Текст книги "Rug Burns"
Автор книги: Cory Cyr
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 11 страниц)
Haven and I made a lovely pair when she got home. Not only was she bitchy, but also frustrated. Harold was gay. I probably should have realized that prior to making the date, but it wasn’t until he came to the door that I’d known for sure. If I had been a true friend, I would have warned her. The fact was she needed to go out, and Harold, gay or not, appeared to be a nice person. And after my evening, I wished Haven had stayed home and I would have gone out with Harold.
I chose to tell her my woes. Misery loves company, so share the pain. Well, I made the pain part more palatable. I had a feeling if she knew how uncomfortable it really was, she’d hold on to her V-card forever. I had no doubt I would be aching tomorrow. I’d exercised muscles I’d never used before and then some. I described the entire ordeal in Technicolor. Haven’s jaw dropped when I outlined every single detail down to the bloody towels and what he said.
Haven’s hand flew to her mouth. “Okay, enough with the narrative. Wow, just wow. Kind of happy Harold turned out to be gay. I mean, honestly, it doesn’t sound romantic or inviting. What were you thinking?” she asked as she shook her head. “Weezie, tell me the truth. You aren’t toting a penis are you? Because I swear, everything is sexual with you. You do realize Joey is going to broadcast this all over campus.”
I nodded. “Well, it started out as just a blow—”
Haven’s hand flew up in front of my face.
“Oh my God. Please stop calling it a blowjob—you promised,” she whispered quietly, as if someone would hear her through the walls.
“Okay, no cock sucking, BJ, hoovering, slurpin’ the gherkin, or fellatio. Ooh, I love how fellatio just rolls off my tongue,” I cooed as I watched her turn ten shades of red. I laughed. I loved rattling her cage. Haven was such a prude; it was a miracle we ever became best friends.
“Stop. Please. We made a deal. You swore you’d refer to that as puff chore. At least around me.”
“Okay, pinky swear, but things would change if you would try it. I promise you that,” I said as I tossed her a banana from the fruit bowl.
Haven dropped it as if it were on fire. “Stop it, Weezie,” she hissed.
I snickered and rolled my eyes, picking up the banana as I flopped on the sofa. “Okay, sweetie, you came up with a less vulgar term for a—what I love to do. So whenever I’m around you, it will be forevermore a puff chore, aka sucking cock. I swear,” I said as I mimicked sucking the banana.
“You are so rude. I mean really. I leave the dorm for two hours, and you’re off doing porn practically.” Haven huffed.
“I hardly think that… which will remain nameless for now and losing my virginity constitutes porn. It’s not as if I was paid. And speaking of deflowering—and I’m only using that term because you read that fucking historical smut—you do realize at some point, you’re going to have to tear off those big girl panties and start wearing butt floss?”
“Shut up.” Haven laughed as she tossed a throw pillow. “Eat your banana—no, not like that.” And she tossed her hands in the air in defeat as I began deep throating the fruit.
*****
I was actually surprised. There were no repercussions or fallout from the events of the previous night. In the upcoming months, I hardly saw Joey, and when we did cross paths, I ignored him. I was anxious to do it again. He’d been right when he said I had nothing to compare it to. So I would gladly take his advice and do a comparison test.
Things were getting better. Not that they weren’t good before, but now life appeared to be opening up—for both Haven and me. Our relationship blossomed. She got me. We had great times together, and we were able to share our worries, dreams, and emotional baggage. Both of us had come from a good family, had outstanding parents, and we were seemingly well adjusted. For me, though, I lived for the sexual contact. Sure, having actual sex now was fabulous, but I still thrived when I could give a blowjob. I found intercourse passionate and hot, but for me personally, it was all about giving oral.
It was a salacious act for me. Fucking didn’t give me the same high, probably because I was never in charge. I was still a novice and hadn’t discovered how to take the control I craved. It was very disconcerting to never be on top—literally. It was nothing compared to having my hand wrapped snuggly around their cock and licking it as if it were a frozen treat. It was my mouth, my lips, and my hands doing it all. No one ruled me. I enjoyed intercourse. I just didn’t like giving authority to some random man I was simply using for sex. For me, a relationship was out of the question. I loved variety. I loathed eating at the same place twice unless the meal was extraordinary… That’s why I frequented buffets. You got to sample a little of everything. Men were like that.
“You’re going out with Eric—again? Oh, Haven, that makes four dates. You do know what’s required on the fourth date?” I questioned as I arched my eyebrows up and down, trying to look dastardly.
Haven turned and paused, her face tense. “Huh, what? It’s only a movie.”
