. Their hairdos were all straight, shiny mops, and most of them had more makeup than face.
The boys, on the other hand, were swamped in clothing. There were hoodies and sweaters, fingerless gloves, hats, slacks, and quite a lot of underwear. I’d never really understood the appeal of the gangsta-wannabe look. I stared at one guy who passed my way, whose arms and shoulders were bare. Musculature like a gorilla. I rolled my eyes with contempt, and immediately regretted it when I accidentally caught sight of a couple grinding to my right. The girl was wiggling her bottom into his lap, and the boy was being a little overenthusiastic.
I winced.
Put that away, I thought, looking anywhere else. Nobody wants to see that.
Of course, looking around I felt like even more of an idiot. What was I thinking, coming here in slacks and a t-shirt? No makeup (not that I ever wore any), legs not even shaved… Heck, did I even have a bra on? I checked. Thank god for small miracles. Really, I’ve never been fashion-conscious, but there’s just something about being at a dance with beautiful people that makes you think crap about yourself.
I went over to where the punch was, and was immediately suspicious. What were the chances that it wasn’t spiked? Still, I figured the cookies were probably safe. I took three.
The music was deafening; the lyrics appalling. Once again I wondered why I’d even showed up. It wasn’t like I had any delusions of actually enjoying myself. I had stopped attending the high school dances freshman year. They were usually loud, tasteless, and for the most part pointless events filled with gyrating nymphomaniacs. Looking around, it was clear that tonight wasn’t going to be any different.
Munching away on a stale Oreo and staring off into space with a sour expression, I was not even slightly prepared for the vision that appeared before me.
A shoe. An ankle, a leg. A… hip. And what a beautiful hip it was. Draped in dark brown cotton and deliciously curved. A waist. My hand, which had a life of its own, began to jerk in sympathy. My head felt dizzy, and my gaze couldn’t help but drift upwards. A chest…
Somebody cleared their throat, and I froze. My gaze shot upward, meeting a quizzical pair of eyes traced with perfect amounts of eyeliner. I held my breath, and for a moment seriously considered running for it.
The girl, meanwhile, was giving me a weird look. “Are… you okay?”
I tried to speak, but pulled a blank. The girl’s face looked terribly familiar. Stacey… Tracy…?
“Casey! Um, sorry about that, I, er. Sorry. I’m not feeling myself.” Her expression morphed into an appraising one. Her eyes drifted over me, and I gulped. “I’m not crazy, I swear.” She snorted at that, and I huffed with relief.
Turning around quickly, I grabbed another cookie in a vain attempt to save face. But when I finally calmed down enough and turned back to speak again, Casey had already ambled over to a man/gorilla by the name of Adam Cunningham and was smiling.
My heart pittered and skidded and crash landed. An odd sense of disappointment was making my lungs heavy.
Disturbed, I made my way back to my hiding place by the wall and told myself to stop being such a freak.
Molly. Stop being such a freak.
Obviously, it didn’t work. My eyes were drawn once more, as if compelled, to the lovely Miss Casey Stevens. How had I never noticed how… stunning she was? I was staring again, but she was far enough away that I didn’t care. All that mattered was her, and her hand, and its firm, squeezing grip on Adam’s arm.
I did a double take.
I did not like the way he was staring at her. Lustfully. His too-large hands were at her neck and shoulder. I couldn’t see Casey’s expression from where I was, but she didn’t exactly seem intimidated by his advances. I frowned, and something hot and unexpected flared up in my throat. I wanted to run back over there and gouge bloody tracks in that face, which grinned down at her so wickedly. And kick his shin. And then possibly pour the entire bowl of punch over his head.
I glanced toward the table in the corner, then back at him. It was a real possibility.
Without thinking about it, and without really understanding why I was doing it, I began to make my way over to where Adam was, with a thousand scathing remarks waiting just on the tip of my tongue.
But the closer I got, the more my courage failed, and eventually I stopped about ten feet away.
Adam saw me, but Casey didn’t. Strangely enough, my proximity seemed to deflate him somewhat: his shoulders bowed a bit and his hand darted away.