I laughed. Famous last words. “I did tell you I gave my first puff chore at the movies?”
“La-la-la…” Haven squealed as she covered her ears with both hands. “Oh my God, Weezie, we’re going to see a French documentary. I seriously doubt Eric will be whipping his—you know what out.”
“Cock! I think the word you’re searching for is cock. And for your information, if there are food or beverages involved, he’ll probably expect something… something,” I quipped. “Of course, that angelic frock you’re wearing might save you. Fuck, Haven, please for everything that is holy, LET ME DRESS YOU.”
Haven flopped down on her bed, fingering her collar. It was tighter than the invisible chastity belt she wore. My bestie needed saving. Badly. I ran into my room and began going through my closet. I knew she wouldn’t wear most of the things I owned—too porno. But anything would be better than that high-collared dress from hell. I finally found a red little number. Short but tailored. A nice sweetheart collar and button-down front. Easy access. I would keep that important bit of info to myself.
As I handed it to her, I watched as she inspected the dress. “Don’t you think it’s kind of short?”
I groaned as I rolled my eyes. “Sweetie, it’s the longest dress I own. At least this one doesn’t require a beaver cut.”
Haven blushed deeply. She was such a killjoy. Maybe Eric could fuck that puritanical out of her. I should have probably schooled her in what to expect.
“You’re not on your period, are you?”
Haven stood up and clutched the dress. “Jesus, Weezie, a little personal, don’t you think?” she scolded.
“Just curious. I didn’t want us to have twin massacre events.”
Haven’s mouth gaped open as she shook her head. “Good-bye—go away please,” she uttered as she pushed me toward her bedroom door.
“Wait. Condoms.”
“Get. Out. Now.” She huffed.
“He’ll probably have some anyway,” I said optimistically as I padded into the living room, snickering.
I could hear her mumbling under her breath. I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t caught with her pants down. I giggled. Her and the dreaded granny underwear. I quickly ran back into my room and grabbed a lacy thong out of my drawer. I quietly opened up Haven’s door and tossed them in. Hopefully, she would have enough sense to wear them, just in case. I could imagine the look on Eric’s face as he fumbled, trying to remove those old lady briefs.
Haven came out ten minutes later. Wow. The dress looked really pretty on her.
“Get rid of the glasses. Totally ruins the entire look.” I snorted.
“I’m going to a movie, a foreign film. I kind of need to see the subtitles,” she replied, sounding annoyed.
Only she would actually want to watch this film. I guaranteed Eric had other ideas. I was one hundred percent positive he wasn’t gay. I checked around first. Still nerdy but attractive and seemed nice. Haven needed nice. I didn’t want her first time to be like mine. She didn’t love this guy, but that was okay. I was sure he wasn’t going to be a jerk-off as Joey had been. As long as he treated her with respect and kindness, I’d be happy for her. One of us should experience the bells and flowers.
I wasn’t staying in tonight. My favorite words besides I love cock? Frat party. Nothing better than horny and hot intoxicated men. They would always be at my mercy. Maybe I was slightly loose with my wares. But I was young and single, so I planned to enjoy myself.
I was always prepared. God knows you couldn’t count on a man to be responsible. Once you were going down on them, they got sloppy. I, unlike them, cared about my health. The thought of disease or pregnancy made me shudder. Years ago, when my parents told me the facts, it should have been enough to dissuade me. But at sixteen, I had tasted the fruit and I planned to savor the hundreds of varieties. Well, maybe not hundreds, but I thoroughly wanted to sample many. Now that I’d been introduced to actual sex, aka intercourse, I felt like I had more to offer.
There were a few that wanted to date me, be with me in a relationship, and fuck me. I chose the latter. I didn’t need to be wined and dined. I had money and means. The men I chose didn’t have to prove themselves monetarily. I would never do a relationship; I lived by my own rules. Men regarded any repeat performance as thumbs-up for commitment. Ugh! That would never happen. I’d seen what it had done to other girls. The men thought they owned you and wanted full dominance. I enjoyed being on top—figuratively.
I hadn’t had enough sexual experience yet to master diversity. I think most of my friends called it “vanilla” sex. In one of my books, they called it missionary. I was looking forward to the variety of positions listed in the Kama Sutra.
Haven never came home that night. I crept into our small apartment about four thirty and she wasn’t in her bed. She’d spent the night with Eric. Wow. This was monumental. Maybe I should’ve hung a banner or bought a cake. Depending on which way it went. Ice cream, maybe a gallon just in case. There was no pain in the world that a bowl of icy, creamy goodness couldn’t fix. It had been months since I gave it up to Joey dickhead, and now my bestie was following in my footsteps. Well, at least I hoped she was.
They say opposites attract. I guess that’s why Haven and I bonded. While I was a business major, she studied journalism. While I sucked actual cock, she read smutty romance books about sucking cock. Eventually, I wanted to move to Malibu or Beverly Hills and maybe do real estate. I didn’t have to work. My inheritance would kick in at twenty-one. But I didn’t enjoy being idle, so regardless, I wanted to work and get experience under my belt, to have my own business eventually.
I could have lived off campus. I had viewed some nice condominiums. But Haven had made it clear she couldn’t afford anything that extravagant. She didn’t want to keep me from living more upscale, and she’d opted to find a new dorm mate. While the fifteen hundred square-foot plush condo had been calling my name, I settled on our tiny apartment on campus. It was what she could afford, and I had no problem sacrificing luxury, because I couldn’t imagine sharing my adventures with anyone else. She and I meshed. We disagreed on quite a few things, but somehow we worked.
Haven finally came home at ten in the morning. It was a good thing it was the weekend because she looked “rode hard and put up wet.”
“Please do not say a word,” she said with her head slumped.
Seriously, there was no way I couldn’t say anything. “Is this your version of the walk of shame, or is it the drive of distress?” I said as I strolled into the kitchen to make some breakfast. “Want a waffle or a greasy egg sandwich?” I snorted because I could tell she was hung over. There was no chance in hell Eric pried her legs apart without the assistance of alcohol.
She waved her hands in front of her face and then covered her mouth. “Jesus, I asked you not to speak. And if you start talking about food, there will be more than bloodstains on this carpet,” she whispered as a burp slipped out of her mouth.
I bit back a chuckle. My BFF was a hung-over ex-virgin. She’d never had sex and she hardly ever drank. After three campus parties where she ended up praying to the porcelain god all night, now she was strictly a wine girl. I couldn’t wait to hear about last night with Eric. The suspense was killing me.
“Okay, sweetie, you go take a nap, and when you get up, I’ll trade you some ginger ale for a blow-by-blow of last night’s event,” I quipped.
“Ha-ha, there was no puff chore-ing last night,” she said as she headed toward her bedroom.
“Tell me you were defiled and Eric was a Viking in bed.”
“Kill me now.” She sighed under her breath as she closed her door.
I looked forward to the afternoon where I got to hear all the juicy details. She’d better have gotten laid. If spending the night with Eric was just a sleepover, Haven and I were going to have a serious talk. Somehow, I was going to modify this girl’s behavior. Okay, so it would be more along the lines of corruption. What are friends for?
When she woke up, we did have a sit-down. It was more of me sitting down and her pacing. Yes, she had sex. Sound the trumpets. Cue the parade. But she appeared less than thrilled. Eric had wanted to do it bareback, and even though Haven had been on the pill since fifteen due to female problems, she’d said no. A fight proceeded, then the customary make-up sex. She’d not confessed to him he was her first. I think her disappointment had been major. She never spoke about the specifics, but I sensed her disillusionment. I blamed those romance books for her high expectations. I tried to tell her once. Those stories were written by women. Female authors who hadn’t been laid since the dawn of time. It was all wishful thinking.
Right before I turned twenty, all hell broke loose. Frankly, it would have been nice to just skip that age altogether. That fucking year would be life altering. It would end up taking a toll on my spirit and feelings. I had total control over my body, but my emotions—that was another thing. One spring day, I noticed people weren’t talking to me. They were whispering a lot. I was being shunned. Oh my God, we were in California, not Pennsylvania. I had no idea what the hell was going on.
Haven found me that afternoon.
“Weezie, Jesus, have you heard?” she exclaimed as she dragged me into the restroom.
“Um, that would be negative since no one is talking to me. It’s the weirdest fucking thing. Did you watch that documentary last night on the Amish? It’s like that. Those fuckers are shunning me.”
Haven stalled at the sink. She was washing her hands over and over.
“Out with it. You know something. Spill.”
“Joey Miles.”
I hadn’t really talked about Joey or seen him in seven months. We weren’t even on each other’s radar. How could all this silence be because of him? “Okay, what did you hear?”
“I’m not comfortable telling you this. It would hurt me so bad, and I don’t want to be the one to cause you pain.”
“Haven, spit it out. No one else is speaking to me. It’s like high school all over again. Just tell me.”
Haven tilted her head toward mine. “He got something. I’m not sure. Everyone’s saying something different; you know how rumors spread. I think he has some kind of venereal disease.”