A creature in my chest growled its satisfaction, but before those thoughts could get very far my brain halted them. What the hell was my issue?
Why was I getting so… emotional about something so normal? So what if he wanted her and showed it? What did I care? Casey and Adam showed a familiarity with each other that suggested they might have been dating for sometime. I barely knew either of them, so it was hardly an impossibility. So where was all this possessiveness coming from?
Whatever it was I was feeling, it didn’t go away for the rest of the night. I stayed for another hour or two, then drove home in a sulk.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The new semester started like any other. There wouldn’t be much to say about it at all, except for the fact that I got invited to a house party for the first time in my lonely, godforsaken life.
And not just any party, either. Casey’s party. Her birthday party.
The invite was handed to me one day in the hall on the way to AP Bio, by some kid named Johnson. The small slip was pink and scented, and had the words Come Celebrate Casey’s 18th on the 18th! in big cursive letters. The inside was filled with a most appalling picture of a fluffy kitten surrounded by dancing beer bottles, and the words “16 Hooker Avenue, Friday, 9:00”.
I was horrified. Not to mention confused.
Wouldn’t you be? I mean, what the hell? Only a month after I’d checked her out and made a fool of myself in public? I suspected that she was just being polite. That she had invited all of the seniors, and didn’t want to make me feel bad, or something equally inane.
But that didn’t stop the small tendrils of excitement and foreboding from rushing through me at the thought of seeing her again.
So, come Friday night, I found myself following the directions on the invite despite my many misgivings, and pulling into 16 Hooker Avenue, gawking at the sight of the big white house with lights burning and music leaking from under the door. There was still some snow on the ground from the morning flurry, and the light made the soft flakes sparkle with a magical light.
It figured. Beautiful girls seemed to have fairy tale backdrops follow them wherever they went, as if poised at every moment for the perfect photo-op.
I approached the door with Casey’s gift clutched under my arm—my old Nine Inch Nails album— feeling foolish. The album was the result of a panic attack the previous afternoon, upon remembering that it was a birthday party and that I had no idea what she might like.
My first instinct had been jewelry, but that pretty much screamed “Look! Molly’s a homosexual!” and anyway it was a moot point, since I was definitely not thinking about going steady with her, or kissing her, or slamming her against the wall and…
The door opened, saving my current train of thought from playing out to its doomed conclusion.
In the doorway was an older girl who looked a lot like Casey, and who I assume must have been her older sister.
“You can come in, you know. The party’s just getting started.” Her eyes fell upon the envelope under my arm, and smiled so brilliantly my eyes started to water. “Nine Inch Nails! Oh, is that for Casey? How sweet! I’ll take that over to the table.” I watched with a vague sense of trepidation as she snatched the gift away and left me on the doorstep. It was kind of cold, though, so I went inside, feeling large and clumsy.
It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared, though. The lights were on, people were mingling amiably—mostly people I recognized, but there were a couple new faces—and there were drinks, but those were mostly sodas. No beers or fluffy kittens in sight. I relaxed a little. I still had no clue what I was doing there, but at least nobody was more dressed up than I was.
I heard the pounding of feet, and Casey entered the living room with a bounce in her step and a gleam in her eye. She stopped to talk to a friend, and I took the opportunity to give her a surreptitious once-over.
The slacks looked nice on her. They were rolled up at her hips, and her t-shirt was tied at her bellybutton. Not what I would have worn to my birthday party, but who was I to complain?
It gave me a very nice view of her very nice waist, after all.
Her sister came back into the room with a diet pepsi and, on catching sight of me, handed it over with a smile that nearly gave me a tooth-ache. “Hey, kid. I forgot to introduce myself earlier. I’m Jess, Casey’s sister.”
I found my voice. “Molly. I’m… Molly.”
“Is that a nickname for Mary?”
“No.”
“Oh. Okay.”
I stood there, feeling like I was supposed to say something else, when a hand landed on my shoulder from behind quite suddenly, and I knew, knew, knew it was Casey.
Turned around.
“Hey, Casey,” I said, straightening.