I was pissed and I could feel my face get hot. “Well, that motherfucker didn’t get it from me. We haven’t even been together for months, and he used a condom. Jesus, that asshole is a piece of work. Why me?”
“For some reason, he doesn’t want to say who really gave it to him. Weezie, the guy is a scumbag. I think you could sue him for defamation.”
Haven was serious. Oh, that court trial would be interesting. I could publically describe losing my cherry to that douche. Then there could be witnesses about me sucking their cock. I would be branded a whore and most likely burned at the stake. “No thanks, I think I’ll skip an attorney. Sounds like fun, but no. Hell no. Of course, you may have to get me a lawyer regardless after I pay a visit to Mr. STD, that piece of worthless, lying shit. Bring me a file in a dildo cake when I’m on death row for fucking murder one, would you?”
Joey and I hadn’t been on the best of terms when he left that night, but how could he justify doing this to me? Was I an easy target? Currently, I was on the no fly list… which translated to the no cock list.
Fuck, fuckety, fuck. I felt sad, angry, and betrayed. I’d never been one to bare my emotions. Just as Haven wore hers on her sleeve, I kept mine safely tucked away. My love life was hitting the skids, and I was just about to turn twenty.
The silent treatment lasted about twelve days. I spent those quiet moments coming to class wearing ultra-provocative clothing, consuming tons of bananas in public, and using lip balm or gloss every chance I got. Nothing said do you miss me and my provocative mouth like moisturized lips. Frankly, it served them right. I should just blow them off… so to speak. When they finally broke their silence, I knew I was going to be busy for a long while.
I cornered Joey at a frat party one night and basically read him the riot act. I made sure everyone heard what a useless excuse he was for a man and how he lied about everything. I might have thrown in that he had a needle dick and his bedding skills were vastly overrated. He profusely apologized, and as unbelievable as it seemed, he tried to get in my pants that night. I made it clear to him that I wouldn’t fuck him with someone else’s dick. I was pissed. There were other men that had left an impact sex-wise, and he wasn’t one of them. I guess he never got the memo.
A couple months later, my life changed forever. I held the letter in my hand. Frozen in time. Emotionless. Empty. Pleading with myself to cry but being unable to shed one tear. The dean had notified Haven. She’d come home to find me sitting in a chair, unmoving, barely breathing. She pried the letter out of my hands and read. She broke down several times, clearly crying for both of us. It was as though I was able to share my anguish through her. She kneeled in front of me. I heard her whisper my name. But for the life of me, I was unable to respond.
I would not cry. Emotional outbursts were a sign of weakness. I’d always been strong. Besides, Haven had us both covered. We shared everything. I was so lucky to have her in my life.
I felt her grasp my shoulder. “I’m so very sorry, Weezie,” she said softly.
I was mute. Any response I had was stuck at the base of my throat. It was so tight I struggled for air. Was this a panic attack? Did I feel panicked? No. I felt decimated. The one thing I could count on always, gone. Expired. The letter was refined. It read both my parents were deceased when in reality they were dead. You could prettify the word, but it still meant dead, as in doornail. The attorney hadn’t wanted to call me. He thought a letter would be less devastating.
My hands were shaking as I read it. Their yacht had gone down. They’d recovered my parents’ bodies and three of the crew. My mind began to assemble thoughts of their last moments, drowning. Did they know? Did they think of me during their final minutes? Did it go quickly? Did they suffer? At least they had been together.
Inside, I was screaming. This was not happening. I was only twenty. They were supposed to be around for—what? I never planned to get married or have kids. They would have been witness to me becoming a success in business and a disaster in everything else. According to them, a life was only valued and fulfilling if you had a husband and family. I would have greatly failed them. Even though I was content with my life, I would have been a disappointment according to my parents.
Their objections regarding my life choices would have been noted. They would have constantly reminded me of my shortcomings when it came to my less than prolific life. I could never have been what they expected me to be. My mom had once told me I was a free spirit, and she’d been right. I’m positive they wanted more for me than one-night stands and bragging rights in fellatio. Of course, they didn’t know about my nocturnal activities or my future goals. I always told them what I presumed they wanted to hear. They died thinking I was the consummate daughter. The one who would end up marrying the perfect man and give them grandchildren to dote on in their old age.
“Please say something, Weezie. I’m so worried about you. I want to help. Let me be there for you.”
I struggled to put breath and words together. “I’m just glad you’re with me. Can you take off classes for a week? I want you to come home with me. I need you to help me through the funeral.”
“Of course. I’ll contact my professors now. I’ll let the office know what our plans are so they’ll be aware we’ll both be gone. They have bereavement leave,” she said as her eyes filled with tears again. “Weezie, it’s normal to cry. You don’t always have to be so damn tough. You’ll feel better.”
I stood and swallowed, pushing down the anguish and loss I felt. Losing it would accomplish nothing. There were things to take care of, decisions that had to be made. Businesses and property that needed to be dispersed and handled. I was the only family member left to do it. I straightened the hem of my blouse and patted the wrinkles out of my skirt. “I’ll book us a flight on the redeye for tonight. Pack for a week,” I said as I headed toward my room.
The week surrounding the funeral and the reading of the will was frantic. Haven made many calls to my parents’ close friends, and the housekeeper Ena made all the others. I found out I really didn’t have to do anything but oversee. My parents had arranged everything years ago. As in the way they had lived their lives, everything had to be orderly and precise. They had covered the funeral, the will, my trust, and put all other holdings in charity foundations. I was to inherit a shitload of money ten months early.
I played the stoic daughter well. I had no other choice. Grief immersed itself inside me, seeping into every pore. I had to be strong for me. If I allowed myself to feel any weakness, I would crumble, and I wasn’t sure if I would ever recover. It was in everyone’s best interests to push these emotions deep and bury them along with my parents.
After the funeral, we had a houseful of arrogant-ass people. I’m surprised they didn’t start carting off the antiques. I didn’t care. They could take it all.
I would no longer be getting a stipend. Within four to six weeks, my inheritance would kick in. My mind reeled with the amount. I could leave school and buy a real estate company. Hell, I could buy a state probably. But that wasn’t me. I wanted to work. If for no one else, I wanted to prove I was savvy enough to learn everything I needed in order to maintain my own company. People needed to know I had a head for business. Not just for giving head.
Once we got back to school, things mellowed out. Haven and I really didn’t talk about my parents. She never asked about my inheritance either. The only thing I purchased was a car; neither of us had wheels before. It wasn’t a necessity since we rarely left campus. But with barely a year left in college, we would eventually require one. Haven hadn’t decided if she planned to stay in California or go elsewhere. I already had my sights set on upper-scale neighborhoods in Los Angeles. In order to know my real estate clients, I needed to know their prerequisites. Basically I had to become them. I hoped my bestie would be part of my journey.
Life got back to somewhat normal. Except for the part where I was an orphan now. They didn’t have a specific name for an adult child losing her parents, so I considered myself parentless or an orphan. I spent weeks listening to condolences from many people I didn’t even know. No one knew what to say except they were sorry. Yeah, well, weren’t we all? I found some solace in the company of men I hardly knew, performing deeds I enjoyed but shouldn’t be doing. Not at a time like this. But truly, sex was the only way I could escape the deep emptiness inside. I’m sure many thought I was heartless, and I had to agree. The place in my chest that used to house that organ was gone. I’m sure it died with my mom and dad.
Once we graduated, I purchased the single least expensive condo in the Hollywood hills. I never discussed my finances with Haven. I kept to myself the fact that I was filthy rich and set for life. She would have perished if I told her the residence cost me a million five, which wasn’t bad for a home in that area. My own place. Now I was an actual homeowner.
I’d taken the real estate test and gotten my license. My end goal was to purchase my own company, but for now, I was finally working at an agency, learning the ropes, and I’d already sold one home. I was good. Really exceptional—especially with the men. I was the only woman in this current agency and quite happy about that. When I wasn’t working, I was “playing.” The more I gave, the more I got. At least listing wise.
Haven had gotten an unpaid internship at a small publishing house. I never understood doing all that labor free, but her parents kicked in money every month. Her income didn’t matter to me, but she wanted to pull her own weight.
I lied. Through my fucking teeth. She thought we were renting. So I took her generous seven hundred dollars a month and put it in a savings account—for her. I hoped when she needed it, the money would be there to help her. She wasn’t like me, though. I was a free and wild spirit. I have no doubt my parents thought it was adorable at sixteen. But even now, I could sense their disapproval.
I enjoyed my job, but I also loved the Hollywood nightlife. I was familiar with the best clubs and the highest profile men. While I appreciated all men, it was a major adrenaline rush to be noticed by someone famous. I gravitated toward the rich executives, but I wasn’t immune to the charms of a rock star here and there. My little black book was turning into the Britannia encyclopedia.
While I was having a wicked life, Haven became a workaholic. We both had goals. Mine included blowing the cream of the crop, and Haven’s were up for discussion.
Everything was perfect until the night she came home and told me she was in love.