“Hey yourself.” She gave me a small half-smile, which was really just a slight deepening of the corner of her lips, and gestured behind her towards the stairs. “Come with me for a second?” Then, without waiting for a reply, she grabbed my hand. I had no option but to allow myself to be tugged, and shaken, and clamp down on my growing sense of danger.
Up the stairs, across to the left, through a door and into a bedroom. A very nice bedroom.
On the left, a futon and a big cushy bed. On the right, a tricked out Macbook Pro and a soft rug that vaguely resembled a blue layer of cloud, and guh.
What can I say? I’m a sucker for small comforts.
Casey plopped down on the bed and patted the space beside her.
Okay, stop. Who else is confused? I certainly was. Who was this angelic stranger with a perfect waist and pretty curls and perfect teeth and perfect lips? Some siren that planned on leading me to my death?
I was understandably suspicious. I wondered what kind of person would invite a total stranger to her birthday party, and then immediately proceed to take said stranger up to her bedroom.
“Molly?”
I stared. Frankly, I was surprised she even knew my name.
“Yeah. Um, yes?”
“If you’re wondering what you’re doing here, let me explain.”
She was playing with a drawstring on her slacks, one shoe scuffing the cloud-rug shyly.
I was instantly on high alert. I didn’t buy the coy act for one minute, and I had to resist the sudden urge to look around for hidden cameras. I was hesitant to say anything that might unintentionally incriminate me, in case this was some sort of cruel joke that would in a few hours end up on YouTube with a million hits.
But I also figured it would be rude not to say anything. “Okay—explain,” I ventured, and waited for the jokes to begin, my eyes already half-shut. But what came next, I could never have expected.
“I want you to fuck me.”
The room caved in around my ears. You could have heard a pin drop. Was something ringing? My mind had gone completely blank. But then I realized that I wasn’t breathing, so I sucked in a huge breath and tried not to hyperventilate. I heard that wrong, clearly. She must have said something else. Duck. Truck? Pluck, muck…
I heard a strangled cough, and jumped before realizing it had come from my own throat.
Casey’s face broke into a wide smile. I quickly became flustered at the sheer number of teeth. She spoke again, not a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
“I saw you watching me at the dance a few weeks ago. You couldn’t keep your eyes off me. Even my ex noticed.” I blanched. Here it was; the mocking had begun. Of course she’d noticed me staring. I’d been bloody obvious.
God—please smite me where I stand.
But Casey wasn’t done.
“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot lately–about what it might be like. To be fucked. By a woman, that is.” She broke off, bit her lip, and glared suddenly. “I have been fucked by a man, you know.”
I didn’t know quite what to say to that, so I just eyed this new demonstration of insanity warily and tried not to giggle.
“I know you want me, Molly. I saw you.” She smirked, but it looked forced. Was she nervous?
Panic. Run away. Was this a test? Was I supposed to screech in disgust, and say, ‘What? No way, man!’ and act like I found the very idea repulsive?
The trouble was, I didn’t find it repulsive. At all. My treacherous brain, tempted by the sheer, miniscule possibility that she was really offering what I thought she was, began to torture me with images of kneeling on this very bed, driving into her with her legs spread wide and curled over my shoulders, perfect white teeth biting into her perfectly plump lips.
I gulped the ridiculous thoughts away and tried to concentrate against the pounding of my heart and curling of my toes, feeling betrayed by my own body.
“The door is locked. No one will hear us.”
My eyes went wide. What?
It was then that I started to really flip out, as my wits caught up to the situation. The door was locked? What the fuck? Since when? I didn’t dare look at it to check, though, because Casey’s gaze had become positively predatory, and part of me *knew* that if I looked away even once she might pounce.
“You want this,” she said, raising her hand, and my eyes followed despite their best wishes as she began stroking her breast through her shirt. “You want me.” My heart felt ready to leap to its death, and I couldn’t speak. My throat had closed up. Her fingers’ circling motions were making her confident breaths falter, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. She had to stop, or I knew I’d do something I regretted.
But she showed no sign of slowing down.
Soon she had captured my wrist and was pulling my shaking hand upward, to rest on her breast over her shirt. She tightened her grip around my arm, and I suddenly found myself with a handful of perfectly soft flesh.
My jaw went slack. My pupils dilated, and I hardly dared breathe. I tried half-heartedly to pull away, but then she did something even more unexpected and fell backward against the bed, taking my wrist—and therefore me—with her.
I found myself drawn into a sitting position between her spread legs, in a state of frozen shock, shoulders tense. Her non-occupied hand feathered across my bicep, and I shivered as her fingers wandered upward, stroking my neck with the lightest of touches. I felt my hair being tucked behind my ear, the caress like electricity. Casey’s breaths grew shallower, and she was staring at me with an expression somewhere between awe, hunger… and genuine excitement.
Without warning, something in me snapped.
I grabbed both of her delicate wrists and pinned them on either side of her body. She gasped, but I forced her to lie still, pressing my body down the length of her so that we were flushed together. She struggled a bit and made a squawking noise, but I ignored it in favor of basking in the feel of a small, soft body beneath my own.
“I knew you were bent…” she whispered accusingly, a bit of a laugh fluttering through her words, but she must have seen something in my eyes that gave her pause because she stopped talking. And then I couldn’t look away from her lips. They were so perfect. Everything about her, so soft…
I lowered my head to hers and captured her lower lip. Silky, smooth. Just like I had suspected. Deserving of worship, definitely. My hips had a mind of their own, and began to rock firmly against hers.
I don’t think Casey really expected that so soon, because the tendons in her wrists clenched and her eyes opened wide when I drew back. My mind was whirling in a thousand directions, humblingly human–but my body felt alien, and wild, and wouldn’t obey my brain’s command to get off her and run away immediately.
I ground more firmly against her pelvic bone, my eyes closing from the heat that shot through me at the sound of her surprised moan. But it wasn’t nearly enough.
I pulled my hands away from her wrists to free her shirt from its little front-facing knot. When it finally untangled I pushed the edges of her tee up until I felt the wire of a bra against my hands. I stopped. Cleared my throat. Realized what I was doing.
Casey’s eyes glittered, returning to their previous smirk. “What’s stopping you? Do it.” And so I did, feeling bold.
The bra was pretty interesting, I must admit. It was blue, of all colors, with little squarish designs on it. But it had to go. And I told her so.
“Then take it off.” Hands shaking, I obeyed.
I must pause here for a moment to describe the astonishing subject I was looking at.
Now, I’d seen breasts before. Of course I had. But these were so lush. Big enough to get a grip on, small enough that they weren’t spilling off her chest.
Soft enough to kiss; tan enough to wonder.
It made me smile without my permission. I bent to greet an exposed nipple with a questing mouth. Casey’s expression was open, as if my intimacy surprised her. It surprised me, too.
“You don’t have to be gentle,” she said, touching my face.
I sat up at that. My insides shivered as I thought about what that might mean, and I watched with confusion as she twisted and opened the desk drawer by her bed, coming back with a rather scary looking serrated knife in her hand. It made me somewhat uneasy, and then extremely concerned as I found myself a moment later holding said knife.
“Please,” she said, expectantly. “And I trust you not to hurt me.” I looked at the knife in bemusement and met her eyes.
“What exactly do you expect me to do with this?” I accused, brow furrowed.
“Anything you want.”
I tested the edge with my thumb, feeling lost. It was pretty dull. I looked at it with a fair amount of cluelessness, until the weight of her gaze drove me to make some kind of decision.
Carefully, and holding my breath, I ran the knife tip down the center of her chest, from her collar bone (which was exquisite) to the place where her ribs ended. “Um… How’s that?” I checked nervously.
Her eyes were closed, but she looked far less afraid that I thought she should. “More than okay.” I drew the edge along her arms and belly– which twitched under the caress and resulted in a beautiful, drawn out moan– and even pressed a little harder in some places. No blood, though.
It was all getting pretty weird. I cleared my throat. “Anything else?”
After a moment or two, Casey seemed to remember why she had locked me in her room in the first place, and reached for the desk drawer once again. She pulled out an obscene contraption that brought color to my face, and held it out to me.
“Um–?”
“It’s a strap-on. Duh.” She waved. “Well, go on! Put it on.”
